#like in a big park there's a structure like this i think ||

[setsunatekiblast]

oh yeah ummm hi i lowkey have a bachelor's degree btw

like not officially because the ceremony is in november but i finished my final assignment for the last course i needed last month & got my grade on friday! was an 80% (a-) which im not actually all that happy with because i feel like i could've done better but we ball

[comicaurora]

Do you think ethics are just an attempt at being a healthier form of selfish?

In one of your Detail Diatribes where Batman confronts Catwoman and tries to stop her from killing Falcone, you highlighted the fact that his reasoning was not to protect her father, but to try and save her. Ever since, some very strange ideas about the nature of selfishness and selflessness have been rattling around my head.

It only started coming into focus when I tried to put into words why it was a bad thing that D-16 killed Sentinel Prime. My best answer right now is because it made D-16 into Megatron. Orion wasn't trying to save Sentinel, he was trying to protect the cybertronian people. Maybe if Orion focused more on saving D-16, they wouldn't have lost their friendship and all of Cybertron would be better for it. Of course, in the end, Megatron was the deciding factor in making himself, caring more about his pride than his current identity, but this highlights a strange selfish quirk in sustainable selfless behavior.

If you are purely selfless you suffer from spending more of yourself than you have to give. If you're too selfish you can't maintain the human connections that are a requirement for being a complete and healthy person. It leaves the best options as being selfless to make your environment an easier one for you to live in. Where your actions for others are repaid by the selflessness from your community. Or, being selfish with your charity. Taking care of what you care about because their well being positively contributes to your own.

To be fair, the opening sentence now looks like an incomplete thought. It probably should be asking if you think ethics is just an attempt at being a more healthy form of selfish and selfless. Really, just asking if ethics is meant to make you better at being a person, which seems like a question that can answer itself. Still, it feels like an important insight to highlight that to be ethical isn’t about how much of your own life you're willing to sacrifice. It's hard to be a good person when you're not a person anymore.

This is a fascinatingly deep question, and I'm very tickled that our two touchpoints in it are a transforming robot tank and Batman.

My personal opinion is that ethics and morals are not reflections of some universal truth of Justice and Goodness, as they are often framed, but are instead best-practice guidelines on how to function in the big, messy world without causing undue suffering to yourself and others. A facet of this is determining, case by case, how much you need to prioritize yourself vs how much you can afford to help others - in the framing you've proposed, selfishness vs selflessness.

Taking the specific examples we're focusing on - two cases where someone attempts to prevent a revenge killing for the benefit, not of the victim, but of the avenger - I think they reflect this worldview, that the killing is not seen as some innately universally-judged evil act that must be prevented for its own sake, but that the act of killing will harm the killer in a way the person trying to stop them doesn't want to see.

For Catwoman, committing premeditated murder wouldn't solve any of her problems in any way that arresting Falcone and having him legally unraveled would. It'd just park a first degree murder charge on someone who'd up til this point only dealt with petty larceny, and it would potentially weigh her down with misery and regret as she grappled with the trauma of taking a life.

For Megatron, killing Sentinel Prime wasn't a bad action because he deserved to live. They just spent that whole fight scene tearing through enemies. They're warriors on track to spend the next four million years killing each other; the whole "taking a life" ship has already sailed. The problem is that Sentinel is a symbol and a structural part of the political narrative in the founding of the next stage of Cybertron's society. If the first thing the new regime does is bloodily avenge itself on the face of the old regime for the personal wrongs it did them, that proves that the only thing they care about is personal satisfaction of their individual desires - just like Sentinel. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. If they can instead take a step back, think of the good of Cybertron as a whole, enforce a rule of law and a fair system of justice that applies equally to everyone, even on someone they personally loathe, that would signify integrity and credibility and the hallmark of wise, just and fair leadership capable of setting aside personal feelings for the greater good. It's not about Sentinel; it's about whether the satisfaction of killing him is worth the price of enforcing forever that personal vendettas are more important than the well-being of the people of Cybertron. Which makes it really obvious which one Megatron is going to pick.

My hottest take, and I mean this very genuinely, is that most of the human perception of what constitutes goodness and justice is one thousand percent based on vibes, and is extremely susceptible to narrative reframing. We see an unsympathetic victim (Sentinel Prime, Falcone) who has gleefully caused suffering to innocent people (so judged because they are framed sympathetically, not because we've actually enumerated their lifelong actions to determine they've never done anything wrong) and we feel (feel) that it would be right and just for them to suffer consequences (emphasis on suffer) because that would balance the scales on this vibes equation and that would make us feel like justice had been served. Would this suffering lead to any material good? Not inherently. Would it heal the victims? Not usually. Would it remove the source of the problem? Categorically not, what with how negative reinforcement works (or rather does not work.) It also wouldn't do anything about the other people empowered by the same system to be just as shitty in just as many ways that just happen to be offscreen from our POV. But it feels fair. So what is justice, if it reduces down to "I want them to hurt for the hurt they've caused me"? If it can be sated with a spectacle or distracted by a long nap and a good joke to let the feeling fade? What purpose does this justice serve if it is devoted wholly to the satiation of a bone-deep chordate-brain hunger for Retributive Violence rather than towards actually ensuring that the lives of those harmed are healed and supported and built up again after being broken down? (This is the entire core character arc in The Batman, btw, I'm not just monologuing for no reason here. He calls himself Vengeance for a reason, and the reason is he's doing Batman wrong)

That feeling - that white-hot burning core of Righteous Fury - is the unexamined heart of many systems of morality that focus, not on doing good, but on exacting satisfying retribution on Bad People Who Deserve It, categorized as People Who I Can Hurt Without Feeling Bad Myself. It's a very tempting concept for people who have suffered at others' hands. That feeling, that powerful instinctual understanding of "that's unfair," is incredibly strong. In my opinion, most systems of ethics are built, not around relitigating what is Good and what is Bad per se, but in trying to shape and curb that bone-deep, unbelievably powerful desire to rend the flesh from the bones of your tormenters.

But I mentioned that feeling is susceptible to narrative reframing. This is, as I understand it, a huge part of lawyering. Tell the story of what happened using true events and adding no falsehoods, but highlight the parts that make it feel like your client is the one who is being treated unfairly. They're not an unsympathetic wrongdoer who you can punish without personal moral stain - they're a loving spouse, a parent of three adorable children, they have a really cute puppy, they donate to charity, they're a wonderful conversationalist, a kind friend, etc etc. All those things can also be true of people who do terrible things, but thinking about them defuses that White Hot Core by making us sympathize with the sympathetic parts of them.

This is incredibly well-understood in fiction. It's the whole reason the tropes Kick The Dog and Pet The Dog exist. When you want the audience to root for a character's destruction, leave aside any of their potential quiet moments of sympathy - their tragic backstory, their cute pet, their adorable relationship with their mom - and instead show them going out of their way to commit some minor act of petty cruelty, say Kicking The Dog. The audience will infer that this badness is 24/7 and they have no reason to curb their enthusiasm for Righteous Vengeance. But if the writer wants the audience to see a spark of good in them, to sympathize, to believe they can be redeemed, they'll highlight one of those small moments of charming kindness, and allow them to Pet The Dog instead.

Neither of these acts, in the grand scale, have any bearing on the morality of this person's actions. A pet dog doesn't counterbalance a razed village; a kicked dog doesn't negate a generous contribution to the local soup kitchen. Goodness and badness is not a linear scale added or subtracted to by opposing deeds. BUT showing them to an audience reframes them narratively, and THAT is what shapes the judgment of the White Hot Burning Core. In the space of fiction, this form of bottom-shelf emotional manipulation is one of the cleanest ways to get the audience to root for the messy destruction of what is ostensibly, in the universe of the fiction, a wholly complex and living person who definitely has reasons for everything they've done, even ones that could be framed sympathetically when shown.

Meanwhile, in the real world, ethics are an attempt to judge what is best in a given situation without trusting the White Hot Burning Core to make the call, no matter how compelling "but it would feel really good though" might seem. They try to give someone perspective, context, other priorities to consider. The White Hot Burning Core might want you to rip someone's arms off for driving slow when you've got important places to be, but Ethics can present a number of compelling reasons not to do that - even if it's just "ripping their arms off will definitely make me even more late." And yes, this can be a balance of Selfishness Vs Selflessness. You are one of the people whose wellbeing ethics is designed to make you prioritize improving even if it feels weird, and when all other things are equal, your own health and happiness can be the deciding factor. In a world with an overarching Moral Force that weighs the goodness of your soul by sifting through every grain of action and intent seeking negativity to punish you for, absolute selflessness to the point of self destruction would still probably be seen as Morally Wrong, simply because the universe is a better place with you in it trying your best.

Anyway, if doing the right thing was simple, easy and painless, we probably wouldn't have so many thousands of years of arguing about what it looks like. Good luck out there everybody 👍

[onlyforwoosan]

Heat Of The Night—✦

Pairing: Park Seonghwa (Racer!AU) × Female Reader (established relationship)

Wordcount: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brutal rivalry. A high-speed race. And Seonghwa, who’ll stop at nothing to win — including fucking you in the front seat while the world watches.

Genre: Smut, Enemies / rival tension, Dark romance, Racer!AU

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Public sex in a moving vehicle (during a literal race), Semi-exhibitionism (tinted windows), Fighting / violence, Blood mention, Possessive / dominant behavior, Praise & degradation mix

The night smelled like oil, concrete, and something sour—something violent waiting to happen.

The empty parking garage echoed with every footstep, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead stuttering and humming like they might give out at any second. It was the kind of place people pretended didn’t exist, a dead space between the city’s shiny surfaces.

Seonghwa stood under one of the flickering lights, head low, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His black jacket clung to him, rain still dripping from the hem. He looked calm from a distance, still, controlled.

But up close, the storm in his eyes was undeniable. He was pissed. 

Across from him, His rival, Minjun, leaned lazily against a cracked pillar, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He looked untouched by the cold, by the hour, by the threat that hung thick in the air between them.

"You came," Minjun said, voice carrying easily in the emptiness. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans, casual, cocky. Like, this was a joke. Seonghwa wasn't having any of it. 

"You called," Seonghwa answered flatly. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The promise of violence was put into every word.

Minjun chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Man... all this for a girl?" His hair was dripping a little. 

At the mention of you, something shifted behind Seonghwa’s eyes — a barely contained rage, flashing like lightning just before it strikes. You were his. 

"You really think you’re untouchable, don’t you?" Minjun pushed off the pillar, walking a slow circle around him. "Big man behind the wheel. Big man when she’s looking at you like you hung the goddamn stars."

“You don't even know. Shes mine, for fucks sake.” Seonghwa snarled. He was irritated that the younger would even dare to mention you. 

The black haired boy just scoffed. “Probablys a slut for you. A whore if i may add.” He snickered. The taller was this close to killing him. “Chill, dude. She's only hung for you.”

He paused, letting the words sink in before he dropped the real poison:

"But what happens when you can’t get to her fast enough, Hwa?"

Seonghwa moved before the last syllable even hit the air.

He was on Minjun in a breath, fists slamming into him with the brutal precision of someone who wasn’t just angry — someone who was fighting for blood.

The first punch made a crackling sound against Minjun’s jaw, sending him stumbling back, but Seonghwa didn’t let up. A second hit, cleaner, harder, broke across Minjun’s nose with a wet snap.

Minjun cursed, stumbling, blood gushing between his fingers as he clutched his face.

"You touch her," Seonghwa growled, voice rough and lethal, "and I’ll fucking bury you myself."

Minjun spat blood onto the concrete and laughed — a low, ugly sound that scraped at Seonghwa’s ears and made his eye twitch.

"You’re already losing, Seonghwa. You just don’t see it yet."

He lunged then, slashing his nails across Seonghwa’s cheek, drawing a sharp line of red liquid. The sting barely registered.

Seonghwa grabbed him by the jacket, slamming him into the pillar with enough force to rattle the crumbling structure.

"I’m not losing anything," Seonghwa snarled, nose inches from Minjun’s. His hand tightened around Minjun’s throat for just a second — not enough to choke, but enough to make the threat clear.

Minjun coughed, grinning through bloody teeth.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Seonghwa’s fist slammed into his gut once more for good measure before he shoved him down onto the filthy concrete.

Minjun stayed down this time, laughing weakly.

Seonghwa staggered back, breathing hard, the adrenaline crashing through his veins like wildfire. His knuckles were split open, thick warmth dripping down onto the floor in slow, heavy drops.

He glanced down at himself — blood on his hands, blood on his jacket, the thin sting of the scratch across his face starting to throb.

Good. Let him bleed a little.. It was better than letting the rage rot him from the inside out.

Without another word, Seonghwa turned and stalked toward the open side of the garage, the cold rain slicing across his face the second he stepped outside. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to.

Minjun’s words followed him into the night anyway:

"You’ll crash, Seonghwa. And when you do... I'll take everything you love."

The door creaked shut behind him.

Seonghwa shoved his hood over his head, jaw tight, vision tunneling in on one thing — getting to you.

It was nearly 11 PM when you heard the soft click of the front door.

You barely glanced up at first, curled into the far corner of the couch, your phone glowing in your hand, the low hum of the TV playing some forgettable late-night show. You had been waiting for him. You always waited for him.

The second you looked up, though, everything inside you stilled.

Seonghwa stood in the doorway, soaked from the rain, hood falling back to reveal the shock of his dyed white hair — only now, it wasn’t just rain dripping from him. There was blood. On his shirt. Spattered in thin, dark smears across the collar. A few bits in his hair, even a faint smear along the sharp cut of his cheekbone. His fists were still clenched tight, the skin across his knuckles cracked and were scraped.

You dropped your phone immediately, eyes wide open. Oh god.. You thought.

“Hwa—” you gasped, scooting down off the couch. You were only wearing a pair of thin sleep shorts and a tiny cami top, the cold air instantly biting at your skin, but you didn’t even feel it.

You rushed to him, arms half-reaching — but you stopped short just inches away when your eyes caught the state he was in.

Your heart twisted painfully.  "Baby... what the hell happened?" you whispered, eyes scanning every inch of him.

Seonghwa shook his head once, slow, deliberate.  "Nothing," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine, angel."

You frowned deeper, stepping closer despite his warning. He smelled like rain, blood, and concrete. The sharp scent clung to him like a second skin.

"You’re bleeding," you pointed out, voice shaking a little despite your effort to stay calm. "And that—" you reached up, gently brushing a finger against the blood-stained strands of his hair, "—doesn’t happen from 'nothing.'"

He exhaled hard through his nose, body stiff as a wire. "It's over. I handled it."

You crossed your arms over your chest — the movement “accidentally” pressing your breasts together under the thin fabric of your cami top, but you were too worried to even notice the way his eyes flickered down, then quickly away.

"Hwa..." you said more firmly, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Please. Just tell me."

For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

Then his shoulders sagged the tiniest bit — like he couldn’t bear the weight anymore.

"Minjun," he muttered, voice rough, bitter.

Your stomach dropped.

"What did he do now?"

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched again, remembering what had happened earlier, the muscle ticking visibly. His fists were still tight at his sides, liquid dripping slowly down the curve of his hand.

"He made it about you," he said tightly. "Threatened you."

A beat of silence. The world tilted slightly around you.

Your hands moved before you even thought about it — gently, carefully, you reached up and cradled his bruised face between your palms. His skin was cold from the rain, but under your touch, you could feel the barely-contained fire.

You leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

It wasn’t a fiery kiss, it wasn’t desperate, just a grounding touch. A silent I'm here, you're not alone.

Seonghwa let out a shaky breath against your mouth, and for a second, all the fight drained out of him.

When you pulled back, you caught his hand, cold, bloodied, and laced your fingers through his without hesitation.

"C'mon," you murmured, giving a soft tug. "Let's clean you up."

You led him wordlessly down the short hallway into your shared bedroom, the rain still pattering softly against the windows outside. The room smelled like home, like you. It softened the hard lines of his body just a little as he followed you into the attached bathroom.

You flipped on the light.

The harsh, bright glow revealed every ugly detail — the split across his lip, the faint swelling at his cheekbone, the angry red scratch along his jaw. Blood smeared across the collar of his jacket, staining the fabric dark and rust-colored.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the sting of emotion rising in your throat.

Seonghwa sat heavily on the edge of the bathtub, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His head dropped back against the wall, white hair splaying messily across the tile, eyes closing like he was exhausted.

You pulled open the cabinet under the sink, grabbing the first aid kit with shaking hands. When you turned back, he was watching you — eyes dark, hooded, tracking every movement.

Wordlessly, you knelt between his knees.

The first wet cloth you pressed to his split lip made him hiss quietly. His thighs tensed under your hands, his fingers twitching against the edge of the tub.

"You’re such an idiot sometimes," you whispered, voice thick.

He smiled — just a little. That lazy, crooked grin that always made you feel like gravity didn’t work right when he looked at you.

"Yeah," he murmured. "But you love me anyway."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already breaking for him.

As you worked — cleaning the blood from his face, wiping the mess from his hair, carefully bandaging his knuckles — the silence between you softened. Seonghwa didn’t protest. Didn’t move away. He just watched you with something raw in his expression, something unguarded.

When you finished, you leaned back on your heels, studying him.

He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Dangerous.

And he was yours.

All yours.

Without a word, he reached forward, threading his fingers through your hair, tugging you gently closer until you were between his knees again, pressed against his chest.

"Thank you," he whispered against your forehead.

You squeezed him tighter, feeling the wild thundering of his heart under your palms.

“Of course, Seong.” You muttered and smiled as you ran your fingers through his semi damp hair. “I love you..”

“I love you more, sweet girl.” He says back.

“Now go take a shower so we can cuddle after.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes at your words.

A few days passed, it was race day. The garage buzzed with noise and energy.

Wrenches clanked against metal, compressors hissed as tires were checked and rechecked, and the heavy scent of gasoline clung to the thick morning air. Seonghwa stood by his car, a sleek, deadly machine of bright pink with the number 3 and a silver star emblazoned across the hood — arms crossed over his chest, black racing suit already half-zipped up.

"Pressure’s running a little high in the front right," one of the mechanics called, crouched down near the tire. "You want it stiffer for the turns or softer for the straightaways?"

Seonghwa crouched down next to him, one knee on the ground, scanning the gauge with a practiced eye. "Softer," he said, tapping the rim of the tire. "She’s light on her feet already. I want her to glide through the pack, not fight it."

The mechanic nodded, grinning.  "You’re the boss, Park. Pink star’s gonna fly today, huh?"

Seonghwa allowed a rare, sharp smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. "She always does."

He stood back up, wiping his hands on a rag, glancing over the rest of the crew making the final tweaks to the engine and fins.

He was just starting to mentally settle into race mode when he felt it.. A tap, sharp and deliberate, on his shoulder.

Turning around, his stomach coiled instantly at the sight.

Minjun stood there, fully suited up, helmet tucked under his arm, smirk stretched wide across his face like he was enjoying some private joke.

"Fancy seeing you here, Park," Minjun drawled, voice slick with mockery.

Seonghwa's smile disappeared. His entire body tensed, fists twitching at his sides, the vivid memory of the blood on his hands, the concrete under his boots flashing through his mind like gunfire.

Minjun only laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Relax. Wouldn't want your pretty little girl to see you lose your cool."

Seonghwa snarled low in his throat — a sound barely human — but before he could make a move, Minjun was already slipping away into the maze of racers and cars, his laughter trailing behind him like smoke.

Seonghwa stood still for a second, breathing hard through his nose, forcing the rage back down into his chest where it could simmer.

Not here. Not now.

Focus.

The minutes until the race start ticked by fast.

Seonghwa walked through the maze of engines and bodies, sharp-eyed, searching. And then — like the world sharpened into color — he saw you.

You were standing near the gate leading up to the stands, your hair pulled back loosely, wearing his jacket over your casual clothes. You looked soft and out of place among the metal and fumes, and yet somehow, you fit perfectly.

Before you could slip away toward the stairs, Seonghwa caught up to you, grabbing your hand gently but urgently.

"Ride with me," he said, low and serious.

You blinked, startled. "Hwa... that’s not—" "I know," he cut in quickly. "It’s not allowed. I know."

You glanced nervously around — mechanics, other racers, officials milling nearby. "Someone’s gonna notice."

"They won’t," he said, stepping closer, crowding into your space until your heart stuttered. His hand slid around your waist, tugging you just a little closer, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmured, "Windows are fully tinted. Nobody will see. And the crew—" he glanced over his shoulder briefly, "—they won’t say shit. They’re with me."

You opened your mouth to protest again, but he cut you off with a look — that intense, smoldering gaze that made your knees go weak every damn time.

"Please," he said, voice rough, almost desperate now. "I need you with me."

Your heart twisted painfully.

You could see it… The way his hands were tense, the way he wasn’t just asking to be reckless — he needed to anchor himself to 

You swallowed hard. "...Fine," you whispered.

His entire body relaxed for a half-second, pure relief flickering across his face.

Before you could change your mind, he tangled his hand with your hand again and led you back toward his car, weaving between the busy mechanics and racers like a thief sneaking away with stolen treasure.

At the sleek pink car, he threw open the passenger-side door with a flourish, holding it open for you like it was a damn royal carriage.

You bit your lip, nerves sparking under your skin, but you climbed in, the sleek black leather cold against your thighs.

Seonghwa slipped into the driver’s seat a second later, pulling the door shut behind him.

Inside, the car smelled like leather, smoke, and him — dark, electric, dangerous. The tinted windows wrapped you both in a bubble of secrecy.

Seonghwa turned to you, one hand already sliding over your thigh, possessive and grounding at once.

And as the chaos of race day rumbled outside, Seonghwa grinned — slow and wicked — and leaned closer, whispering against your lips:

"You’re mine now. All race long."

The engine purred beneath you, vibrating through the seat, through your body.

Seonghwa rolled the car up to the starting line, the slick pink paint gleaming under the brutal track lights. Beyond the tinted windows, the other racers were lined up, engines snarling and growling in the tense pre-race silence.

Inside the car, it was almost eerily still.

You shifted in your seat, nervous energy buzzing under your skin. Your legs bounced slightly, and you twisted your hands in your lap, trying to settle the storm inside you.

