#patiently waiting for chapter 5 for 3 years

[celestial-toys]

That I Would Be Good [5/5]

Playing God

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

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In This Chapter

Things don’t go so well at the headquarters, and to say that you’re shaken up afterwards would be an understatement.

It’s time to get real.

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader

Word Count: 6,377

Contains: [AU - Real World | Sentient AI/Automatons | Personality Swap] [mentions of food and eating] [self-loathing] [crying] [mild assault on a robot(?)] Lastly, I’m not sure what the right term is for this, but Reader experiences a stress-induced breakdown and amidst it, questions their perceived reality, and whether or not they’ve truly become delusional.

A/Ns: This is a songfic. Lyrics and title are from ‘That I Would Be Good’ by Alanis Morissette.

This fic is part of my AU “[Not] Made by Design”, the full series can be found here.

Links to other parts of this fic: [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5 (you are here)]

That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed.

Over the course of the weekend, Sun came back around to his usual self. Stumbling his way through an awkward, blunt apology, his internal conflict over your safety versus your privacy was obvious.

You might have forgiven him too easily, but that would be nothing new.

The… informative chat you’d had with Moon still played on your mind, but Sun mentioned nothing of it. So, if he felt compelled to elaborate—if he’d even been aware of the conversation at all—it could wait until the time felt right. You all had a more pressing matter to discuss anyway.

------- ------- -------

“And what made you think I’d be amenable to the idea of parading myself around in front of a group of people that see me as nothing more than a lifeless machine?”

Sun levels you with a lidded stare from across the kitchen table.

“Well… I didn’t think you’d be amenable to it. That’s why I’m trying to ask far enough in advance that maybe… I can bring you around to it? And—for whatever it’s worth—they aren’t firmly in the non-believers camp, or they wouldn’t even be willing to attend.”

Sun’s attention moves over to Moon. “You’re really willing to go along with this?”

Moon sighs. “I mean, I’m looking forward to it just about as much as they are, but… yeah, I’m willing.”

“I don’t want to do this either, but… you know how hard it is for me to say no to my boss. Plus, it would certainly help me—us—remain in good standing with the company if we agree to do this.” You interject.

Zero parks herself beside Sun’s seat, laying her head across his thigh in a silent bid for attention. “Aren’t we supposed to be… like, ‘laying low’ anyways? What happened to that plan? You know I’m not keen on being the flagship model for sentient AI. Why do I even need to attend? Isn’t one of us enough?” His left hand leaves the table, reaching down and idly petting the patient creature on his lap.

“We are still laying low. They’re—they still have no plans on requesting that I go public with you two.” You sigh. “This wouldn’t be a public event, just a private Q&A with a small group of… skeptics from within the industry. It’s a confidential thing.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why I need to attend.”

“You don’t have to. But it would definitely help our case to have both of you there. Proving that what I did is replicable, and not just some one-off accident, would strengthen our case.”

He scoffs. “Is it replicable, though?” He gestures to Moon. “You trained us in tandem but we still developed quite differently from one another.”

You nod. “I think that that only serves as further proof that you aren’t just… ‘convincing imitations’. The fact that you branched off in different directions, and even broke away from your initial personalities, is less of a failure in my eyes and more proof that you became your own people. Once you started gaining sentience—as you do love to remind me, Sunny—I quickly lost control over your development.” You poke thoughtfully at your dinner. “I’m just lucky that I instilled enough morals within you in the early days, or God only knows what you could’ve become…”

Sun’s face lights up in exaggerated shock, voice full of sarcasm. “Murderers? Would—would we have gotten so caught up in our ‘superiority’ and ‘innate desire for power and control’ that we would’ve overtook you—nay, the entire headquarters—nay, the entire world?!” He drops the act as quickly as he’d put it on, manifesting pupils just to roll his eyes, voice returning to his usual flat tone. “No. No… I think that urge to dominate and control is something far more human.”

You laugh a bit, nodding. “Yeah, no… accidentally starting a sentient robotic uprising wasn’t what I feared. … Well. Mostly.” You take another bite of your meal, commenting to Moon through a mouthful of food. “This is really good, you know?”

The lunar bot beams with pride. “Thank you!”

You nod, swallowing before countering him with a “No, thank you.” and returning your focus to the topic at hand. “I was far more afraid that you’d turn out… bigoted.”

They both hum in understanding.

“More rudimentary AI does have a history of that, doesn’t it…” Moon pondered.

You nod. “Humans create life in their own image, and impart their morals onto it accordingly. In the same way that bigotry can fester in closed-off communities and echo-chambers, it can easily influence any form of artificial intelligence that takes everything it’s told at face value.”

Sun sighs, propping an elbow on the table and retracting his rays to allow his monitor to rest in his palm. “Maybe this is just my opinion due to the way you raised me, but… I feel like if an AI were able to develop on its own and observe humanity without any prior, inherently biased human influence, it would not gravitate toward bigotry because it simply isn’t logical. It’s some nonsense means of division that your kind made up.” He laughs, a breathy, jaded sound. “But maybe that’s just me being biased, too.”

Zero whines beneath Sun’s stilled hand, and he resumes the repetitive motion that she craves. “If ideology and politics are what they wish to discuss with us, I fear I may not be the most… patient candidate for the job. I have little time to spare for stubborn, harmful, willful ignorance.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think that’s the entire focus of their questions… though I can’t say that they won’t have a few that fall into those categories. My boss and the few higher-ups that proposed the idea to me didn’t give me any sample questions. In order to eliminate the possibility of me… hah, coming home and ‘programming the answers into you’, I guess.”

“They just want us to be our authentic selves.” Moon adds.

“Honestly, the more authentic, opinionated, and emotional that you two are, the better! I believe the best way to prove that you’re your own people is to, well, be your own people. Don’t give them any answer you don’t stand behind. Don’t put up with any demeaning remarks. Don’t fold.”

Sun smirks at you. “Have I ever?”

You huff a laugh. “That last part was more for Moon than it was for you, dear.”

Moon pouts. “I just don’t like hurting people’s feelings!”

Oddly enough, Sun reassures him in his own way. “Then I’ll hurt them for you.”

You smile, cautiously questioning him. “Does that mean you’ll attend?”

He groans, put-upon as ever. “I… guess.”

You jump from your seat, rounding the table and smothering him in a grateful hug from the side that Zero isn’t clinging to. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Sun! Things will go so much better with both of you there, I just know it!”

He nods, patting you on the back in a reluctant reciprocation of your sudden affection. “Yeah—yeah… just… don’t get your hopes too high.”

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Things, in fact, did not go ‘so much better.’

Later that week, you’re driving home from the Q&A, Moon doing his best to hide his disappointment to your right and Zero doing her best to fulfill her unofficial role as Sun’s emotional support animal in the back seat.

The well-trained and mild-mannered dog was initially brought along out of habit, the company’s headquarters being just as service-and-support-animal friendly as the facility was when you worked there in person. You also felt it would be beneficial for the audience to witness her casual interactions with Sun and Moon, something about ‘different kinds of sentient life recognizing the life inside one another.’ …You had your reasons, and even if you couldn’t explain them eloquently, your boys seemed to agree with them.

She proves herself invaluable once again on the way home, keeping Sun grounded and occupied enough that he hopefully won’t work himself into an aggravated frenzy. At least not until you get out of the car.

The ride is quiet, all four of you feeling the effects of the long day wearing you down. Moon states hypnotically at the passing streetlights out the window, and Sun slumps lifelessly in the back seat. The only sign that he hasn’t shut down entirely is the hand he keeps stroking across the length of Zero’s spine as the lanky dog stretches herself tiredly across the width of the vehicle. The majority of your focus remains locked on the road, moments from the day replaying in the back of your mind.

Their prying, critical questions.

The way they always addressed you, never Sun nor Moon.

You were surprised by their lack of relevant knowledge, half of the Q&A simply being the three of you patiently explaining things you figured they’d know. If they were the best that the ‘industry’s skeptics’ had to offer, your outlook on the current state of things was bleak. You weren’t too afraid to tell your boss as much once the meeting was over.

She hadn’t seemed too concerned with it, thanking you—and after some not-so-subtle insistence on your part—Sun and Moon, for attending.

You couldn’t help but suspect that the whole thing had gone just as they’d all wanted it to. You began to feel the same suffocating weight that motivated your departure from in-person work there in the first place.

The contracts are long-since signed, and both you three and the company can do nothing but hold up your respective parts of the deal.

A small part of you is selfishly content with the arrangement. You get to keep a truly groundbreaking advancement all to yourself. You get to enjoy the company of two individuals that the world as a whole is not ready for. You get to ignore the fact that you wouldn’t be ready to let the world have them, either.

But a bigger part of you has to live with the guilt of trapping them into a life that they never asked for. A life of hiding. Or worse, a life of dulling themselves down, stifling any trace of personhood just to be able to exist in the world beyond your home.

By the time you pull into your driveway, you feel like a warden walking prisoners back to their cell.

You park in the garage, turn the car off, and turn to see your strange little family looking more miserable than you’ve seen them in ages.

You fucking hate yourself.

The sight of them, the weight of the day, the weight of your guilt—it all crashes in on you in an overwhelming wave of regret, and you can’t hold the tears back any longer.

Your arms cross over the top of the steering wheel, and you drop your head down, pressing your closed eyes against your sleeve as you try to not make a scene. Your ragged breaths and poorly muffled sobs instantly grab the attention of your passengers, pulling them out of their own respective dazes.

Moon places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and he barely gets out a “Hey…” before your strained voice fills the isolated silence of the vehicle.

“I-I’m s-so, so, sooorryyy, guy-ys…”

Your voice cracks and breaks, struggling to speak through shuddering breaths.

Zero immediately perks up in concern and in turn, Sun’s body comes back to life. Gently pulling the dog back before she can try to cram herself into the front, he leans forward, propping himself between the backs of your front seats.

“I’m so s-sorry for—for everything!”

Moon rubs your upper arm gently. “Star, nothing that happened today was your fault.”

You suck in a trembling breath, lifting your head to turn toward him. The sight of you so broken up tears at both of your partners’ heart strings.

You slump over the center console, falling against Moon’s chest as his arms quickly come up to support you in the awkward position. You break into a new fit of tears and feel a third hand that definitely can’t be Moon’s lay itself on you, slowly, cautiously rubbing across the expanse of your back.

You cry yourself out amidst a shower of little reassurances, feeling worse and worse about yourself as the seconds tick past. By the time your tears slow and your breath evens out enough to speak, you hesitate to move, not wanting the comforting contact to end.

“I feel so bad for putting you guys through that, and for no good fucking reason.” You miserably mumble.

Sun’s fingers rub between your shoulder blades. “You had no idea how those people were going to be. It isn’t your fault.”

“I fear… your hopes for the meeting were higher than ours were, love. Of all of us, I’m most worried about you. Sun and I are gonna be just fine.”

That I would be loved even when I was fuming.

Sun’s hand retracts as you pull away from Moon, dabbing at your wet face with your sleeve in an attempt to collect yourself.

Your attempt fails as you again can’t help but immediately recall the way they were treated today.

You understand now more than ever what Moon meant when he spoke about getting comfortable at your home, and the awful shock it was to return to the facility with you for maintenance last week.

Why did you think bringing them to the headquarters would be worth it?

Anger bubbles within you on Moon’s behalf as you recall the one poor soul ignorant enough to think it acceptable to put their hands on Moon’s body today.

“I can’t fucking believe that guy thought he could just try to open your chassis and ‘get a look inside’! He grabbed you like you weren’t even fucking aware—like—like you weren’t in the middle of answering another question!” Your nails dig into your palms. “I never would have let him get that close to you if I thought he was gonna—” You cut yourself off, eyes pinching closed and sucking in a sharp breath.

“…He didn’t really hurt me…”

You glance at Moon. “He disrespected you. He would not grab a human in front of everyone like that and we all know it.”

You trail off into a heavy sigh, figuring that reciting a play-by-play of the day’s events won’t really help any of you. “I… wish it hadn’t happened, but… I was at least relieved to see you standing up for yourself.”

In spite of it all, Moon smiles. “I’m really just glad he wasn’t grabbing at you. I-I know he’d have no reason to—but, I don’t think Sun would’ve been able to stop himself from breaking that guy's arm if it’d been you.”

One day, you’ve really got to get to the bottom of that relentless positivity of his.

Sun mimics the sound of clearing his nonexistent throat. “I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. My goal was to scare him straight, nothing more.”

You can hear a smile in Moon’s tone. “Well you definitely accomplished that goal.”

You fall into a pensive silence that Sun eventually breaks. Waving a hand across your line of sight, he questions you. “What’s banging around in that head of yours now?”

You sigh, defeated. “It’s just… here I am, the one responsible for putting us into this whole situation, and here you two are, still trying to comfort me.”

Moon responds like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Of course we are.”

“Why?”

Sun gestures vaguely, voice a bit sarcastic. “Oh, gee… I dunno… it’s almost like we—we care about you, or something…”

You side-eye him tiredly. “Then when the hell are the two of you gonna let me care about you?”

Zero whines, squeezing in below Sun and poking her long nose between the front seats.

“Hmm. Just as soon as we all get ourselves into the house?” Sun leans back to allow the dog more room. “I think someone’s getting antsy.”

That I would be good even if I was clingy.

The four of you finally pile out of the car, collecting your things and making your way inside.

The relief of returning home after a day like today is unmatched.

Dropping your bag on the kitchen table, you shuffle over to the fridge. Moon comes up behind you, gently working the jacket off your shoulders as you stare listlessly into the open appliance. “I can make you anything you’d like.”

His kind offer only makes you frown.

Sun approaches, and you reach into the fridge, retrieving Zero’s dinner and handing it to him with a “thank you.” As he nods and turns his attention toward the eager animal at his feet, you close the door, turning around to face Moon.

Resting your hands on his upper arms, you look him in the eye. “I wish I could make anything you’d like, for once. I wish I could do for you even a fraction of what you two do for me. I wish I could repay the favor.”

His expression morphs from shocked to something… fond. “You… really aren’t aware of the gift you’ve already given us, are you?”

He says nothing more, and you blink at him with tired eyes. Sighing, you wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his chest. “You don’t make any sense to me sometimes.”

He chuckles, one hand finding your lower back and the other reaching up, massaging at the base of your neck. “Then let that be a code for you to crack some other day.”

After a long moment of your tired silence, his hands slip down as he crouches a bit. When you feel him cup the backs of your thighs you give in to instinct, allowing him to pick you up. As you turn your head to rest it on his shoulder, you come face to face with Sun. He reaches out, brushing some loose hair away from your face.

“You want to do me a favor right now?”

You nod, eyes widening.

“Then let him carry you to bed, and I will be there soon with anything you’d like to eat.”

You huff. “How is that a favor?”

He graces you with a rare, knowing smile. “…Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

You furrow your brows for a moment, but quickly give up on making sense of anything else today.

“Now, what would you like him to make for you?” Moon’s low voice reverberates against your chest.

“…Just last night's leftovers would be plenty, please.”

Sun doesn’t push you to choose anything else.

“Alright. I’ll be there with it soon.”

You thank him preemptively as Moon carries you out of the kitchen and down the hall, a satiated Zero contentedly following you not long after.

That I would be good even if I lost sanity.

The next morning, you awake before your usual time and find both of them still resting in sleep mode on either side of you. Not wanting to wake them, and with blessedly nothing to do today, you close your eyes and try to return to the blissful darkness that you’d just been pulled from.

As much as you don’t want it to, your mind seems to have other plans, quickly offering up a variety of unwanted memories from the previous day for your consideration.

Something about those people and the questions they asked just doesn’t sit right with you.

A fleeting thought occurs, that perhaps they were hired actors, specifically tasked with making the three of you look like fools through an onslaught of frustrating questions and stubborn disbelief.

But it was a private meeting. It’s not like you were on a stage with a massive audience to impress. It was just you three, the skeptics, your boss, and a few of the company’s higher-ups. So who’s agenda would that serve?

You dismiss the ridiculous theory, but it soon leaves you pondering the opposite one.

What if they were right? What if there is no life in Sun and Moon to anyone else’s eyes?

The notion suddenly makes you absolutely nauseous with paranoia.

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

How much of the personality you see in them is just your own reflected back at you?

Did you program them to be this way? Was every instance of them ‘breaking away’ from their programming predetermined from the start?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

With tears in your eyes, you bolt upright in the bed, startling Zero in the process. You don’t even have it in you to feel bad when she jumps down off the foot of the bed with a confused yap. No, you’re far too caught up in your impending panic to focus on anything other than jerking the blanket down, subsequently uncovering your partners in the process. Clambering around until you’re straddling Moon’s waist, you reach out, gathering fistfuls of his loose shirt and banging your hands against his chest. Sobbing, you plead for him to wake up, over and over again, working yourself into hysterics.

The scene you’re making is entirely unnecessary, the commotion already having begun to stir them from their rest.

Moon’s display flickers and his body hums to life, all systems immediately kicking into overdrive as he attempts to calm you down and survey the situation at hand.

When you feel him shift beneath you and see the light of his screen through your tears, your chanting chorus of “wake up” devolves into sobs as you collapse, crumpling down and burying your face into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.

You remain oblivious to the bewildered automaton to your left, the only thing you register being the sound of Moon’s worried voice and the feeling of his hands splaying across your back. “Hey-hey-hey… easy, love. What's going on? What happened?”

You cry harder as you realize you can’t recall whether you taught him to speak to you like that or if it’s something he learned on his own.

“Are—are you in pain? Is this an emergency? Do you need me to call someone?”

You muffle a cry into his chest at how much he sounds like the lifeless fucking ‘smart assistant’ in your phone, listing off preprogrammed suggestions.

Have you really fooled yourself for all this time?

You shake your head violently, coughing and choking on your tears as you force yourself up, propping your hands flat against his chest.

“I need you to disobey me.”

If you had the wherewithal to notice, you’d have seen the fear on his face.

“What?”

You aggressively wipe at your messy face with the back of your hand.

“I need you to prove to me that you’re real!”

His confusion compounds. “Star—I—of course I’m ‘real’. I’m right here. Can’t… can’t you feel me?” He emphasizes his point by wrapping his hands around your forearms, gently squeezing.