Three minutes to race start.

You glanced over at Seonghwa, only to find him already looking at you.

Something dark and hungry burned in his eyes, his lips twitching like he was barely holding back a grin.

"You’re antsy, Sweetie," he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

You swallowed, trying to laugh it off,  but before you could, he leaned a little closer and said:

"Ride me while I drive."

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

"What the fuck—" you blurted, face heating instantly. "You’re fucking crazy, Seonghwa!"

He chuckled — deep, rough, unchanged. Like he had all the time in the world to destroy you.

"Windows are tinted, angel," he reminded you smoothly, reaching out and running his fingers up your bare thigh, his touch making you shiver. "No one will see. No one will know. Just you and me." His hand slipped higher, just barely brushing the edge of your skirt, teasing. "You've thought about it before... haven’t you?" he added, voice dropping a shade darker.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because God help you, he was right.

Some stupid part of you had wondered what it would be like. The rush. The danger. The pure insanity of fucking him at full speed.  But you’d never dreamed he would ask.

"Seonghwa," you stammered, legs pressing together instinctively. "I– I don’t know if—"

He turned fully toward you, eyes black with need. His hand found yours, squeezing tight.

"Trust me," he said, rough and earnest. "I’ll keep you safe."

You hesitated for half a heartbeat. And then you let out the tiniest whimper, nodding once, your body betraying you.

Seonghwa’s grin broke across his face, wicked and victorious. "Good girl," he breathed.

The announcer's voice crackled over the loudspeakers:

"One minute until race start! Racers, get ready!"

Everything sped up.

Seonghwa leaned back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other already tugging down the zipper of his black racing suit, shifting his boxers enough to free himself. You caught a glimpse.. flushed, thick, already hard for you. Your our cheeks burned hotter.

"Hurry, angel," he urged, voice taut with adrenaline. His cock twitched a bit.

Heart hammering, you scrambled out of your seat and straddled his lap, your knees digging into the sleek leather seat on either side of him. Your short skirt bunched up instantly. No modesty left, not here, not now.

Seonghwa growled low in his throat as he slid his hands under the skirt, gripping your hips, rough and possessive. He found your panties, yanked them aside with a quick, practiced move, and paused, just for a second.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured against your lips.

You nodded desperately, clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into the fabric of his suit.

Another second passed, and then Seonghwa lined himself up, his hand firm on your waist.

The announcer started counting down:

"Ten."

Seonghwa thrust up just slightly, the tip brushing against you — so hot and achingly hard that you nearly cried out. “Hngh!-”

"Nine."

He grinned darkly at the way your body shivered, every nerve ending sparking.

"Eight."

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

"Seven."

Without warning, he pulled you down onto him — hard and deep.

You gasped, a choked sound bursting from your throat, your hands flying to his chest for balance.

Seonghwa groaned low in his chest, his forehead pressing against yours as he filled you completely, the stretch burning and perfect.

"Six."

He revved the engine, the growl of the car masking the broken sounds slipping from your lips.

"Five."

He shifted under you, adjusting his grip on the wheel — and then gave a slow, brutal roll of his hips that made your vision blur.

"Four."

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his suit, desperately clinging to him as you fought the urge to moan his name.

"Three."

He kissed you — messy, teeth clashing, claiming you all over again.

"Two."

The car vibrated harder, the tension unbearable.

"One."

The starting gun fired, and Seonghwa hit the gas. You were already riding him as the car shot forward, the world outside the tinted windows blurring into neon and smoke.

And deep inside the chaos, Seonghwa laughed low against your ear and whispered:

"Hold on tight, baby. We’re just getting started."

The tires screamed as Seonghwa floored the gas, and the car shot forward with brutal force.

You barely managed to choke down a gasp, the speed slamming your body harder against his chest. The harness that should've been holding you down was tangled around your thighs instead, abandoned in your reckless need to have him, to feel him, and every sharp lurch of the car made him shift deeper inside you.

Seonghwa didn’t flinch. One hand clamped firmly on the wheel, cool and in control — The other tight on your hip, grounding you, steering your body like he steered the car.

He didn’t look at you when he growled, voice low and dark:

"Bounce."

Your brain barely processed the word.

You were still dizzy from the feel of him stretching you open, still reeling from the way he'd filled you so deep, so fast. The world outside was a blur — engines roaring, neon lights whipping past — but inside this car, the heat between you could’ve set the whole track on fire.

You hesitated, thighs trembling on either side of him. "Seonghwa, I—"  Your voice cracked.

He squeezed your hip harder, almost bruising, dragging you flush down on him, making you whimper helplessly.

"I said bounce, love."

Rough. Commanding. Unforgiving.

You shivered because you loved that tone.  You loved it when he stripped you down to nothing but instinct.

With a shaky breath, you lifted yourself slowly — thighs burning, your hands clutching at the collar of his suit for leverage — and sank back down onto him.

The friction was blinding. The stretch, the depth, the filthy wet squelch of your body taking him in made heat crawl up your chest.

Seonghwa let out a low groan, head tilting back slightly.

"That's it…" he rasped. "Just like that. Fuck— ride me..  baby. Don't stop."

The car weaved through traffic effortlessly, one hand steering, one hand guiding you ruthlessly on his cock.

You started bouncing properly now — desperate little lifts and drops, every downward motion driving him deeper, harder, hitting spots that made your head spin.

"Fuck, Hwa—" you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. "I can't—" Your tits moved with you as you bounced. The man swore this was the hottest fucking sight hes ever seen. 

"You can," he grunted, eyes flashing dangerously as he flicked a glance at you. "You’re my good girl. You’ll take e- everything I give you."

You whimpered, helpless against the intensity in his voice.

Sweat beaded on your forehead, your skin slick against his. The tiny cami you wore clung to your chest, nipples hard and rubbing against the thin fabric, the sensation making you squirm even harder.

“A- ah.. S’deep S- seong..”

Every bounce sent shockwaves through your body — thighs burning, clit throbbing, overstimulated from the roughness and the speed.

The car jerked slightly as Seonghwa pulled a sharp turn, and you cried out, falling forward against him, your forehead pressing against the sweaty line of his throat.

He laughed — low and wicked — and shifted the hand on your hip lower, slipping between your bodies until his fingers found your clit.

He rubbed tight, brutal circles, making you jolt and sob.

"T- that’s it, baby," he growled, voice in a strained pant now. "Make a mess on me."

Your body was a disaster — shaking, leaking, clenching around him desperately with every roll of his hips. You barely realized how hard you were grinding on him now, chasing your release with raw, frantic little bounces that made filthy wet sounds between you every time he bottomed out inside you.

"You hear that?" he whispered in your ear, voice wrecked. "That's you, fucking dripping all over me. Fuckin’ slut.."

You whined brokenly — it was too much. “A- all yours!” You threw your head back, one of your hands gripping your boyfriend's shoulder, the other pinching your hardened nipple.

You were so full, so fucked-out, and it only got worse when Seonghwa slipped two fingers down lower — teasing your stretched entrance while still fucking into you deep.

"Seonghwa—" you choked.

He just laughed darkly again, pulling his fingers back and spreading the wetness up across your clit again, rubbing you even faster, even harder.

He took your other breast in your mouth, sucking harshly like a goddamn baby desperate for its mommys milk. You let out a mewl.

The car shot forward again — faster now — and you realized he wasn’t slowing down at all. 

He was going to win this race while buried inside you. While fucking you raw in front of everyone.

The thought made you tighten around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips jerking up into you violently.

He let go of your nipple with a pop sound. Spit connecting from his lip to your red bud. "Shit, baby— g- gonna make me cum inside you if you keep doing that," he snarled, voice wrecked.

You moaned helplessly, nodding against him, needing it, needing him. Your thighs trembled violently now, every nerve in your body firing off at once.

Seonghwa leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear:

"C- cum for me again. Now."

The command broke you.

You shuddered around him with a sob, your body locking up, nails raking down his back as your orgasm slammed into you like a punch to the gut.

Seonghwa hissed through his teeth, feeling you milk his cock, squeezing so tight he almost lost it right then.

“H- hngh- Hwa!”

He shifted the car one-handed — cool as ice — and slammed his hips up into you harder, rougher, chasing his own finish line.

"Fuck— fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his voice getting sloppier now, the control finally cracking.

You whimpered at how deep he was, how thick he felt inside you, how messy you were getting — your inner thighs sticky, his cock slick with both your releases mixing with every brutal thrust.

He grabbed your ass with both hands now, bouncing you on him harder, almost savage, using you to get himself off while the car screamed across the track.

"Take it," he growled. "Fucking take it."

You cried out, legs barely working, body collapsing into him fully, trusting him to do whatever he wanted with you.

He was close — you could feel it. “Sh– shit.. So t– tight.”

The way his breath hitched. The way his hips stuttered up into you. The way his fingers dug even harder into your thighs, bruising, desperate.

"Mine," he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder. "You’re mine. Gonna fill you up — fuck, gonna make you so messy."

You nodded frantically, moaning into his neck, needing it, needing him to ruin you completely.

With one last brutal thrust up into you, Seonghwa growled brokenly and came — deep, thick, filling you so much you gasped, feeling it leak out around him instantly.

He didn't stop.

He fucked you through it, dragging you down on him again and again, stuffing his cum deeper inside you, not caring about the wet, filthy mess soaking into the leather seat. His hand went back on the steering wheel.

Outside the windows, the checkered flag waved.

Seonghwa let out a shaky, wrecked laugh, his arms still locked around you tightly.

"First place, baby," he whispered against your sweaty neck. "You helped me win."

You could barely breathe.

You were trembling, your muscles spasming, your pussy still fluttering around his softening cock buried deep inside you.

The car coasted into the winner’s circle — And you were still in his lap, stuffed full, a sticky, wrecked mess against him.

Seonghwa pressed a kiss to your temple, so soft compared to the wreckage of your bodies.

"You okay?" he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your damp face.

You nodded weakly, smiling a little, dizzy with aftershocks.

He chuckled again, that low, dangerous sound.

"Good," he said, sliding his hand down to cup between your thighs — feeling the mess he made, feeling you shudder against him.

"Because when we get home…" he murmured darkly,

"I’m not stopping until you’re crying my name."

The crowd’s roar still echoed faintly outside the garage as Seonghwa pulled the pink race car into his designated spot.

You both sat there for a second, catching your breath — the engine ticking hot beneath you, the windows fogged slightly from the heat between your bodies.

Seonghwa gave a low, satisfied chuckle under his breath.

"Fans sound happy," he murmured, reaching across the seat to grab a bundle of towels from the glove box — clearly prepared for chaos like this. You flushed hot, face burning as he tugged your ruined panties back into place and carefully wiped the mess between your trembling thighs. His touch was oddly tender, almost reverent, like he was proud of the disaster he'd made out of you.

"Little messy, baby," he teased, smirking as he swiped the towel over his own lap, tucking himself back into his racing suit without shame. He balled up the towel — now clearly stained with streaks of white — and tossed it casually into the backseat.

You stared at it, mortified.

"Hwa—" you hissed, cheeks flaming. "You can't just—"

He grinned wider, unbothered. "The mechanics'll clean it. They won't care." He reached over, flicking your forehead playfully. "Besides... kinda like knowing my mess is all over this car."

You hid your face in your hands, groaning, and he just laughed again — low, rough, still riding the high of the win and the wickedness.

Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep, dusky purples and blues. The stadium lights cast long shadows across the garage as Seonghwa climbed out of the car, moving around to your side.

You opened the door yourself — or tried to — but your legs buckled immediately, still weak from how hard he'd used you.

Seonghwa caught you easily, one arm hooking under your knees, the other steadying your back.

"Still wobbly, angel?" he teased, voice low near your ear.

You buried your face in his shoulder, too embarrassed to answer.

With no effort at all, he lifted you up into his arms and carried you across the lot toward his other car — a sleek black one parked a little ways off.

He set you carefully into the passenger seat, brushing a kiss across your forehead, then your mouth, soft and grounding.

"I'll be right back," he promised. "Don’t move."

You nodded dumbly, heart thudding as you watched him jog back across the lot toward his pit crew.

The fans were still screaming his name beyond the fence. Seonghwa raised a hand, casually waving at them — that cocky, dangerous smirk still tugging at his mouth.

You could see his crew gathering around, clapping him on the back, handing him a heavy silver trophy.

One of the mechanics — a young guy with grease on his sleeves — caught sight of the towel Seonghwa had tossed into the racecar.

He burst out laughing, nudging one of the others and whispering something that made them all snicker.

Seonghwa just laughed along, completely shameless, grabbing the trophy and slinging it over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

But then A different figure broke away from the shadows near the loading docks.

Minjun.

And he wasn’t alone.. a few of his cronies trailing behind him like a pack of hyenas.

Seonghwa stiffened when he spotted them, but didn’t break stride, just kept walking toward you.

Until Minjun stepped directly into his path.

"Congrats on the win, Park," Minjun drawled, fake-friendly.

Seonghwa didn't answer. His jaw flexed once — dangerously — but he kept walking, eyes locked on you, waiting patiently in the car.

Minjun fell into step beside him, chuckling darkly.

"Tell me," he murmured under his breath, voice dripping with venom. "Did you have little Y/N riding you while you raced?"

Seonghwa stopped dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned to face Minjun fully — body language pure, lethal, calm.

Without a word, he slammed his fist into Minjun’s jaw — a brutal, savage hit that dropped him to the concrete with a satisfying crack.

The crew scattered instantly, a few of them cursing and backing away, clearly wanting no part in it.

Minjun groaned, spitting blood onto the ground.

Seonghwa crouched low, grabbing the front of his jacket and hauling him up to eye level.

Voice low, razor-sharp, he whispered:

"Next time you say her name with that mouth, I'll break your jaw so bad you’ll be sipping through a straw for the rest of your fucking life."

Minjun gurgled something unintelligible, his hands scrambling to push Seonghwa off.

Seonghwa shoved him back down hard, standing tall and dangerous as Minjun's crew scrambled to pull him away.

"Come back, you cowards!" Minjun bellowed as his lackeys bolted toward the lot exit, leaving him cursing and bleeding alone.

Seonghwa didn’t even spare him another glance.

He just turned on his heel, wiped the blood from his knuckles on his jacket, and headed back toward you.

When he slid into the driver’s seat beside you, he was breathing hard — chest rising and falling under the open collar of his jacket.

You blinked, taking in the sweat, the new streak of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"...Hwa," you sighed, exasperated, spotting the crimson stain smudged across the sleeve of his jacket.

He followed your gaze, then just smirked — that same devil-may-care grin he always wore after he wrecked someone for you.

"You should see the other guy," he said casually, buckling his seatbelt with a little grunt of effort.

You rolled your eyes hard, but your heart twisted painfully in your chest — because under all that reckless bravado, you knew why he did it. Why he always did it.

Seonghwa turned the ignition, the engine of the black car purring to life, and threw an arm casually over the back of your seat, looking both ways before pulling out.

"You know," he said after a beat, glancing over at you with a crooked grin, "one day you're gonna realize... I'd tear down the whole goddamn world if it meant keeping you safe."

The night swallowed you both whole as he drove you away — the city lights blurring past, the blood on his hands cooling — But the fire between you never fades.

[wheresarizona]

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.”

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?”

“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.”

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.”

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.”

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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[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 18

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando was exhausted. His body ached, the post-race adrenaline long gone, and his head was still spinning from the chaos of the last few hours. But the moment he spotted Lizzie waiting just outside the McLaren motorhome, arms crossed, wearing his hoodie, none of that mattered.

She grinned the second she saw him. “Podium at home,” she said, stepping closer. “You looked good up there.”

Lando let out a breath, shaking his head. “Felt like I could’ve done better.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You stood next to Max and Lewis on the podium at Silverstone, Lando. Take the win.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fine. But only because you said so.”

She smirked. “Good, Pretty Boy.”

He groaned, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep me around," she teased him before growing serious. "I’m proud of you.” Her voice was softer now, meant just for him.

His chest went tight in the best way, and he wanted nothing more than to stand there forever. But the media was still prowling, and he knew the longer they lingered, the more likely someone would shove a camera in Lizzie’s face, and he was not in the mood for that.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist as they turned toward the parking lot.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional burst of radio chatter as their driver navigated through the post-race traffic. Lizzie rested her head against the seat, fingers absently playing with the sleeve of Lando’s hoodie that she’d stolen earlier.

Lando found himself stealing glances at her while she wasn't looking, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the urge to blurt out what had been on his mind all day. The closer they got to privacy, the more his thoughts swirled.

It wasn’t until they were halfway there that he finally exhaled and said, “You won’t believe the absolute bullshit they asked me in the post-race presser.”

Lizzie hummed. “Oh, I have a guess,” she said drily, one hand absentmindedly petting Mara. 

That gave him pause. He turned his head to look at her. “Wait, you’re not surprised?”

She sighed, shifting so she could meet his gaze. “Lando, people like that always think disability is a burden. They just don’t usually say it out loud where it gets recorded.”

Lando had never wanted to throw a journalist into a wall more in his life.

His grip tightened on the seam of his race suit. “Well, they did say it out loud. And I told them they were full of shit.”

Lizzie’s mouth twitched. “I’d have paid money to see Max and Lewis’s faces.”

“Oh, Max looked like he was gonna throw a chair,” Lando said. “Lewis just did that thing where he got all quiet and disappointed, which somehow made it worse.”

Lizzie chuckled, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was trying to brush it off. Like this was just another part of life she had to accept.

It made him sick.

When they got to the hotel, Lando kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, tugging Lizzie down beside him. She curled into his side without hesitation, their bodies fitting together easily.

For a while, they just lay there. Lando traced patterns on her back, letting the post-race exhaustion settle over him. Lizzie’s breathing evened out, her fingers lightly resting on his stomach.

Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he reached for his phone.

And immediately regretted it.

Fuck, he hadn’t expected this.

The internet was a fucking warzone.

The clip of the interview had already gone viral. His own words were plastered across Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—everywhere. Some people were defending him, but far, far too many were twisting it into something else entirely.

He scrolled past comments that made his blood turn to ice.

“He’s just saying that because he has to.” “Epilepsy is a liability. He’ll figure that out eventually.” “Lando should focus on racing, not playing nurse.” “They won’t last.” “Imagine risking a career over some disabled chick.”

“She’s a liability.” “No way this lasts.” “Epilepsy is a burden. She’s holding him back.” “He’s just saying that because he has to.” “F1 drivers should date models, not disabled girls.”

Lando’s stomach churned. He kept scrolling, seeing more and more of it.

Then he started seeing things from before the interview.

People digging through Lizzie’s old posts. Analyzing her seizures. Mocking her service dog. Even accusing her of faking it for attention.

“She plays it up for sympathy.” “She knew what she was getting into dating an F1 driver, she shouldn’t complain.” “She’s so dramatic about it.”

Lando barely registered that he’d started shaking.

“Lando.” Lizzie’s voice was quiet but firm. “Stop.”

He blinked, realizing his breathing had gone shallow.

Lizzie was sitting up now, watching him carefully. “Give me your phone.”

He clenched his jaw. “No.”

“Lando.”

His fingers curled around the device. “Liz, this is—it’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t—” He cut himself off, because of course she did. Of course, she’d seen this before. Dealt with it before. Probably expected it.

“I already know exactly what you’re reading,” she said plainly. “I’ve seen worse.”

That was somehow worse.

“I just—I don’t get how people can be so fucking cruel,” he muttered, voice raw.

Lizzie sighed, reaching out to take his hand. “They don’t see me as a person,” she said simply. “They see me as an inconvenience.”

He swallowed hard. “I should say something.”

���You already did.”

“Not enough.”

Lizzie gave him a soft, tired smile. “I love you. But you can’t fight every battle, Lando.”

He exhaled slowly. “Watch me.”

“Lando.” Lizzie’s voice was sharp now. But not to him.

She was watching him with steady eyes, expression serious. “You don’t need to fight this battle.”

He knew that tone. She was digging in her heels, refusing to let him push himself to the edge.

“You’re wrong.”

She arched a brow.

He clenched his jaw. “This is bullshit, Liz. I can’t just—” He cut himself off, a strangled sound caught in his chest.

 “You said what mattered, Lando. The people who get it heard you.”

He swallowed hard, searching her face. “I just— I hate that you have to deal with this.”

“I know,” she said again, squeezing his hand. “But I also know that I have you. And that means more than anything some faceless idiot online could ever say.”

***

***

Lizzie had been expecting the backlash.

She had known what the internet would say after Silverstone. People had always found ways to turn her epilepsy into some kind of burden, like it was something Lando had to suffer through instead of something she had lived with her entire life.

But she hadn't expected this...this amount...

She had woken up before Lando, slipping out of the bed to go the bathroom, swiping her phone on the way...

She opened Twitter while brushing her teeth.

When she saw the hate, she wasn't surprised.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. The words were still there, every slur, every insult, every snide comment about Lando being too good for her.

There were even worse things. Comments about the seizures, like the internet hadn’t decided to try and diagnose her enough times already.

But then—then she saw the thread.

She should have stopped reading after the first tweet. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t just speculation or people overstepping—it was surgical. Precise, methodical, cruel. Someone had gone deep, pulling up information she hadn’t even known was online. Her mother’s name. Her stepfather’s Facebook. The names and birthdates of her half-siblings—kids she had never met, would likely never meet.

Her vision blurred as she stared at the attached screenshot. An old Facebook post. A woman who looked so much like the mother she barely remembered, but older. A man beside her, his arm around her waist. And a baby in her arms.

The caption read: Our little family is growing.

Lizzie felt like she had been punched in the gut.

Little family.

She scrolled down further, her stomach sinking as she found another post. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Tagged with the names of people she had never heard of.

Her mother hadn’t just left.

She had started over. Had more kids. Had a whole new family.

And never once—not once—had she reached out.

A shaky breath left Lizzie’s lips.

Her mother’s new family. The one she had built without her. The life she had constructed, brick by brick, while leaving Lizzie and her dad behind like they had been a mistake she needed to erase.

Lizzie felt something sink inside her, deep and heavy.

And then she got to the comments.

"Lando deserves someone healthy.""She’s just going to be a burden.""You really think he’s going to stay with her forever?""He’s young, rich, and famous. Why would he settle for this?"