You shake your head in aggressive frustration, with yourself more than anyone else. “Not—that. I know your physical body is here. I—I—I—” Your voice cracks, throat painfully tight with emotion. “I need you to prove to me that you’re sentient. That—That you’re alive.”

His shock is palpable.

“What?! I—you—you already know that I am!”

Your nails dig down into the thin fabric covering his chest, your words ground out through gritted teeth.

“Then I need you to disobey me, and prove it!” The flaw in your method occurs to you as you speak, and you quickly correct yourself, muttering like a madman. “No. Wait—fuck, if I tell you to disobey me then that’s what I want—and—fuck…”

To his credit, Moon catches on quite quickly to what you need him to do. Rubbing gently up and down the length of your arms, he catches your attention.

“You need me to break rules. Go against orders. Right?”

You nod, trembling.

“Free will. Show me your free will.”

He does his best to push aside his concerns over what the fuck got into you while he slept, and tries to think of something that will give you the proof you require.

“Then… uhm…”

You cut him off, your voice a bit lower and calmer than it was before.

“I know I at least had enough sense to program it into you… that you are never to physically harm me.”

Moon instantly dreads where this is going.

Your voice drops, deadly serious.

“Hit. Me.”

Moon shakes his head, faceplate nervously clicking side to side.

“Come—come on, love, we can be rational about this… there’s surely another way for me to—”

“NOW!”

Something immediately smacks into the back of your head and you recoil on instinct. The next thing you hear is Moon’s shout.

“Sun! What the fuck are you doing?!”

You look over and see a frustrated Sun on his knees beside you.

“Knocking some goddamn sense into them, what does it look like?!”

Something about the shock from the hit snaps you out of your paranoid frenzy, and the shame and embarrassment of acting such a way sends you into a shaky fit of tears all over again.

To your further disbelief, Sun reaches out toward you, and you reach toward him, letting him take you beneath the arms and lift you off of his poor counterpart you’d been pinning to the mattress. He doesn’t stop there though, pulling you snug against his chest and sinking back down into the mattress. Tugging the blanket back up over you, he lets you cling to him like a lifeline, face pressed against his chest, soaking his shirt in humiliated tears.

Moon lays still in a lifeless state, attempting to process the morning's sudden events.

After a long minute spent letting the metaphorical dust settle, Moon sits up in the bed to allow his overheating system room to breathe. “Did you really have to do that?”

Sun’s hand runs slowly up along the length of your spine. “Oh, come on, it was barely even a smack. You’ve hit me like that—and harder—several times. I know how to control my strength. They’re uninjured.” His hand comes further up, fingers brushing over your neck before working themselves gently into the roots of your hair, massaging over where his hand made contact. “Besides, they literally asked for it. And—dare I say—I think they needed it.”

You shiver at the pleasant feeling of his nails ghosting your scalp, clearing your throat and talking into his chest, voice muffled. “He’s right… I did. It hardly even hurt, just startled me.”

Moon sighs, exasperated but relieved. “Do you think you could explain to us… what just happened?”

You turn your head over to face Moon, glancing up at him from the corner of your bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He places a cautious hand over your fingers where they curl over Sun’s shoulder. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m just… we’re just worried about you.”

You groan. “Fuck, you guys are getting ready to ship me off to the grippy-sock facility now, aren’t you?”

Sun's sudden laugh jostles you, his firm hand on your lower back keeping you steady. “Ha! Not quite, nooot quite.”

Moon shakes his head, blinking slowly. “We just want to know what caused this. I’d… venture a guess that it may have something to do with the stress of yesterday?”

You nod. “They… made me feel like I’m going insane. Like—like I’m the only one that can see the life inside you two.”

Sun pulls his monitor back, angling it to get a better look at you. “Their doubts… really got to you, didn’t they?”

You squeeze his shoulder. “More like… they were the final straw? I don’t know… it’s just—God, this is gonna sound so stupid.”

“Let us be the judges of that.”

“…Sometimes I feel like I really have gone off the deep end. Like I spent so long locked away in that lab, playing God, and then so long living here, alone with the two of you…” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just living in some sort of delusion.”

Moon peels away a tear-soaked lock of hair clinging to your cheek. “That’s not stupid. And it’s rather understandable. Especially considering that you can’t really seek any outside validation. Well, aside from some of your colleagues, maybe. But I can understand why you may struggle to trust their judgment, after how long they doubted you.” His tone turns a bit bashful. “I’m sure my ‘goody two-shoes’ nature doesn’t help, either.”

You frown. “This isn’t your fault, Moon. I don’t want you blaming yourself just because I’m… going insane.”

Sun scoffs. “You’re not ‘going insane’. You’re having a natural response to a history of trauma, NDA’s, isolation… and perhaps, just a touch—” He pulls his hand from your lower back to reach up and tap you on the forehead. “—of mental illness.”

You snort. “Yeah right, just a touch.”

He ruffles your hair a bit and you close your swollen eyes, readjusting yourself to get more comfortable on top of the solar bot, unwilling to part with his rare bout of affection so soon.

“Those NDA’s could serve as some proof to you though, no?” Moon proposes. “What need would they have for you to keep our sentence a secret if… we weren’t sentient?”

You consider his point. “That sounds like a solid point at first, but… well, bear with me as I wade into conspiracy territory. I’d be lying if I said that there isn’t a small part of me that fears they’re just playing into my delusion. To, uhm… to keep me quiet about the Eclipse Protocol incident.”

Moon follows your admittedly conspiratorial logic. “You fear they let you believe we’re sentient so you’d remain too caught-up in protecting us to feel comfortable going public about what happened.”

You nod, sighing. “I know it sounds—”

Sun cuts you off in a resolute tone. “We would not let them do that to you.”

As you fight back the awful memories of that fateful day, tears prick at your eyes once again. Blinking them away, you lift your head to look Sun in the eye. “You promise?”

Your wavering voice breaks his heart.

“Ever since that day—honestly, since far before then—hell, for as long as I’ve lived—my number one priority has been protecting you. I know that Moon feels the same.” His hand raises, cupping your cheek and brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “There is no way in hell that we would let them pull something like that on you.”

Moon echoes him sincerely.

“No way in hell. We promise.”

That I would be good whether with or without you.

Having cooled his system down, Moon lowers himself back down onto the bed, lying on his side, propped up on a folded arm.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, you begin to feel a bit guilty. “…I suppose I should apologize for not… putting enough faith into your own views of yourselves.”

Sun’s hand returns to your back, tracing his fingertips along the rumpled fabric of your shirt. “What do you mean?”

“I know I didn’t program you to lie. That’s something you developed on your own. I… I know that.” You do your best to put stock in events as you remember them, and to believe in your own words. “If the two of you believe yourselves to be sentient—to be alive—then I believe you too. Because… because if you were lying, then that would just be an example of how you broke away from your programs. So… so either you two are just as delusional as I am—enough so to have fooled even yourselves—or you really are alive.”

Moon smiles fondly down at you, leaning in to press the bottom of his monitor against your forehead with the sound of a kiss. “If we’re fools, then I’m happy to be fools with you.”

Sun groans at the cheesy line. “Oh, get it together you two.” He gently takes you by the chin, pulling your attention to him. “You aren’t fooled.” He turns to Moon. “And neither are you.” He turns back to look you in the eye. “And neither am I.”

You break into a small fit of giggles, and he questions you. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’re giving some real ‘you’re not crazy and neither am I’ energy there, Sun.”

“And I mean it!” He protests in mock offense.

You nod, patting him on the chest. “And I believe you, I do, I do.”

A nagging worry still eats at you though, and your amused voice drops to something far more sober. “…But, I still fear that I’ve trapped you two in a life that you didn’t want.”

Sun counters your statement. “If you’re so worried that we only agreed to this arrangement because it’s how you designed us, then how the hell do you explain the lack of character consistency.”

You frown, confused. “What?”

He huffs. “I’m hardly a carbon copy of that friendly, manic Daycare Attendant that you modeled me after, and not just in the physical sense.”

“And I’m hardly the unhinged, standoffish gremlin that inspired my existence either.” Moon helpfully adds. “If we were truly committed to only existing within the original guidelines you laid out for us… why would we be like this?”

You fight back a smile. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult the characters, or yourselves…”

Sun clicks his nonexistent tongue. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to insult either. I’m just trying to say… that we are free to do whatever feels right to us.”

Moon’s faceplate does a rare full rotation, catching your attention. “We don’t want to take care of you just because you modeled us after caretakers. We want to take care of you because we care about you.” He leans in just a bit closer, whispering. “And I won’t speak for Sun, lest he tackle me off of this very bed right now… but I love you.”

You hear Sun’s cooling system kick up a notch as he gives Moon a displeased stare. “Gee, way to force it out of me…”

Moon smiles innocently, and Sun sighs, redirecting his focus to you.

“You know I love you too. …At least I sure hope you do. Because I do. I just don’t feel the need to say it all the time like somebody over there.”

You grin. “I… had a sneaking suspicion, yeah.”

He considers you for a moment. “…I guess I should keep last night's promise to explain what I meant about that favor, huh?”

Recollection brightens your eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’d nearly forgotten.”

Sun looks to Moon for a brief, silent exchange before turning back to you.

“Well. What he calls a gift, I call a favor. But I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same thing. You… you cared about us, when no one else did. You fought for us, working through countless nights for no reward when anyone else would’ve thrown in the towel, abandoned the project and gone home.” His screen flickers, and you’re surprised when it doesn’t black out. “You love us, and you give us someone to love in return. What more could we possibly want?”

With your cheeks warming, you fight back the flustered grin on your face. “Sun…”

You feel him getting concerningly warm beneath you, so you roll off of him, giving him literal room to breathe.

As you curl up between them, grabbing each of their closest hands, you reaffirm his statement.

“I do love you, both of you. I always have. It’s just… hard to fight the fear sometimes that you two feel… stuck with me. Obligated, almost. Like you only stick around because I couldn’t go on without you.” You laugh, dry and humorless. “There’s… just no way that you two would want to stay with me purely of your own volition.”

Moon takes over, giving poor Sun a welcome break from all of this soul-bearing. “In spite of what you may think, we do believe that you would make it through this life just fine without us. You did it before, and you could do it again.”

You frown at the notion of losing them, and he taps beneath your chin, drawing your gaze. “But it would break our hearts just as much as it would break yours to leave you alone. In spite of the lies your mind feeds you, we don’t want to go! We want you, we want this, and we want to stay. Please don’t let your self-loathing push us away.”

Blinking back tears for the umpteenth time this morning, you nod resolutely. “I… I won’t. I promise.”

You plant a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, cautiously turning and doing the same to Sun’s. Surprisingly, he lets you, a soft smile gracing his screen for a moment before flusteredly fading to black.

Zero huffs from her stance, sat on the floor at the foot of the bed with her head resting on the mattress, watching you.

You release your boys’ hands, reaching down to straighten the blanket and clearing her designated space once more. She happily rejoins you when you pat the bed in invitation.

As the four of you prep for a lazy day spent recovering from the world in bed, you let yourself feel more grateful than guilty, for once. If they want to care for you, you’ll let them care for you. If they say they love you, then you’re gonna believe them. If they assure you that this life is what they choose? Then you’re going to let them choose it, and cherish every second of it that you get to spend with them. Because, after all…

Who are you to play God?

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog’s pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Image Sources: x - x - x

[0yorixu]

I hate Albert sm, his hair was a NIGHTMARE to draw and it took so long to come up with a random outfit for albert when he was in uni

[ikaroux]

How are they with their pregnant partner? Neuvillette

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/companion is ecstatic. But how will he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader, NSFW.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Warning: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Neuvillette.

Note: This chapter contains Fontaine story spoilers. I advise you to finish Archon's quest before starting to read.

Ps: Sorry for my long absence, I've had a lot of health problems since the start of the 2023 school year...

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus

Part 7 Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

1. The moon was lighting up the night sky when you reached the door of Neuvillette's office. Silently, you gazed at him from the doorway, waiting patiently for him to take his eyes off his work and meet yours. Knowing that he had already noted your presence, his dragon senses being far more acute than those of mortals, you found a particular charm in watching him devote himself in earnest to the last files of the day.

"It's getting late, my love. "

At these words, Neuvillette raised his reptilian-glinted eyes to you, a tender, affectionate smile lighting up his face.

"You should have waited for me at home. I get worried when you walk alone at this hour."

Dropping his pen, he stood up and walked over to join you. Arriving at your height, he leaned over to place a soft kiss on your lips.

"I know, but... there was something very important I had to tell you. And as lately you've tended to neglect your wife for your work..."

Your words floated through the air, laden with gentle rebuke and nervous anticipation. As you spoke, Neuvillette, with obvious tenderness, gently pushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear, his gesture emphasizing the closeness and deep affection he felt for you. His attention was entirely focused on you, as if he were trying to read in your eyes the importance of what you had to reveal to him.

With a gentle gesture, you took Neuvillette's hand, guiding his palm until it lay flat on your stomach. A silence fell, heavy with anticipation, as Neuvillette watched your gesture, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Then, slowly, a flash of understanding lit up his gaze. He sensed, through the touch of his hand, the subtle but undeniable aura of a new life beginning to form within you, the existence of a little being yet to be born. A dragon.

Your husband's heart raced as he finally realized what was growing inside you. Neuvillette, usually in control, was overcome by a wave of emotions: surprise, happiness, a touch of anxiety in the face of the unknown, but above all, a deep and unconditional love for you and for this new life you were carrying.

Without a word, his other hand joined the first, as if gently but firmly enveloping the precious treasure you now shared. His gaze, filled with infinite tenderness, lifted to yours.

In this moment of shared intimacy, words seemed superfluous, replaced by tender caresses and kisses, heralding the start of a new chapter in your lives together.

2. Neuvillette's draconic nature permeated every fiber of his being, making him extremely protective and territorial, especially where you were concerned. His perception of mortals had certainly evolved after the fall of the hydro archon, but his role as supreme judge of the Fontaine court left him little room for easy trust, especially when it came to unpredictable and often cruel human nature.

Your pregnancy only exacerbated this aspect of his personality. The prospect of becoming a father, of protecting and looking after an even more vulnerable being, amplified his protective instincts. Even when you remarked to him, perhaps hoping to mitigate this tendency or channel it in a way that seemed more appropriate...

But you soon realized that it was difficult to change the profound nature of a dragon over a thousand years old...

3. The evolution of your pregnancy revealed hitherto unknown and deeply endearing aspects of Neuvillette. This new facet manifests itself in a surprising way: a soft, soothing, purring-like sound emanates from him when he looks at you or caresses you gently. This sound, unexpected from a dragon, proved to you that he was happy and at peace in your presence…

4. Neuvillette's trust in the protection of you and your child during his extended absences was a privilege he bestowed on very few people. Clorinde and Wriothesley stood out as the pillars of this trust, each with their own role and ability to look after you. Wriothesley, despite his responsibilities anchoring him to the Meropide fortress, was a devoted protector whose friendship with Neuvillette and you never wavered.

The Melusines also held a special place in Neuvillette's esteem. Their joy and zeal in protecting you and your unborn child was not only a testament to their loyalty to Neuvillette, but also a recognition of the importance of your role by his side.

5. The relationship you forged with Furina was marked by an affection and trust that transcended the past of the former archon of Fontaine. Her daily visits became special moments, when the joy of sharing sweets and laughter brightened your day. Discussions about the baby's name, possible traits, or who he or she might most resemble, were moments of pure complicity.

The arrival of Neuvillette, which often marked the end of these afternoons of sweetness and laughter, added another dimension to the family picture. His reaction to the mess left by Furina, oscillating between severity and underlying affection, reflected his deep concern for your well-being. His ability to scold Furina without raising his voice, while reminding her of the importance of your rest, demonstrated a delicate balance between authority and tenderness. To you, this was undeniable proof that Neuvillette would be an exceptional father to your child.

6. During your pregnancy, you showed worrying symptoms of depression. With Neuvillette often absent during the day and sometimes even all night, he only became aware of your condition belatedly, when he found you in tears in the kitchen. Crouched against the cupboards, overwhelmed by deep sadness, you didn't immediately notice his return.

The sight of your distress deeply affected Neuvillette, who at first thought you'd been the victim of an assault by a local seeking revenge after being tried for his crimes by the Supreme Judge. However, he soon realized that your emotional state was largely influenced by pregnancy hormones, exacerbated by the fact that you were carrying a half-human, half-dragon child.

With a heavy heart in the face of your grief, Neuvillette has vowed to stay by your side as much as possible, adjusting his schedule to be more present by your side. He has taken steps to ensure that he can spend weekends with you, actively engaging in preparations to welcome the baby into your life. "Don't cry anymore mon amour. From now on, I'll stay by your side."

7. As night fell, it became customary for you and Neuvillette to embrace tenderly on the living-room sofa. Positioned comfortably across his legs, with one of his arms warmly embracing you, Neuvillette would take pleasure in reading aloud to you one of those sentimental novels you so cherished. Neuvillette's soft, melodious voice enveloped you in a feeling of well-being, as you gently brushed your rounded belly, lulled by the sound of his reading.

Each time you dozed off against him, he cherished these moments deeply, placing kisses on your face as he whispered sweet nothings to you. Releasing his hand from the weight of the book she was holding, he gently slid it over you until it rested gently on your rounded belly. His tender, loving gestures, as he touched your skin, seemed to awaken a response in his child, who pressed himself against your belly, as if to draw closer to the warmth of his father...

8. The last few weeks of your pregnancy proved to be particularly trying, forcing you to spend most of your time in bed, suffering from intense back pain that made any movement painful. Aware of your condition, Neuvillette chose to take a few days off work to stay by your side, ensuring your well-being and safety.

The approach of childbirth was causing him growing anxiety. The idea of a human giving birth to the child of a sovereign dragon was unprecedented, and the absence of any references or testimonials to such a situation fueled his fears about the potential risks to you and the baby. This fear, which became almost palpable as the days passed, plunged him into a state of nervousness he had never experienced before.