Her hands were shaking. Not from anger—though she should have been angry—but from something colder. Something sharper.

Because this wasn’t just strangers talking. These were the voices she had spent years trying to silence in her own head. The ones that whispered late at night, when her body ached from the aftershocks of a seizure. When she woke up disoriented, Mara pressed against her side, grounding her, reminding her that she was still here.

The ones that said, What if they’re right?

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at the screen, heart pounding in her chest.

Then—knock knock knock.

“Liz?”

Lando.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands were still trembling. She forced herself to inhale, exhale.

The knock came again, a little firmer. “Lizzie?” His voice was careful. Concerned. “Can you open the door?”

Her fingers barely worked as she reached out, unlocking it.

The second the door opened, Lando was there, his eyes scanning her face, taking in her pale complexion, the way she was gripping the counter like she might collapse. His brows furrowed. “What happened?”

Lizzie swallowed, throat tight. “I—” Her voice wavered.

Lando took a step closer, his concern deepening. “Liz, talk to me.”

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to say it. “My mum left when I was six.”

Lando stilled.

“She—” Lizzie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “She said she couldn’t handle it. That I was too much. My seizures, the hospital visits, all of it.” Her hands curled into fists. “So she left.”

Lando’s jaw clenched.

Lizzie’s breath shuddered out of her. “And now I find out she went and had more kids. That she had no problem being a mother, just not to me.” Her voice broke on the last word. “She replaced me.”

Silence.

Then—warm hands on her arms, grounding her.

“Liz.” Lando’s voice was quiet. Steady. “Look at me.”

She did.

His gaze was steady. Serious. “That is not on you.”

She tried to laugh, but it got caught in her throat. “It sure feels like it.”

His grip tightened—not too much, just enough. Just enough to keep her from floating away. “She made that choice. That has nothing to do with you.”

Lizzie shook her head, throat aching. “I—Lando, I just—I want to go home.”

His expression softened instantly. “Okay,” he said, no hesitation. “Let’s go home.”

Lando didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t press for more details. He just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and said, Let’s go home.

Then he made it happen.

He was on the phone in seconds, making arrangements, calling his team, canceling whatever obligations he still had.

Lizzie sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring blankly at the floor, the phone still clutched in her hand. The thread was still open, her mother’s face frozen on the screen.

She couldn’t look at it anymore.

Her fingers trembled as she locked her phone and set it down.

Mara padded over, putting her head on her knee, staring at Lizzie with deep dark brown eyes. Lizzie swallowed. 

Her thoughts were spiraling, looping around the same things over and over again. She left because of me. She couldn’t handle me. But she could handle them.

A deep inhale. Exhale.

She heard Lando pacing near the window, voice low but firm as he spoke to someone on the phone. “No, we’re leaving right now. I don’t care what the schedule says.” A pause. “Then change it.” Another pause, and then, more clipped, “Figure it out.”

Lizzie glanced up.

His jaw was tight, his eyes dark with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair before finally sighing, rubbing at his temple. “No, I don’t need to be there. I need to be with my girlfriend. Just handle it.”

A beat.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He hung up, exhaling sharply.

His eyes met hers, and some of the tension left his face.  “We’ll be out of here in an hour,” he told her, voice softer now. 

Lizzie nodded. “Thank you.”

Lando crossed the room in a few strides, sitting down beside her on the bed. He didn’t say anything at first—just reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

His grip was warm, steady. Grounding.

Lizzie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Then, quietly, Lando asked, “Are you okay?”

Lizzie hesitated. She wanted to say yes. Wanted to act like she was fine, that this was just another stupid internet thing that she could brush off.

But this wasn’t just that.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Lando’s fingers tightened around hers.

Her voice was quieter when she added, “I think I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Lando nodded, like he understood. Maybe he didn’t fully, but he wanted to, and that was enough.

Lizzie exhaled. “I always thought maybe she’d had a hard time. That maybe she wanted to reach out but just… couldn’t.” A shaky breath. “But she could. She just didn’t.”

Lando’s jaw clenched again. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, gentle. “That’s on her,” he said, voice low but firm. “Not you.”

Lizzie let her head fall onto his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her hair.

They stayed like that for a while.

Eventually, Lando murmured, “Let’s get out of here.”

Lizzie nodded. “Yeah.”

They left the hotel without looking back.

[moonwoodhollow]

Exerzierplatz - a cc lot by moonwoodhollow (feat. The Green Room & the bookshop + a retro corner store)

Exerzierplatz is a building I've been working on for a long time as it was a bit of a trouble-child. I was never satisfied with it and kept thinking that I should scrap it, because of its awkward apartment-floor plans, until I embraced the idea of using it more as a retail/café lot. The result is something I am very satisfied with and I hope it exudes the kind of ~hip/cute neighbourhood~ vibe I'm feeling.

But it's all up to you, how you'll want to use this lot: as a café, a deco lot for your sims-stories (I'd love to see that!!) or as an actual residential building.

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

Building background

Another historical brick building, but I'll spare you the historical background this time because I forgot which real-life building inspired me to create this one, but I can tell you how I got the idea for this building in general! (if you care)

The name Exerzierplatz is a bit misleading if you know any German, as a "Platz" is usually a public square, buildings directly next to a square usually receive the square's name as well with a house number added. The square that inspired me is quite a dismal and empty square with a huge car park, but it got me thinking about what kind of buildings originally might have stood there. The historical context here is post-WW2, which left a lot of cities in ruins. Instead of rebuilding the original structures, some cities opted for a "car-friendly" approach, meaning lots of car parks and wide streets, that nowadays feel over-dimensioned.

Now if I had to pin down an era, in which this kind of building was likely constructed, I'd say the latter of the 19th century. It's likely to be a representative of historicism, or at least has elements from this style.

So what do you get?

Exerzierplatz is a 20x20 build best placed in Windenburg, but I could potentially see it in Britechester as well. The building is partly furnished, which means the whole ground floor is furnished, while the other two floors are left unfurnished.

The ground floor includes a café, a bookshop and a Tante Emma Laden (aka a corner store/delicatessen). All three of them are fully furnished and usable as a café or a retail store. The 2nd and 3rd floors are intended as apartments, but everything's up to you!

Uses items from the following packs: I own almost all packs, so I'd say most of them, but I will update this post once I hop back into game to have a look!

Download: Google Drive (600 MB) | Also up on the gallery: aeromantica (but you’ll need the cc files from the Drive folder!)

Is the CC included? Most is! There's an Excel file with all CC that you'll need to download manually, but it's not many files. Deco Sims are NOT included.

Also a BIG THANK YOU to all the CC-creators, without their creations, I wouldn't have been able to build this!

-> Info: I've included 4 merged files, BUT! I've prepared a little note, about which ones are hard requirements, so it's up to you whether you'll include them.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues (wrong/missing files, etc.) please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the house, I’d love to see it in your games.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Attachment

There's something growing between the two of you- or are you simply growing closer?

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Jungkook's ex wife, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of alcohol abuse, fluff, flirty Jungkook, fluff!!, reader is a bit jumpy, some more lore, smut, slow sex, position changes, mentioned round two, some angy jungkook (but not at reader), some angst in the end but it's all resolved dw

Length: 7.2k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

A/N: I did not proofread this I'm sorry

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"Do you even know where we're going?" Jungkook worries, sitting next to you on the subway, but you just shrug.

"I know how to get back though, that's more important." You simply say, making him even more nervous.

Jungkook isn't used to giving up control like this. He's not used to being spontaneous and just doing things out of the blue because you feel like it. Things have to be structured, planned out and with a Plan B to go with it in case something goes wrong. He's an overthinker, and it shows, as he keeps looking around and asking.

"Just relax. There's a park nearby that I wanna go to. We can get some food close by and just eat it there." You say, and he sighs.

"I'm sorry." He admits, leaning back into the seat to try and relax more.

"Its alright. Most people panic whenever I talk about trips I take." You laugh.

"Do you travel a lot?" He asks, and you shrug.

"Used to. But.. he was more of a homebody. Didn't like staying at hotels." You explain, watching the scenery pass by next to you outside the window. "He kind of ruined it for me because he'd just.. continuously point out flaws in everything." You say, and Jungkook listens quietly. "Flaws that I'd.. overlook most of the time, because, nothing's ever perfect anyways, so why focus on that all the time?" You giggle, looking at him now.

"I'd disagree, but also agree." He chuckles. "There can be perfect things. It's just a matter of perspective, and how it's perceived by someone." He offers. "What's perfect to one might not be for another." Jungkook explains, and you nod.

"Thats the more.. complicated way of explaining it, I guess." You joke.

"I tend to overcomplicate things." He bashfully agrees, making you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

"You'll.. tell me when I get too much, right?" You ask quietly, and he nods, arm wrapping around you as if to reassure.

"I will, don't worry." He reassures you, before he moves to pull your hand up to kiss the back for it-

A gesture that makes you blush, especially from the people around you fawning over it as well.

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He's caught off guard when you walk around in nothing but underwear, visibly unbothered by him seeing you like this.

"Do you.. want to join me?" You ask. "The tub is a bit small but..?" You question, looking over your shoulder at him, who looks oddly unsure. Considering you both have had sex twice now- or more so once, really, it's odd to think that he's like this now. Is it because the nature of your.. whatever it is, has changed?

You're no longer just strangers without any connection. There's something deeper now growing. And maybe that's what's putting him under pressure.

"If you'd like me to." He shrugs.

"Only if you want." You say. "I won't be upset if you say no. I'm a big girl, I can handle rejection." You giggle, and he chuckles as well, smile a bit less tense as before.

"I'm sure you can." He agrees. "Though I'd be stupid to reject." He jokes, getting up to walk closer to you.

"Or simply cautious." You shrug. "Nothing wrong with that." You remind him, but he simply nods, and follows you into the bathroom. The water is streaming in, hot, soap bubbling up. Jungkook watches how you easily shed your last items of clothing before you sink into the water, and he does the same now, revealing himself bare to join you in the barely big enough tub behind you.

You're comfortably leaning against his front, very obviously not shy about this at all- and in a way, oddly enough, it seems to rub off on him, as he feels himself relax with you so close. "I want to move into an apartment with a bathtub one day." You giggle randomly.

"Does yours not have one?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"No, it's too small for one." You deny. "Does yours?" You ask, and he hums his answer.

"It.. I have both. One guest bathroom with a shower. The main one has a tub." He explains to you. "Maybe.. you could come over someday. See it for yourself." Jungkook chuckles.

"Hm. Maybe. When you want me to." You say.

"I do want you to-" He starts, feeling like he needs to argue- though he's not sure what about.

"I know, but you also don't, and that's fine." You laugh. "I.. you know, I kind of get the vibe from you that.." you start, but drift off.

"..that?" He softly urges, hands now moving underneath the water to find yours to hold.

"..that you're not used to.. you know. People asking for permission. Or just.. I don't know." You shrug. "You're always so surprised whenever I do nothing but simply take your feelings into account. You seem so caught off guard whenever I ask you if you're okay with things." You tell him, and his eyes stare at the slowly disappearing soapy bubbles on the water surface as he begins to think.

It's true that it's not common. He's the man- always has been one, and with that always came the burden of decisions. Evelyn always took the things he did for granted- saw it as something natural. The fact that he provided her with a place to stay, money and security was just a given to her, and so was the fact that whenever she decided where to go for dinner, or what to do on his days off. He always drove her to her appointments, always had to please her, treat her right, because that's always been his role to play.

So, you're right. He's not used to being given a choice, asked for permission, or questioned whether or not he was okay with something. And it's become so normal for him, that he truly believed that that was how things had to be like-

and maybe that's also why he was so hesitant with you. Why he still hesitates.

What if he does something wrong? What if he decides something you don't like? What if he's not what you want him to be?

You want him to be himself. But he's not sure he even knows how to be himself anymore.

"You should.. be more selfish, you know?" You say, voice echoing off the walls a little as you move around in the water. "Then I won't feel so bad every time I want to ask you to do something for me." You laugh, joking- but he catches the hidden words.

"You can ask anything of me." He chuckles. "Trust me, I can make decisions just fine." He reassures you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"I'm not doubting that!" You laugh. "But just- You're.. really nice, and I'm kind of scared I'll screw this up." You sigh, trying to sit up and lean away from him- but he holds you towards him, keeping you close.

"There's no 'screwing up' for either of us. We might not work out for reasons, but I doubt we'll really.. screw up like you say." He offers kindly. "I kind of.. just want to be with you for the next few days. Nothing more, nothing less."

"In what way?" You almost whisper, and he chuckles against your skin, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

"In whatever way you'd like." He hums against your skin, hands traveling up and down the length of your arms.

"What way would you like?" You ask, and he leans his head a little to rest his face in the crook of your neck.

"Right now.. exactly this." He sighs out. "I'm enjoying this a lot." He reveals, and at that, you lean back into him, and you can feel the way his lips twist into a smile against your skin.

"Is.. what made you fall in love with uhm.. Evelyn was it, right?" You ask, and he nods.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "She was pretty. She liked me, or at least that's what she told me- asked me out one night, and I just said yes because why not?" He shrugs, water sloshing around a bit at that movement. "I didn't.. have much interest in her back then, but I felt like it could just.. grow down the line."

"I mean, she's still pretty from what I could tell." You giggle, though he shakes his head. "No?" You wonder, and again, he shakes.

"Not anymore." He denies. Maybe conventionally attractive. Physically." Jungkook sighs. "But inside, she's just.. ugly."

You nod at that. You understand what he means.

"What about Greg?" He wonders, since the situation seems as good as ever to gain some more information on the guy he's never even seen before.

"He was.. or, you know, isn't as tall as you. A bit shorter. Uhm.. harsher facial features." You remember. "He always looked a little intimidating to me. But I thought it was just appearance. He used to be really nice to me, you know?" You explain, before you sigh. "But.. I don't know. Over time, after we started living together, it just went downhill." You explain to the man currently holding you. "There were warning signs before, sure- but I thought he was just stressed."

Jungkook listens, and makes sure you know that he is doing it- though he also provides some slight physical comfort as well.

"I should've left when he started to yell at me. Insult me, you know? But I didn't. I thought, if I was nice enough.." You stare at the bubbles slowly dissolving. "..I thought it would be okay."

"You were in love." He reassures you. "And we do stupid things when we're in love." Jungkook admits, making you nod as you lift your head a little to look at him.

Finally realizing that while his situation might not have been the same-

he still understands. More than anyone else.

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The next day starts rather.. interesting to him.  

He's wondering how long it'll take for you to snap- because he's noticed that some of his habits and behaviours are clearly getting onto your nerves. But he's not hiding any of it away- you need to face the truth after all, that he's no angel, and no perfect man without any flaws. He's not sugarcoating things- but you are. And he's waiting for you to drop that façade.  

You're never truly relaxing. You act like you are- but he knows you're not.  

Meanwhile he's just himself, even exaggerates some of what he knows are his nasty habits- and you're just quietly stepping over his pants thrown in the middle of the floor in the hotel room, though he notices the way your eyes cling to them for a good second. And when you actually trip over them on your way out, it's when you finally decide to speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums, lifting his head from his phone to look at you. "Can you.. could you maybe try and I don't know.. put your clothes in one place only?" You ask, meekly, and that's when he notices something important. When he realizes something. 

You seem awfully.. wary saying that. Almost fearful.  

Oh. 

"Of course." He nods, getting up to put them away- and your reaction to that, is that just instantly fall into apologizing for your words- as if what you said could've insulted him in some way.  

"It's just that you could lose something you know?" You hum, wringing your hands anxiously. "And maybe you trip too and-" 

"It's fine, really." Jungkook reassures you after dropping his pants and shirt that's been laying around in his still opened travel bag, now turning towards you. "Come here." He sighs, and you do, walking close to him until he pulls you in and hugs you. "I'm not mad." He offers, and from the way you tense up, he realizes he's hit the nail on the head. "I'll never be mad- never like that. I can promise you that much."  

"I'm sorry." You apologize. "I know you're not like that-"  

"But it's a habit, I get it." He offers, before he lets you go to look at you properly. "I can imagine why you feel like you have to apologize right now- but there's no need to pacify me." He tells you. “I’m not angry.” 

"I know. I'm sorry- I never thought you were like that either." You sigh.  

“Small steps.” He chuckles. “We’ve got time.” he reassures. “Let’s go out and see if we can find a restaurant we want to eat at, hm? Something casual.” He teases lightly, making you nod.  

Just like he said- it’s a habit.  

You’re so used to having to justify your actions, having to apologize for everything, having to just suck it up and get over it that it’ll be probably a long road until you’re truly free again. Does he want to deal with that? Maybe not, maybe he’s just too nice to say it right now because you’re..  well, stuck together in this hotel on this trip together for a few more days to come, since he ended up making an entire week out of the three day trip. Maybe he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable,  because he’s just a nice guy like that.  

“Hey.” He rips you out of your thoughts. “let’s order room service instead.” He offers, and you’re confused.  

“But you wanted to eat out?” You wonder. “and.. we’re wasting an entire day by staying inside-“  

“We’re not wasting anything.” He chuckles. “I went on this trip with you to spend time with you. Which is what I’m doing right now.” He offers you, pulling your hands to have you close as he sits on the edge of the bed you both share. “you’re getting stressed. Tell me how I can help you.” He asks gently, as you sit on his thighs, unsure.  

You don’t know why you’re so on edge today. You can’t turn it off.  

“it just feels like.. any second now, something might happen.” You sigh, playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I’m not used to things being so.. okay.”  

“I understand that.” He nods. “you’ll get used to it in the future, I promise.” Jungkook makes sure to tell you, before he takes your hands again. “can I.. ask you something? And please don’t.. I’m not going to say the things I’ll say because something is  wrong with you or anything.” He says, and you nod for him to go on. “have you considered.. talking to someone about your past experiences? Someone professional?” He wonders, but you shake your head.  

“I feel like.. it wasn’t bad enough to really go to therapy for it. Lots of people go through tough times like that, and they manage just fine.” You shrug. “I’m just being dramatic about it. Like you said, I’ll get used to it with time.” You defend yourself by instinct.  

“You’ve been through something traumatic. There’s no.. threshold of how bad something needs to be to be able to seek out help.” He explains with a gentle tone of voice. “I’m not going to force you, obviously. But just so you know, your pain isn’t invalid just because others had it worse.” He says. “Think about it, at some point. Doesn’t have to be right now.”  

“I’ll.. keep it in mind.” You nod. “thank you.” You offer him, and he nods as well.  

“Nothing to thank me for.” 

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Jungkook is agitated.  

He’s been silent for a bit now, desperately searching for a spot to charge the electric rental car at- but all he finds are either in use or out of order. It’s raining too, meaning there’s not really anything you both could do other than just drive back to the hotel- but this charging spot has to work now, or the car won’t make it back.  

Everything is just going wrong.  

From the restaurant reservation somehow getting mixed up, to his phone constantly ringing because people won’t let him have his days off- poor device slipping out his hand at some point as he’d wanted to take it out the pocket of his pants, clattering to the ground, screen cracked in several places. Then, he’s informed of something urgent at work- he’s needed back earlier than he wanted to take time off for, meaning you’ll have to pack your things tonight already to fly back home by tomorrow morning.  

And now, as he gets out wordlessly to take the charger from the station, he reaches his breaking point.  

“fucking hell!” He barks out as he’s back inside the car, hand hitting the steering wheel once as the car denies any further distance. And he’s got tunnel vision too- not noticing the way you instinctively flinch next to him.  

But it’s just a habit of your body. Your mind knows that Jungkook’s anger doesn’t work like you’re used to.  

He’s on the phone, talking to a coworker when you take the chance to undo your seatbelt, before you open the door. His hand reaches out, softly holding your coat to send you an confused glance- worried even that he might’ve caused you distress. But you  give him a smile in return, and get out to walk into the gas station, finding an employee.  

“Sorry- I was just wondering.. the charging station outside doesn’t seem to work?” You ask, and the man behind the counter nods.  

“Oh? Yeah it does it sometimes. Let me come check it, it’ll probably just need a restart.” The man shrugs, taking some keys with him before he walks back out with you trailing after him. “Ah yeah, stupid thing got a little crazy again. Go sit inside though, you’ll catch a cold!” He laughs, waving you towards the car standing in front of the little station. “let me know when it starts charging.”  

You instead walk to open the trunk however, fetching an umbrella instead to hold over the man’s head- something he laughs at but thanks you for either way as he taps around on the panel.  

Jungkook watches from inside, using this moment to calm down again.  

He didn’t think at all. Did he scare you? Probably, considering he can be quite scary to other people as well if he gets frustrated like this. He hates how things like these just bubble beneath his skin all day until it boils over- especially considering that he’s been so eager to make sure that you know he’s not one to get angry easily. And yet here he is, having just yelled at a car for not working.  

Maybe he’s not the right person for you after all. You need someone calm and collected, not someone like him.  

Suddenly, the car chimes up, telling him it’s finally starting to charge- and outside, you’re thanking the man with the thick grey beard with a grateful smile, one he returns just as warmly before he walks back into the gas station with you. And when you emerge back out, you’re holding two cups of coffee to go- rain soaking your hair as you hold the closed umbrella beneath your arm.  

Inside the car again, you offer one of the cups towards him as if nothing happened. “I didn’t know if.. you liked sugar or creamer with yours.” You say. “so I brought some of both.” You say, putting the little packages of sugar and creamer on the mid console- where his hand suddenly finds yours, silver rings catching your attention for a second.  

“I’m sorry for earlier.” He apologizes, fingers tracing your cooled down hand that holds your own cup of hot liquid. “I didn’t mean to get so riled up.”  

“You’re stressed.” You shrug. “Its understandable. Just.. maybe take a moment to calm down right now?” You offer, and he nods, a soft smile on his lips.  

“thank you.” He says, before you nod and reach for the sugar packages to dump some into what he realizes is tea.  

“The car is really quiet when it drives.” You say, and he nods, taking a sip from his coffee.  

“It makes no sound.” He confirms. “the most you hear.. are really just the wheels on the road. The engine isn’t  loud at all.” He explains.  