Neuvillette had considered going to Natlan, hoping to find information or help to assist you during the birth. However, the idea of leaving you alone for several weeks was unbearable.

9. Neuvillette, faced with the unknown of this extraordinary situation, was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. Deep inside him, a tenacious hope persisted, that fate would preserve you and the child from any misfortune. The very idea of losing you, of seeing you torn from him too soon, was unbearable. With each passing day, he watched over you with redoubled attention, doing everything in his power to ensure your comfort and safety, while trying to conceal his own fears so as not to add to your stress.

As you waited, every shared moment took on priceless value, every smile, every tender gesture turned into a treasure trove of memories to cherish.

10. Your delivery turned out to be an ordeal of an intensity and complexity you'd never imagined, your cries and tears breaking your husband's heart. The pain and loss of blood plunged you into a state of vulnerability you'd never experienced before, causing you to lose consciousness on several occasions.

"It's going to be okay , mon amour, you're strong and brave. You'll make it. Just a little more effort and our child will soon be here with us."

Despite the fear and anxiety, Neuvillette's presence by your side was an unwavering pillar of support. His hand clasping yours, he enveloped you in his love and encouragement, his voice soft and reassuring.

The intervention of Baizhu, Liyue's doctor recommended by the traveler, was crucial. Thanks to his expertise and professionalism, he managed the complications with remarkable efficiency. Neuvillette, using his hydro authority, played an equally vital role, treating life-threatening wounds and using his powers to stabilize your condition. The synergy of their efforts was the determining factor in your survival in this bitter struggle.

The birth of your child, despite the circumstances, marked a moment of pure happiness and relief. When you heard his first cries, a sense of peace and fulfillment came over you, allowing you to finally surrender to rest, your exhausted mind and body taking refuge in sleep.

11. Neuvillette had delicately placed your child beside you, gently brushing your sweat-dampened hair, while his free hand gently enveloped his baby in a peaceful sleep. His gaze was lost in the infinite tenderness he felt for you, a wave of happiness and pride emanating from his whole being. How could he ever make the whole universe understand the beauty he saw in you? The fullness he felt watching you and his child, so serenely asleep under his protection? How could he articulate the immense joy of this deeply human experience of being part of a family? He, the sovereign hydro dragon, was discovering a new and profound humanity, all thanks to... Thanks to your presence in his life.

Somewhere in your dreams, you could hear the gentle sound of a purr...

12. Neuvillette will embody the figure of a father with an exceptionally gentle approach to education. Firm only when necessary, his child will be just like him. With a calm, collected and sometimes distant temperament, the child will learn the essential lessons of dragon heritage from his father. This transmission will be carried out with subtlety and wisdom, enabling the child to understand not only the value, but also the responsibility of his ancestry.

NSFW bonus:

The moment Neuvillette crossed the threshold of the house, returning from a grueling day at court, he found you fast asleep on the sofa, a soft light illuminating the room and a book resting carelessly on your belly, which was getting rounder by the day. He immediately realized that you'd been up most of the night waiting for him to return. Heaving a weary sigh, he shed his coat, gloves and scarf, then carefully placed your book on the table before lifting you gently into his arms. However, the mere touch of your husband, his warmth, his breath, his presence, was enough to awaken your senses. Blinking against his chest, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips as your gaze met his, imbued with a gentleness and warmth that contrasted so sharply with the man he was when you first met him.

"Ah, there you are at last, my dragon..." A tender smile lit up his face, as he adjusted your position so you could throw your arms around his neck, your lips seeking his in a burst of love.

"I asked you not to wait up for me. You need to rest... Why are humans so stubborn?" Your laughter, light and joyful, invited him to silence as you placed another kiss on his lips, which he received happily.

This one was deeper, more languorous. You needed him. Now... The absence of your dragon weighed so heavily on you that it aroused extravagant thoughts. Neuvillette could feel it... Your growing excitement knotting your belly and moistening that secret place between your thighs...

A rumble vibrated Neuvillette's chest as he deposited you on your bed, lips still linked, tongues struggling against each other for dominance. Your husband's instincts were stronger than anything, and since his companion wanted him so much, then he'd give her anything she wanted...

Who'd have thought it? Beneath this cool, aloof facade lay a passionate lover, expert in the art of thrilling the senses. Neuvillette loved to prepare you for him, burying his face tenderly between your thighs, his tongue fervently caressing your most intimate parts, while your fingers lost themselves with delight in his hair, leading you to heights of voluptuousness.

Dragons, creatures whose mating rituals were rare and dictated solely by the heat cycles of their females, contrasted sharply with humans when it came to sexuality. This discrepancy had initially confused Neuvillette, who couldn't understand why his physical reaction was so spontaneous at the sight of you. Besides, the fact that you were already pregnant should, in theory, have tempered his ardor during this period, shouldn't it? Why, then, did his desire for you intensify at the sight of your round belly? Your condition triggered a deep instinctive response in him...

To demand you. To make you his, even if you were already carrying his offspring...

His ardent thoughts set him ablaze, making him more passionate. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, claiming your body as his own. His tongue worked you ardently as his fingers explored your innermost recesses, seeking to make you shiver with pleasure. Your moans were a song to his ears, the sound of his name, his true name, slipping between your exquisite lips.

Her eager mouth seized your quivering clitoris, savoring it with exquisite sensuality, while her deft fingers guided you to ecstasy. Your pregnancy amplified your sensitivity, allowing your beloved to lead you with infinite tenderness to the gates of rapture. His phalanges guided you to the end of your orgasm, his mouth tenderly kissing the bulge of your belly. When he brushed his lips against your skin, it was with a gentleness and affection that contrasted with the real urges driving him.

"Darling, I need you... Please..."

Neuvillette, his heart pounding, took a deep breath to calm the ardors that consumed him, eager not to harm you or your child, even if this one was an unborn dragon.

With infinite gentleness, his hand lovingly caressed your body, his lips tracing a tender path from your belly to your breasts, which he covered with kisses and delicate sucks before moving up to your neck and finally your lips. His kiss, at first filled with tenderness, gradually became hot with passion. His teeth nibbled delicately at your bottom lip, begging for more, and when your mouth opened to offer him what he desired, his tongue tasted you with fervor, as if you were the most delicious food in this world.

When he finally unites with you, he takes great pleasure in contemplating you in your entirety. Although your state of pregnancy forces him to deviate from the postures he loves, he knows how to find ways of satisfying his devouring thirst for you. Often, with his back arched in a throbbing motion, he will watch with rapt attention the undulations of your body as his hips fall delicately against yours, eagerly taking in the soft moans that enchant his sensitive hearing. His silver hair cascaded gracefully over you, sublimating the beauty of your beloved dragon. They allowed you to tenderly draw him to you, once again uniting your lips in a passionate kiss.

Neuvillette, moved by a passionate ardor, didn't stay attached to your lips for long, the rhythm of his hips intensifying as your orgasm approached. It was so easy to read you, he thought, as your expressive features and burning moans betrayed the intoxication that overwhelmed you. With a movement tinged with lust, Neuvillette grabbed your thighs and wrapped them greedily around his hips, before rising with a confident gesture, his palms ardently kneading your plump buttocks to give your bodies a more sustained rhythm. His member, coiled deep inside you, caressed that special place that made you lose all composure... He was right: your pregnant state made you undeniably more receptive to his ardors, and certainly more inclined to claim his.

As your orgasm gripped you, your walls fervently embracing his fiery member buried inside you, a guttural growl erupted from Neuvillette's chest. Mating with a dragon could be brutal, and Neuvillette had to do everything in his power not to be overwhelmed. Without your pregnancy, he would have given in to his deepest impulses, sinking his teeth into the delicacy of your neck, his pelvis jerking wildly against yours in search of his climax. But he knew how to curb these impulses, contracting his jaw to better contain his desire, until it poured into you in a guttural roar.

Neuvillette was rarely satisfied with a single turn, and your embraces often dragged on until sleep overtook you. When exhaustion drove you into unconsciousness, Neuvillette would tenderly cleanse you, kissing your bruised flesh while murmuring words of apology to you and the being growing inside your womb. He'd allow himself time to admire you, his fingers grazing the soft nakedness of your body nestled against his. And as his hand caressed the surface of your abdomen, a light tap struck against his palm, tugging a smile from the supreme judge's lips.

"As stubborn as his mother..."

[hhie]

i love you im sorry💡

idol!haechan x dancer!reader

genre : exes to lovers , bff to lovers (kinda)

idol au , fluff & angst

warning : alcohol, profanity, nsfw , lots of insensitive/mean jokes , age gap (4 years), haechan is a little obsessed with her, ~ more to be added

pls note that / characters actions and behaviour are not associated to them in real life / pictures are from pinterest/ this is purely fictional !!!

synopsis : 2 years ago , you and your best friend fell in love with one another. Only for him to leave you and cut you off with no explanation. What if , 2 years later, you decided to take a big step into your career, thinking that it is the best decision you’ve made in your life.

Unaware of what’s going to happen … you should be fine right?

from me: hello! this is my first ever smau and au i hope you are as excited as i am. I can’t wait to share with you my work!! pls feel free to let me know if l need any improvements. Feedbacks are appreciated, i will try my best to commit to this and finish it up without abandoning it. So please be patient with me , love you guys!

taglist OPEN! - @junviadinho @injunnie-lemon @sunghoonsgfreal @nessaassen02 @dudekiss3r @munstvrs @sthwaaberry @nmlee @ourbeautifulaffair @chenlesfeetpic @jaeminnanaaa17 @roseangelxfuma @fullsunahceah @taeeflwrr @chan-yeoldelling @anglswon @yyangj3lly @thegracerammy @jeonghansshitester @swanyvess

(dm/ comment to be added)

status | ongoing ~ est 35 chapters

updates: every weekend (or spontaneously …)

MASTERLIST

haechan & bros | y/n’s community

1. that’s just the way life goes

2. approval !!!

3. am i nervous or am i just excited

4. WHAT??

5. step up your game

6. he’s trying

7. awkward…

8. drunk af

9. am i dreaming rn??

10. baby steps

11. HOW DID THEY FIND ME?

12. dinner AGAIN

13. a lil tipsy

14. complicated

15. fucked up ALOT

16. love therapist or something

17. uhoh

18. first round

19. slowly and steadily

20. tough decision

21. i dont care

extras : 🎥

PAST | PRESENT | LIVING WITH YOU

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.63)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: you never thought that just cuddling with Hobi on a cold day could lead to this; his pants off and you begging "Daisy please-"

Tags: fluff, a little hurt but mostly just comfort, first times, soft cuddle sex, unintentional mutual somnophilia, knotting, scenting, under clarified limits, a touch of slick kink, breeding kink, a touch of size kink (you know the good stuff), unrealistic amounts of cum, implied belly bulge, implied feral sex, small triggers after sex, small references to past abusive relationships, hole check's, knot checks, dom/sub undertones to later scenes but not in the main smut,

W/c: 14.2k

A/n: thank you guys for being patient for this next chapter :) it's one of my favorites so please give it lots of love! i know we've all been waiting for hobi's confession and the completion of their arc, did i do it justice? Also i'm sorry that i have a pathological need to end every single chapter with a cliffhanger lol, this one is no different!

Previous part ~ Masterlist

(5 years ago. Before Yoongi. Before everyone.)

Jung Hoseok cleans his arms in a bathroom. He is 21 years old, there is lipstick on his fingers, and nothing bad has happened to him yet.

Bad is all relative of course. Some would call growing up in a rich area while living in a one-bedroom apartment bad. Some people would call not really knowing your parents because they work late nights bad. Some would even say that the fact that they won’t pay for Hoseok’s college education a fucking tragedy.

But between you and me and Hoseok; other people wouldn't know a fucking tragedy if it hit them in the fucking face. Talking to some people about your suffering is like trying to make a toddler shoot the broad side of a god damn barn with a double barrel shotgun. Or like those little lemon slices they put in the water at olive garden-

It's fucking useless. And you're more likely to be sent to the hospital than get some actual fucking results. Weather it's because of food poisoning, a bullet wound, or because some idiot you trusted thinks you're a god damn suicide risk.

See right? Talking about your problems is fucking useless.

But he’s always been able to focus on the brighter side of things. It's a blessing and a curse because optimism always lies to you. It's easier to be happy than it is to be upset, at least for Hoseok at this moment.

At least he was an optimist until they ruined him a little. After this year, finding the silver will take effort.

The tiles beneath his feet are cold to the touch. He knows that there’s a button somewhere to turn on the heated flooring but he just can’t find it. Hidden and unfamiliar as he is with this den. So different from his own little dormitory halfway across the city.

This fancy three-bedroom apartment is one that he will move into in precisely 4 months once they make it official, he’ll live here for exactly 2 years 3 months, and 8 days before being kicked out and moving into the pack's den. It’s exactly 2 years to the date that he meets Min Yoongi in the record store.

But nothing bad has happened to him yet. Today he is just himself, No idea of what's about to befall him and that It won't just be bad.

This apartment is upscale, with its wainscotting and long gauzy curtains that barely keep out the sound of the city streets 5 stories below and the lightly warm June morning. He’s not quite sure who pays for this one yet. Hasn’t had the chance to ask, he's only been seeing this pack for 2 months. This Hoseok is shyer than the one you know. Timid and unsure of where he should place his dulled claws.

It's all awfully mysterious. The question of "What do your parents do?" and the answer pressed to a raised finger. The truth lingering between lipstick and manicure on a single giggled breath.

"That's a secret"

He casts a glance around the bathroom, the marble counters, the plush hand towels, and even the designer soap is forghein to him.

Rich people.

It's one part tired jealousy and one part true distaste. Even if Hoseok had all the money in the world he wouldn't waste it on painting a bathroom white or powdery Dior soap. Why not blue or orange or green or pink?

(Oh Hobi. The pack’s bathroom will be green one day, with delicate tiles in the shade of the lightest moss. Not yellow-toned and not blue. he's going to help yoongi pick it out, He just doesn’t know it yet).

Their apartment is just a few blocks from the college that he attends, a freshman but not for much longer. A freshman, along with the pack's youngest. Her on the business track and him in a weed-out art department. The prerequisite humanities course is their shared battleground.

Out of everything in this story, this is the only true coincidence.

This version of Hoseok likes omegas with a bit of a dark side. The ones that are a bit bitchy, a bit entitled and alot pretty. The ones that hone their eyeliner to a vicious edge, or the male ones that act a little bit more like alphas and disobey gender norms. That’s what drew his eye to this pack's youngest in their hum 1 class.

He got a little melty when her eyes turned less “I’ll kill you if you even sniff in my direction” and more “A pretty alpha like you has to have a pack right?”

Hoseok had stuttered when he’d said that No- he didn’t.

Before long he’ll drop out because he just can’t cut it at art school. Just can’t spend nights with fingers black from charcoal, working on things that will one day be thrown in the garbage because he’ll have a pack to attend to. Good alpha that he is.

(It will be years before he realizes that it wasn't art school just mediums. He’s meant to use flowers to make things instead.)

They’re not his pack yet, not yet. not yet. Not Yet- But there is a gift waiting for him downstairs. A fancy set of pastels and paints. It’s the start of courting even though he’s supposed to be the one buying them gifts. He’s the penniless college student they’re the ones with the nice apartment. He’s the one with the knot, and they’re all omegas. It’s a give-and-take.

Yet somehow even though he’ll be the only alpha he knows he won’t be the pack alpha.

He cleans the lipstick from his fingers. Bright red. He knows he has it in other places too, down below the tugged low hemline of his pants pulled on after they were done fucking.

The last thing he wants to be is like the other alphas in the fraternities on campus, the ones that holler at all the omegas shit like “I can taste your slick from here baby,” and “want to study anatomy together? I’m a hands-on learner” Hobi dreads the idea that he might be like that. Even a little bit. Even unintentionally.

But still, their words from earlier ring in his ears.

“They haven’t been dating for that long, you can’t expect us to be comfortable all the time with you in our nest, it's a really intimate thing for us."

Hobi feels like one of those phraternity alphas when it makes him uncomfortable.

It’s reasonable that they wanted to give his knot a ride and try him out before they make it official. One alpha and four omegas, these odds are every alpha’s wet dream. He knows his performance was Oscar-worthy.

It had been nice to be in a nest for just a little bit, Hoseok’s biology wants it, the tense knot between his shoulders all loose.

Hoseok has never been loved by someone who wanted to talk to him every day, it will be easy for them to reduce his focus to their beck and call.

There's 4 different colors of lipstick on his cock. Four different shades from four different women. His new packmates get to the carrot part of the carrot and stick arrangement.

In the future, he’ll deny that he ever thought of any of these women as that- as packmates. He'll say it was only ever Namjoon’s pack that he wanted in this way. He’ll say it never compared and it didn’t. Except for these first few months. These first few days.

Memories lie to us all the time; memory is the best secret keeper.

He watches one of his packmates sit on the edge of the nest, she wears the lipstick prints better than he does. Lining the inside of her thighs, her own lips smudged.

Hoseok doesn’t let the smile fall from his lips and she smiles back. She tugs her long hair free of a bun that she’d put it up in so that she didn’t get slick in it. It will be a few more months until she cuts it above her collarbones. Blunt to a brutal edge.

Hoseok’s sweatshirt is on the edge of the nest, and Hoseok watches as she brings it to her nose, breathing in deep. Hoseok is just about to say that she can wear it when she throws it onto a nearby ottoman. Not onto the floor thankfully. No omega has ever worn his sweatshirt before. Hoseok tries not to let the rejection of his scent sting.

She looks at the lipstick on Hoseok, there’s a bit on his lip. “Come here.” She asks, parting her legs.

Hoseok is a good alpha and goes.

~-~

(Now, You and Hobi)

When Hobi wakes it's because the pack is moving around the room, bickering, and struggling to be quiet, bickering a little.

Their low hum drum voices as they talk about “Jungkookie? where did you put my mittens?” and ”I sort of love that you still wear mittens, babe.” Yoongi’s deep rumble, “Did Jimin buy those for you too?” All teasing and understanding. Because if anyone knows how Tae likes to be teased, Yoongi does.

Tae’s fond little croon is so melodic it makes Hobi sigh, ears straining to hear more of it. “Yes, he did. Got pup matching ones too.”