“so when we drive fast it’s not the engine getting louder?” You ask, and he shakes his head.  

“No. It’s all just friction, and the air passing over the car.” He tells you.  

“Its kind of funny how far we’ve come.” You say, slipping out of your shoes to get comfortable in your seat, rain falling onto the roof of the car. “like, we have cars that we can just.. charge like phones. It feels weird.” You giggle, resting your head against the seat, while your back leans against the door.  

“Do you have a driver’s license?” He asks, and you shake your head.  

“I’m too scared to drive.” You deny. “I couldn’t handle memorizing all the rules and keeping them in mind at all times. I rather.. like being the passenger.” You nod. “you drive really well. I’d sleep if we went on a road trip.” You say, and he smiles.  

“I take that as a compliment.” He tells you, and you nod.  

“It was meant to be one.” You affirm. “earlier.. it was funny.” You say, suddenly not looking at anything- and he knows what you mean by ‘earlier’. “it’s like.. my body still reacts the same, but my head knows there’s no danger.” You explain. “they’re.. detached, in a way.”  

“I’m really sorry I lashed out like that.” He apologizes again.  

“don’t be.” You shake your head. “I need to face those situations too. There’s..  no use in wrapping me in bubble wrap. After all, you wanted to see if I can handle you, right?” You ask, and he nods. “See? I think my mind can. My body might not to some degree.”  

“we can work on that.” He gently offers. “your.. body will learn too. I want you to heal with me.” He says, and you nod.  

“I want that too.” You say. “I want you to heal with me too, even if all I can offer is just.. well, nothing.” You laugh, but he shakes his head.  

“You offer me this.” He explains, eyes watching you as his hand reaches out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “you offer me a break. A.. moment to calm down, like you said.” He reminds you of your words.  

“if that’s what you need, I can be just that.” You say, and he nods.  

“I couldn’t ask for more.” 

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You’re late, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

He’d told himself to wait and not really indulge in any of this as long as you both don’t really know for sure where you want to take this- but you’re like a drug he can’t help but fall back on, a habit he can’t shake off. And it all happened so naturally, no words spoken as you both simply understood what the other was craving.  

Right now, everything is slow. You’re not even really undressed, him having kicked off his underwear beneath the covers, having had to somewhat get up and pull his travel bag closer to find a condom in there he had packed just in case, even though he did not plan for this.

It should have been his moment of realization. But he just couldn’t hold himself back after the lazy, but warm and almost comforting foreplay you two had indulged in after just having woken up, barely conscious.  

Your shirt is simply pushed up to reveal your naked skin beneath, and his hands are slow as they tug your underwear down your legs, sticky with your arousal from the earlier pleasure he’d brought you with nothing but his hand. You’re so warm from sleeping so close to him underneath the blanket you shared, eyes closed as you enjoy his offering of affection to you, kissing up your neck as he positions himself above you.  

There’s still no need for words. And he also fears that any sentence uttered by him could shatter this delicate moment between the two of you.  

Even though you should’ve woken up an hour ago, making you terribly late now, he just has to have this right now. It’s not just sex, and he hopes it’s not just that to you either- because this feels like a soft confession that’s not done in words, but actions instead. You really do offer him a feeling of weightlessness, as if time doesn’t exist, and no one expects anything of him. You just take him as he is, no questions asked.  

Maybe you’re this timeless because it doesn’t matter to you yet, considering the difference in age between you two. Should he feel bad about it then?  

Possibly. But then again, just like he’s using you to escape his own responsibilities and the pressure of his life, you’re using him just as much for a stable person to hold onto and rely on. And he’s fine with that. A good, healthy relationship should always have a balanced exchange. Give and take in equal amounts. Will this all become a problem in the future? Will you one day realize that he’s not able to offer you all the experiences you should have made in your twenties?  

Maybe. But even so, he realizes you’re right. It still wouldn’t be wasted time, if it’s spent with you.  

So what if he has to book and pay for another flight because you’ll surely miss the one he chose last night? He really couldn’t care less, because there’s no way he’s going to rush this. It’s the first chance at proper sex with you, finally a moment where he can give you actual attention as you deserve, not some quick fuck in the car or random blowjob on your couch. This isn’t just to satisfy your urges.  

This is a chance for him to show you love. 

And it’s clear that this is new to you- because you’re restless, as if you’re constantly expecting him to change pace, go faster, begin to rush towards his own pleasure. But he doesn’t, because that’s not his goal at all. His actual goal is to somewhat prove a point to you- that what he’s offering is not what you’re used to, in no way. He doesn’t see you as someone replaceable, someone who just has to be there, who has to listen to his every demand and do exactly as he says.  

No- he wants you to be yourself. He wants you to gain back that autonomy you rightfully deserve.  

Because one of the biggest things he noticed is how you constantly seem to live in a state of trying to pacify him at all times. As if you have to make sure he’s always happy and content with decisions made and words said, and he wonders just how bad your past relationship must’ve been to cause you to develop such behavior. So right now, he’s attempting to show you that he’s quite honestly the most calm around you anyways, even if you don’t do anything at all but exist alongside him.  

That’s enough already. He doesn’t need anything special from you, but yourself.  

Do you feel it? The way he’s pushing himself inside you isn’t an act of pure lust, but an attempt to connect with you, oddly enough. Jungkook has never seen sex as just that- but he has to admit that with Evelyn, the act had lost it’s appeal to him over time, mostly because he both knew that she was seeking out other people’s company aside from his own, and also because it just felt empty and unfulfilling to him. There was nothing to be gained from it, not for him at least- it only made him feel dirty and used, and towards the end of his relationship with her, he couldn’t bare to really let her touch him any longer. 

No matter what intention she had.  

But right now, with you, he’s feeling something- an urge he’s not felt in a long time, an excitement for possibilities and an eagerness to explore. And right now, he wants to take his time, watch you squirm beneath him, maybe even push you towards the limit of your patience. Will you beg?  

Why does that sound so arousing to him?  

He’s curious to know what you enjoy, what you want to explore, what you think about when you feel that specific need. He wants to ask what it was like before, has so many questions- but he also doesn’t want to speak right now, feels like this is neither the place nor perfect time to have a conversation like this. So instead, he just does what feels right- 

And judging by the way you sigh and reach out to touch him as well, it appears to be exactly what you like as well.  

Though he can also spot that impatience of yours growing, his smile not possible to be hidden as he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, simply enjoying the closeness of it all as his hands run up and down over your body, exploring what he’s already seen before by now. But it doesn’t get old, doesn’t get boring- it never will be, most likely. He doesn’t know how long this will last, how long you’ll stay with him, or how long he’ll stay with you- but he wouldn’t mind to have you at his side long term, he knows that much.  

Or at least, he wants to try and make this permanent. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, clearly a sign of your dissatisfaction with the way he only occasionally actually moves, if anything, this all could count more as cockwarming than anything else. And now’s the time he has to break his silence, as he chuckles against your skin, placing faint barely felt kisses against the side of your neck. “What’s wrong, darling?” He purrs almost, while your hands move to rest on his shoulders.  

“Move.!” You complain, and he loves the demand so much. Not because he wants to go faster, but because you demand anything at all- something you should do more often. Maybe this is his way to go, moving forward. Maybe he could fuck some confidence into you.  

He surely wouldn’t mind doing it that way.  

“I am moving.” He teases, his low tone still raspy from lack of use during sleep causing your core to clench around him.  

“Our flight..” You mumble, fingers running over the back of his neck, causing him to involuntarily shiver.  

“I’ll book a different one later.” He denies, adjusting his position a little, pressing himelf as deep as he can inside you, leaning back to have his hands on your thighs, fingers running over the warm skin.  

“But that’s wasted money..” You say, unable to really resist his touch however, your arguing weak in nature and delivery. “And you’re needed back at work..”  

“I’m needed here, right now.” He instead teases, using your legs to pull you closer, slowly starting to thrust, your chest swaying alongside the pace he sets. “By someone I find way more important than work.”  

“But-” You start, but he decides to play dirty now, delivering a particularly hard thrust to shut you up or at least give him the chance to speak before you can finish your sentence.  

“You’re important.” He simply chuckles. “Right now, and afterwards, too.” He makes sure to tell you, before he leans over again, faces close. “Can I kiss you?” He wonders, eyes falling to your lips for just a second. “You can say no. I won’t be upset at it.”  

But you nod. “I want you to.” You say, for a second questioning if your words might’ve been too demanding- but it doesn’t appear to be the case, as he leans in to catch your lips, first kiss between you both passionate and warm- not hot, nowhere near burning. It’s like a promise, a silent gesture of devotion from him, an offering of his to show that he’s actually taking this seriously. 

He’s in it now. This is no longer just playing around.  

He’s not going to tell you he loves you- because he’s not there yet, and he knows neither are you. But he truly believes that these feelings can grow if he nurtures them well, and if you accept them and let him plant them in your heart. He wants the vines of what might grow to connect you both, because that’s what you both deserve.  

He knows his own worth. And he wants you to know yours, too.  

His lip piercings are a little foreign, but in a way, they make it a unique experience to you. Or maybe it’s the sincerity he has in his actions, the way he treats you, the fact that he pays so much attention to you as well during this whole thing. You’re not used to this. He doesn’t seem to expect anything of you, and it makes you a bit anxious.  

But even that, he notices.  

“Let go, darling.” He chuckles against your lips, barely apart from you. “I’ll take care of you.” 

“But shouldn’t you be taken care of too?” You worry, and he just smiles.  

“This is more than enough for me, trust me.” Jungkook responds, moving a bit faster now. “I just want you.” He tells you, and you're sure he doesn’t know the weight of that statement. 

Or how long you’ve waited for someone to say it like that. 

Because even though it’s said right now, during the act, but it’s not actually sexually charged. It’s not said in the context of ‘I want you right now’- but it’s more generalized. He wants you.. In general. Not just in this moment, or for this specific action.  

So when you simply trust yourself in the heat of the moment, turning the tables or more so positions, you feel a strange sense of confidence as you now ride him, his hands on your hips taken by yours, fingers intertwining while he watches you for a moment, clearly fighting the urge to just relax and close his eyes, sight of you too pretty to miss. But he can’t help it, leans his head back into the pillows with a lazy smirk on his lips, pulling you closer to wrap his arms around you, slow pace all you both need as you push each other over the edge, coming undone at different times- but still, that doesn’t make the moment any less meaningful.  

He keeps you in this position for a moment while he spills into the condom inside of you, not utterly exhausted, but entirely satisfied nonetheless. He feels nice, like his mind and body have been reset, truly giving him a fresh start to the day as he finally opens his eyes after bathing in his own afterglow.  

A glance to the side offers him the time. Your flight has left almost half an hour ago by now. 

“We missed it.” You mumble sleepily, and he nods, before he playfully manhandles you around to lay on your back on the bed again, pulling your shirt over your head. “Jungkook!” You laugh, and he chuckles along, attacking your shoulder and neck with kisses and even bites, visibly energized now.  

“Good.” He purrs against your skin. “Up for a round two?” 

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You feel a bit embarrassed. 

You’ve been home for two days now, and you miss him. Terribly so. Even though you try and occupy yourself with work, your mind keeps going back to the time spent with him, and you’re conflicted. Should you reach out? Text him? He told you he wouldn’t mind, but he also seemed a little stressed about work, so you probably shouldn’t bother him.  

Maybe you could ask Tae? 

But he doesn’t really give you an answer, somehow sounding oddly reluctant even to just talk about his friend in any way, and it makes you suspicious. So today, you finally jump over your shadow, and text him- just to get no reply for hours. It’s not until later that day that you receive a phone call instead- his voice sounding tired. “I’m sorry I’ve been silent.” He simply says, and you’re immediately alarmed.  

“What’s that noise in the background?” You want to know, because it sounds very much like something you’re very much familiar with. And with the way he dodges an answer by sighing first, you just know what’s going on. “Which hospital are you in? Do you need anything?” You rant. “What even happened?” 

“Nothing happened-” He quietly argues, sounding awfully like a scolded child almost, but you cut him off.  

“Well something clearly happened for you to be in hospital!” You argue, before you calm down. “I’m sorry, I just-” 

But Jungkook reassures you as always, giving you the name of the hospital he’s staying at, as well as the room he’s in, so you can visit him. And the moment you walk in with some snacks approved by the doctors, you feel like you’re the one in need of medical attention.  

“What happened?” You weakly ask, carefully sitting down next to his bed where he’s in, a hand running over his face, careful not to twist the delicate tubes connected to the needle in his arm.  

“Just an accident.” He says, though he’s not looking at you- and it makes you anxious.  

“What accident?” You ask, and when he doesn’t answer, you press on, unable to keep your emotions in check properly. “Jungkook please. You said we should be honest-” You softly say, and he sighs, licking his lips.  

“I.. Fell asleep.” He mumbles quietly. “While driving to a meeting. I was late, and it was.. Just for a split second- and suddenly it all went to shit.” He explains. “I was- the road was empty. And it was so fucking late, I- don't know what I was thinking.”  

It’s quiet after that, apart from staff and visitors moving outside in the hall, barely heard through the closed door, but the machine that’s keeping close measurement of his vitals occasionally makes a sound.

Jungkook barely manages to look at you, and when he does, he’s not sure what that expression on your face means. You’re looking at a nasty bruise on his wrist, face unreadable, before you eventually speak again.  

“Jungkook.” You say his name, and your voice is bone chillingly serious, demanding his full attention.  

“Don’t you ever do that again.” 

Your words are heavy, full of emotion and yet delivered in a monotone anger that makes him realize the gravity of the situation. He’s lucky he didn’t hit anyone in that tiny second, should be forever grateful nothing major happened at all except for his car getting crashed beyond repair.  

“I’m sorry-” He begins, but you shake your head, speaking after you take a deep breath as if to collect yourself.  

“No, I don’t want an apology.” You deny. “You can’t do this.” You say, and he’s a bit unsure what you mean, when you turn to look at him with glossy eyes. “You can’t make me get attached just to... pull something like this.” You say. “That’s cruel, Jungkook. You could’ve killed someone.” You tell him, and he nods, quietly. “Get a cab next time, or have someone drive you, fuck I don’t care!” You become a bit louder now. “But you can’t do this. You can’t be this selfish.” Is your response, as you finally properly look at him, close to tears. “I’m starting to need you, Jungkook.” You confess.  

“You can’t leave me alone like that.”  

And at the first tear falling, he chooses to ignore his physical pain, to move over a little and have you sit on the side of his bed, clinging to him as the full force of it all hits you, arms reaching out for him, grabbing hard at the hospital gown he’s in, desperate to hold him.  

As if you need to know he’s still there, that he’ll be fine.  

“I’ll make sure to rest properly from now on.” He promises, hand that’s not hooked up to anything running over your back as you cry into his chest. “I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.” He tells you, and you nod, though you stay close.  

It takes a good moment for you to calm down again, and when you are, he uses that energy you both have now to dig a little deeper.  

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, by the way.” He tells you, and you shrug. “No, I mean it. There’s no excuse for it.”  

“You were busy.” You mumble, but he shakes his head.  

“Doesn’t matter.” He denies. “I’ll make more time for you. I need to rest anyways, and even after I’m healed, I should take a step back in general. Like I said-” He offers, wincing a bit when a movement causes him pain. “-I have to take better care of myself. For you.”  

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, detaching yourself a little from him again as you sit up, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. “I’m getting clingy already-”  

“No, please.” He encourages, giving you a soft smile. “Be clingy. I promise you, I’m just.. It's just a bit odd to me at the moment.” Jungkook reveals. “I’ve not had someone care for me in such a way in.. A while.” Or ever, he wants to actually say- but he doesn’t want to put so much pressure on you.  

He can leave those big confessions to a later date.  

“Should I.. do you need help at home once you get out of here?” You wonder. “I could help you? Or, maybe you can.. I don’t know-”  

“I’d really appreciate your company.” He smiles. “And your help too. But mostly your company.” Jungkook teases, making you laugh in relief.  

Not just because he clearly looks worse than it actually is- 

But also because his smile looks oddly youthful- and most of all, truly genuine. 

[vantelover07]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚yan!biker!Jungkook x vet!reader⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Just an idea I've had for a while, sorry for all the grammatical and structural errors, english is not my first language. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ I think it would be such a cute grumpy x sunshine trope, but like he is a grouch around everyone else, but turns soft and loving only with the reader. And he's whipped. And I mean really, really whipped like he will do anything and everything for you, and I mean it. He's a yandere after all.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He's definitely the type of guy who lives by the words "I would let the world burn for her" and "she's the ray of sunshine in my life", while the reader, on the other hand, is a cutesy, cheerful, animal lover. You work in a vet clinic, and that's how you guys met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook came in with his Doberman for a check-up. Immediately, he was drawn to your presence, your smile, and the soft way you handled Bam. He's smitten with the way you talked, walked, well, with your whole existence basically. He felt as though he was under some spell, as if the whole world stopped moving the moment you met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Later that day, when he came home with a dopey smile on, he couldn't think of anything else but you. He decided then and there that you were his true soulmate and he had to make you his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ By pure coincidence, you guys met again at the park that he visits with Bam for walks. You were sitting on a bench on a particularly sunny and beautiful day, wearing a cute white dress with little pink flowers on it and a baby pink cardigan to match. You were reading a book when suddenly a familiar Doberman approached you with a wagging tail. Right behind him was a jogging Jungkook who couldn't believe his eyes. It's you in your cute, coquettish little outfit with that dazzling smile and warm, glowing aura. He made a mental note to buy Bam extra treats for being such a good boy by finding you for his dad.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He was all smiles with you, despite looking so rugged and dangerous with all the tattoos and piercings, he acted so soft and gentle with you, as if afraid that you'd run away. You guys exchanged numbers, and he made you promise that you would go out soon.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You guys text, finally set the time and place, and he picks you up in his car for the dinner date. You wore a long red dress, and he wondered how he would last all night without touching you when you looked this divine.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You two had an amazing time together, you laughed, got to know each other more, and by the time the date was over and he drove you back home, you parted with him with a sweet kiss. Jungkook swore he'd heard wedding bells in his head and felt drunk despite not drinking anything.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ With how inpatient and invested Jungkook is, you guys start dating not long after (probably around the third date).

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is all in in this relationship and I mean ALL IN as in getting you two custom helmets and jackets for his bike, visiting you at your lunch breaks at the clinic and either coming with a homemade lunch or taking you out, having you over at his place and letting you wear only his clothes there, texting you good morning and goodnight which makes him the first and last person you message everyday, buying you a cute pink set to go to the gym with him when in fact it's mostly either you watching him work out or him helping you with the exercises (honestly just looking for excuses to touch you), etc. 

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook is very big on pda, and he absolutely has to touch you in some way at all times. He loves to kiss you, and he's baffled how he could survive without you before. He swears he's never felt this much love for anyone in his entire life. He loves spooning you in bed, kissing your neck and breathing you in, or having you lie down on his chest completely, feeling your weight on him being the best reminder that you are here with him, safe in his arms and utterly and completely his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is very protective and easily triggered if anyone even dares to look your way for too long. He believes that only he gets to admire you and look at you freely (even tho he knows you're a beauty and unfortunately for him others see that too). He might or might not have threatened or beaten up a couple of guys who (by his standard) acted disrespectfully towards his relationship, but in his eyes, it's fine, as long as you'll never get to know. You would probably worry and get worked up, and he doesn't want that. Jungkook just wants to keep you safe, and what's safer than being with him?

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Despite his jealousy and possessiveness, he's the most caring, loving boyfriend ever, and he would probably rather cut himself open than let anyone or anything hurt you. Jungkook treats you like a princess, and whatever you ask of him, he's ready to deliver. You're hungry? Baby, a three-course meal is already on the table. You're feeling stressed and insecure? Let him cuddle you and pepper your face with kisses, telling you every little thing he loves about you. You're feeling sick? He's there to take care of you, cooking you soup and making sure you take your medicine. You wanna go shopping? He's already on his bike, ready to go with you, see you model all the clothes, and buy you whatever you like. You're the love of his life, his soulmate, future wife, and mother of his children and he would be damned if he ever let you slip through his fingers. You're it for him today, tomorrow, and forever.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

Let me know if u guys liked this headcanon with yandere biker! JK and if you want more! Till next time, then!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 6)

Synopsis: The other night was a lot, and now here you are, at an amusement park. It’s supposed to be a distraction, but you can’t help but feel like something’s just… waiting to happen. Just not yet.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions

A/N: Just wanted to say a big thanks for all the awesome comments on my fic! Your support really means a lot to me. I love hearing what you think! I can’t wait for you to see what’s coming next♡

The sharp chime of the doorbell jolts you awake. Groaning, you reach for your phone, squinting at the screen as your eyes adjust to the bright light. 

12:07 PM 

Your heart nearly stops. Noon?! 

Your notifications are a mess—17 missed calls from Jen, 10 from Wanda, and an explosion of texts from the group chat. A sinking realization hits you: you must have accidentally muted your phone last night. Not surprising, considering you tossed and turned until at least 3 AM overanalyzing every moment with Agatha yesterday. 

Another impatient ring of the doorbell makes you groan. You drag yourself out of bed, feeling dizzy and a little off from the lack of sleep. You’re moving in slow motion as you head for the front door. When you open it, your friends are standing there, looking less than impressed. 

Jen’s arms are crossed over her chest, a mix of concern and irritation on her face. Alice, Wanda, and Lilia are behind her, all looking like they’ve been up for hours while you’ve just barely dragged yourself out of bed. Your eyes immediately flick to Agatha, naturally.  

She stands there effortlessly put together in a camel brown structured sleeveless top, black well-tailored wide-leg trousers, chunky dad sneakers, a Loewe crossbody bag, and black shades. It’s criminal how good she looks in something so simple. Your gaze lingers longer than it should before you snap back to reality. 

Jen crosses her arms. “Seriously? You’re just waking up?” 

Wanda huffs. “We thought you were dead.” 

“You guys are so dramatic,” you mumble, stepping aside to let them in. “I accidentally muted my phone last night.” 

“And?” Jen presses, still unimpressed. 

You scratch the back of your head. “Overslept. I had to check work emails before bed, so I ended up sleeping late.” 

Technically not a lie—you did check your emails. But the real reason? You couldn’t stop thinking about Agatha. Her lingering gazes. The way her breath hitched at the beach. The way she looked at you across the table at Nobu. 

Agatha hums, arms crossed over her chest. “That’s cute. Imagine taking a vacation just to work and look like shit in the morning.” 

You scoff. “Imagine going on vacation just to go from a hot tub to a sauna like you’re trying to get heatstroke.” 

She smirks. “Maybe I just like being warm. Unlike you, who apparently enjoys hibernating.” 

Jen pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can we not do this first thing in the afternoon? Y/N, go get ready. Now. We’re going to Pacific Park, and you have five minutes.” 

You hold up a hand in surrender. “Alright, alright. Ten minutes.” 

“Seven.” 

“Deal.” You turn to head upstairs. “Try not to miss me while I’m gone.” 

Agatha mutters under her breath. “Not possible.” 

You pretend not to hear it. 

Fifteen minutes later, you finally head downstairs, fully dressed and ready to go. Okay, maybe you took a little longer than planned. Sue you. 

You opted for a white fitted cashmere tank top, Hermès brown tailored high-waist shorts, Dior sneakers, a YSL Lou camera bag, and a deep olive green cap. A perfect balance of casual and effortless chic. 

Jen checks her watch. “Not bad. I expected worse.” 

You grin. “You have so little faith in me.” 

Wanda looks you up and down. “I mean, you still look like you just woke up, but at least you’re dressed.” 

You roll your eyes. “Can I at least eat something before we go?” 

Lilia waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll hit the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way.” 

You sigh. “Fine. But if my McMuffin gets cold, someone’s paying.” 

Alice smirks. “We’ll send the bill to Agatha. She’s the one who called you a hibernating bear.” 

Agatha scoffs, tilting her head at you. “Only because it’s true.” 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag. “Let’s go before I actually commit a crime today.” 

As you step out of the villa, the sun warming your skin as you make your way to the main entrance of the resort. The van is parked just a little ahead, waiting for you and the others. You’re the first one to get inside, claiming the back seat behind the driver. You sit down and pull out your phone, scrolling through social media to distract yourself from the anticipation of what’s ahead. 

Agatha slides in beside you a few moments later, as effortlessly composed as ever. She flashes you a smile, one that’s way too confident for your liking. You return the smile, but there’s something about it that feels a little too forced. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your phone like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Wanda sits down beside Agatha, followed by the others, and the van slowly pulls off. The hum of the road is calming at first, but you can still feel Agatha’s presence beside you like an electric current you’re trying to ignore. You scroll through your feed, hoping to lose yourself in the digital noise. 

After about 45 minutes, you start to spot the signs of the amusement park from the van window—ferris wheels, roller coasters, the blur of bright colors that instantly reminds you of childhood summers. The excitement in the air is palpable, and soon, the van pulls up to the entrance. You step out into the warm air, your stomach doing a little flip at the thought of all the rides. 

Jen heads straight for the ticket booth and returns with wristbands. She hands them out to everyone—Unlimited Ride Wristbands. You stare at the plastic band in your hand, already dreading the rides ahead. 

Jen claps her hands together. “Alright, let’s get a photo first! You guys need to remember this moment.” 

You all gather together, everyone flashing smiles as Jen takes the photo. You try to smile, but something about the whole thing feels a little off. Maybe it’s the weight of the rides you know are coming. 

Alice, always the one to jump into the action, suggests the West Coaster as the first ride. 

Your heart drops at the mention of it. “How about we start easy? There’s the Sig EV Alert. It’s a little more chill, right?” You try to sound casual, but your stomach churns at the thought of a big roller coaster. You know yourself, dizziness is your worst enemy. 

Agatha shoots you a sideways glance, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, come on. What’s the matter? Are you scared?” 

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the feeling of nerves creeping up on you. “I’m not scared, Agatha. Just think it’s better to ease into things.” 

She leans back with a challenge in her eyes. “Really? A vote’s been called, then.” 

The group eagerly agrees to start with the West Coaster, and you immediately regret your attempt to steer them away from it. You tell yourself you can handle it, though—you’re fine, you repeat like a mantra, even though you know it’s a lie. 

As you approach the roller coaster, Wanda nudges your elbow gently. “Hey,” she says softly, leaning in close. “Are you sure you want to do this? You know you get dizzy easily.” 

You force a smile. “I’m fine, Wanda. Really.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, her brow furrowing. “You can sit this one out. No shame in that.” 

But you shake your head, refusing to back down. “No way. I’m not letting Agatha think I’m backing out. I can handle it.” 

Wanda sighs, her concern still clear. “Alright, but if you pass out halfway, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

You give her a small smile and step forward with the group. But just as you’re about to sit down, something happens—you realize Agatha is sitting right next to you. Your stomach twists again. 

Her smirk is almost too much to handle. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” she murmurs, low enough for only you to hear. 

You roll your eyes but try to play it cool. “We’ll see about that.” 

The ride begins its slow ascent, the familiar clicking noise echoing through the air. You feel every inch of the climb, your heart thumping in your chest as the coaster makes its way higher. For a brief moment, everything is calm. Too calm. It’s the kind of calm that makes you realize just how much you don’t want to be here. You grip the safety bar tightly, knuckles turning white, your palms sweating against the cool metal. 

Your stomach flips, and you feel the weight of the height sinking in. You glance over at Agatha, sitting beside you with her usual cool, confident demeanor. She seems completely unfazed, her eyes glinting with something like amusement. You swallow hard, trying to keep your cool. This was your idea, right? You had to prove you weren’t scared. 

Then, the coaster pauses at the peak—that peak—the one where it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of the world. Everything below looks so far away, a blur of colors and tiny dots that might be people, but you can’t focus on that. The world seems to hold its breath, and so do you. 

Then—BAM! 

The coaster shoots forward with sudden, brutal speed, your stomach dropping out from under you. You don’t even have time to prepare before the wind rushes through your hair, and the shrill scream that escapes your throat is one you didn’t even know you had in you. Your hands instinctively shoot out to grab onto anything, everything. 

Your fingers latch onto something warm, soft, and surprisingly firm. You don’t realize what you’ve done at first. Your brain is too busy trying to process the chaos around you, the twisting and jerking of the ride, the air rushing by in a constant scream of its own. Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as the coaster dips and turns, the ride's movements jarring, sending your stomach into an endless loop of flips. 

Oh God, what have I done? Why did I agree to this? 

The twists and turns keep coming, faster, harsher, as the ride whips you through the air. Your scream isn’t just fun now; it’s a primal, terrified sound. It feels like you’re falling forever, your body jerking this way and that. You feel the pressure in your chest, your breath coming out in shallow bursts, but through it all, your hand is still clenched around whatever is in front of you. 

That “whatever” is Agatha’s hand. 

It’s only when the coaster starts to slow down that you realize what’s happened. Your hand, still gripping Agatha’s, is now nearly crushed in your panic. Your face flushes red as you snap your eyes open, trying to catch your breath, the noise of the ride dying down around you. You feel disoriented—nauseous, even—and your heart is still racing. 

The ride finally halts, and your body slumps against the backrest, drenched in sweat. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, your skin clammy and cold, your breath coming in gasps. You’re still dazed, but you suddenly become acutely aware of the hand you’re holding. You jerk your hand away from Agatha’s, mortified, hoping no one noticed the unintentional closeness you shared. 

You glance around quickly. Everyone else is laughing and talking excitedly, their voices a blur. They didn’t notice. Thank God. 

Except Agatha. She saw. Of course, she did. 

Her lips curl into that sly smirk, the one that makes you want to crawl under a rock. She looks over at you, that gleam of recognition in her eyes. “You look a little green there, Y/N,” she teases, her voice dripping with amusement. “Roller coasters not your thing?” 

You want to disappear. The heat creeping up your neck is nearly unbearable. You manage to cough out a nonchalant response, your voice a little higher than normal. “It was fine. Totally fine.” But even you can hear the lie in it. 

You don’t meet her gaze. You can’t. The thought of her knowing what just happened—of her knowing you—it’s too much. 

The group continues to tease you, laughing and poking fun at your reaction. You try to laugh along, but it comes out flat, forced. You wish you could just blend into the background, escape the spotlight that feels like it’s shining just a little too bright on you. 

Wanda, however, seems to sense that something’s wrong. She quietly steps up beside you, her voice low and concerned. “Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” She looks at you with an almost protective gaze. “Like, really okay?” 

You manage a weak smile, brushing off her worry like it’s nothing. “I’m great. Totally great. Really.” You try to sound convincing, but Wanda doesn’t look entirely convinced. 

She doesn’t push further, though. Instead, she just pats your shoulder lightly and nods, though you can see she’s not buying your act. The others are still bickering amongst themselves about the next ride, oblivious to your inner turmoil. 

You don’t know how you make it through the rest of the day. You feel like you’re walking in a fog, each ride making your stomach churn more than the last. You’re so dizzy you could swear you’re going to pass out. But you keep pushing through it, knowing Agatha’s eyes are always on you, even when you try not to meet her gaze. 

Finally, you find a little relief on the Sig EV Alert ride. It’s simple. Fun, even. It’s a bumper car ride, something you can do without fear of your stomach trying to escape your body. It’s a tiny break in the chaos, but as you steer your bumper car, you can’t stop yourself from looking at her, and just like that, she catches you. Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she leans forward in her seat, an eyebrow arched in challenge. “What’s the matter, Y/N? I didn’t think bumper cars were so interesting.” 

Your heart thuds in your chest again, and you force yourself to look away, cheeks flushed. “It’s not,” you reply, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with a tiny, involuntary smile. 

After all the rides, your group decides to grab something to eat at Smashie’s Burger. You take the chance to slip away to the bathroom, needing a moment to catch your breath after all the chaos. You wash your face, trying to shake off the dizziness from the rides. You’re not sure if you’re more worn out from the rides or from trying to act like everything's fine in front of everyone. 

When you come back to the table, everyone’s chatting and laughing, already a little more energized from the food. You slide in, a little quieter than usual, and take your seat. Your eyes drift to Agatha—she’s got her phone in hand, typing something, looking all serious. You wonder for a second if she’s texting Ralph or maybe dealing with some work stuff. Either way, you can’t help but watch her. It’s like she’s in a world of her own, and it pulls you in even though you’re trying to look away. 

You start eating, trying to pretend like everything’s normal. It’s harder than it should be, but you make yourself focus on the food, even as you keep stealing glances at her. Her phone goes down, and she finally takes a bite of her burger. There’s something about the way she eats—so casually, so effortlessly—that makes you feel like you're standing just a bit too close to something you’re not sure how to handle. 

Before long, Jen’s done with her fries and is already looking around with that excited energy of hers. “Okay, who’s ready for the next round?” she asks, clearly buzzing. 

Wanda’s practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m heading to the Cat Rack. I need to win a stuffed animal.” 

Alice’s grinning, not to be outdone. “I’m hitting the Ring Toss. I’m definitely gonna win this time.” 

The group starts breaking up, everyone heading off in different directions. You’re left with Agatha, and for a split second, the silence feels a little too loud between you two. You can’t tell if it’s awkward or just... weird, but you feel it. 

You clear your throat, trying to make the best of it. “So... where do you want to go?” 

And, of course, you both speak at the same time. “Where do you want to go?” 

You both freeze for a moment, then laugh, but it’s not the easiest laugh. It’s more like you're both trying to fill the space that’s been left hanging. You smile, trying to ease the tension. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—” 

Agatha shakes her head, cutting you off. “It’s fine. I was thinking Water Race. Let’s do that.” 

You give her a look. “Water Race? Really?” 

“Really,” she says with that grin you know is always a little too knowing. “I wanna see if you’re as good at this as you say you are.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips. “Oh, I’m great at it. Just wait and see.” 

You pay for both of you, the two of you standing side by side, staring down at the game ahead. You tell yourself it’s just a game, but the competition is starting to feel a little more intense than it should. Agatha’s in the lane next to you, her water gun aimed perfectly, and you know this is it. Time to prove you’re better. 

The game starts, and the water blasts out from the guns, splashing against the targets. You’re both giving it your all, but after a few rounds, you realize it’s not just the two of you in this race. There are other players too. And none of you are winning. 

You try to stay casual, hiding the irritation that’s slowly creeping up on you. You keep buying new entries, trying to beat the other players, but every time, someone else wins. The frustration builds, and despite how much you want to pretend it doesn’t bother you, it does. It really does. 

Agatha notices. “You okay there?” she teases, her voice light but that hint of amusement in her eyes. 

You force a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just warming up.” 

But after another round, when you lose again, you can’t hold back the annoyance anymore. You feel it in your chest, tight and heavy, and you can’t shake it. The other player keeps winning, and you just want to win something. Anything. 

Finally, after what feels like a hundred tries, it happens. You hit the target, and the bell rings, signaling that you’ve won. You almost can’t believe it, the rush of victory flooding you as you hold the water gun in triumph. Your heart’s pounding, but there’s something about it that feels better than all the other wins you’ve seen. 

The prize is a stuffed bunny. It’s not the biggest or most impressive thing, but to you, it’s everything. You hold it up in the air, your face lighting up in the purest, most unfiltered joy. 

Agatha’s standing next to you, eyes wide with surprise at how over the top your reaction is. “Really? That’s how excited you are about a stuffed bunny?” 

You can’t stop grinning, bouncing on your feet. “I won! I really won! This is the best thing ever!” 

You hold the bunny to your chest like it’s the greatest prize you’ve ever gotten. It’s ridiculous, but it feels like you’ve just won the lottery, and for once, you don’t care how silly it looks. 

Agatha snorts, clearly amused. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?” 

You just shrug, still holding your prize. “I don’t care.” 

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “Alright, alright. You win. I won’t argue with you and your little bunny.” 

You stand there for a second, still buzzing from the win, when you glance at Agatha again. She’s looking at you in that quiet, knowing way, like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t before. For a brief moment, everything feels lighter, like maybe, just maybe, there’s something else here between you two. 

After your victory at the Water Race, you’re still holding your prize, that stupidly adorable bunny stuffed toy, when the mystery player who had kept winning approaches you. She has a confident smile on her face, and there’s something about her that catches your attention. Maybe it’s the way she walks up to you without hesitation, or how she looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice smooth and warm. “That was some impressive shooting. No one’s ever beaten me at this game before.” 

You glance at her in surprise, a little thrown off by the compliment. “Thanks,” you reply, trying to keep your cool, but there’s a flutter of nerves in your stomach. 

She grins, her gaze lingering on you just a bit too long. “I’m Rio Vidal, by the way,” she adds, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

You shake her hand, still feeling a bit off balance. “I’m Y/N, and this is Agatha.” 

Agatha, standing nearby, doesn’t seem to react much, but you can feel her attention shift, just slightly. Rio doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy smiling at you, her eyes sparkling with something that feels... too intentional. 

“So,” Rio continues, her tone teasing, “What brings you to the Water Race? You definitely look like a woman who’s up for a challenge.” She leans a little closer, voice lowering in a way that makes you blink in surprise. “I like that.” 

You catch yourself before you do something weird, like laugh too loud or look confused. Instead, you go with it. “Well, I’m actually on a bachelorette vacation with my friends,” you say with a playful shrug. “It’s all about letting loose and having some fun.” 

Rio raises an eyebrow. “A bachelorette? That’s interesting... you’re clearly not shy about winning.” She holds out a business card. “If your friend is still looking for flowers for her wedding, I’m your girl. I’m a florist, you know. I’d be happy to help out.” 

You take the card from her, half-smiling. “I’ll let her know. Thanks, Rio.” 

She lingers a little longer, her eyes not leaving you. “No problem. It was nice meeting you... maybe I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

You’re pretty sure she means something more than just “seeing you around,” but you just smile and nod. “For sure. Take care.” 

As she walks away, you glance at Agatha, who’s giving you a look that’s almost... incredulous. “What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint. 

You give her a confused look. “What do you mean?” 

Agatha huffs, crossing her arms, still staring at you. “That lady was literally flirting with you.” 

You shrug, trying to act like it’s no big deal, even though a little part of you feels flustered. “Nah. She’s just being friendly. Nothing more to it.” 

Before Agatha can respond, you quickly hold out the stuffed bunny toy you just won. You catch Agatha off guard with it, her eyes widening for a second as she stares at the toy in your hands. 

She looks at you, confused. “What’s this for?” 

You try to keep it casual, but your heart’s thumping in your chest. “You can have it,” you say, your voice casual even though the butterflies are going wild in your stomach. “I’m not really into stuffed toys. I just liked the idea of winning. You can take it home with you, though. Maybe give it to your kids after the trip.” 

Agatha blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden generosity. “You... want me to take it?” 

You nod, trying not to let the heat on your cheeks show. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not really gonna keep it. And I figure you could use it.” 

She looks at the bunny again, then back at you. For a moment, there’s this unreadable look in her eyes, and for a second, you think she might turn it down. But then, she sighs and takes the bunny from your hands. 

“Thanks,” she says softly, her tone warmer than you expected. “I’ll... keep it safe.” 

You smile at her, feeling the rush of your little exchange with Rio slowly fade away, replaced by this new, quieter moment with Agatha. As much as you try to convince yourself it’s no big deal, something about the way she accepts the bunny... it feels a little more personal than it should. And for once, you’re okay with that. 

You and Agatha were lost in the competitive spirit of the games, going from Whac-A-Mole to Balloon Bust to Roll-A-Ball, each one more ridiculous than the last. Neither of you were willing to back down, constantly teasing each other over every small win and every tiny defeat. The laughter and playful banter between you two felt natural, easy... but it wasn’t until you realized the sun was starting to set that you looked around and noticed how dark it had gotten. 

"Whoa," you muttered, glancing at your phone. "It’s already six?" 

Agatha glanced up, eyebrow raised. "Guess we’ve been here longer than we thought." 

You shrugged, your competitive streak still burning. "Well, I’m not done yet." 

"Maybe I’m done." Agatha smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, but you could tell she wasn’t serious. 

"Alright, break time," you said, stretching your arms out. "Pretzels. I’m starving." 

You headed to Wetzel’s Pretzels, the smell of warm dough and salt filling the air. As you placed your order and grabbed the food, you got a text from the group chat. 

Jen: Meet us at the Pacific Wheel when you’re done! 

Taking the pretzel and frozen lemonade, you turned to look around for Agatha, but she wasn’t there. Confused, you glanced over the park, but she was nowhere to be found. You started walking around, trying to find her amidst the crowd. Finally, you spotted her in the quieter part of the park, her back turned toward you. She was on the phone, and her voice was sharp, like she was holding something back. 

Your steps slowed, and you stopped a few feet away, not wanting to intrude. But you heard it. The tension in her voice, the way it wavered when she spoke. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Ralph.” Her words were clipped, cold, and there was something raw underneath them that made you pause, your heart sinking. 

She didn’t notice you at first, so you lingered quietly, unsure if you should stay or leave. It didn’t feel right, intruding on whatever this was. From the bits and pieces of her conversation, you pieced together that whatever she was dealing with—whatever was going on between her and Ralph—was more serious than you expected. 

The call ended abruptly, and Agatha’s shoulders tensed, her hand slipping to her side as she hung up, visibly angry. She didn’t turn around right away, but when she did, her eyes met yours—frozen, wide, like a deer caught in headlights. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could find the words, you cleared your throat awkwardly, pretending you hadn’t overheard anything. “The group is at the Pacific Wheel,” you said lightly, your voice casual, even though your heart was pounding. “Jen texted in the group chat.” 

Agatha stared at you for a beat longer than necessary, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t comment on the phone call. Instead, she sighed, walking toward you. You handed her the pretzel and frozen lemonade. She took them wordlessly, her fingers brushing yours for just a second. 

The two of you walked in silence, the air between you thick with unsaid things. You could feel the tension radiating from Agatha, the way her usual confidence had shrunk a little, replaced by something... quieter. You wanted to ask her if she was okay, but every time you opened your mouth, the words felt wrong. 

When you finally reached the group by the Pacific Wheel, they immediately teased you both, noticing the awkward atmosphere. 

"Look at you two," Jen grinned, winking at you. "Looks like you’re back to your old bickering." 

But you didn’t hear her. Agatha hadn’t smiled in hours, not since that phone call. She was quieter than usual, her sharp edges dulled by something you couldn’t touch, something heavy weighing her down. You could tell it wasn’t just the usual gruffness, this was something different. The way she seemed distant, as if she were carrying an invisible burden. It was the same look you’d seen before, back when she thought she could keep everything together, even if her world was on fire. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to ask if she was okay... but Jen beat you to it. 

“Alright, we all need to ride the Pacific Wheel now,” she announced, grinning. “It’s the last ride for tonight.” 

Agatha barely even glanced up. “Pass,” she said flatly, a tiredness in her tone that wasn’t usual for her. 

“You’re on vacation, Governor,” Lilia teased, emphasizing the title just to see her roll her eyes. “One last ride won’t kill you.” 

Jennifer caught on and nudged Agatha toward the line. “Yeah, come on. This’ll be the last ride of the night. Just do it for the fun of it.” 

Agatha didn’t have a choice anymore. She was trapped. 

The group made their way to the gondola, Jen and Wanda taking the first one. Then Agatha climbed into the second gondola, and without thinking, you sat beside her. She didn’t even try to protest—just gave you a look, her eyes soft and a little tired, but she didn’t say anything. You could feel the weight of her silence next to you. 

The gondola slowly began to ascend, the lights of the amusement park flickering below, casting a soft glow on the quiet faces around you. But the stillness between you and Agatha felt louder than the sounds of the park. 

The ferris wheel spun gently, and for a moment, you thought about reaching out to her—asking if she was okay, if she wanted to talk. But she was already looking ahead, her eyes fixed on the horizon. It was clear she wasn’t ready to talk. 

The quiet stretched on, thick and heavy, as you watched the city lights twinkle below. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Agatha was dealing with... it was more than just a phone call. More than just a bad moment. But for now, all you could do was sit there beside her, the awkward silence wrapping around you both like a heavy cloak. 