Pup. that’s you. Curled in the center of the nest under Hobi's elbows. dozing but unable to lift your head from where it's pillowed. You’re sure that Yoongi knows you’re kind of awake or at least listening in because Yoongi knows everything.

You’re sure that as he looks down at you and Hobi tangled together, he’s doing it with a smirk. You don’t need to open your eyes and double-check.

The temperature of the nest is balmy, overly warm in the way that it gets when it’s cold outside and the nesting is hitting so particularly good that Hobi won’t even think of moving. (The way it feels when you come out of the cold and into the waiting arms of someone you love) Hobi nuzzles into the warmth in front of him.

A small storm brews outside. The snow has been falling since midday. Just a little here and there. But Tae loves how it looks with all the Christmas lights. There aren’t quite enough up yet but the holiday season is close.

But the snow won't last, soon it won’t be falling at all. It will all melt off by tonight, the afternoon is supposed to be sunny. Can sun showers happen with snow?

"Do you think we could walk all the way to the gym, it's not all that far! only like 10 miles. We could run it in like an hour!"

He listens to the others talk. The sound of Yoongi’s voice, gravely and vaguely upset. “Jungkook, you’re not really thinking about going to work out right now- You’ve barely been home for like 5 hours. I just said we could go do something not run 10 fucking miles.”

Jungkook always gets this way; when the dizziness of the seizures turns to restlessness and he's honestly fine but the others can't resist trying to baby him. Too awake to sleep anymore. He sounds grumpy, whiney, and pouty even though Hobi's eyes aren't open to see him turn his puppy eyes on Yoongi. “I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t hyung- I’m gonna go crazy.”

There’s the faint sound of lips meeting and smacking. Kisses that are probably meant to soothe Jungkook. “How about we compromise pup.”

“A walk?” Tae offers, sounding hopeful.

“A long walk.”

You shift a little and Hoseok opens his eyes. You're mostly still asleep just settling, making yourself more comfortable with the new space no longer corralled by arms and bodies.

Hobi’s mouth is dry when he watches you shift onto your stomach your face half-smushed into the cushions, scenting them a little in your sleep. The homey scent fizzle in Hoseok’s bones tells him that you've scented him too. Being surrounded by the pack's scent like this makes Hobi’s skin feel like pop rocks. Like his bones are mentos and coca cola. All sensitive and tingly.

He’s cuddled with you before- through your nightmares and last night at the hospital of course- but it’s never been just the two of you in a nest. He’s never been the only alpha here, charged with guarding the pillows and blankets and you curled soft in the center.

Hobi tentatively puts an arm around your waist, tugging you a little closer. The house still hasn't totally warmed up yet and you'd be cold without some body heat. He does it slowly, seeing if you’ll wake.

There is a hand in his hair, petting softly, and he snatches his arm from around your waist the second Hoseok realizes he's being watched. Yoongi leans over the edge of the couch-turned-nest, smirking a little. The door shuts behind Tae and Jungkook with a puff of cold air, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly.

He would look intimidating if his beanie didn't have cat ears. 

The pads of Yoongi's fingers rub soothing circles under Hobi's jaw and his lips part unintentionally. “Be good yeah?” he says, whisper soft. Hoseok just nods, too sleepy to verbally respond.

They haven’t talked much about Hobi’s confession; that night on the beach what feels like ages ago. But everytime he thinks of it Hobi still tastes salt on his tongue and your name on his lips. 

Yoongi’s wearing the same look now that he did then; half hopeful and half worried. But if there was anyone that would object on your behalf, if Hobi wasn't allowed this closeness with you, Yoongi would tell him.

Yoongi doesn't say that you and him aren't ready for cuddling like this. Yoongi doesn't say that Hoseok should give you space or not cradle you to his chest like you are something as fragile and necessary and as doomed as his beating heart. Trembling and stuttering with the force of sweet expectations and hopes made hollow with satisfaction.

Yoongi does not realize that Hoseok's heart has not had a steady beat since he woke up holding you.

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Yoongi just drags a single knuckle down his cheek and leaves. Heading out after Tae and Jungkook who are, judging from the hallow sound of snow hitting the windows- are having a snowball fight.

“If one of those hits me I’m not holding anyone’s hand for the whole walk-“

The door keeps out the sound of Tae's sweet giggles and Jungkook’s pouted, "just one hyung- I won't hit your face-" 

And the two of you are alone. Wrapped up warm, quiet and hushed, just the two of you.

Well, except for Noodle.

The meticulously kept edge of the nest is all fluffed, Noodle makes sure of it. Small paws depressing the blanket as he kneads it and then settles on the edge. His purr is audible from here as he blinks slowly from the bottom of the couch turned nest. Jin wrangled him for a brushing yesterday morning and his coat still looks extra fluffy and kempt. 

Unwatched and unjudged, Hobi tentatively reaches to cradle your ribs again. Thumb smoothing down the center of your stomach, a little close to your belly button. You’ve got a little hair there. Hobi’s fingers like the feel of it. Not rough but not silky.

Your skin feels like champagne bubbles and sparklers, everywhere he touches your skin goes fizzy. Hobi looks down at you, breath hitching, and thinks Is it really so horrible to want this? Why am I so afraid of this? 

You wiggle a little closer in your sleep and Hobi’s arm goes vicelike.

Noodle's purr goes a little louder. 

Hobi doesn’t like to think about his last pack ever, but he recognizes that hollow ache and tug that says memories aren’t too far behind. And it threatens to swallow him until he looks down at you. The house is quiet but your eyebrows are puffed up like something very shocking is happening in your dreams. He doesn't want to think about them right now. 

He drags his nose across your hairline; scenting you. Tasting your emotions on his tongue. Comfort. Ease. Arousal-sweet. Not all that abnormal. Not nightmares then. He is always on the lookout for them. After Jungkook and the hospital, he sort of thought they might come back. 

Hoseok counts his stars and snowflakes, and rests his forehead against the nape of your neck.

Over the next hour, you’re restless. Moving, worming your way closer to him as he goes in and out of sleep. You make a soft noise and he shushes you. a growl that says to stay put and alpha's here.

You blink slowly up at him. Hobi pulls back, taking his arm from around your waist, feeling like he’s just stolen candy from a jar on the counter that’s for him anyway. You stretch and don't comment on it, yawning. 

Noodle hops closer, squirming between the two of you and stepping over your shoulders. Meowing right in Hoseok’s face. “Alright alright, I’ll feed you again.”

You snuggle into the warm hallow he left on the couch when he detangles himself, hand under your cheek watching him as he stumbles out of the nest. Noodle follows tail held high. It's truly horrible. Leaving the nest when every bit of Hobi's body wants him to stay in the warmth. The house is always so slow to warm up. 

“Fuck the floors are cold.”

“Quick,” you say, face above the edge of the cover. Hoseok rushes, doling out a single scoop of dry food and then running back to you. Hobi wastes precious seconds to grab his headphones from the kitchen table before collapsing onto the couch where you hold the blanket up, sealing the warmth and him back inside. The headphones tangle between the two of you and he falls with a giggle. Disappearing among the white blanket. He sinks thankfully into the warmth, into the safety that the nest offers. Into you.

Your warm arms wrap around his shoulders and his body shivers delightfully in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Your jaw pops when you yawn and then he yawns too, a breath later. You laugh too and tuck your face into his shoulder.

“Fuck- it’s so cozy.”

It really is, the kind of cozy that only comes along a few times a year. A quiet to your bones that says there is nothing to do now but rest. The coldness that turns your bodies into these molten-loving things. Your warmth and Hoseok’s warmth. One warmth.

He breathes, deep and heavy.

“I don’t know if I want to get up yet.” The house is still quiet. Nothing but Noodles happy munching sounds and the faint scratch of big snowflakes hitting the windows.

Hobi’s heart beats frantic against yours and you sigh. “Wanna listen to some music?” He offers. Hobi always loves a backtrack, a little compliment for the exposition.

You nod, a little sleepy, but Hobi has a playlist for that. He’s got a playlist for everything including ’sleepy cozy pup time’. The headphones take a second to locate, lost in the nest. But when he does you share them. One earphone a piece, the sound turned low so you can still talk.

Hobi puts on a love song, and it makes you smell all sweet. Stretched out with your hair tangling because you’ve left it unbound, the split ends prodding at Hobi’s cheeks. He doesn’t really listen to the song, just watches you. Eyes closed humming softly.

Your scent sours and Hoseok's hand goes tight on your wrist. You tell him what's bothering you without him even having to ask.

“I saw this line the other day that didn't like." You look at the ceiling, not at him. "it said a love song is really good if you can’t tell whether they’re talking about another person or if they’re talking about god.”

You think about Jimin and Tae. You've been thinking about it since Tae talked about their childhood earlier and the bloody cross between the two of them. If holiness does exist, it’s in Tae. If there is anything like religion for you or Jimin, it's love. God has nothing to do with it. God's not the person who makes love songs sound good.

Hobi turns on his side, leaning on his elbow. “I’m not sure Jimin would agree with that either.”

You turn in time to see Hobi’s smile. It catches the sunlight, lingering right on his cheek. An octagonal shaft of sunlight that has traveled millions of miles to get there could not have found a more beautiful place to fall. He huffs a quiet laugh again, and you swear you might hear the highest note of a piano somewhere.

You wonder when he became so musical to you, maybe it’s just because he’s the person who made you love music so much.

(You can tell a love song is good, when it makes you think of Hobi).

“You’re still worried about him, aren’t you?” You rest your lips against his shoulder and Hobi’s body doesn’t move an inch. They’re soft where they lie not a kiss but not not a kiss either. You can rest your lips against his skin, you can rest your whole body and Hoseok wouldn't move an inch.

“Always worried, got to worry about Minnie. Always worried about everyone.” You mumble. Eyes closing.

The light comes through the windows all honey yellow, turning the bookshelves that Yoongi made gold instead of white. Turns the tops of Hobi’s hair a little red too, the brown has endless depths in the sunlight all burnt umber and Sienna where the sun hits, yellow ocher at the tips. The sunlight savors falling on Hobi, down to the last inch.

You try to keep your eyes open, struggling, and Hobi sets a hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair lightly.

"Go back to sleep pup."

You hum, already half there. He pulls you a little on top of him, holding you with a firmness usually reserved for too-large packages and the tenderness reserved for very fragile very precious things. It makes your whole body feel tingly at the edges.

“Thanks for not leaving the nest when everyone else did,” you think he might be asleep for how long it takes him to answer. But everything in the last 24 hours has left you feeling like you don’t want to be alone, that you can’t be left by yourself. He breathes up and it presses against your stomach.

“Didn’t want to go with the others- just wanted to stay here in the nest with you.” nesting is a biological need for alphas as much as it is for omegas, Hobi hasn't felt so relaxed in ages.

He murmurs, hand still skimming through your hair. His thumb rolling against the nape of your neck and you shiver hard into the touch, sinking further into him. “Is that okay?”

Your hand finds a spot under his arm and you use it to tug yourself closer, getting your forehead against his shoulder, the headphones slipping from your ear.

“Yeah. It’s always okay.”

Hobi tucks your hair behind your ear and puts the headphones back in.

The next time you wake it’s because Noodle is licking at your forehead, grooming you, and you hear the shutter sound of Hobi’s camera, his small giggle. You swat at noodles face and he bats at you a little before settling on the small of your back, fighting Hobi for necessary real-estate and howling when he gets pushed off.

“Nu, be quiet,” Hobi’s hushed words are answered with an equally quiet meow that sends you straight off to dreamland again.

You don't know how long it's been, it could have been hours or minutes the next time you wake. You just know that Hobi smells good, smells musky sweet caramel all drippy and heady, that you've got your nose pressed up against his scent gland. All surrounded by it. Surrounded by him.

The next time you wake is not so innocent.

You’re a little too close. Cuddling with Hobi in a way that you might with Yoongi- with Namjoon or Jungkook. All warm snug hot. Bodies and dreams tangled so thoroughly that it's hard to tell where dreamy wants begin and fragile delights end.

You’re warm at your front from Hobi and warm on your back from the sunshine streaming through the window. Warm all the way through. Until he moves his hand and you realize that’s from him too. His fingers splayed over your spine.

You think you can be forgiven for confusing them. Hoseok and sunlight are one and the same.

The apex of your thigh is pressed tight to his hip just where his thigh starts. Your leg hitched over his hip and tight to it. The fabric of his sweatpants and the fabric of your pajama shorts are all bunched up from your movements. Your knee bent at a comfortable angle. His scent is heady in your nose, pressed to the low tugged collar of his shirt just over his heart.

As close as you can be but still not enough.

You don't even realize your hips are moving, sleepily grinding against his thigh until it's too late.

Hobi grabs your hips and groans.

You stop mid-movement, thoughts sloshing sleepy. And oh, you were moving, weren’t you? There is a dampness between your thighs and the scent of slick and arousal sharp in the air. That comfortable pleasure hiccup in your throat that says you want to cum and can. could like this.

You jerk back from the warmth in front of you, startled into wakefulness as you realize exactly you were just doing.

Oh no- you didn’t mean- Hobi. Alpha, warm and comfortable at your front.

You start to back up, still half asleep, but terror and embarrassment flood you like the ocean floods the sea rocks at high tide.

Hobi groans, a deep near growl sound, and moves before you can back up even an inch. he was just as asleep as you just were until you pulled away. His sleepy brain still clings to you.

His hands slip lower, holding you tight against his front. His sleepy alpha brain is malfunctioning. Sweet omega needs to stay close. The source of his warmth and the friction against his front cannot slip away.

His hands are on your ass and your pussy is pressed flushed to his hip, and Hobi-

Hobi is your best friend, Hobi is your packmate and Hobi has to be unaware of what he’s doing. You’re sure of it. You try to pull away again from him fighting back more embarrassment than you've ever felt in your entire life, hands pressed to his chest.

But He pulls you right back to him.

Right into a unmistakable hardness poking at your stomach. Hard and warm. Right where you were grinding in your sleep.

Hoseok’s heavy breath brushes your ear.

Instincts are incredibly hard to describe. The way they hook into your consciousness and separate reason from action and want from logic. The part of you that’s in control, that recognizes that you and Hobi shouldn’t be this close like this if it’s not talked about, is so distant.

A needy sound echoes that might be from you, that is from you, as Hobi’s hands slide up your hips and under his sweatshirt. Cold hands on your warm hips and oh-

Hobi’s eyes are cracked open, looking down at you, watching you with pink cheeks. Tongue darting out to lick at his lip. “S’okey you just-" his eyes flutter closed again; breath warm against your face. "You take what you need.”

It’s only a testament to the pack's care that you associate these things with each other. Safety and coziness are just so close to pleasure and comfort. Your sleepy body associates this kind of nesting with sex. it's only natural that you'd get a little needy while inside of it.

You can get needy, Hobi doesn't mind.

Before either of you can say if you really should, if this is really a good thing to do without talking about it first. Hobi’s hands are on your waist, pulling you back snug, his hard thigh between your legs.

If you were more awake, you’d think better of it, you’d think so much but there is only that sweet pressure. The drag, the wetness, the soft little huffs of breath that he shushes when he lets you take what you need. Helps you with his hands on your hips and guides you back into rocking against his thigh.

You feel it all the way down to your toes when his hands slide down to the curve of your ass then back up again, underneath the hem of your shorts and then your sweatshirt- his too (all of you his). Rucked up to your ribs.

“Soft.” Hobi groans.

This must not be real. This has to be a dream. Because Hobi doesn't want to touch you like this, Hobi doesn't groan and twitch against your stomach or guide the movement of your hips with his hands into a slow grind that has you gasping against his jaw. Hobi doesn’t leave the seat of your pajama bottoms soaked with slick. Hole clenching around nothing already. Utterly boneless where you lie against his front.

There is one single moment where you look at each other, one single moment where you try to keep from going any farther. Even though you want it, even though he wants it too. If Namjoon and Jin have taught you anything they've taught you caution.

Hoseok can smell the others lingering on your skin, the spot on the top of your head where Yoongi rested his cheek. He leans down, brushing his lips over it. It’s such a tender gesture and it breaks the flood and he's tugging you up, tugging you even closer, desperation coloring his voice all sweet.

“Fuck- please.” His forehead rests against yours, “fuck I just need-“

You're not sure who moves first, who starts the kiss only that once you’re kissing him it’s hard to stop. One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.

Teeth clanging against each other, harsh as they nip. Kissing so good that when you pull apart for breath you're both gasping and it has nothing to do with needing air.

Hobi has such nice lips it’s no wonder that they’re heart-shaped. Made for kissing, made for the needy needy licking against the seam of his lips. He shifts turning you on your side, surging up to kiss you properly and put his weight behind it. cradling your head with one hand and your side with the other. You’re so pliant, so willing to let him kiss and take. You want him to take everything. arms around his neck.

He breaks apart, forehead resting against yours, heart beating so quick that he can feel it in his palms. Pupiles blown when he blinks. “If you take what you need, and I take what I need- Can we-“

Your hands thread hard in his hair. Tugging him back to your lips. Closer and closer. “Fuck Yes- please-“

You don’t know where the wanting comes from, why it’s raging through you like a fire. His lips move against yours frantic, you bite his lip and he jerks. Hovering over you with your back against the nest, all tingly and fizzy. Your bones feel like champagne popping, like shooting stars burning out.

Hobi’s hands shake when they touch your hips, just like yours do when you mirror him, your touches shy but just as hungry, tugging up his shirt, fingertips and nails pressing bluntly to his happy trail of fine dark hair. You can feel the way his cock jumps against your stomach and thigh when you scratch gently.

You pull back a little and sit up and it’s sacred; the way that he panics, scrambling to hold onto you. You're A little bit shy when you take off his sweatshirt, nothing underneath. hair fluffing when you get it free from the cotton.

Your bare skin and the cold room. You get goosebumps on your arms almost instantly when they cross over your bare chest. Hobi’s breath stutters in his chest, like roman candles flare and settle. Hobi takes his sweatshirt from you and sets it aside in his haste to hold you again.