The gondola rocks gently as the Pacific Wheel lifts you both higher, the amusement park shrinking below. Neon lights flicker across Agatha’s face, reflecting in her stormy blue eyes. The silence is thick, heavier than the humid air, but you’re the one who finally breaks it. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Your voice is quiet, unintrusive. You’re not pushing, but the door is open if she wants to walk through it. 

Agatha doesn’t respond right away. She exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon, and when she finally speaks, her voice is measured. "How much did you hear?" 

"Enough." You don’t elaborate. You don’t need to. 

Another beat of silence. Agatha’s fingers drum against the metal bar in front of her, and when she finally looks at you, her expression is guarded, like she’s waiting for a hit to land. 

"You’re gonna scold me, aren’t you? Tease me? Tell me how I should’ve seen this coming? Go ahead, get it over with." 

It’s defensive, a preemptive strike. The kind of thing she says when she’s bracing for a fight. When she wants to keep you at arm’s length. But you don’t take the bait. 

Instead, you just look at her—really look at her. And when you speak, it’s only one word, "No." 

Agatha stills. Maybe she expected you to gloat, to mock, to treat this like another battle in your endless war of words. But you don’t. And that makes her pause. 

You soften, let your voice dip into something almost gentle. "I just think... you deserve better than this." 

Then, without thinking too much about it, you reach out, fingers brushing against hers. It’s not a grand gesture, just a quiet reassurance. But Agatha, who has spent years pretending she doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t pull away. 

She looks away instead, scoffing like she can deflect the weight of this moment. "God, you’re such a sap." 

But the bite isn’t there. And for the first time, you see it—that flicker of doubt, the crack in the foundation she’s built so carefully around herself. 

The Ferris wheel slows at the top, leaving you both suspended in midair. Agatha exhales, tipping her head back against the cool metal. 

"It’s Ralph," she admits finally. "He’s... not doing well. And I’m the one keeping everything together." Her voice is bitter, laced with exhaustion. "I work my ass off, and he just—he doesn’t even try anymore. And I don’t have time to fix him." 

You don’t say anything right away. You don’t mock. You don’t lecture. You just watch her carefully before offering something she doesn’t expect, "That sounds exhausting." 

Agatha tenses at first, then exhales shakily. No one has ever acknowledged that before. 

The Ferris wheel lurches, the descent beginning. 

You lean in slightly, tilting your head. "So... are you gonna keep pretending everything’s fine?" 

Agatha lets out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Of course. It’s what I do." 

You shake your head, smirking a little. "Classic Agatha Harkness." 

There’s a beat. And then, unexpectedly, she teases back. The words are soft, almost... fond. 

"Shut up." 

You only grin, but there’s something lingering between you both now—something unspoken, something fragile. 

The Ferris wheel reaches the bottom. The moment is over. 

As you step off together, you murmur, "You should tell them. The others. They’d understand." 

Agatha scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You give them too much credit." 

You shrug. "Or maybe you don’t give them enough." 

That makes her pause. She turns to you fully then, studying you in a way that makes your chest feel tight. 

"And you?" Her voice is quieter now, layered with something deeper. "Do you understand?" 

You swallow. There’s something vulnerable beneath her usual sarcasm, something you’re not sure what to do with. 

"I’m trying to," you admit. 

For a second, it looks like she might say something else. But before she can, the moment is gone. 

Agatha exhales sharply, straightening like she’s shaking something off. Then, without another word, running a hand through her hair, then moves toward where the group has gathered. You follow, watching as she exhales and schools her face back into something neutral. 

Then she smirks, sliding back into her usual armor. "Well, if this was your way of trying to comfort me, you’re terrible at it." 

You roll your eyes, falling into step beside her. "And yet, you didn’t push me away." 

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. "Maybe I’m slipping." 

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe—just maybe—she was finally letting you in. 

The group gathers for a final photo of the night, all smiling. Just as the camera clicks, fireworks explode behind you, painting the sky in golds and blues. 

Agatha is standing beside you. And for the first time in forever, she feels a little lighter. 

You feel her gaze linger longer than it should. But when you glance her way, she looks away fast, pretending she wasn’t staring at all. 

You pretend you don’t notice. 

And then, just like that, the night is over. 

You all head back to the resort, splitting off into your separate villas. But even as you close the door behind you, the weight of the night lingers, something unspoken settling deep in your chest. 

Agatha Harkness is slipping. 

And maybe... so are you. 

Taglist:@6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06

[leveragehunters]

I have ditched Spotify. I know, I know, it's not an airport etc etc. But I had some thoughts.

A big part of making the decision was the 20+ years of MP3 files sitting disorganised and abandoned on various hard drives and old devices. I spent this past week or so organising them all onto one hard drive, updating file names and tags and folder structures so I could load them all into Plex.

I have a lot of music. Most of it ripped from CDs, some bought as MP3s, and some recorded from cassette tapes using an audio jack and a dream. There's bands I haven't thought about in years; ones that, once reminded, I missed terribly.

It made me realise in the 6 or so years I've had Spotify I've listened to less and less music overall and certainly to fewer once-beloved bands/albums. (I didn't even realise Linkin Park had a new album with a new co-lead singer, a woman, who is incredible.)

Now my music is all set up in Plex, I'm listening to it through PlexAmp, a fantastic music app I'm running on an old tablet, bluetoothed to some decent speakers instead of the crappy computer ones.

Result? I've maybe listened to more music this past week than in all of 2024.

Now there's obviously a novelty factor at play, having everything easily available for the first time in so long, but I think there's something else going on.

Algorithmically, Spotify fed me music. I had a few playlists, a few bands saved, but I didn't have a collection of my music. I'll be the first to admit I'm not a huge music buff, so without my music in front of me, without being able to flip through my personal musical history, the music I'd curated, it was just kind of lost. Listening to Spotify was more like walking through a record store or listening to the radio. I forgot about what I enjoyed and just listened to what was convenient.

Having all my music at my fingertips is making me happy. Happy listening and happy looking through my collection and happy remembering that yeah, that is an awesome album! It makes my brain feel good and I remember when I first heard it, who I was with, what was happening in my life!

It's awesome.

[binomech]

I’ve been thinking about Irving a lot during this episode, funnily enough (and not just in an “I miss my guy” way.) I think the fact that he and Harmony are the two oldest members of the “main” cast definitely links them in some way in my mind, even with the 10-year age difference. I think the historical periods and socioeconomic circumstances that Irving and Harmony grew up in have a quality of structural desperation that contrasts with the personal desperation of the younger members of the cast, although assuming the reality of certain parts of US history remains in the Severance timeline, I would say that Milchick being born during the time period when the first generation of Black Americans was entering the mainstream corporate and political sphere would be significant to the point I want to make.

Irving would have been born right at the start of the Vietnam War, with a father in the navy right out of WWII, with Eisenhower interventionism off the charts, and the disaffection towards US internal and foreign policy would only increase in his youth, and it would go on for long enough for him to go to war himself, come back fully disenchanted to the golden years of the Civil Rights Movement and the AIDS crisis, a constant state of precarity between loss, disillusionment, anger, and the hope that your fight is going somewhere with constant setbacks.

Despite the 10 years between them, Harmony Cobel grew up in a working-class town, already revolving around Lumon, with her mother probably being an employee at the ether mill at that point (which, side note: “Was she hacking up a lung” in the context of Kier’s courtship of Imogene…? Was Jame Eagan pursuing Charlotte Cobel or Harmony herself? Thinking about the conversation between Harmony and Helena in the parking lot about how she has underestimated her blessings… ). Her mother got sick from the constant chemical exposure, and her aunt swooped in to both take care of Harmony (by sending her off to an Eagan boarding school, which did spare her from more child labor at the mill but also primed her for a career at Lumon) and care for Charlotte, who hated Lumon. The faith was comfort and escape in a life of economic precarity and illness, even if the cause for those things and the venerated figure were the same thing. Loss, disillusionment, anger, and leaps of faith once more in the middle of the Nixon administration, with energy shortages, inflation, and the slow death of industrial production giving way to the service-based economy that uneducated blue-collar workers could not access, much less working-class women, but maybe brilliant Harmony with her chip designs could.

Sissy’s house is isolated from the rest of the factory town, a reasonably long drive away. It reminded me of how in Irving’s map the Lenora complex was isolated in an icy nothingness away from the rest of the city center and other Lumon housing complexes, including Burt’s. It makes me think of how, in the severed floor, the distance between departments might be physically not that big, but the dizzying labyrinthic hallways make the isolation even more anxiety-inducing, more inescapable. And also how Irving was familiar with the way to Perpetuity without a map at the ready, knew how to locate the conference room, got back from Wellness with relative efficiency, and learned the way to O&D through Burt’s map in a cinch because he wanted to get rid of the crushing isolation. Sissy and Irving are old, they live alone, they are principled and disciplined, and their access to care and support is incredibly conditional; the highest honor is isolation.

The scene at the shed at Sissy’s also reminded me a lot of Irving going through his outie’s storage room during the OTC (and Drummond doing the same while outie Irving’s at dinner with Burt and Fields.) Harmony flipping through the annuary with her classmates and Jame Eagan, like the picture of Irving’s dad next to the list of Lumon employees. Who was with Lumon while I was there, in the Severed floor/at Myrtle Eagan School for Girls?

Harmony has been described as a soldier by Reghabi, as someone who grew up surrounded by the company’s values and will be loyal to those values no matter how much she pretends she isn’t. But she picks up Devon’s call, she encourages Mark to quit, she wants to learn what went wrong with Petey, she tears down her altar and spits in Sissy’s face that she doesn’t owe Lumon anything, that they took her ideas and twisted them, got the credit, got the money, and hurt people with them. I think about how Irving was definitely in the military, and it was probably because he grew up in a military household where his father set the tone, and it definitely shows in his innie, in the way his outie carries reminders (the medals, the sriracha sauce, ace of spades), but also how how every time we’ve seen him it’s not a soldier we see - he’s reading, he’s painting, he’s collecting information about people who’ve spoken out about Lumon’s cruelty, he’s calling people to update them on his innie’s status, he’s attending dinner at a stranger’s house and remaining relentlessly kind when confronted with a soul-charring amount of internalized homophobia from the people that invited him in the first place.

They were raised to be soldiers in decades where violence and servitude were sold as the only way to survive the state of the world.

And still, I can't help but believe they’re trying to be something else, and even if it took them time to become aware of the harm they caused themselves and others, I think that’s wonderful and rare, and the best silver lining anyone can hope to grab.

[woso-story]

Alexia Meeting Your Son Theo

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the park as you arrived hand-in-hand with Theo. Your little boy, excited as ever, swung your arm playfully as his eyes scanned the playground. But your gaze was elsewhere—on the woman sitting on a bench, waiting for you both. Alexia, your girlfriend of three months, stood up the moment she saw you, her face lighting up with a warm smile.

Taking a deep breath, you crouched down to Theo's level. "Remember what I told you? This is Alexia."

Theo looked up at her, curiosity shining in his big eyes. "Hi, Alexia!"

Alexia knelt to meet him at eye level. "Hola, Theo! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mama talks about you all the time."

Theo giggled and glanced at you. "Really?"

You ruffled his hair. "Really."

---

With the introductions out of the way, the three of you made your way to the playground. Theo ran ahead, climbing up the jungle gym with ease. Then, he turned back and called out, "Alexia, come up here!"

You chuckled, expecting her to politely decline, but to your surprise, Alexia grinned and followed him up. The sight was almost surreal—Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona and the Spanish National Team, crawling through a jungle gym meant for children. You couldn’t hold back your laughter when she struggled a little with the tight spaces.

"You okay there, champ?" you teased.

She shot you a playful glare. "I’ve faced defenders bigger than this, but I think this might be my toughest opponent yet."

Theo giggled uncontrollably before leading her to the slide. "We go down together, okay?"

Alexia nodded seriously, as if she had just received tactical instructions from her coach. But as she slid down, her long legs barely fitting, she landed with a dramatic plop. Theo clapped his hands, delighted.

---

As he ran off to play with some other kids, Alexia came to sit beside you on the bench, shaking her head in amusement.

"He likes you," you said softly, watching your son happily interact with the other children.

Alexia smiled. "He's an amazing kid. You've done such a great job raising him."

Warmth spread through your chest at her words. Most people had been hesitant about dating a mother, but not Alexia. She accepted everything about you, without hesitation.

Before long, Theo came running back, his clothes covered in dust and his face glowing with excitement. "Can we get ice cream?"

You exchanged a glance with Alexia, who immediately nodded. "Of course."

At the ice cream stand, Theo was set on getting his usual chocolate until Alexia ordered stracciatella. Eyes wide, he changed his mind. "I want what Alexia has!"

She chuckled. "Good choice."

As the three of you sat down to eat, Theo took one bite before exclaiming, "This is the best ever! From now on, I always want stracciatella!"

Alexia winked at you. "Looks like I’ve converted him."

---

As the afternoon stretched on, you noticed the effortless way Alexia fit into your little world. She wasn’t just there to impress you—she was genuinely interested in Theo, in his stories about dinosaurs and superheroes, in the way he built castles in the sandbox. You found yourself falling even more for her, seeing how kind and patient she was.

Later that evening, Alexia drove you both back home. You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"I'd love to."

While you prepared the food, Theo eagerly dragged Alexia to his room to show her his toys. Every now and then, you peeked in to see them playing together, Alexia just as immersed in his world as he was. At one point, she caught your eye and flashed you a smile so full of warmth that your heart fluttered.

"Mama, look! Alexia is really good at building towers!" Theo beamed, showing you the structure they had built with his blocks.

"She’s full of surprises, isn’t she?" you teased, making Alexia laugh.

After dinner, you took Theo to his room to get him ready for bed, but he had one last request. "I want Alexia to read me a story too."

You smiled and went to ask her. Without hesitation, she agreed. She chose a book about a brave little lion who learned to trust again after facing hardship. As she read, her voice was soft yet expressive, and Theo listened with rapt attention, his little fingers grasping the edge of the blanket.

Half an hour later, Theo was sound asleep, his breathing even. You and Alexia tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

---

Back in the living room, you turned to her. "Thank you. For everything today."

She pulled you into her arms and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "It was my pleasure. I’d love to spend more time with you and Theo."

Your heart swelled. "I’d love that too."

The rest of the evening was spent curled up together on the couch, watching a movie in comfortable silence. At one point, Alexia reached for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. When it was time for her to leave, she kissed you softly before stepping out into the night.

As you climbed into bed, a smile lingered on your lips. Everything had gone so perfectly. It felt like the beginning of something truly special—something real, something lasting. A future that felt brighter than ever before.

[unteriors]

Since you're Australian, why are so many of the posts from the US? Did you start with Australia and then move onto other countries once you'd felt like you exhausted it? Or is the US particularly interesting for your purposes?

A big part of the reason is the enormous difference in scale. Australia has about 25 million people, versus 300 or so million in the US. Each of the 50 states has at least one or two major cities, most have many more than that. In addition to the volume of real estate imagery produced by this market, there are a few things about the US in this context which draw me in from an Australian perspective. One is how real estate listings weirdly embody how much more visually apparent the harmful economic forces of the past 50 years are in American society than they are here or elsewhere. Australia's welfare state was developed roughly during the same time as in the US, and has similarly been cut back since the 1970s. But it was always much weaker in the US than in Australia or Western Europe, and correspondingly the effects of its deterioration - along with other economic trends - have been much more visible than they are here. The way this is played out in terms of localised funding for public services means that many American cities have pockets (of varying sizes) where poverty and other forms of systemic oppression are concentrated and left open to the elements. The sort of stuff Jacob Holdt documented in his photos in the 70s, or that you see in a lot crime films and thrillers with location shooting. Gentrification and other forces since then have pushed these pockets into other areas and made some places seem less grim, but from what I've heard it seems like it would be hard for the average person in the US to ignore that these large, systemic problems exist. Conversely, in Australia, this kind of intense poverty has been pushed into the margins of society during the same time period - to remote communities (where people suffer from chronic diseases that have been eradicated in most other wealthy countries), country towns with shrinking economies, or to the fringes of larger cities (where people sleep in their cars in parking lots, or multiple families form sharehouses to afford $400-500+ pw rents). Though as things have gotten worse, particularly since COVID, it's getting harder to ignore. But still there's a substantial part of the population here who have grown up in ignorance of any of the larger, percolating structural problems in Australian society, and who proactively retain that ignorance into adulthood.

I think you can see these different perspectives play in out in real estate listings. In most American states, even in most of the towns I've looked at, you can see a broad spectrum of living conditions (and commercial interpretations of ideal living conditions) - from burnt out trailers, to overpriced renovated shitty older houses with cheap grey vinyl flooring and white walls, to clearly lived-in time capsules to McMansions to actual mansions. Some photographs are clearly shot by owners, others by real estate agents with a great variety of care and attention to detail (from elaborate staging to crime scenes). Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I get a broader, more honest (or at least more direct) feel for the housing crisis. It's a more honest horror film.

Australian listings, I think in part due to concentrations in corporate power in the real estate industry (similar to other monopolies that have formed in our economy), tend to more heavily adhere to the visual language of advertising and are more heavily regulated by agencies. The problems still exist, the housing market here is among the worst in the world and little effort is being made to address the underlying structural issues, but you can see the lack of will to acknowledge these issues in the level of gloss that's applied. You can look at a listing of an older house in Western Australia, for instance, and know for a fact that it's riddled with asbestos and probably has several other structural issues, but most likely enough time and effort will have been spent on staging and lighting and maybe surface-level renovations that it will seem otherwise fine. Lots of turds that have been polished successfully enough that you need insider knowledge to properly identify them as dogshit. Incidentally, I spent part of my childhood in a house built in the 1960s that had asbestos in the walls and ceiling.

I'm still interested in images from Australian listings (and other sources) though, I just look for other things that are interesting. Anything that runs contrary to the artificially positive, limited world view that advertising promotes. Even if its a poorly-lit time capsule that is directly aesthetically opposite to the ideal of house-beauty at the moment, or an obviously run-down house that has had every realtor photography trick in the playbook thrown at it until it becomes deeply uncanny. And it's always interesting to see what other people find interesting; I genuinely think the housing crisis underwrites every other political issue we have to contend with, its tendrils extend in many different directions, and I think this also means imagery like this can reach people in a diversity of ways. Aesthetically, nostalgically, inspiring fear and self-loathing and horror. All good sources of inspiration for creativity.

[skzdust]

Snapshots: "Can I kiss you?"

I'm starting a new series I'm calling Snapshots, which are basically just gonna be little drabbles responding to a prompt with each of the members of Stray Kids :)

Some will contain smut, some will be sfw, and some will be a mix.

For this one, Changbin's has smut, and Han's is suggestive, but the rest of it is sfw!

Pairing: ot8 x reader

Word count: approx. 100 each, total 800

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

Bang Chan: When Chan asks if he can kiss you, it’s with a trace of hesitance lifting the words. “Can I… kiss you?” His hand plays with your hair, and he looks at you intently. You’ve been best friends for years, but he wants more, and you want more, and you both know it. “Yeah.” You whisper, and he breaks into a smile, bright as the sun coming out from behind the clouds, before leaning in. It’s long, and sweet, and he knows how to read you like no one else. He knows when to deepen the kiss, and when to pull back and laugh and say, “I’m so glad I asked.”

Lee Know: When Minho asks if he can kiss you, the words rush out of his mouth. You’re about to get out of his car, holding the bouquet he’d given you before your date. “Can I kiss you?” He says, and your hand leaves the car door. “You’re such a gentleman.” “Shut up.” A flush rises on his neck and cheeks. You smile. “Yes, you can kiss me.” Minho leans over the center console of the car to give you a kiss, one that lingers on your lips, one you’ll be thinking about until your next date.

Changbin: When Changbin asks if he can kiss you, he’s sweaty, you’re sweaty, and he’s inside you. “Can I—ngh—” He grunts, thrusting into you. “Can I kiss you?” “Please do.” You exhale, parting your lips for him. The kiss is somewhat jerky as he continues to fuck you, but it’s passionate and heady and it sets your head spinning. His hands work their way up and down your body, and you’re so sensitive, and you feel and feel and feel. He’s sensual with his lips, he always is, and you feel like you could let yourself float away into him if you wanted to. So, you do, giving him everything, and he takes everything.

Hyunjin: When Hyunjin asks if he can kiss you, he says it bearing coffee and pancakes. He sets them down on the table in front of you and leans on his hands towards you. “Can I kiss you?” “Of course.” You smile. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before walking away, throwing a coy grin over his shoulder. “That does not count as a kiss.” You stand up, following him into the kitchen. “Can I get a real one?” “Was that not good enough for you?” He puts a hand to his chest. “My own partner doesn’t like my kisses.” “You know that’s not it.” You grab his shirt, pulling him towards you, and he puts his arm around you, and he’s so close. You get your kiss.

Han: When Jisung asks if he can kiss you, your hair is being ruffled by the breeze in the park. “Can I kiss you?” He leans in close, by your ear, voice low and sexy, but with an unmistakable playful note. “Jisung! There’s kids!” You jerk your head at the play structure. “We can go somewhere else.” “And disturb our picnic?” “If you don’t mind… I want you.” “Yeah?” You swallow. “Do you?” “I do.” His eyes are dark. “I really want you, baby.” You pack up the picnic in a matter of minutes, and you’re barely on the far side of the car before Jisung presses you against the door, capturing your lips with his.

Felix: When Felix asks if he can kiss you, his breath fogs in the air. “Can I kiss you?” His eyes are wide, sparkling in the winter lights, a snowflake falling to land on his face like one of his freckles. You brush it away, your thumb lingering on his face for a few moments longer than it needs to. “Please, Felix, I thought you’d never ask.” His kiss is soft, and sweet, and he sighs into it. When he pulls away, it’s to smile at you with a radiance you can’t help but melt at.

Seungmin: When Seungmin asks if he can kiss you, he does so with a big smile. “Can I kiss you?” Your smile is just as wide. “Please do, babe.” He leans across the table to give you a short kiss, brushing his pants as he sits back down. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist, you look so good!”

I.N: When Jeongin asks if he can kiss you, it’s mumbled and sleepy. “Can I kiss you?” You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, tying your shoe to go for your morning run, and you turn around to see Jeongin reaching for you with one hand from his position still in bed. You smile. “‘Course.” You lean down and give him a kiss, then ruffle his hair as he grins, eyes still closed. “Have a good run, baby.” “I’ll see you when I’m back, love you.” “Love you too.” He smiles one more time and rolls back over, promptly falling back asleep.

[rikosseen]

Gun+Goo x Reader: Amusement Park

Anon request

The junkyard is a place of solace for Gun Park. It’s where he’s allowed to just be. And because it’s a place that he regards as a home, Jonggun has let very few people know about it save from two close associates; you and Joongoo. However, as he jolts awake from the noise of a bickering pair of rats, he wonders if he should’ve been silent about his main place of residence.

“Out.”

You and Goo turn around to see a disheveled Gun pointing at the door.

“Gun!” the blonde perks up, running towards the disgruntled man.

“Out,” Gun repeats, his tone sharper as he rubs his temples.

While the two of them engage in their usual back-and-forth, your stomach growls audibly. And knowing the man that gun park is, the fridge must be fully stocked up. So being a proud big back, you naturally head there. Only to find random dairy products and vegetables. No snacks. Honestly, how does Gun live without enjoying the small pleasures of this world? Talk about discipline. Before you can scavenge through the cabinets, a hand clamps onto the back of your collar. You’re dragged toward the door like an unruly cat, and find Goo in the same predicament. Kicking his feet and clutching Gun’s leg, the blonde isn’t going down without a fight. You quickly latch onto Gun’s head, making sure to smack it in an attempt to stop him as well.

“PLEASE HEAR US OUT,” you screech, trying to get as close to his ear as possible.

Gun finches and clicks his tongue.

“We swear we weren’t trying to do anything,” Goo joins in, rubbing his cheek on Gun’s trousers and puckering his lips.

Look at this fish face. You scrunch your face in disgust, but nod along anyway. “Since we all have the day off, let’s make the most out of it by having some fun!” you too pucker your lips.

“Fun?” Gun scoffs, and throws the two of you on the ground. “The last time we did something ‘fun’, I had to witness Samuel getting photoshopped. In a bikini. I don’t think so.”

Goo snorts at the memory, but you quickly scramble to latch on to Gun’s leg, crying dramatically. “PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! That was Goo’s idea! Today’ll be a fun day- we’ll go to an amusement park!”

Gun sighs deeply, and runs his fingers through his hair to debate his meaning in the world.

“Unless you’re planning to spend the day perverting with Daniel Park…” you whisper.

“Perverting?- What the fuc- you know what? I’m not going to entertai-”

“PLEASEEEEE,” you and Goo wail in unison, slowly pulling his pants down.

“Ok. Okay. Let go,” Gun snaps, kicking Goo’s face. “Stay outside while I change. Don’t do anything stupid,” he glares.

.

By the time the three of you enter the fairground, it’s already late noon. Goo is running around to every food stall he sees, and you’re tagging along behind him like a little dog.

Look at these fatasses, Gun thinks, shoving his hands in his pockets. As the man scouts around, you skip to him and shove a potato wedge in his mouth. Goo cackles, and Gun glowers at you.

“Alright,” you rub your hands together in anticipation. “Which ride first?”

Goo strokes his chin, but the blonde just shrugs. So instead, you look over to Gun for help.

“I’ve never been to these before,” he says flatly.

You and Goo exchange glances, and the two of you give Jonggun a pitiful look. The blonde sniffles and pats his friend’s back. Gun swats his hand away and looks over at the tallest structure in the park.

“How about that?” He points to the drop tower.

Goo is already running to line up for the ride, and excitedly, you grab Jonggun’s hand to head over there too. The man looks down at the contact, and watches the happy expressions plastered on your faces. Laughter fills the air, and in what seems like decades, Gun feels…

I don’t know.

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but it tickles him on the inside, and makes him uncomfortable. He glances around and lets out a quiet sigh as he trudges behind you. Maybe, just for today, he can let himself relax. Just by a smidge. If nothing else, it’ll be an excellent opportunity to prove how unaffected he is by these so-called thrill rides.

Gun won’t admit it, but for the first time, he feels something close to contentment.

[waylamia]

Growing Pains

recommended listening: Ribs by Lorde

"Why can't you just GO AWAY!" There is a resounding thud, as the door is closed in his face, and that's the end of it. He stands outside the slammed-and locked?-door in shock, shoulders drooping as the clear rejection settles in. Then he hears Josephine choke out a little laugh from her place in the kitchen. "She's at that age..." It takes everything in him not to snarl at her.

-> You reject Caleb's presence for the first time your shared lives. Caleb comes to terms with his role in yours.

reader experience notes: second person perspective. reader uses she/her pronouns, reader is MC but is not addressed by name in this fic, reader is not physically described beyond having hair of unspecified texture. reader is 12 and Caleb is 14.

content warnings: teen angst </3 #brocken, extremely brief and vague mentions of child experimentation/torture/death, my fascination with grandma Josephine as a character of questionable morality, Caleb and MC were raised as adopted siblings and I do and will continue to engage with the complexities of that dynamic in my work (if you don't rock with that scroll past or block freely. protect your peace and party on. <3) pip-squeak usage as I am a pip-squeak truther.

approx. 9k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

Thursday, Caleb decides, is the worst day of the week.

He's sat in the entryway of Josephine's house-two years and he still can't bring himself to call it 'home', not when you aren't around to hear it-after returning from his run. Waiting, now, for you too to return. He unties the laces of his right shoe, slowly. Mind drifting, as it tends to, when you aren't present to keep him present.

The ink had hardly dried on the adoption papers before Josephine had loaded you both up with extracurriculars... Well, maybe that isn't entirely true and maybe it isn't entirely fair, she'd given you a few weeks to adjust. But what little time she was willing to give wasn't nearly enough in Caleb's opinion. Not for two kids who's whole world (at least as far as your memory served.) consisted of the walls of the orphanage and an overgrown garden.

He remembers the first time she'd brought you to a playground. Your face settled in confusion, processing the presence of the colorful plastic structures, their cleanliness and distinct lack of rust. He remembers your little hands darting to cover your ears when two kids hopped on the seesaw, anticipating the familiar, grating screech that would not come from this parks well kept equipment. He remembers being worried. That it was too much too soon. Remembers glaring at Josephine as she sat nearby, watching, neutrally. Like if your little heart exploded again, right then, it would make no difference at all.

He doesn't notice he's practicing the speech until you speak.

'It's okay if you forget... I'm Caleb, I'll always be by your side.'

'Even if you don't remember anything, I can always say it again...'

'I'm Caleb. I-'

"Caleb!" Your voice jerks him from his thoughts, eyes darting around the playground to find you. Tenseness he hadn't even realized he was carrying falling away when he spots you. You've climbed to the highest point, not on the playground-where the other kids are giggling and racing and shoving at each other-but on a nearby tree. He squints up at you through the harsh light of the midday sun. You're smiling, full of pride at your successful ascent. He laughs. All these shiny new toys and you take to the tree. Just like the one in the garden of the orphanage. It's awful smart of you, he thinks, to find something familiar to cling to in the midst of all this uncertainty. He races to the base of it. Knowing your eyes will follow him, that when your gaze lowers down and down and down you're courage will waver and you'll need his help getting back to the ground. It's a bad habit of yours.

Cheeks puffed out at the dinner table from too big bites bites of your food, always a little more than you can chew.

Sure enough, the next time his eyes lift you're own have widened, a barely there tremble where your fingers cling to the branch supporting you. He grins up at you, making no effort keep the little bit of smug amusement at this familiar game from his expression. "You want down?" You do. You always do. But you've gotten wise to the meaning of that particular look on his face, and he can tell you don't want to give him the satisfaction. You've started to take issue with him knowing what you need before you do. Telling him it doesn't make any sense at all.

But how couldn't it? He's spent more time with you than you have.

"I can do it myself." You huff. Stretching your leg in an attempt to reach the next lowest branch, only just grazing it with your toes. Caleb folds his arms and waits. This is a part of the game too. It will go one of two ways, and in the end, the way of it will make no difference at all. Two roads always leading to the same destination.

At the table, he cuts up your food. From the treetop, he catches you.

'...Must be feeling particularly stubborn today.' He thinks as he watches you extend your arms to lower yourself down. All you'd have to do is ask and he'd get you grounded. He wouldn't even make you say please. He's not going to tell you that, obviously. You get away with enough as it is. But it's always true. You've made it half the way back when you slip, the sudden jerk you make to recover causing your load-bearing branch to snap. Your startled shriek catching just as it starts when a soft pressure envelops you. Gravity warping around you until your feet are flat on the ground.

The clanging of pans draws him back to the to the entryway. He blinks down at his shoe, which he has seemed to unconsciously retie, brow furrowing as he moves to undo it once more. A cabinet creaks shut. Josephine is in the kitchen, preparing supper. An increasingly infrequent sight, with her too long hours at jobs that pay only just well enough to provide for the three of you, often keeping her out of the house long past dark. He supposes very few things are as lucrative as groundbreaking human experimentation... But he's a little too preoccupied to tug at that old thread at the moment.

Your new schedules keep you busy from dawn to dusk. Every morning: your stretches, breathing exercises, and pills-vitamins for you both, heart medication for you-then school, then your assortment of after school activities. 'To make up for all the time you lost at the orphanage.' Right. The orphanage. Caleb rolls his eyes at the memory. 'It will give you an opportunity to get to know the other children in the area.' He could almost laugh. Maybe, to an extent, there is some amount of truth in her words when addressing you, but when it comes to him... She can try to spin it however she'd like, Caleb hears the message loud and clear.

'I'm doing you a favor, letting you stay here. So keep out of my hair.'

He gets back to untying his shoes, ignoring the presence in the kitchen. He'd seen her car in the driveway when he'd made it back, hadn't said a word when he came inside and neither had she. It was always like that, always quiet between the two of them, words only ever exchanged out of necessity and, whenever possible, through you. He could comfortably call it loathing, on his end, but he could never quite tell what exactly she felt about him. From where he stood she didn't seem to feel much of anything beyond whatever twisted attachment she had to you.

You were the only thing to ever make her eyes soften at the lab. At the orphanage, you were the only one she had wanted.

He was panicking, running down the hall to the Director's Office, told by one of the younger kids that you were 'having a test'. He'd had to rack his brain for what that could mean. Shook off memories of evol experiments and observation pods until it hit him. Adoption interview. He skids to a stop at the door, knob collapsing in on itself before he's even bothered to check the lock. It crashes heavily into the wall as he bursts in. Shouting, already, as he takes stock of the room's occupants.

"You're not taking her!"

The Director, stern set of her features uncharacteristically disturbed by the suddenness of his entrance, has her brows raised, eyes wide, mouth agape. It is seconds before she schools her expression. Tells him this is 'none of his concern', demands he 'leave at once'. He thinks of the doorknob he just reduced to nothing. Thinks she would be just as easy to-

You move into his line of sight, head poking out from behind the woman sat in the chair beside you. You tilt it at him, curiously, sat very politely on the uncomfortable leather chair in front of the Director's desk. To your right, occupying the other seat, is-

His right shoe is undone again, he peels it away from his foot, moving to set it neatly on the rack by the door, gaze pulled to the sturdy wall of wood on his way, hoping to see it finally, blessedly swing open. No such luck.

Taekwondo had been Josephine's idea. All of your activities had been Josephine's idea, really. Options laid out and organized for you to look over, ultimately not a choice at all, she demanded the time be filled with something. He'd resented it-mind reeling with images of padlocked rooms, meals pushed through quickly closed shutters. 'Time's up' and 'lights out' and 'test complete'-and he'd have fought her on it, if you hadn't been so awed. You, thrumming with energy over the possibilities, asking an unending string of questions about each option. 'do you get to dress up all fancy for dance class?' 'is sewing the one with the machine or the big sticks?' 'do you have to swim even when its super cold?' 'what about-' His defiance had died on his tongue in favor of trying to convince you to sign up for basketball with him. It made him feel better, the idea of doing these things together. Josephine could take you to as many playgrounds as she wanted, you'd find a tree, and when you couldn't, he'd be one. In his focus in the planning of your new schedules, he hadn't noticed Josephine pursing her lips.

It took a good few hours of back and forth and cross-referencing school and activity times before you'd come to an agreement. On Monday's you'd go to ballet and on Wednesdays, your study groups. Piano lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then on Friday, basketball. All of it done together. Josephine had made a face at that, one he could not name but knew he didn't like. His instincts were good, he'd discover, when just after a month into this new routine she'd called him back to the table after supper.

"She should know how to defend herself." She spoke flatly, Caleb wasn't sure she could speak any other way. Not to him at least. His brow furrows.

"...From what?" He's daring her to say it, more than anything. He knows 'from what'. Had lived through 'from what' already. Hasn't heard a word about 'from what' since Josephine brought you both into her home like it was normal. Like she was normal. Like anything she'd helped everyone at 'from what' put you through was normal.

She sighs, leaving the question to die on the table just like you. Over and over again. He scoffs. She can play pretend all she'd like with you, he is never going to let her get a do over, not really. Not when he still remembers everything.

Silence occupies every bit of space between them, gazes fixed on each other through it. Beacons on separate shores, never to meet. Caleb scowls as Josephine studies him. Like some sort of equation. Something with a solution, rather than someone with a well earned grudge. Always an obstacle, never a boy.

In the end, he'd agreed with her. You should know how to defend yourself. You won't need to, not ever. Not as long as he's around, but just in case. Everything in case.

He didn't understand why she'd felt the need to run this one thing in particular by him first. She'd been plenty comfortable making your decisions up until then, and he harbored no delusions about who held all the power here. Who's will it was that allowed you not to be separated. It is only when he goes to untie his left shoe that he notices his leg bouncing anxiously.

He doesn't like being apart from you. Always afraid when he cannot see you. He's not ashamed to admit it, at least to himself. He has every reason to be scared. Two years of uninterrupted peace. Two years since Josephine clasped your little hands across the hard metal arms of those squeaky chairs in the Director's cold office and promised you a home. Two years and he still sees bright white lab lighting in the back of his mind. Feels static in the air when he jolts awake, gasping, from his sleep. 'Don't... take her away.'

He unties his shoe, takes it off, and just holds it. He can't put it on the rack with its pair. He can't leave the entryway until you get back.

He didn't understand why she'd bothered to mention Taekwondo classes to him, to get his assent, until they had finished with signing you up.

It was an all girls class. Caleb would not be attending with you.

Josephine was very good at solving problems. And that's what he was, wasn't he? An exponent attached to you? A negative factor that needed canceling out?

It will be a very long time (a lifetime, his first) before he understands what it was she was after, what she had already started to see in him-what she was afraid of, for you.

From then, their relationship settled-like scum on the surface of water-into what it is now, which is not really a relationship at all. A family, by law. But by circumstance, by experience, something worse than strangers.

He's still adjusting to being away from you at school, now that grade division has seen you sent to different campuses entirely. The daily relief of the final bell sounding, signaling he's soon to see you, quickly stolen by the dojang with it's bolded sign reading 'WOMEN ONLY' at the door. For the first few weeks, when he'd walk you to the building after your piano lessons, he could swear that instead of the soft thud of the double doors swinging shut he'd hear the shrill beep of an observation room door being unlocked. That while he waited outside for it to be over, when he heard your name called it wasn't your name at all, but your number, or one of the other not-your-name's they used to call you. He'd still be waiting outside the dojang now, instead of the entry to Josephine's home, if the workers hadn't started shooing him away. The world, like he's always suspected, seeming to exert every effort to keep him from you.

That was when the running had started. Going straight back to Josephine's house to stew in all of his anxiety and overthinking was an unproductive and unappealing prospect. He had to find some way to get the energy out, to save himself from rumination. The first day, it came to him like instinct. You'd finished your piano lessons, he'd walked you to the dojang, the workers stationed at the door watched to be sure he'd leave, and he took off, running. By the time it was exertion making it difficult to breathe and not the fear that you wouldn't come back out of those double doors, he would return and your class would be over and the pair of you would walk home, together, how you were meant to be.

That schedule, that routine, got you through the better part of two years, and then you decided to introduce a new variable.

You've made some new friends at the dojang. Which is... good, of course. He's trying to let it be good. Trying to ignore the scratching in the back of his skull that says what your lived experience thus far has shown, that everyone is out to get you.

There'd been an argument at the dining table over it, your request to walk home with your friends instead of Caleb. The two of you locked in a silent glaring contest after you'd asked Josephine and he'd said 'No.' and you'd said 'Why?' and he'd said 'No.'

"Caleb." Josephine's voice is stern. It gives him pause, even as he refuses to break eye contact with you. It's not her tone, though he could never shake his irritation at her seemingly unshakable neutrality, it's just that he's trying to recall the last time she'd addressed him directly. Three weeks ago, he thinks, Sunday afternoon. He'd been caught sneaking an extra soda for you. "Caleb." She tries again. This time, he hears what she means to say. 'Who do you think is in charge here?' Caleb is 12, and Josephine is however the hell old she is, and he harbors no delusions about who holds the power here. But it's you they are talking about here, your safety. Of all times, of all things it should be now that the two of them see eye to eye.

"Grandma, she-"

"Is nearly a teenager herself. If you can walk twice that distance to the grocery store alone, there is no reason she can't make it back here with the company of her friends." Always hyper-logical. Always leaving little room for argument. Always serving her own ends. Either unknowing or uncaring of the turmoil he is under. Probably both. Everyone is out to get you. Josephine's continued presence, continued control of your lives, his constant reminder.

That's the end of it. The table is quiet.

'Fine,' he thinks, 'he'll just have to run farther.'

And so it becomes: get out of school, pick you up, go to piano lessons, walk you to the dojang, run the distance between there and the house and keep going after that, until he's pretty sure he feels his lungs starting to collapse. Then he'll turn around and run the distance back to Josephine's. This way, when he gets there, you're already back. He steps through the front door, you call out to him, and he can breathe again. It was a system that'd worked every Thursday since, up to and until today. Hence the sitting by the door, and the issue of his shoes.

He's back, Josephine's back, the sun is going down, and you are nowhere to be seen. In the weeks since this routine began you've never been this late before. After class corner store and park visits with your little pals never keeping you out this close to supper.

"Your time would be better spent working on your assignments or helping prepare the meal than standing idle at the door." Josephine is matter-of-fact, as ever. And as ever, Caleb is unmoved, he's still cradling his left shoe. She sighs, not having to look up from her work to know she is being ignored. "She is perfectly fine. She'll be home soon." A statement made with the surety of someone who has a tracker in your flip phone, a heart rate monitor on your little wrist watch. But Caleb really doesn't give a damn what the data points on her phone screen are telling her when its been 2 hours and 43 minutes since he last saw you. Of course he's been counting. "She needs to be allowed to find her place in the world." He frowns at that. You had a place, both of you did. Next to each other. What else is there to have?

He raises his left knee, poised to slip his shoe back on. Glancing briefly toward the kitchen. Josephine couldn't stop him, if he chose to go look for you. And the longer he spends in her home, the older he gets, the less afraid he is she'll try to send him away. Try, being the operative word, he wouldn't go without a fight. He thinks you'd fight too.

He's just begun retying his laces when the door bursts open. Nearly sending him straight to the floor, collapse halted only by quick activation of his evol. Though it isn't his influence over gravity that finally lifts the weight from his shoulders.

You look like you went running, like you ran all the way back home. Which doesn't make a lick of sense to him, considering the hour. Something's off.

"That was a dramatic entrance." His tone is light, relaxed, like he hadn't just been preparing to rip a hole through the fabric of the city to get to you. He stands, looking you over. The anxiety that's been threatening to burst from him like foam from a shaken can of soda not dissipating so much as he crushes it down, just as he would a can that'd dare to spray at you. "Having such a good time you almost forgot supper, they said it couldn't be done!" He ruffles your hair, the action familiar, playful and purposeful. He draws himself closer to you, inspecting for damage, reading you for signs of discomfort or discontent.

Your breathing is ragged, the first thing he'd noticed upon your arrival-that and your shaking-which isn't uncommon after your classes but is never so... noticeable. Especially so long after the class itself has concluded. His mouth curves downward. You're also not looking at him, which is weird for you. You've always had kind of a staring problem. Josephine has a theory about that, about you taking in as much information-data. is the word she'd used-as you can to make up for all of the blank spaces left in your memory. Caleb tries not to think about it during the day time, it only makes him angrier at her. He lets his hand graze your cheek as he removes it from the top of your head. It's warm... and wet?

"Pipsqueak, what's wrong?" He's on his knees in front of you in an instant and, yup, you're crying. The hairs on the back of his neck raise at the same time as his eyes soften. Caught between wanting to make someone hurt for the expression on your face and wanting to help you forget why you're making it. You still won't look at him, no matter how he angles his head, and you won't speak either. Josephine is quiet from the kitchen. Listening, surely, but making no effort to intervene. The first step of the scientific method is observation. Caleb prefers a more direct approach. "Hey, talk to me." He moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, attempting to hold your head still enough to make eye contact. This appears to be the wrong move.

"Stop it!" You swat at his hands. Rubbing at the tear tracks he'd failed to sweep away. Your gaze still lowered. "Just leave me alone!" You take a single step forward, but make no other effort to get past him. Mostly because you can't. The entryway is small and Caleb is making himself as wide as possible to block you. Unwilling to let you go when you are so clearly upset. There's a way that this is supposed to go, has always gone. Tell him why. Let him fix it.

"Not until you tell me what made you cry." He's using what you call his 'don't-do-dumb-things' voice, though it cracks in the middle, betrayed by his age and the depth of his feelings both. It is a voice that has always left admonished enough to raise your white flag. Today though, it just seems to further incite your ire. You huff, show your teeth like a cornered animal, shaking your head aggressively as you wipe a fresh wave of tears away with your sleeves. When the task is done you leave your arms high, defensive.

...defensive?

He's shrinking in on himself before he can put conscious thought behind it.

"Just move!"

He does, a little. For show more than anything, a vain attempt at compromise. He is torn between wanting to abide by your wishes and feeling that this is all wrong wrong wrong. Your behavior today... it's all so weird and backwards. He's left scrambling to keep up.