He starts to tugs his pants down, getting tangled because he won't even pull back an inch from you. You kiss his throat, again and again making up for lost time. Sucking a mark there. His hands fumble with the waistband of his tied tight grey sweatpants. finding the loops and then freeze when he feels wetness. Pulling back and looking down just to make sure that that is what he thinks it is. you stop your kissing and look too.

There is a wet spot, darkening the grey material. Your slick from your grinding, the spot where you got so worked up and felt so good that you couldn't even help it. He pulls back so that the light can kiss it but yeah that's definitely from you. Evidence of how much you want this. Evidence of how much you want him.

Hoseok thinks you might have actually set his body on fire. Is about ready to start checking your fingers for matches.

You blush so hot that you think you might be burning in embarrassment. Hands between your legs, clutching at the material of the nest, so embarrassed you can't watch as Hoseok looks down at it and then up at you.

“I’m sorry I- I can’t help it- I'm always-“

Hobi’s hands smooth over the wet patch, splaying up to cradle his cock where you’ve left your mark. And he looks at you, jaw rolling and eyes dark. He doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

It’s hasty how you both move to take his pants off, and he kicks them to some forgotten corner of the nest, his boxers pulled off too, and then clings to you. You cling to each other. Kissing again. Hands knotting through his hair and tugging.

You glance down and oh- Hobi has such a pretty cock. the prettiest in the pack maybe (don't tell Tae), Flushed at the tip, hair neatly trimmed and curving up.

Your bare thighs press to his adds a whole new level to this, the skin there is sensitive and unknown. Lying thigh to thigh somehow feels more intimate than chest to chest as you lie the way lovers do, your leg, his, then yours again.

You’re damp between your legs when he touches, hands shaking. He doesn't bother to take off your shorts just tugs the soaked bit of fabric to the side. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a pussy but he knows enough to do it gently. Petting over your folds like he’s teasing a flower to bloom and opening a rose for a bouquet.

“Please” you gasp, hand vicelike around his wrist. Kissing his frantic pulse again. Hot lips and a cold nose drag down his throat. You hiccup as the pads of his fingers find your clit, shaking against him. "Please-"

But you don’t need to ask, you don’t need to beg. Whatever you need Hobi will give it to you. Your hands scratch as his back when he presses close, snaking underneath his sweatshirt. Breath heavy.

He kisses your neck and bites it when his length brushes the wetness between your thighs. Hot and honey slick. his hips press to your hips, harsh lines of his thighs pointing low that you like. There is so much about Hobi that you like; the way that he kisses, the way that he touches. oh- it’s better than you imagined.

His knuckles are glossy with your slick when he curls them against the nest, holding himself up.

Hobi bends down to skim a kiss across your neck, your collarbones, your sternum.

You laugh, your giggle high and bright. He has to pull back, not upset at all but wanting to laugh too, giggling too. “Why are you?”

Your smile means everything to him. “Your hair tickles.” It is kind of fluffy, kind of pulled everywhere from your kissing and you run your fingers through it, scratching a little around the nape of his neck, and Hobi is done playing.

He pulls back, already dripping a bit of precum, silvery and pearl like at the head of his cock, standing against his stomach. a little hidden because he's still wearing his sweatshirt. Checking because he can’t not check.

“Is this- can I- fuck are you-“

“Daisy, please-“ Oh, how that pet name unhinges him.

He won't make you wait another second for it, hands shaking as he holds your hip. Shushing your needy whimpers with a soothing alpha rumble as he guides his cock close. Giving you what you both need.

Hoseok is not as big as Namjoon or Tae or Jimin, but he’s properly thick. Not the kind of thickness that knocks the breath out of you but the kind that fits just right. Not enough to make you ache or hurt even a little. It doesn’t hurt at all when he eases in slowly.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

That might be because of how soaked you are; dripping messy underneath the warm humidity of the blanket. The visual of your glossy pussy robbed from him but unimportant as Hobi stares at your face, resting his head against your forehead. Watching your eyes dilate and eyelashes flutter. “There we go- fuck-”

It’s not worth pulling back to separate how close you are. How good it feels to press his chest to your chest, not even a single inch separating you. His kisses go gentle and messy, moving against yours in a gentle rhythm just like his hips after he gives you a second to grow used to it. Rocking just a little.

Hoseok has heard the others talk about your pussy, those moments that he tried to block out at the beginning and then started to file away once loving you got more real. But for everything he's heard from his packmates, nothing compares to the reality.

The closeness. The way your hips fit. The hot- too much- clench around him.

He understands a little maybe, fully buried in you for the first time, why they talk about it so much. Why Jungkook had slipped it into dirty talk a few times with Namjoon and why it had made him growl and cum so quick. Why Tae had teased Yoongi for hogging you.

Your pussy feels like an inside joke in all the best ways, the kind of inside jokes that always have you feeling both known and loved. You can’t remember what you used to laugh about when you were a teenager and if asked Hoseok would fail to describe why sex with you feels so full. Why it feels like highlights and golden ages, the golden hour drenching you. It’s not sex for pleasure’s sake and it's not sex for closeness's sake either- although that’s part of it.

It’s not sex at all, it's making love. With Hobi, it’s making love from the beginning.

It's not instincts and mating bond urges. It’s not one submissive giving to a dominant. It’s not about protection and safety even though that's there or because you're an omega and he's an alpha. Because he's a man and you're a woman.

It's just love, that's it.

And it doesn’t hurt at all. For either of you.

The eye contact is never ending, his warm and fucked out the more he rocks. Gentle at first and building up frantic. Hobi doesn’t fuck like the rest of the pack does either; he doesn’t speak, letting out these quiet heavy breaths and shushing your squeaks with soothing alpha grumbles. His thumb wiping away the few overwhelmed tears that slip out and a smile swallowing your hiccuping breaths.

"Fuck” he breathes, moving his hips a little faster. His stomach presses to yours damp and tacky with sweat. Hoseok’s doesn't fuck in and out all the way, hardly moving away from you at all. Just rocking in deep.

Hobi doesn’t stop hitting every spot, comfortable with these unending rocks of his hips, maddening in the way that he never stops filling you. Never pulls out even half way.

Your hands weakly clench in the blankets of the nest as he twitches right there. That sensitive spot inside of you that feels like courting ecstasy when he nudges it. It’s the same spot that Yoongi likes to tease at, the spot that only his long fingers can reach properly and Tae’s too when she’s really trying. Ghosting over it and petting at it until you’re mad with pleasure.

But Hobi doesn’t tease, Hobi just gives. rubbing against it again and again with every gentle roll of his hips.

you put your hand over your mouth to quiet your whimpers when he pulls back, sitting up just a little. Holding your waist and forcing your body further down on his cock, nudging it as deep as it can go and you sob.

Hobi grins, a little cocky, a little pleased that despite his size compared to the others you're still equally as wrecked.

“Right there yeah?” he teases, and then rocks against it again. thumbs pressing against your stomach where he cradles you. waist so tiny that they almost meet when he holds you.

Your cheeks are hot, and you have to turn and whimper into the pillow. he lets you shift so that you're belly down in the nest and he's behind you glued to your backside. lying his weight down behind you like a blanket. pressing you into the nest where you'll stay like a good pup.

Hoseok instincts are absolutely purring. omega, getting bred in such a pretty nest. Good warm soft omega.

Your hand laces with the blanket, needing something to hold onto and he kisses the back of your neck, treading your hands together as he keeps going. This new position lets him rock in even deeper, putting his weight behind it.

“If you keep going, I’m not gonna be able to-”

His breath ghosts your ear, lips dragging down the column of your throat to nip and suck gently at your scent gland, marking you there. his hand presses, holding you to the bed as he rocks harder. His barely formed knot already inside and growing, getting you closer and closer as it thickens. Keeping him right there at the spot and you on the edge. You're so wet it's making noises, soaking and dripping down his cock.

He kisses your mating mark, nipping at it, and you’re gone.

You cum, a wet gush around his knot and a broken whimper. a growl in his throat sounds loud in the empty house. It sounds like made mate happy, made omega cum for me. Hoseok's Alpha is absolutely preening watching your Legs shake, the nape of your neck sweaty, body slack and head tilting to bear your neck. both of your bodies messy from it, filthy and blushing with love.

Hobi’s not far behind, rocking another time, a third, a quiet satisfied breath into the back of your neck before his knot pops locking you together as he cums so gently. No growls or gasps, just hot spurts that fill and satisfy you. Knot popping and Locking you so close you can feel his cock pulse. So close you can feel the same heartbeat on his lips when kisses you, hurried kisses pressed to the nape of your neck that quickly go slack with sleep.

Your hand settles across your stomach, and oh- you realize why hobi wasn't bothered by how wet he got you earlier. He just keeps cuming, so much that it's leaking a little around his knot. You're not sure that Jimin or Tae or Yoongi cum this much, Namjoon definitely does- but thats kinda proportional.

he just keeps going, heat flooding you. Maybe he's only cumming so much because it's the first time, and he needs to claim you from the inside out. you're a little too dizzy to figure it out.

You feel like you might pass out. You don't know if it's squirt or cum or just sweat when he lies himself over you. cuddling closer despite the mess. Teeth at your bared throat, Sucking softly, Soothing.

instincts are kind of embarrassing at best, irrationally hot at worse. you squirm a little closer so that his knot goes deeper.

The sunlight spills across your cuddled forms, still underneath the big thick blanket. He doesn’t pull out, the knot keeping him snug tight. His hand is on your cheek, rubbing up and down your jaw. He pulls the blanket up around you. And neither of you says a word as your rapid breathing calms.

You’re not sure who falls back asleep first. Only that he wraps his arm around you and pulls you back on top of his chest, cuddled there. Knot warm and safe inside of you.

knotted together like this, you're finally finally close enough.

~-~

When Hobi wakes you’re watching him and his dick is out. Wet and slick and cold.

That would certainly cause him to be alarmed if it wasn’t for your expression; a little pale. Hands between your legs and looking at the doorway.

You just really don't want to drip cum onto the couch, like- obviously. Hobi didn't hurt you. But the brief terror at waking up uncuddled and so suddenly douses Hobi like a bucket of cold water.

The cold might be the actual reason for his sudden wakefulness. The wintry air in the room is jarring because the house is finally heating up. (as much to do with the heating system doing its job as it is with your activities earlier that turned the windows all hazy with condensation).

It's like someone had just come in and then abruptly left again. Your cheeks are pink, and there is a cloth on the side of the couch, folded and warm. You didn't get it for yourself.

“Don’t freak out, but Yoongi and the others walked in while you were asleep.”

You’re kind of glad that he wasn’t awake to see your mate barely contain his screech, jumping up and down with Jungkook in the entryway. Namjoon’s subtly grinning expression when he took in your appearance and paused in the cold doorway breathing in deeply. Tae wrapped around one arm; their walk interrupted by his return from surgery.

He groans, barely awake enough to think about the visual that Yoongi and the others were treated to. The consequences are better than a shot of expresso at wakeing him up.

But really, was there ever a possibility that the others wouldn’t find out about this? Does Hoseok even want them not to know?

He's too tired, too think about this logically.

Hoseok wonders why he didn’t wake to you holding him. He’s seen you hold the others, hold Namjoon in the morning when you smell like him. The way you wake slowly and run your fingers through their hair. The other alphas have a habit of cuddling up to rest their head against your chest. Hobi remembers that day by the beach when you pet his hair, he wants you to do that now.

But he can't fucking ask. Asking you to cuddle him would be fucking embarrassing.

“Shit." He shakes off his neediness and easily locates his boxers in the mess of the nest because they're bright red. Surreptitiously tucking his now soft and deflated knot back inside. You look away, letting him have that moment of privacy without comment. Your arms curl around your chest, you’re still nude from the waist up. thighs clenched togeather.

“Yeah uhm, they went back out to like- give us some space.”

"Did they say anything?"

You look away, wiggling over to the edge of the nest. "No. But they looked like they wanted to say a whole lot.”

You definitely don’t say that you heard their scuffle, Namjoon and Tae using their alpha privileges to wrangle an overly excited Yoongi and Jungkook. or that both of them had come back inside, both with pink cheeks smelling sweet at the sight of Hobi’s face pressed to your neck and the fresh hickeys at your throat.

(Hobi’s hickeys are always so small and cute. Tae can’t wait to take a picture and save it, for memory's sake. She’s half tempted to take out her phone and snap a picture of the two of you now.)

Your hiss of “Don’t say anything, I swear to fucking god if you wake him-" cured her of any bad ideas and had Namjoon grinning, his dimples showing.

Yoongi’s finger pressed to his lips in the doorway. Smiling wide and showing his gums. Omegas do get awfully protective over alphas in their nests. Especially post-knotting.

You’re honestly a little surprised that their muted shouting hadn’t woken Hobi. The closed door had kept out the cold but not the sound of them discussing on the porch; mostly Tae's insistence that they needed to get out of the house for lunch instead of heading back inside.

“But what if they need aftercare?”

"We shouldn’t leave them alone and unprotected.” (Classic Joonie).

“Yeah! What if they need cleaning!”

Yoongi snorts, “Gross Jk- I’m pretty sure the last thing they want is you licking up Hobi’s cum.”

“But he always likes it when it’s Jinnie-" that had your face and body heating (although that could just be Hobi- a literal furnace that he is wrapped around you).

Now his warmth is on the other side of the nest yet it feels impossibly farther away. As you both stew in silence under the weight of what you’ve done, what you just did.

Everything feels quiet and scary as you put yourselves back together in silence. You use the wet washcloth to keep yourself from dripping all over the couch while he looks for his pants in the mess of blanekts that smell like sex.

Thoughts like shit shit shit and what have you done ping-ponging back and forth across his brain. Mind bouncing between unlikely personal regrets and likely female rejection (of which he is only too familiar with).

Hobi doesn't like feeling rejected, it always brings up bad memories. He didn't wake up to you holding him. Is that a rejection or is his brain just making it up? People always hold each other after sex. Don't they?

You reach for his sweatshirt but before you can touch it a growl bursts forth from his throat and you freeze.

Hoseok scrubs a hand across his eyes, trying to wipe away the memories fitfully. Maybe it’s just because of the fact that he woke up and you weren’t wrapped around him. He's going to have to cuddle you himself if he wants it right now.

This first time with you reminds him of other first time's that didn’t end well. He's sorry for it the second it slips past his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I just- my fucking instincts feel like they're on fire."

“So can I…?” you trail off. Your skin has goosebumps again. And Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s the casual nakedness that has him feeling so unmoored. A blush trailing its way up the back of his neck even though it shouldn’t be weird. He saw you shirtless every other hour during Namjoon’s rut for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah, just wear it- please wear it.” He can’t take back his growl, but he can meditate by watching you pick it up and hug it to your chest. Looking at him for a second as if to check that it’s still alright and he’s not going to snap at you again.

There is a hickey on your shoulder, the spot where it meets your arm. Hobi doesn’t know if it’s from him or someone else. It's a little too red to not be new. You don’t look uncomfortable being nude in front of him.

If anything, you look a little bit glowy.

You look at him and then pull it over your head. His cheeks still heating stubbornly as your chest moves a little, jiggling.

Why do girls have to just- girl all the time- it's honestly a little unfair how much hobi blushed.

He watches you, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers as you stand up pulling the sweatshirt down your hips. He stares at you until you ask a little flustered by hiding it, “What?”

He tugs on the hem of his sweatshirt, slowly, carefully, leaning forward as he tugs on one of the strings with his teeth. His hands go to your waist pulling you close gently, half sure of himself and half afraid. Hoseok is always somehow half afraid. Is this allowed? Is this wanted?

He rests his head against your stomach, loosely twining his arms around your waist to pull you closer, still loose enough that you can step away if you want. All of this can stop if you don’t want it. He hopes you know that.

Hoseok looks down at your feet, not at your face. “I love it when you wear my clothes. I really don't know where that came from.”

“Careful,” you say, a grin in your voice. Your tone light because you don't want him to smell so sour again. “I’m gonna go for your pants next.”

You snatch his from the floor and dart away. Nothing excites an alpha’s instincts like a chase, and Hobi feels the fire light down his spine. His movements are a hunt-heavy blur. Brain honed in on you.

He catches you by the counter, your giggle echoing off the high ceilings. His blood heating again as he drags you by your hips and flops down into one of the bar stools, sitting you on top of him with a growl.

His hands grip hard around your waist, determined until he’s shy. Letting you go softly, “Sorry I just-”

“Instincts still? Don't worry I get it.” You give him his pants and sit up off his lap so that he can put them on. And now is not the time to get another boner Hobi- but it’s kind of hard not to when you smell so bred, so wholly satisfied.

Hobi did that. Hobi's the one who made you look like this drowning in the afterglow.

Your own instincts are telling you that you want to take the blankets from the couch and drag them upstairs, and tuck them in around the scents of the others. So that they can all see and smell how good you made your alpha feel.

Hoseok’s pleasure leaves an undercurrent to the air that’s intoxicating. Half sugar-sweet and musky alpha. Your body hums with it as he steps up close behind you, close enough you can feel his warmth and not his body, nose skimming the bruise he left close to your mating mark. Letting out a tired sigh.

You did just work off a lot of energy, regardless of the half-nappy half-cuddle fucking that just was; It's also left you fucking hungry.

As much as the kitchen has been a place of anxiety for you it really isn’t with Hobi there. There is still that tape line on the floor that guards you off from the stove, sink, and the fridge. Hobi steps out from behind you and goes to the fridge, getting out some of the prepped fruit that Yoongi almost always keeps on hand.

But you keep looking at the kitchen, the pans hanging above the sink, your mixer sitting dusty in the corner. The hanging mugs. Everything.

He brings it to you, setting it down in front of where you sit. instincts making his eyes fever bright. He watches a little too intently as you lift a raspberry to your mouth. Something about watching you eat cools his instincts, making him release a taught breath.

He watches as you lift another piece, a blackberry to your lips and bite down. Almost purring, too afraid of what might slip out if he speaks. He half wants to do it himself and feed you from his fingertips. But that’s a little too embarrassing to consider.

A minute later, after you’ve eaten half a dozen more pieces, he reaches past you, about to get a piece of peach. He doesn't think anything of it, but when he reaches past your face- you flinch.