You're quick to take advantage of the gap he's created, attempting to wriggle past him, all sniffly and tense. He has this feeling that if you make it to your room it will be hours before he gets the chance to get to you, he has to stall you long enough to get you talk to him. "You need to take your shoes off before you come inside!" Does he care even a little whether or not you track dirt or mud or grass into Josephine's house? No. Is he going to lay awake in bed tonight thinking about how stupid it was to reprimand you when you were so obviously at the end of your rope?

Yeah.

You look at him for the first time since you got home, which feels like progress until you full on growl, crouching down to untie your shoes in the most comically angry way he thinks anyone has ever done it. He mirrors you out of habit, reaching out to where your hands, in all their shaky frustration, struggle to undo the knots in your laces. "Let me-" This is another, in his growing series of wrong things to do.

"I told you to leave me alone!" You shriek, and then there's quiet. Caleb freezes, making note of his mistake and your reaction to analyze later, and giving you a second to process what just happened. Usually, this is the part where you take a deep breath, cry harder, say you're sorry for being mean, and let him hold you and stroke your hair and tell you 'shh shh its ok' until you're ready to talk. Today, you take your finally undone shoe and throw it at him.

...What the hell is going on?

While he's left stunned from your surprise attack, you shove him. Pushing him into the wall, more from the way it feels like you really mean it than the actual force applied, regardless it is enough for you to dart past. "Hey-hold on!" He's quick to recover, to follow your hurried steps through the living room and down the hall. He catches up, he's always been faster, and all that running- "Wait, can't we just-" He reaches for you before thinking better of it, fingers just grazing your arm before pulling away, every time he's tried to touch you you've just gotten more mad. It takes you only a second more to cross the threshold of your bedroom, not sparing him a glance as you shut him out.

"Why can't you just GO AWAY!" There is a resounding thud, as the door is closed in his face, and that's the end of it. He stands outside the slammed-and locked?-door in shock, shoulders drooping as the clear rejection settles in. Then he hears Josephine choke out a little laugh from her place in the kitchen.

"She's at that age..." It takes everything in him not to snarl at her. She almost sounds... relieved. Like a breath exhaled after too long being held. Does she think this is funny? He turns his gaze back to the door, the lock. He could just... open it. Could break the door down, if he felt like he needed to. "Give her time to settle." It bothers him that she knows what he's thinking. It bothers him more that she's right. He sees your face in his mind, eyes all teary and red, brows drawn and lip curled, all teeth.

"She doesn't shut me out. Not me... Not ever."

"Come cut the vegetables." There has always been a distinct difference in Josephine's treatment of the two of you, though it could be noticed only by one who knew to look for it. She is always straight faced, always composed. She does not strain herself in speaking, neither out of joy nor agitation. It is down to the choice of words. To the order of them.

Josephine offers you guidance. Suggestions, advice, requests. To Caleb, she gives orders.

And Caleb, who has always known his place, follows them.

With a sigh and a final glance at your door, he turns to pad over to the kitchen. Josephine studies his face, that same clinical manner that makes him tense even now, before smiling and handing him a knife. "She's growing up, Caleb." She gestures toward the cutting board, the assortment of washed veggies. "There are things she'll want to work out on her own." Her gaze is focused on the bubbling pot, stirring diligently, steadily. She contains what would otherwise overflow. He understands, in theory, but can't reason why 'on her own' can't include him. The thought alone turns his stomach. He redirects his attention to the work provided to him, the rhythmic movement of the knife, the repetitive thud of it hitting the cutting board. "I had... thought you'd be the first one to want for distance." The knife slips, crashes harder than intended into the board. He looks up to her, face drawn.

"Why." It is a question as much as it is not. Leaves him in the same robotic manner as small talk. 'How are you' and 'what nice weather' and 'why would I ever try to be without her?'.

"You're at that age." The non-answer of someone who has been alive longer, who has seen more, and believes themself superior for it. He can't bring himself to care. Even as she turns to him with that familiar, analytical gaze. Seeing him, standing beside him, but never with him. The relationship between the lens and the slide in the microscope.

"What age Grandma?" He jolts at his own words. The title he only deemed necessary to use when you were in earshot. Reasons with himself that maybe you can hear from in your room.

She pauses, gazed fixed but unfocused, before finding the words. "Older brother's start to find little sisters more obnoxious than cute." Up and down her eyes go, then briefly to the counter, before she turns back to her work. She sighs. Whatever she was searching him for she cannot seem to find. "You're pretty good at that." She says, not bothering with another look up. He observes his progress. Vegetables finely chopped, a small collection of which have been cut into the shape of flowers, hearts.

He hadn't realized. He bristles, feeling in some way caught. "You work late. Someone has to make sure she eats." He means for it to be a barb. As with everything else, she accepts it neutrally.

"You take care of her Caleb, very well." A pause again, a call to attention. "Like a good brother." His brow furrows. That word keeps coming up. Ever since she brought you two home. You've started to use it too. There's something that feels not quite right about it.

He's not your brother.

Before the orphanage and the lab and the orphanage, he was nothing to you. You were nothing to him.

The train of thought cuts off abruptly. That isn't right either.

Josephine watches, quiet. The scientific method demands observation first.

It isn't right for you to be nothing to him. Not ever. So there is no before. He's fine with that. But what was he, to you, at the orphanage and the lab and the orphanage again? What is he now?

Josephine turns on the radio.

It strikes him as odd. She is someone who does not need outside stimulus, someone who takes no interest in distraction. When he looks to her, watches as she stirs the pot, he tilts his head in question. She does not face him as she responds.

"She is a very special girl." Caleb knows this, resents her saying it anyway. To him, you're special because you're you. Because your eyes are your eyes and your hands are your hands and they took his without needing a reason to. For Josephine, for the other scientists, for the company that funded them, you're special because of what you do. What they can do to you. What it means that what was done could be done and you could live.

You are a breakthrough, not a person. A future, not a girl with one.

"I know you aren't fond of me."

He won't argue that. Without you present there is no need to pretend at anything else. Josephine turns the radio up.

"You understand the work we were trying to do. Whether or not you agreed with it." She lowers her voice to a whisper. Caleb stands silent, wires crossing, gears turning in him.

The mechanics of the conversation click into place.

"I didn't. And I don't." The music is a cover, in case you can hear from your room. Their separate work is a cover, in case the discussion pulls expressions from them they'd prefer the other not to read. It is oddly compassionate of her. Oddly just.

The expectation, for the first time in two years of wool and shutters and roses, is honesty.

"Perhaps because you didn't see it for yourself." There is a dreaminess to her voice that makes him feel ill. "It was... remarkable. Like watching the birth of a planet in the flesh." 'Watching,' He thinks. 'like some kind of god.' But he can't say it, not through the growing tightness in his throat. How she speak so casually about it, find any sort of beauty in it, is lost to him. He hadn't seen, no, but he'd heard. Still hears you screaming in his sleep, still wakes shaking.

"You should know that I protested." There is a creaking, cracking sort of sound, and when Caleb goes to bring the knife down on the half of uncut leek before him he finds it has been twisted beyond recognition. Josephine hums. A sound like a confirmation. "Though I suppose that wouldn't matter to you. Your concerns are more... present. Too young to be troubled with longevity."

He is concerned with your longevity.

With that, he tires of the game. Dropping the useless knife. Silencing the radio himself, a brief bout of whirring and static before all is quiet, all is crushed. Even still, when he goes to speak he finds himself whispering.

"There is nothing you could say to me that will make me think you were in the right. Not when you killed her over and over while she screamed and hurt and apologized." His breathing is ragged, has been for longer than he's been speaking. " I heard everything. I remember everything." He raises his head, evol dragging Josephine's gaze to meet his. "I remember for her."

He is met with the mask. Always the mask. He wonders if there is even anything to see underneath. If, with pretense peeled away, her face would be hollow and black, like looking into the depths of a well. From the surface, no way to see if it has gone dry. Or maybe, it would be better described as blank, like an untouched page.

No, not untouched. Erased.

What other way is there to live with what you've done.

"Do you care about her?" He doesn't mean to ask. Doesn't even mean to think it.

"More than I can express in words." There is no room for doubt in her tone. Nowhere to hide a lie in the silence surrounding them.

Still, he doesn't believe her.

"You... wanted to stop it. You protested." All of her assuredness is met with equal uncertainty on his part.

She nods slow. "I did."

"But you didn't." The whole room is heavy, ceramic dishware straining against the increased pressure, a low hum in the air, all around.

"And did you?" For once he has provoked an emotion, something unnamed, quiet and cutting. She sighs, aggrieved. "What could one person be expected to do. Even if I had voted against-" She cuts herself off abruptly, expression shifting to something calculating. Some sort of clarity settling over her. Focus. "It wasn't a failing, on your part. To not have saved her. What could you have been expected to do? Knowing so little, watched over as you were?" Something new breaks through the usual, almost robotic, calm. A fraction of a fraction of the warmth she brings to her voice when speaking to you. The shift in attitude causes his control of the space to falter, a weight lifts, pressure lightening over everything but him. Josephine takes a step forward, he takes one back. She hums, low, gathers up his chopped vegetables to deposit into the pot. Temperature lowered to a simmer. "...You're old enough to be told. Smart enough, I believe, to understand." The knife, the one he'd mangled, scrapes across the cutting board. The practical, evenly sliced bits and cute, carefully shaped pieces of veg falling indiscriminately into the vessel. Everything about the scene unsettles him.

"Caleb, I need to know that I can trust you." He doesn't respond. He knows he isn't seeing the full picture, that in whatever game they are playing she is dozens of steps ahead. 'It wasn't a failing ... to not have saved her ... what could you have been expected to do? Knowing so little ... You're old enough ... Smart enough ... to understand.' Josephine cuts the heat on the pot, steam rises, simmer receding. There is no relief in the realization that everything he believed is true.

"I don't trust you. I'm not going to trust you." He gazes at the ground, head lowered. A small sign of submission. "But that doesn't mean I can't... understand." His eyes flick up and back. A half a second not enough to see a deceptively gentle smile settle on her face.

The deal is made. Transparency traded for cooperation. Information for compliance. There is the feeling of something wrapping around his throat. Invisible, but nonetheless felt, over faded scar tissue, the memory of the buzzing and beeping collar he'd earned after he'd-

"The food will get cold, and it is getting late." Josephine says, content. Pointedly avoiding looking at him, lest she have to extend herself to offer him care on top of everything else she's done for him. "Just for tonight you may eat in your room." She prepares three plates, portions entirely equal, but only one carefully arranged, specially shaped veggies in neat little piles.

In exactly one aspect, she and Caleb are identical.

"Take this one to her door on your way." She holds two plates out to him.

'And be on your way.' Goes unspoken.

He takes the offerings wordlessly. Turning to walk, stiff and careful from the kitchen and down the hall.

"Caleb." she calls as he reaches the arched threshold between the kitchen and the living area. He freezes, but does not turn. "Be a good brother."

His brow furrows. It is said like a command, like a fine print term to their agreement he'd missed.

"...I will."

He could swear he hears the smile in her voice when she replies. "We'll talk on Thursday. When she is out."

He thinks he nods, or he tells himself to nod, but the only action of his body he is cognizant of is the falling of his feet as he covers the distance to your room.

----

He isn't surprised when his knocking at your door is met with silence.

His mouth is drawn into a line, empty hand still raised as he debates knocking again, knowing you won't answer. Your plate of food hovers at his side, held in the air by his evol.

"...Gran said we can eat in your room tonight, I brought your plate." He waits, for a beat and then longer, nothing. He frowns. Barely swallowing a frustrated sigh. You'd had a long day, a physically demanding class, and you would still rather go hungry than see him. 'Alright then,' he thinks, 'other means.' He grabs your plate from the air.

"Okay, okay... I'll leave it at the door for you." He lowers both his plate and yours to the ground simultaneously. Righting himself slowly, and taking one, two, three, four and a half steps in place before your door-the distance his stride measures between his and yours-lowering himself to the ground with each step. He sits, arms and legs crossed in front of him, uses his evol to open and close the door to his own room, and waits.

It isn't long at all before your door clicks open and you come, as he guessed you would, crawling out-low to the ground, like a little mouse-to retrieve your supper. Your hand freezes, half extended, when you notice two plates instead of the expected one, and the pair of legs folded just behind them. You sigh, like someone bested, but otherwise remain unmoving.

Caleb waits patiently for you to decide the next move, hopeful that your lack of shaking is an indication of some amount of calm. That you have settled, like Josephine said, and will let him in. While the silence drapes over you both like a blanket fort, he busies himself looking you over. Searching for clues pointing him toward the problem. Whatever left you worked up enough to shut him out entirely. You aren't hurt, not anywhere he can see, and he does feel some relief at that. Nothing physical seems to be wrong with you. The only visual difference he can find between earlier and now is a changed shirt, and a significantly less tearful face. Your head stays low, body shrinking in on itself the longer the silence looms. Behavior from you, finally, that he has a frame of reference for.

You get quiet after you yell. It's one of the first things Caleb figured out about you. A burst of emotion followed by shyness, worry. Josephine commented on it once, and only once, halfheartedly joking under her breath that perhaps it was 'just your nature to explode'. Her mug had shattered in her hands, ceramic slicing into the tender flesh between her right thumb and pointer finger. Neither of them spoke a word about it.

"...'m sorry-" you only barely get the word out before he is reassuring you.

"-it's okay." His arms unfold. Hands sat in his lap, open, always ready for you to take.

You don't say anything else. Apology as far as you had planned, as far as you are willing to go, and then you are stuck. Caleb grabs both plates, holding them out to you.

"...Food?" Your growling stomach replies for you. You nudge open the door.

----

Your chopsticks are placed gently onto your emptied plate. As you ate in your-relatively, considering the day you've had-companionable silence Caleb has been careful to keep his tracking of your movements to the corner of his eye. For all of your staring you don't particularly enjoy the favor being returned. He takes the last bite from his own plate-his pace set to match yours-before stacking the dishware and utensils in the space between your bodies on your floor. A physical barrier providing you the distance you require to be open and honest. Caleb, once more, exercises his endless patience.

"...I'm mad at you." You finally say, knees hugged to your chest. And, yeah, he kind of figured.

"Aw man, really?" The frowning emoticon is all but spoken aloud in his tone. You look at him, expression somewhere between glaring and baffled and he snorts. Maybe it isn't the time to play with you, but you just make so hard to help himself.

And maybe, secretly, there is a small part of him that thinks you deserve to be poked at, just a little, for scaring him.

"...You're the actual worst." Your head falls over your knees, face tucked in. He's grateful you don't see his mouth twitch downward, the furrow he quickly straightens out of his brow. He shuffles around the remains of supper over to you.

"Alright, alright. 'm sorry for teasing..." He pets your head, smoothing your hair as he goes. "...do you wanna tell me what happened?" You tense and his hand freezes, afraid to have re-triggered whatever part of you didn't want him touching you earlier, but you are quick to relax again. He moves his hand to rest on your shoulder, thumb tracing a heart over the peak of your arm before stilling. He should tell you that you don't have to talk about it, if you aren't ready. But he doesn't want to, can't bring himself to.

Tell him why. Let him fix it.

"...they don't like me." You whisper, a choked little sound immediately following. Tears still left to shed, it'd seem. He puts an arm around you, hugs you into his side as best as he's able with you all folded over yourself.

"Who doesn't like you?"

You mumble something into your knees.

"Huh?" He leans into you, cheek resting on your shoulder.

"The girls in my class."

"...your friends? Or other girls?" Your head lifts with an annoyed huff. Like the problem is him being slow and not you being extremely cryptic.

"They aren't my friends and its your fault." He turns his head to meet your eyes, face twisted in confusion. You're glaring, again.

"My fault? What did I do?" He'd only even seen the girl's on maybe three occasions, crossed paths while seeing you off or meeting at the door on your return home. And he'd been polite even though, if he's being honest with himself, he kind of wished they'd never shown up.

You shake your head. "It's not what you did it's what I said I wouldn't do." You turn your head away from him, gaze dropping to your fingers drawing shapes into the floor.

His jaw drops. "Okay. Pip. You've lost me." You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and shove yourself out of his hold. There's no real aggression behind it, not like earlier, but he allows it all the same.

He thinks he might still get yelled at.

...Or, he would think that, if you didn't look so shy.

You've turned to sit facing away from him now. He leans back and watches you with a tilt of his head. You take another deep, steadying breath before your hand shoots out to rip the comforter off of your bed, huddling yourself under it completely. He blinks, and, afforded the security of you being unable to see his face, grins a little.

Silly girl.

"Uh oh. My pip-squeak got swallowed by a blanket monster. Now I'm gonna have to eat all the cookies and chips in the house by myself." He nudges a lump of covered extremity with his foot.

"Caleb..." You groan, muffled by the thick, downy barrier between you and the world.

"Pip!" He replies, with all of the enthusiasm of a guy who would really like to know what's going on.

There's no further groaning or sighing or huffing from you. Just quiet. You're sat so still for so long that he's almost worried you fell asleep sitting up. He opens his mouth just as you finally speak up.

"They were only being nice to me 'cause they wanted me to introduce them to you. 'Cause they thought you were cute." He hears you, even through the muffle and your keeping your voice intentionally low. His lips purse. "They asked me to, while we were hanging out today. Got mad when I said no." He stares at the blanket pile that makes up your body. "They said... a bunch of mean stuff about me over it... I forgot most of it already. One of 'em threw her juice at me, and they laughed when I started crying about it." Your hand reaches out from the wadded comforter, pointing at your discarded shirt on the floor, the front stained pink. He worries himself over not having noticed, and as if you can hear his thoughts you continue. "...I turned it backwards before I came in, so my jacket would cover it. I don't know. It's embarrassing."

It's silent. In the wake of your confession. You stewing in your mortification, and Caleb trying to get to somewhere more useful than really angry at a collective of little girls.

As usual, he grounds himself by focusing on the most important thing he can do, taking care of you.

"...Does the blanket monster have room in its stomach for one more?"

You contemplate it, for a moment. Caleb is already gripping at a corner of the comforter, waiting for your permission to move in.

"...yeah... I guess."

He lifts the comforter, slides underneath, and places himself in front of you. The limited space leaves your noses all but touching. Your gaze is on your lap, where your hands sit, you're picking at the skin of one of them. Caleb keeps one arm raised above you both, providing what little structure he can to your makeshift tent. The other, he uses to swat at yours. "Hey, don't do that..." He takes your hand in his to stop you, to steady you, an anchor.

"If they got to hang out with you for a month and they still don't like you then they don't deserve you. And frankly, I think they should have their brains scanned, something is clearly misfiring." It's dark under the covers, but even still he can see you trying to fight down a smile. He smiles too, no fight at all. "And if they don't like you, I don't like them." You start to giggle and his grin widens. He doesn't tell you that he didn't like them regardless. That he is, in some part, relieved that the last few miserable weeks of Thursdays are finally over. "You can tell them I said that. Or I can, next week. When I pick you up." Silence falls. His smile slowly falling with it.

"I still... want to walk home by myself. After Taekwondo." To his great misfortune, you choose now to look directly at him. Leaving him to hope desperately that the relative darkness, covers him trying to school his expression.

"...how come?" He asks, quiet and making great efforts to suppress a whine. "I'm gonna be 13 soon. And I have to... I want to... be able to do some things by myself."

'She's at that age...'

He had been doing so well, not thinking about his conversation with Josephine.

'She's growing up, Caleb.'

'There are things she'll want to work out on her own.'

'Be a good brother.'

He doesn't know how.

He doesn't want to.

He wants to tell you no and to walk you home and to tell those little brats from your class to fuck off and-

"...alright."

You perk up, surprise evident on your face. "really?"

"I have conditions." He looks at you seriously. You nod, a single, strong movement of your head. He raises his hand to count. "One, you get a 30 minute window after class time to make it home." a finger raised. You are already furrowing your brow in protest. "Two, if those girls say or do anything else to you you have to tell me. Right away, no exceptions." Another, and you make a contemplative noise. "Three, if it rains or snows I will come to get you. You don't leave the dojang alone when the weather is bad." Message delivered, he lowers his hand. "If you agree to the terms, your request is accepted."

"...what happens if I don't come home in 30 minutes?" Your smiling when you say it. He scoffs, you must be feeling better if your already feeling mischievous.

"Well, pips its seems that the obvious outcome is that I would come find you. And you'd lose your privileges. Indefinitely."

"What? That's not fair? What if its super windy and I-"

"Clause 3."

"Well fine, no weather but what if I wanted to-"

"Clause 1 Pip, come on."

"You are such a meanie!" Your pounding at his chest with your little fists, but your both laughing, and there's no venom behind it. "Fine, whatever. I accept your stupid terms." You hold your hand out to shake his. The verbal contract warranting seriousness, a real seal. He rolls his eyes like he isn't the one that started it and gives your hand a firm shake. Neither of you bothers to let go.

For a moment you just sit there, quiet under the comforter together. A somberness falls over him, a resignation.

Being a good brother... kind of sucks.

He doesn't know where the thought comes from, what part of it is difficult to swallow, but regardless he shakes it off. Pulls up the roots before they can dig deeper into him. Josephine was right about everything else. Whether he liked it or not, she was probably right about this too. Besides, all he wanted was to be what you need. If this is it, he can do it. He can. He has to. He gets to. He'll be happy to. He won't ask for anything else.

Actually, that's a lie.

"One more thing." When he turns his eyes back to you he catches that you've been staring, a familiar warmth washes over him.

"Hm?" You tilt your head. He makes sure you intend to hold his gaze before speaking, a finger brushing your cheek affectionately.

"Next time you're mad at me, don't run away. Don't hide from me when you're upset." He tucks an errant bit of hair behind your ear. "I don't care if you throw things, or hit me, or yell. Just let me..." Fix it. "...just let me help."

You look him over, he doesn't know what for, what to show you, just hopes you find it. Whatever you need, whatever you want. He'd give you anything. You extend your pinky to him. "Promise?" A question. Another contract. More serious, even, than the last.

He locks his with yours, mouth lowering to rest on his hand. "Yeah. Promise."

...

This fic did everything but take me out back and shoot me I swear. I estimated this concept to run me a clean 2.5k words. Brother. It has been a long week. Thanks for reading! love ya <3