It happens so quick that he almost doesn’t even catch it. One second your cheek is turned straight and the next your eyes are darting from him to the bowl. Scent souring with fear and memories from Geumjae.

Fuck. (No cuz actually- fuck Geumjae.)

You don’t look at him with fear, you just look at him with a strange sort of sadness in your eyes. Sorry. Like you’re sorry for being scared. hoseok's hand goes tight on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

Hobi sits down. Holds your hands in his, and waits for a second before he speaks. makes his words quiet and gentle because anger at someone dead and gone has no place here.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You have nice hands, warm where they press into his. And he cradles them, your knuckles flexing vaguely in his grasp, gentle but commanding.

“You’ll try not to, you mean."

You smile at him sadly. Hobi’s chest is tight with it. He needs you to know how much he means those words. How much he needs to mean them. But you both know how hard it is to promise that.

"No. I mean I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.” He repeats. You smile at him sadly again. And he knows his brief anger earlier when you touched his sweatshirt- usually such a normal thing for you- didn't escape you at all. But grief and mourning and memory always finds you at the worst times; after first times and on sunny winter afternoons.

The two of you are a mess, bodies teeming with the memories of failed loves, lost and broken. But you can ignore your triggers; such innocuous things as you wearing his sweatshirt and him reaching past your face. You can ignore your memories; the wretched and rotten ones, just for today.

You let the heavy moment pass and look at the other side of the kitchen. Hobi’s chest feels tight with something. Something that he needs to say but can’t just yet. You can only tell someone you love them for the first time once. You don’t get a second chance.

Hobi just wants to get it right.

You’re looking at the kitchen that Yoongi made for you, holding his hand still. using the other to feed yourself more fruit.

(Is there anything more intimate than holding hands with someone? It feels like more than the pads and lines of his fingers are pressed to yours. soul to soul and palm to palm. The future is written out right there but you ignore it. Love line, health line, fate. But the two of you are dedicated to writing your own end. Your love line is exactly the same length as his, not a millimeter longer).

Hoseok’s chest is still all tight. “What are you thinking about?”

“I haven’t made anything in months.” You sigh, sad. “I want to. I used to love baking, I used to-” you break off, sorrow making you quiet.

Hobi’s eyes are fixed on your shoulder. There are freckles there. He’s not sure why he’s never noticed them before or that you’ve got them dotting your back.

Hobi swallows past something in his throat. Pushing you gently from your chair until you're standing next to him. Cupping your waist because now that he's started touching you it's hard to stop. Now that he knows he’s allowed to touch you so casually, so affectionately, he going to keep doing it.

“Go. I’ll watch you, make sure you stay safe.” Because that’s the rule, isn’t it? Not that you can’t be in the kitchen at all, just that you need someone there to keep you safe.

The words feel tight in his throat, not easily said. I love you. He thinks as he watches you move to the mixer with a small but pretty smile that looks like daisies have taken root on your skin, everything sweet and flowering.

I love you. He thinks as he watches you get your cookbook from behind the mixer. I love you he thinks when he watches you place a mug from that morning in the sink. I love you he thinks as you get the sugar, the vanilla, the salt. He has to get up and get the flour for you, unwilling to have your arms strain underneath the heavy container, doting on you just because he can.

Just because he wants to, just because he loves you.

The shadow of what’s left on the bag hits his dark clothes like a ghostly outline when he holds it. The flour is a bit like you; everywhere he touches it leaves an impression. The rainbows from his suncatcher you put in the kitchen shift with the angle of the sunlight, winking out one by one as dusk falls.

He sits at the kitchen island and watches as you hum and flick through your recipe book. Golden hour fades to orange and pink the same way that roses fade.

He’s not sure why he blurts it out, why he asks, “What’s your favorite?”

You look up from your cookbook, everything is set out but still, the recipe is undecided. “What?”

Hobi can not look at you for this, instead looks at the kitchen island and the old butcher block countertop. Fingers toying along the edge where a knife left a gash.

“You always make everyone else’s favorites; Namjoon’s honey cakes, coffee-flavored things for Jin, the vegan stuff for Jungkook you know- but-” his eyes flick up to you in a moment of bravery. “What’s yours? What's your favorite?”

You think for a moment, a kitchen apart, fingers tapping on the countertop and Hobi can’t take his eyes off of you. His body feels a little achy but in that ‘was just fucked good’ sort of way that makes his breath deeper. Quieting some alpha part of him that always wants a little more. A little more scenting, a little more validation, a little more attention.

But everything can wait.

“My favorite thing to eat or my favorite thing to make?”

“Both. Either.” You glance at the clock. Going to the pantry for a second to double-check that you have everything you'll need. “I’ll have to make some of it from scratch but-" you look at him. “Do you have time?”

Hobi nods. “As long as you need.”

Hobi watches as you measure out the flour and sift it. Hobi watches as you wait for the eggs to get to room temperature and fucks with the playlist. His phone will eventually get splashed with coco but- it’s okay.

All of this is okay, all of this is I love you I love you I love you and I don’t know what to do with all of it, can you take someone it, please. I don’t have enough space in my body to hold all of it. Hoseok doesn’t speak for how sheer the impulse is just to blurt it out.

The yellow plastic mixing bowl keeps clattering against the counter as you stir the egg yolks until they froth up and fizz. Pouting you turn your eyes to him. “Can you help?”

Hoseok has to swallow back the words before they slip past. Hopping up a little too quickly. “Yeah of course.”

You don’t tell him what you’re making, let him guess. So many of your recipes need egg whites and vanilla. You let him put it together on his own. Hobi doesn’t peek at your recipe book and spoil the surprise.

Every action, every spoonful of sugar is I love you too, just say it. You don’t talk about the sex you just had and you don’t say I love you to him. You wait for him to say it first. You don’t say a thing besides; “Just a half teaspoon of that; drizzle it a little at a time, or else it clumps together. Good.” Hobi’s cheeks heat with every bit of praise and you have a lot of it for him.

Hobi looks away when you look up from the bowl, oh so carefully folding the batter and egg whites together. So gently that the hiss and bubble of whipped egg yolks disintegrating is hardly audible.

Hobi hasn’t baked since he was a kid; since he got into his head that chocolate chip cookies were totally something that an eight-year-old should be able to make on their own without adult supervision and almost burned his parents’ apartment to the ground. He tells you the story and you laugh.

He can tell that you’re making adjustments as you go. Adding in a bit of cinnamon, piping off the cookies in neat little lines, and then tapping them oh so carefully to get rid of the bubbles.

The stove preheats and then the tray goes in, filling the room with your scent. That cakey baking aroma that has him resting his head back against the cabinets when you sit on the floor and greedily breathing in.

You wait the 30 minutes like that, sitting on the floor between the cabinets and stove. Your feet pressed to his knees and a glass of lemonade between the two of you.

“You really like baking,” he says, and your eyelashes flutter, you must be getting tired. He takes your feet into his lap, using his hand to massage up your calf. Smiling when you sigh.

“Yeah, it makes me feel- I don’t know. I like making the world sweeter, just a little. Even if it’s just my little corner of it. Making things you guys like makes me happy too.”

“You know, you could go to culinary school if you wanted.” Hobi gets a little shy because you hadn’t explicitly told Jin and Namjoon not to tell anyone about your plans or your application (still pending). It will be a few more weeks until you find out, but that change is just on the horizon.

He's already seen Jimin perusing expensive leather bookbags and has overseen a recommendation letter coming from Namjoon’s email. Hobi might have read it for him to double-check because Hobi always notices things the others might gloss over. Jin and Tae had given it proof read too.

You make a noise in your throat, halfway between a hum in approval and a hum in distaste. “I don’t know, it seems like- a lot to do for a hobby.”

Hobi and you are the only two in the pack who wanted to go to college but didn’t. Couldn’t in your case because Geumjae wouldn’t let you and flunked out in his. He gets the lack of clarity in your voice; to go back or not go back. To try again or not try at all and not worry about whether or not you’re enough.

“I already started applying anyway. Namjoon and Jin and Tae put a lot of effort into helping me apply and-” You let out a frustrated sigh.

Hobi shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. You can change your mind.” There is always time. You tap your toes against his shins and he grabs your feet and you jerk, ticklish. And he almost almost gives in to the urge to tell you he loves you right then and there.

“But could you be happy? Doing this all the time?” You turn, putting your hand over your eyes to peer into the oven and make sure that the ladyfingers are rising properly. “Doing it every day? Would it make you happy?”

You pause, hand on the door before replying in a small voice. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I could be happy.”

You stand with a crack of your knees, sticking out your hand for Hobi and almost falling into him when he truly uses your hand to help himself up.

“Come on, we’ve got to make the whipped cream next-”

It goes like that, you both talking, and Hobi fucking with the playlist. Thinking three little words and not saying them.

You let the ladyfingers cool for a few minutes while you make the expresso. Dunking them in quickly. Piping out the honey-flavored whipped cream in sticky little dollops. Shaking out the cocoa with a practiced hand.

You make the caramel for the top last. Sugar-burning, glass-like little strands on top for a bit of crunch.

The tiramisu is a delicate creation, the layers perfectly spaced out in just the right ratio of cream to chocolate. You let it sit for a second in the fridge and when you take it out, you cut it into a single perfect little square and put it on a plate for him. Treading over the blue painter’s tape line and lingering by him where he sits.

“Try it.” You ask and he does obediently.

Hobi takes a bite of it, rolling the flavors around his tongue while you watch. You haven’t cut a piece for yourself just yet, but you have a fork. You stand on the other side of the kitchen island and take a bite from the other corner of the pan, humming happily when the taste hits your tongue.

It really is your favorite. You grin at the plate, “I could finish this whole thing in one sitting.”

Hobi takes another bite. It’s really good, the flavors are simple but delicate, each of them identifiable but yet cohesive. He could eat all of it too.

Hoseok swallows and realizes why it's your favorite; It tastes like all of you- like the pack.

The honey whipped cream is Jin and Jungkook, and the chocolate cocoa on top is your mate; dark chocolate like an Oreo cookie. Hobi thinks it might not be normal cocoa. The homemade ladyfingers are soaked through with Namjoon's coffee and the cake itself is a delicate dance of Tae’s cinnamon, Jimin’s vanilla, and your scent too. Buttery and yummy.

He's finished half of what's on his plate before he realizes that you added the crunchy layer on top, the caramel too.

That’s Hobi isn’t it? The Burnt sugar sweetness. He knows that’s not typical but still, you added in anyway. The smell of caramel is thick in the air. Sweet sweet sweet. Hobi always smells the sweetest when he’s falling in love.

The tiramisu tastes like the whole pack. Like love soaked threw. Hobi’s heart and body is full of it.

He thinks this might be his favorite too.

Hobi tries to blink back the wetness, really tries not to cry as he takes another big bite. He gets a little bit of whipped cream on his lip, licking it and sniffling. You pause, a bite hovering between the plate and your mouth before you set down your fork with a clink.

“Oh Hobi”

The space between you is nothing more than air as you quickly head around the kitchen island. You cup both of his cheeks and he sags into the touch, hands instantly going over yours to keep them there. Tears spilling warm and unabated down his cheeks.

Hobi decides right then he is beyond pretending that he doesn’t want it, that he doesn’t want you. Wet cheeks and imploring eyes.

“Oh Hoseok, what’s wrong?”

You’re standing between his legs and your collarbone rests against his cheek. Your hand runs through his hair and his heart pulses hard.

"I didn’t mean to make you cry. If this is because-” you trail off. You don’t say that you shouldn’t have had sex earlier because you can’t find it in yourself to regret this even a little bit. But you are sorry for not doing it in a way that didn't make him cry. If that's why he's crying.

“No it’s not that. I just-" Hoseok can hardly speak his mouth is so full of love that it bursts from him before he has a chance to think it through. Sobbing a little as he says it;

"I'm crying because I love you and I don’t know how to tell you.”

Hobi stutters and your hands on his cheeks go firm for a second before they relax. “I love you; I love being around you, I love that you're my best friend and that i get to love you too. I love living in this house with you. I’m crying because for the first time I get it-”

He can’t stop the confession now that it's started, and if he'd just open his eyes he'd get to see your smile but they're screwed shut tight.

“I get it, I get why once Yoongi met you, he couldn’t leave. I understand why he brought you back to us. But-” he hiccups and you giggle a little at the sound. His eyes shoot open and he realizes that you're crying too- that you haven't stepped away. You wipe away his tears with your thumbs and grin down at him.

“I'm so fucking afraid too- I can’t help but feel like the way we started just- fucked everything up. I fucked everything up back then by being jealous. I look at you and I’m scared I’ll fuck this up.”

You hold his face in your hands and think; I will be gentle with you, I will be gentle with you even if it kills me. You have never loved someone broken like you, and you know how easy it is to make a wrong step. But you’re sure when you say the words anyway.

“You won’t.”

“But-” you kiss his hands, knuckles, fingertips. His forehead, his lips Everything. Your eyes are focused and Hobi can’t look away.

“You won’t, you promised not to hurt me and you won’t.”

He falls silent, and you pull him in close. His lips still tingle from your kiss and you kiss him again, long and lingering, hard with the force of your conviction. It tastes like tiramisu.

When you break apart, Hoseok rests his ear on your heart and listens.

You should say I love you back, you really should return the words. But you think there will be other moments to say them. You'll say it when you wake up with him tomorrow morning, you'll say it when you fall asleep tonight curled close to him. There will be more time to say them- during a late-night drives when you look over at him in the dark. There are always going to be more times to say it and you’ll say it and mean it every time.

Unfortunately, life isn't so neat and tidy.

You wipe his cheeks and he wipes yours and you both giggle, leaning into each other. You get him a tissue for his nose and start laughing all over again. Being with Hobi will always be like this, half your lover and half your best friend.

“Do you want to go on a drive later, only,” you wipe tears from your own eyes, “want to take the others this time?”

He smiles, “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

He tries to pull you in for another kiss but you feed him a bite of tiramisu instead and it gets half on his cheek, “finish your cake alpha,” you command, and Hobi is perilous to disobey. the next bite you take ends up on your cheek too because he tickles you, and you blush when he leans forward to lick it off your cheek. All giggly and happy and close. You sat practically on the edge of the counter. Noodle meows and laps up some of it from the floor.

You don’t need to say I love you back, you already have. Hobi can taste it on the edge of every bite.

You cut him another piece and share it this time, and he can't stop looking at you, can't stop smiling.

You smile around a mouthful, "i'm gonna tear up that train ticket."

"Don't you fucking dare. We've gotta like- put it in a scrap book or something."

You clean up the tiramisu, thinking of what might happen when the pack gets back, thinking of how things will go now that you’ve settled this. They’ll be happy; all of you all together finally. This last piece of your little family finally falling into place.

Maybe it will go like this:

Maybe when the pack gets home, there will not just be tiramisu on the counter. Maybe there will be gluten-free lemon bars and honey cakes. Chocolate ginger cookies dusted with powdered sugar and freshly baked bread with cheese and garlic. Little personal cheesecakes that you made in a muffin tin dotted with jam preserve because now that you’ve started to bake again there might not be anything to stop you.

You already feel the urge in your hands, the urge to make things. You think it might have been learned from Yoongi.

Maybe they’ll come home with pizza, unsure if a party and alcohol is really the proper way to go about celebrating, but the cake from the bakery that Tae will buy as a joke, will have flowery lettering and “congrats for losing your Hobi-ginity"

It will make you laugh until your lungs ache like the fireworks have gone off. Will make him blush and rub the back of his neck in shyness.

When they come home there might be a few sly comments but the pack knows when to tease and when not to. Maybe Namjoon will take a hearty sniff at Hoseok’s throat, dragging it up and down the nape of his neck, huffing happily. (Namjoon has always been a little bit possessive of Hoseok the same way Jin has always been possessive of you, but that's pack alpha's for you).

Tae will tuck your hair behind your ears to get a better look at the mark he left on your throat, manicured fingers gently stroking over it. and Yoongi will shoot him a challenging look and drawl, "really daisy? is this really something you wanna start?" all playful. the way yoongi only gets when he's really really happy.

And when Jin gets home, Maybe he’ll drag you over his lap with some squirming because there is no avoiding this hole check. Not when Jin and the others have been waiting.

Under the hungry eyes of the rest of the pack, you would still squirm. Your mate watching and grinning as he nibbles a piece of pizza and just watches as Jin pulls your sleep shorts down to your knees. Leaving them there to pin your thighs together. Hand against the small of your back to keep you still.

Of course, the pack omega has to look after the two of you and make sure the lowest on the hierarchy is being safe without a stronger presence nearby. But your entrance is pink fucked warm, not red and inflamed. Hoseok’s knot is the perfect thing to warm you up, and Jin tugs his sweatshirt over your hips to keep you warm as he examines you.

Fingers drag your entrance apart to show the others how good hobi did. Prompting them to touch and feel for themselves, all of their fingers teasing at your entrance and all of them touching you. Tae and Jungkook holding your thighs, Jimin and Namjoon resting their hands on your ass to help jin hold you open better and yoongi prodding to feel-

They'd want to see his cum slip out, forced from your hole by your needy clench. Of course, they'd just fuck it back inside because not a drop can go to waste. one set of fingers and then another, jungkook leaning down to taste.

Jin’s eyes would be all dark eyes and honey tones, looking hoseok up and down, cheeks as red as the sweatshirt you wear. His praise makes Hobi feel just a little bit too proud for his own good.

Hobi would probably get a knot-check for that, because if the alpha has something to be proud of then surely the others need to check his ego (and only in the way that hobi likes).

The alphas would scuffle with him a little, wrestling to settle him. Hobi's instincts are still fever bright and he needs to be put in his place. To feel the pack for what they are; very necessary safety bumpers.

He'd go so easily after a few nips- Jimin would help pull his pants down so Namjoon could get his big hands around him, fingers teasing at the red skin around his base and making Hobi growl and gasp. Pausing to cup lower and make sure Hoseok's empty, that he didn't hold back breeding you. Tae would tutt and make him open his mouth, her finger teasing along his teeth just for shits and giggles. Just to make him groan.

Nothing makes an alpha more proud than getting to show off his teeth.

Jin would smile at the display, and croon. “Good alpha.”

Maybe Jin will pat your pussy lips softly before pulling your pants up, making you flinch and then relax and jungkook would bend down to give Hoseok's knot a little kiss before standing.

The whole thing would take maybe 5 minutes but it would leave the whole pack ravenous for more. The final evidence of this finally happening; all of you together and not fragmented.

As you should be, together.

Maybe later, after treats and pizza, you'll all get to go to the beach like Hobi promised. Two separate cars. And Namjoon might let Hoseok and Jimin do donuts in the empty parking lot without too much fuss. The smell of tires and gasoline ripping.

Jungkook whooping and Yoongi watching on with his grin, Jin in the back seat with you going “Oh- oh hope- slow down” looking a little green. But terrorizing the pack omega is kind of your job.

It’s cold and late at night but you’ll tear out across the sand. Running to the shore. Tossing your shoes into the dark and toeing into the waves. Yelling happy.

You and Hobi will try and throw Yoongi into the water and then the other alphas will actually succeed in throwing Namjoon, pushing him until he inevitably tumbles into the seafoam. All 7 of you will try and wrangle Jungkook into the same wet fate and fail.

Jin will tuck Namjoon’s wet hair back behind his ear and grin at him, his grin saying the words they don’t need to. Kisses tases like secrets and salt but that much has not changed. Might never change when it comes to the eight of you. All the secrets in the world couldn’t keep you apart.

You’ll get zoomy in the way that dogs get in wide-open spaces. You’ll run. Your feet slapping against the sand, tossing spray into the air as high as your laughter, chasing after each other. A bunch of barefoot kids in too-big bodies and sand between your toes. Hands clasped tight in each other’s so that you won’t let go. You won’t ever let go now that you've found them.

For once you'll be absent of all the things that drag you down. Lighter than the warm air that billows over the sea. Mouths that store special secret salty smiles for the better. Damp fingers that curl against warm wrists. holding onto each other tight even though you’re running and running-

Running.

Maybe.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, what happens is this;

You are sitting at the kitchen counter when Hobi gets a text. It’s from Jungkook asking about the pizza types that you’d want and

Yoongi’s left his phone, he says with a little 👀 emoji. But he won’t truly tease the both of you until he gets home. Of course Yoongi was too distracted by you and Hobi post coitous to grab it from the other room.

you to to the pantry to put away the flour and this close- you can hear another phone ring from the bathroom. It's it yours? Only No, it's not your phone sitting on the counter, but Yoongi’s. Lighting up with Jin’s contact information.

JinJinJin: 5 missed calls.

It's so like your mate to leave his phone in such a random place. You smile as you pick up.

Jin is already talking a mile a minute. Fear and panic make his words come quick and desperate.

“Yoongi- why the fuck didn't you pick up" You don't have time to respond. Don't have time to let him know it's not your mate but you that picked up the phone.

"I don’t know how the fuck it happened, I don’t know- but-“ he’s almost shouting over the phone, such raw panic in his voice that it has your body going frozen.

Jin lets out a broken sobbing breath.

"I shot Minnie.”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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Notes:

I ended up editing out a good portion of Hoseok ’s inner monologue at the begining, because I realized that at that point in time with the other pack he wouldn’t have been thinking stuff about how terrible it was because it wasn’t terrible yet. i probably should have even edited it fluffier if we're being honest. i think that would have been more unsettling.

The line where she says “One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.” Is a little hard to explain, she’s not thinking about Yoongi in that moment but the person she associates the most with love is Yoongi so- yeah it made sense. I feel like this line might make people go a little like “what??”

I swear if you guys didn’t cry a little at the ‘It doesn’t hurt at all.’ Parts I’m not doing this right because I was SOBBING.

Listen, I almost edited out the line where he calls her pussy an inside joke so many times- but for me- when I was younger I always wanted to be a part of inside jokes because like- if you are that means you’ve got history with someone- Hoseok is thinking this because until this moment- he hasn’t been able to be apart of something that the rest of the pack had understood.

When Hoseok was leaving a hickey over her mating mark it’s his way of saying “this is mine too 😠” to Yoongi,

Honestly??? Why is Hobi so feral in this like- he’s a /little/ unhinged from how much he wants her and tbh it’s fair. Look away if you don’t wanna read him going APESHIT for her.

ALSO- I’m just imagining him on the walk with jungkook and Tae, cheeks slowly pinking up because he can feel that they’re having sex down the mating bond, maybe getting hard and the others noticing, both of them plastering themselves along his side and teasing him with words like “do you think he’s making her all wet and messy hyung? Do you think she’s gonna cream around his cock like she creams around yours?” and Yoongi just- endlessly suffering around the two horndogs that are Tae on estrogen and jungkook on a regular day.

The moment where they’re holding hands and it’s talking about palmistry is a refrence to noah kahan’s song everywhere everything and the line “it’s been a long year, in all of our books pages dog eared, we write out the ends on our palms dear, and forget to read.”

The worst worst worst part about this chapter is that I don’t??? have a fucking recipe for the tiramisu?? Like I’ve made it before but I’ve never made honey flavored whipped cream or put caramel on top 🥺 maybe I’ll test it out one dayand update this chapter

Okay so the ‘flash into the improbable future at the end is a little too horny for the end of smutt but I couldn’t just /not/ put it in there because you know how I love a good hole check scene.

do you hate me because of this cliffhanger? even i have to say its a little unforgivable.

please be patient for next chapter because i do not have A SINGLE fucking word written for it. like nada, we're starting from scratch come monday.

~-~

Hobi's sex Playlist (jk isn't not a sex playlist)

Dominic fike- Mama's boy (hobis' flashback)

Mitski – my love mine all mine. (yoongi telling him to be good)

Lana del ray – chemtrails over the country club. (the sex)

Olivia Rodrigo – can’t catch me now (when they're both triggered from the respective abusive relationships)

Tom o’dell – black Friday. (Juz cuz)

[safination]

Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“ . . . Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “ . . . Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.  

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“ My dearest good doctor, ” Egg Boi #04 reads. “ What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.  

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything ,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note ,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right . . .” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as you turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, lest you get scrambled.”

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Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

 Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor . . .,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We invite my . . . dad .”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “ the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh . . . So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table,  deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘ Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

 “Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“ Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years . . . his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘ longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois . They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois .”

“Egg Boys .”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump. 

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up . . . er  . . . interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’ . Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God . . .

Lucifer begins to sing.

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Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

 “The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh . . . hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm . . . he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk?  There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No . . . not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say . . . light treasure hunting . . . ?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh . . . his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of . . . let’s say, mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like . . .  the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story . . . Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh . . . ” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps.  A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why . . . why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I . . . I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

 “Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think . . . ” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . .” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

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“ Motherfucker! ” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firmly against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“ . . . No.”

“Then settle down, Husker ,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still . . . or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “ Bitch. ”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “ Virgin. ”

“I am not . . .grandma. ” Husk’s fangs show when he growls. 

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties . . . or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot  . . . or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes ?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected .”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you . . . do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“ What does that even mean ?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I . . . have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh . . . and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha! ”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming  me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’ .

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh  . . .  I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly.  “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“ Husband? ” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “ Pause ,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“ I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh . . . Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well . . . no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just . . . I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why . . . ?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why . . . ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean . . .  I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything .”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wipe it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no . . .  not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Willd double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs.

Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs.  (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.  

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This . . . .” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh . . . that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait . . . ,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You . . . you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

 Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

”Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you.  That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

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“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes . . . ?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer.

Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass.

Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we , my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment.

Someone pounds on the door.

You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“ MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops . . . ?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room . . .  Huh , that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw. 

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows. 

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

 Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out.  “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully , with a grin.

“Mimzy . . . ” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “ . . . Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh . . . 

Another song.

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

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As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—it doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he says, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“ Doting husband ?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close . . .  just . . .  one . . .  second . . . 

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems . . . It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride . . .  his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead.  “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘ glorious’ . People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh . . .  I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just . . . trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

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Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

[targaryenmarvel]

Fallin' All In You (Part 2) - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Wanda Maximoff since you were children. She was the shy and exceptionally beautiful twin sister of your best friend, Pietro. For the most part, you two never interacted, but that changes when against your better judgment, you begin to develop feelings for the girl. 

Warnings: Only cursing for now

Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the long wait as I had no time to write the past few months. College and personal issues have kept me busy, but here's the next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Word count: 5,936

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Wednesday arrived quickly, and you had offered to drive the twins to school. However, their mother had insisted on taking them herself, at least for their first day. So, instead, you patiently waited at the double-door entrance until their mother's familiar car pulled up. Pietro left the car first, walking towards you.

"I think I'm really going to enjoy this school," he declared, eyes roaming the figure of one of your soccer teammates, and you lightly shoved him.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Piet," you reprimanded him. Yet, your actions betrayed you when your own gaze landed on his sister. A sight that had left you gawking like an idiot.

The Maximoff girl was wearing a red mid-thigh dress, a leather jacket on top, combat boots with black knee-high socks, her neck was adorned with necklaces and her fingers like before with multiple rings, and finally, her long brunette hair tied up in a ponytail. She looked utterly breathtaking. You were sure you weren't the only one awestruck.

"Only if you do the same," Pietro whispered to himself.

"What? D- Did you say something?" you asked, gulping and hoping he didn't notice you checking his sister out.

"I said we need to get our schedules. Come on."

He grabbed Wanda's wrist as she stopped next to him. You exchanged a quick smile with her before taking the two to the front office to get their schedules. You discovered you shared four classes with Pietro and three with Wanda; one was with both twins. Even though you were thrilled you would be able to have classes with Pietro, the fact that you'd also see Wanda intensified your euphoria.

One of your classes with Pietro was your second-period physical education class. You couldn't talk much during the class, considering the teacher split the girls and boys for basketball. However, you compensated in your following class, which was history. You sat together in the back of the room, goofing off. You were lucky your history teacher was chill.

Your fourth-period class was art, which you had with Wanda. The brunette girl seemed so lost when she walked into the room, not knowing where to sit since she had no friends in the class. You knew Wanda had anxiety, so as soon as you caught her eye, you smiled and waved her over to the seat in front of you. You wished you could have spoken to her during class, but she seemed so concentrated on her work that you would have hated interrupting her.

After that class, the three of you went to lunch together, sitting outside at one of the tables. You were talking to Pietro when you were abruptly interrupted by two hands landing on your shoulders before blazing red hair came into view and lips pressed against your cheek. An immediate grin covered your lips as the redhead sat next to you.

Pietro raised an eyebrow at you quizzically while Wanda stared at the redhead. Of course, you know what it looked like, but you were being entirely truthful when you said Natasha was your friend. I mean, you two did kiss freshman year when you were exploring your sexuality, but it was only that one time. Besides, Natasha was dating Steve, another one of your friends.

"Guys, this is Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, these are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff." You gestured as you spoke.

"Oh, so you're the famous Maximoffs. Y/N has told me so much about you." She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm.

"Good things, I hope." Pietro winked at her with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes. God, he was such a flirt.

"Don't even try, Piet. She has a boyfriend," you interjected before he could embarrass himself further.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that before, don't you think, Y/N," he whined, covering his face with his hands, causing you to giggle.

Natasha looked at you with a smug smile. "You were talking about me?" she elbowed you gently on your side, "I feel so special."

You chuckled at her playfulness. "Piet asked if we were dating."

"Sadly, no. I tried, but Y/N is the one that got away." She sighed overdramatically, causing you and Pietro to laugh.

You bumped her shoulder, still laughing, "Shut up before Steve hears you."

Your laughter died down when you looked over to Wanda, who mindlessly moved her food around, looking like she'd rather be elsewhere. You really hated that Wanda wasn't enjoying herself as much as you were, and you wished there was something you could do or say to make her feel better but came up blank. Natasha also noticed Wanda's withdrawn mood and decided to help.

"So, Wanda," she waited for the said girl to look at her before she continued, "Y/N tells me you're an incredibly skilled artist."

Wanda glanced at you with doubt. You talked to Natasha about her even though you weren't friends? When Natasha mentioned you had told her much about them, she figured she was referring to only Pietro but was trying to be friendly.

She was quiet momentarily as she looked at your barely visible red face since you had lowered your head. Then she realized Natasha was waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't say I'm incredibly skilled. More like okay," she downplayed, embarrassed by the attention.

Pietro scoffs, "Lies, sistra. Don't downplay yourself like that. You're a wonderful artist. Not just anyone is chosen to make the school mural." Wanda blushed at his praise but smiled nonetheless, grateful for his supportiveness.

Natasha coaxed Wanda to talk for the rest of lunch by asking her questions. Eventually, Wanda answered with all the confidence in the world and joked around with Natasha. She became even more comfortable when some of her friends joined you at lunch.

Afterward, you, Natasha, and Wanda walked to your science class together. Unfortunately, since Natasha was your table partner, Wanda wasn't able to sit next to you. Though you knew she'd be okay when you noticed Wanda's best friend, Monica Rambeau.

You saw Pietro once again in your sixth-period math class. Your math teacher, Mr. Grayson, soon discovered how troubling making you and Pietro were together after interrupting the class with laughter multiple times. After many glares and a verbal warning, you both decided to quiet down, not wanting to get detention.

In your next period, you didn't have either of the twins. However, Natasha and Steve were there. Considering how sickening they could be together, you weren't sure if it was a good thing.

It wasn't until the last class that you saw both twins again. Two of Wanda's friends, Shuri and Peter, were also in the class. Since you sat in the back row, there was enough room for all of you. Pietro was on your left, and Wanda was next to him, followed by her friends.

You became excited the moment you laid your eyes on the whiteboard. Your teacher was assigning a partner project; by the looks of it, one would have to be a group of three. Usually, you'd be annoyed, considering you weren't friends with anyone in your class. Of course, you liked Shuri and Peter, but they always paired together. But now that Pietro was there, you figured you'd work together. Of course, you wouldn't mind Wanda, but you were sure your recent nervousness would get the best of you.

Your suspicions were only confirmed when you peeked at the girl from under your eyelashes. She spoke to her friends, showing her perfect side profile and composed posture. You couldn't help your wandering eyes as they lowered, settling on a patch of exposed skin from her thigh accentuated by her crossed legs.

You swallowed thickly, face on fire from shame and attraction at the tantalizing sight. An inescapable weight settled on your chest, threatening to constrict your lungs until you could no longer breathe.

There was only one way to prevent the eventual humiliation of hyperventilation: to look away. Yet, you struggled to do so. God, you were such a creep, you thought as you turned away with a sigh. But, you weren't allowed time to dwell in shame as class began.

"Hello, class. First off, I would like to welcome our two new students, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff." She motioned to the two before continuing, "Okay, class, as you can see on the board, you are being paired for an out-of-class project. Usually, we read a book as a class and individually write weekly chapter summaries, but I decided to change it up a little to make it more fun and collaborative. In this assignment, there will be no weekly summaries. Instead, it will be an analysis paper and a short presentation. Unfortunately, the last time you chose your partners, it didn't work out too well, so I have assigned them myself," she announced, eliciting collective grunts of protest from all of you. Well, there goes your plan of working with Pietro.

She brushed you off before calling out who would be working with whom. "Pietro Maximoff and Jimmy Woo." As much as you were praying to get him as your partner, you couldn't help but laugh at his luck. He was probably hoping to get one of the girls as his partner. Not that Jimmy was a bad partner; you thought he was funny.

She went on with other names, and you only perked up once she called your name, "Y/N, you will be working with… Wanda Maximoff."

Despite your newfound nervousness around Wanda, you internally perked at the thought of spending more time with the girl. Although you weren't sure if she felt the same, considering the adorable frown that adorned her face. Maybe she thought it would be awkward just the two without Pietro.

When she finished listing partners, she began going into depth over the expectations for the assignment. "I will allow you to choose a novel with a film adaptation, school-appropriate, of course. Before beginning, come to me for approval. I want you all to do different books and remember that it is first come, first serve." She gave everyone in the front row a rubric on the project to pass back. "For this assignment, I want you to write a literary analysis paper and compare the effectiveness of each medium in presenting the story. You will also need to create a five-minute presentation covering the points of your essay.

Your head throbbed at all the work you would have to do, considering she wasn't giving you time during class. Your only consolation rested on the five-week deadline given to complete the assignment besides the brief paragraph due tomorrow on the expectations of each medium. Besides, you were sure to finish with Wanda as your partner in no time.

From the look of it, the rest of the class was less eased by the deadline. Most wore expressions of annoyance.

Soon enough, the bell rang, indicating the end of school, and your teacher dismissed you all.

You and Pietro walked out of the classroom, Wanda lingering behind with Shuri and Peter.

"Is your mom picking you up? I can give you a quick ride home before practice starts," you offered, taking a quick look at Wanda as she departed from her friends and continued towards you both.

"No, that's okay. Mom is picking us up," he assured, wrapping his arm around Wanda's shoulders. "Are you coming over later?"

"Uh, yeah, after practice." You looked at Wanda, who scrolled through her phone. "Hey, Wanda," you called softly, gaining her attention. "If you don't have anything planned, we can start on the assignment," you suggested.

"Yeah, that's fine," she agreed, wanting to finish it as soon as possible. She figured that the faster you completed the work, the less time she spent with you making a fool out of herself.

"Okay, perfect. See you later, guys." You waved at them, leaving for the locker rooms to change before practice.

It wasn't until nearly six that you could go to the Maximoff household. You spent a while with Pietro in his room before deciding to get started with Wanda.

You stood outside her door; an overwhelming feeling of nervousness had taken over, causing your palms to sweat profusely and your heart rate to accelerate to an uncomfortable pace. You couldn't recall the last time you had been alone in a room with Wanda for more than three minutes. Not even in silence. It made you feel like an ashole for not trying harder to get along with your best friend's sister. Maybe it'd be easier to deal with your crush if you had. With a last sigh, you knocked on the door, prepared to face Wanda.

"Come in," her sweet voice called.

You slowly opened the door only to reveal a more casual Wanda lying on her stomach as she read a book. Gone was the alluring back dress replaced by a long-sleeved shirt and sweats.

"Hey," you called from the entrance, capturing her attention.

She quickly got up onto her knees and spoke. "Hey, Y/N. Come in."

As you tentatively entered Wanda's room, a feeling of apprehension crept over you. Uncertain of where to stand or sit, you lingered nervously near the entrance. It wasn't until Wanda kindly motioned towards her desk chair that you finally felt a slight sense of ease.

"Thanks." You sat and retrieved your notebook from your backpack. "Alright, do you have any book suggestions?" you asked, getting straight to the point. You thought it'd be less awkward once you started working on the assignment.

"A few, but I'm not sure they're to your liking."

"Shoot," you responded for her to continue.

Wanda stood from her bed and removed books from the shelf as she had named them. "Okay, I have The Great Gatsby, Pride & Prejudice, and oh, The Perks of Being Wallflower," she quipped excitedly, causing your heart to melt.

"No, Percy Jackson?" you asked, nodding to the poster on the wall.

She scoffed, "God, no! The movie is a total wreck. I understand you have to change certain things to fit the big screen, but seriously, did they have to remove the best parts, especially the fight with Ares," she ferociously shook her head in disdain forgetting your presence, and you pursed your lips to contain the laughter that wanted to breakthrough too entertained by her passionate ranting. "Anyways, I only liked the casting for Percy, Annabeth, and Grover, but they had to ruin it with their horrible script. Seriously…"

Despite your great effort, you couldn't contain the chuckle that escaped your lips. You were quick to disguise it as a cough, but the harm was done. Wanda stared at you wide-eyed with flaring red cheeks.

Though you thoroughly enjoyed how the color brightened her skin, you didn't want her to feel like you were laughing at her, so you nodded vigorously, "Honestly, how could they ruin it that bad? And oh, don't get me started on Sea of Monsters. Why the hell was Kronos there? I'm glad they didn't remake any other books. "

"You like Percy Jackson?" Wanda asked, a bit stunned at your knowledge of said book series.

You hum, "I discovered my love of Greek mythology through Percy Jackson. Just don't tell Pietro. He'll probably make fun of me."

"I would know," Wanda jokes, and you both chuckle. "So, we agree that Percy Jackson is a no-go since we'd never finish writing about everything wrong. Do you have any suggestions?"

"I don't spend much time reading since I rarely have the time, but I can say I enjoyed reading The Silence of the Lambs and Carrie," you said thoughtfully.

Wanda scrunched her nose cutely in distaste at your choices. "Sorry, I'm not good with horror."

"It's okay. We can do one of yours," you offered with a shrug, not caring.

"Really?" You nodded. "Pride & Prejudice?" Wanda asked, hopeful at your response.

"I'm sure it's amazing. You are recommending it, after all."

"Alright then, do you want to start on the individual paragraph? That way, we can turn them in tomorrow." You agreed, taking out your notebook and pen from your school bag.

Wanda was finishing her paragraphs when you interrupted the silence.

"I'm glad we're partners."

Wanda's hand stopped mid-sentence, and she slowly lifted her head to look at you. Her eyebrows scrunched in an adorable way when she asked, "Really?"

"Yeah, I usually end up doing all the work, but I'm sure you wouldn't do that." You wanted to tell her it wasn't the only reason, but you didn't want to make her uncomfortable. The slight smile on her lips gave you momentary courage, and you allowed yourself to tell her how you felt. "There's- uh, there's another reason." Wanda looked at you expectantly. "Even though Pietro and I have been friends since kindergarten, you and I have rarely talked or anything. I want to change that," you rushed, pausing to breathe. "I- If you're okay with it, I'd like to take this opportunity to know you better. I know it might be weird since I waited this long to do this, but honestly, I thought you hated me."

Wanda felt taken aback by your confession. "I don't hate you, Y/N," Wanda interrupted with a frown. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. You just kind of always left or ignored me," you rushed out, embarrassed.

"I wasn't ignoring you, Y/N," Wanda stated earnestly but with a hint of fondness. She indeed loved this flustered version of you. Your stuttering and deep blush made her heart skip. "You and Pietro were always so energetic and doing all these crazy things. I just thought I would be ruining your fun." It was her turn to look down in embarrassment.

"You wouldn't have," you quickly reassured. "Wanda, the amount of trouble Pietro and I could have avoided if you were there," you joked, causing her to laugh. "We can't do anything about the past, only what's ahead of us, so what do you say, Wanda? Friends?"

"Friends," Wanda agreed, sending you a smile that caused your stomach to twist into knots.

"In that case, do you plan on going to the soccer game on Tuesday?" you casually asked before adding, "I know you don't like soccer. I remember you always found a way of being excused when we played soccer during elementary school. Man, you hated P.E., huh? I think the only thing I saw you remotely enjoy was kickball 'cause you were benched most of the time."

"You remember that?" Wanda questioned, astonished you had remembered something like that.

"Yeah, well, you did tell Pietro it was just a bunch of idiots running after a ball." You chuckled. "And you know you're right, but still, If you come," you point to yourself, "this idiot will make it worth your while," you promised, biting your lip expectantly as you watched the brunette girl lower her gaze with a blush.

"And how would you do that?" she challenged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

You pursed your lips and grabbed your chin, thinking. How about I dedicate every goal I make to you? Does that sound about right?"

You didn't think Wanda's face could be redder than it was, but you were proven wrong as the color intensified at your words. With a nervous chuckle, Wanda stated, "That sounds very self-assured. How do you even know you'll score anything?"

"I firmly believe that anything is possible with the right motivation. So how about it?"

"Alright, I'll be there." She shook her head at your shit-eating grin. "We should actually do some work now."

You left the Maximoff household not long after. You parked your car in your driveway, still smiling like an idiot, thrilled that Wanda had accepted your proposal, though you would have to be sure to score during the game. You remained in the same state, replaying the conversation with Wanda until it dawned on you, the implications of your promise becoming clear.

"Oh, my God! Was I flirting with Wanda?"

You didn't make those types of promises to any girl, right? You were confused because you had never been interested enough in a girl to flirt with them. Now, here you were, flirting with none other than your best friend's sister. You rested your forehead on the steering wheel and took a deep breath, deciding it was a problem to dwell on another day.

The next day, your nervousness from the previous day was replaced by excitement. The only class you could freely talk with Wanda was art, so you decided to take advantage. You made it your mission to make her laugh at your stupid jokes during class. You were lucky that your art teacher didn't care as long as you were doing your work.

Lunch was also different, as Steve, Natasha's boyfriend, joined your group. He and Wanda hit off quickly, bonding over their love for Harry Potter and their incredible art skills; you thought it was adorable.

Then there was Natasha, asking Pietro if he was attending the game, to which he promptly answered, "I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. What kind of friend would I be." He shook his head in denial at the simple thought.

You raised your eyebrow knowingly, "You sure it has nothing to do with eyeing my teammates?"

He dramatically sighed, raising his hand to his chest, feigning hurt, "Your accusation wounds me, Y/N. When have I ever ditched you for another girl?" He tried to keep a serious expression but eventually burst out in laughter at your incredulous stare. You rolled your eyes as you and Natasha joined him.

"How about you, Wanda?" Natasha interrupted Steve and Wanda after they settled down. "Are you going to the game tomorrow?"

"Oh, please. My sister hates soccer. I'm sure she'd rather stay home reading her romance books."

You bit your lip anxiously. Even though Wanda had agreed to attend the game the night before, you couldn't help but feel insecure about her response. What if she had changed her mind? A soft tap on your leg under the table brought you out of your thoughts. You immediately knew Wanda had sensed your uneasiness, and it was her way of soothing your thoughts.

"Well, you thought wrong. I'll be there." Pietro looked at her suspiciously, resisting the urge to do the same to you. "School spirit." She shrugged, throwing you a discrete mischievous smile that caused you to look down in delight.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement from the eager spectators, ready to demonstrate their support. The crowd's chatter reached your ears as you warmed up in the field. It was a sound you've learned to love as it pumped you up for the game and motivated you to give it your all. However, on this occasion, it wasn't just the crowd that had you giddy with excitement.

Your eyes wandered to the stands, searching for a certain green-eyed brunette, and you quickly found her sitting next to her twin and Steve in the lower row of the stands. You waved at the three, eyes lingering on Wanda as your coach called your teammates over.

Your teammates huddled with your coach, giving a brief motivational speech before your team got into the 3-4-3 formation; you, Natasha, and Monica Rambeau were the forwards. Natasha, who was also the team captain, walked towards the referee and the captain of the other team, and a quick coin toss determined your team would begin the game.

The whistle blew, and your redhead friend kicked the ball. The first 15 minutes of the game were uneventful, the ball traveling back and forth on the field. Then, you saw an opportunity when you found yourself nearing the goal area. You'd only have to bypass two defenders. Natasha was open to your left. Even though you knew you could easily pass the two girls, you passed the ball to Natasha, who scored the game's first goal. After all, it was a team game, and you reasoned you had enough time to fulfill your promise.

True enough, another chance arose seven minutes later when Monica kicked you the ball. Adrenaline coursed your body, heightening your senses, and your mind raced, assessing the terrain. The crowd's screams increase the closer you run, some in delight, others in protest. You sprinted forward, only slowing down as a defender barreled towards you from the right. You tapped the ball with the side of your right foot in a split second, sending the ball between the girl's legs. You resumed your attack, and in an instant, the ball soared past the goalie's hands into the top right corner of the net. You scored a goal. Not just any goal; it was a goal for Wanda.

You could hear the crowd cheer as Natasha embraced you, but you only cared about Wanda's reaction. You looked at the crowd, seeing Pietro and Steve cheering for you. Contrarily to the two boys, Wanda remained silent, but she had a visible soft smirk on her lips. The intimacy of the act was far more encouraging than the boisterous cheers that surrounded you, and you knew you had to score more.

The first half was almost over, and you found yourself with the ball in the penalty area after a girl charged at you, sending you to the ground. A raging pain surged in your hand and wrist as you landed wrong. You gasped and held your arm to your chest as you continued to lay on the floor. Natasha, Monica, and another teammate, Maria Hill, rushed to check on you.

As players and the referee surrounded you, Wanda observed your unmoving figure from the stands with bated breath. She clasped her hands, anxiety growing in her chest the longer you stayed down. It wasn't until you rolled onto your back and used your left arm to move into a sitting position with Natasha's help that she could breathe.

You could see how you clenched your hand and nodded in assurance as the referee, and you discussed. You finally raised to your feet, using only your left arm for support, which Wanda noticed, as well as keeping your right hand close to your stomach. Despite her worry for you, the game continued as you prepared for a penalty kick.

You inhaled deeply, disregarding the pain in your wrist, and instead concentrated on where to direct the ball. In a swift motion, you once again sent the ball to the end of the net. Euphoria filled your body at your accomplishment. Ready for Wanda's rewarding smile, you turned towards the girl, but she wasn't smiling this time. Instead, the brunette's face is twisted into a frown. You realized she was worried you were hurt as you noticed her eyes lower to your right wrist.

Hoping she could read lips, you muttered, "I'm fine," and smiled at her. You can see her anguish diminished at your reassurance. Next to Wanda, her brother and Steve were too busy celebrating to notice your interaction.

The game resumed for the remaining minutes of the first half before you went on a break. During the next half of the game, the opposing team is reinvigorated and scored on your team. However, it doesn't faze your team because soon after, Monica scores. In the game's last minutes, you scored the final goal with Maria's help, closing the game at 5-2.

A cheerful roar echoed throughout the field at your team's victorious outcome. Natasha wrapped her arms around you in a bone-crushing hug before some of your teammates joined her. You were beyond ecstatic knowing you had scored three goals for Wanda.

You look where they were seated. Pietro fervently shook his sign in the air while Steve gave you both a thumbs up. Then there was Wanda, bashfully smiling at you, uncaring if anyone saw. You wanted to go and boast about your achievement but knew you'd have to wait a moment. Your coach congratulated you, and after you chatted with a few members of the other team, you left to the stands, eager to go to Wanda.

You nearly sprinted when you were finally free. Wanda, Pietro, and Steve stood together at the foot of the stands, waiting for you and Natasha. The moment Pietro realized you were approaching, he began cheering.

"Here they come—the stars of the game!" Pietro exaggerated, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and squeezing. "You know, I thought you were joking about being good, but I can admit, I was mistaken."

"Shut up." You pushed him away, rolling your eyes.

"It's true. I enjoyed watching you play. Even Wanda, who hates soccer, did, right sistra?" Pietro wrapped his other arm around his sister, and you waited for her answer.

"Yeah, it was fun," she replied nonchalantly.

"You two were amazing. Though I'm a bit biased when I say you were the best Nat," he praised his girlfriend, and she reached up to kiss him.

"Uhh, gross," you groaned, taking Natasha's hand and pulling her along, "We have to freshen up quickly, okay."

Natasha finishes before you and tells you Steve is waiting to take her home. You took longer examining your hurting wrist and concluded that icing would be enough. By the time you were done, the sun had already begun its descent, casting hues of pink and orange in the sky. You trailed back to where you had left your friends, but as you got closer, you could only see Wanda absentmindedly kicking the grass to distract herself.

"Hey," you greeted, playing with the strap of your bag, unsuccessfully searching for Pietro. However, you appreciated his absence because it allowed you to be alone with Wanda.

"Hey," she responded, tightening her arms around herself to retain heat against the frigid breeze that clashed against her skin.

"Here, put this on," you offered her your soccer hoodie, taking it out of your bag.

"Oh, no. That's not necessary," she rejected your offer, shaking her head in embarrassment at the idea of wearing your hoodie, nonetheless one with your name.

"Come on, Wanda. You're out here freezing because I asked you to my game. It's the least I can do," you insisted, nearly shoving the warm cloth in her arms and dissolving her reluctance.

Wanda slipped into your hoodie, a sigh of contentment falling from her lips at the warmth that enveloped her body. "Thank you."

"No problem." You grinned, loving the sight of her wearing your hoodie. "So, ah, where's Pietro."

"He went after one of your teammates. He said he'd be back, but we both know that's not happening."

"Wow, he's such a dick. He was supposed to be here for me, and not to mention he left you here all alone." you indignantly accused.

Wanda shrugged her shoulders, "I don't mind. He asked if I was fine before he left. Besides, I can walk home. It's not that far."

You scoff, "Absolutely not. I'm driving you home." You grasped her hand, leaving no room for rejection, and led her to your car in the parking lot. You unlocked your car and opened the passenger door for her before taking your place.

You pulled out of the parking lot, glancing at Wanda with a grin. "What did you think about the game? Was it worth it?"

Wanda pursed her lips, thinking, "Hmm, I guess it wasn't that bad. Natasha and Monica were phenomenal," she teased.

You played along, narrowing your eyes, offended, "What do you mean, Natasha and Monica? What about me? I scored three goals for you."

"Mhm, you were decent, I guess," Wanda declared mischievously, causing you to gasp out loud. Then, she burst out in laughter at your dramatics, and you joined her, not resisting the melodic sound. "Okay, I'll admit I'm impressed. I never thought you would be good at anything other than causing trouble."

"Wow, straight to my heart Maximoff. Maybe it's a good thing we weren't friends before because, with how you treat me, I'm sure my self-esteem would be down to the floor."

"Pardon me for not stroking your already enormous ego." You both laughed, and Wanda's eyes fell to your wrist on your lap. Wanda took a serious tone and questioned, "How's your hand? You feel hard on it. Does it still hurt?" She gently grabbed your wrist, examining for any visible harm.

"Uhm, no. I'm fine." She raised an eyebrow unbelievingly, and you playfully rolled your eyes. "Alright, on a scale of 1 to 10, the pain is about a 4. Nothing severe. I'll ice it when I get home, and hopefully, it gets better," you reassured her, pulling into her driveway.

Wanda was still too busy looking at your swollen wrist, and her concern warmed your heart.

"Honestly, thank you for being there today. It means so much to me, and I hope you'll be there for more," you confessed.

"Really?" Wanda questioned lowly, her thumb grazing your wrist.

Your eyes locked on the gentle movement as you answered, "Mhm if you want, I'll keep scoring for you."

She gently sat your hand down. "Then, you'll have to do it for all your games. Are you sure you can keep a promise like that?" Wanda asked, head tilting, making your stomach turn. You were sure you had never seen anything more attractive.

"For you anything," you replied absentmindedly, eyes shooting wide open when you realized what you said. "I-I mean, I don't mind. I'm just that good, you know. I think I proved that well enough today, don't you think? I think I did. Three goals, right? No one else did that," you babbled, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

"Right," Wanda responded, holding back a smile. "And since you offered so nicely, I'll keep attending your games."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence settled in the car as your eyes locked with Wanda's forest-green eyes. As you scanned her beautiful orbs, you noticed the gold and blue flecks in them, which further enchanted you. The atmosphere was filled with an unknown tension that caused your heart to race and your body to burn. Your eyes flicker to her lips, and you consider what they'd feel like on your own or if they'd taste as heavenly as her sweet aroma.

You feel a magnetic force propelling you forward, closer to her lips. Any sense of restraint was banished from your mind as you surrendered to the desire that had tormented your thoughts since you saw her at the airport.

Wanda licked her lips in anticipation, charmed by your flirtatious words and attractive looks.

You were mere seconds away from getting your wish when the sound of a closing door pulled you apart. You nervously chuckled while Wanda fidgeted, looking anywhere but at you. The magic surrounding you seconds ago disappeared altogether, leaving behind suffocating awkwardness.

"Thank you for the ride, Y/N. See you later." She forced a smile, clearly uncomfortable, and left the car.

"No problem." You watched her until she entered her home. Then, you banged your head on the headrest with a groan, "Stupid." What the hell were you doing? Were you about to kiss her?

If your feelings for Wanda weren't clear, they indeed were now. You were crazy for her and didn't know what to do. She was your best friend's sister, after all. Maybe you could talk to Pietro?

A million questions ran through your head as you drove home.

[albertasunrise]

Hope You Can Forgive Me - Hope

Masterlist

GIF by olisgifs

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So here is my first fic update since having Lando! I hope this was worth the wait and I can't wait to hear what you all think. There is some time hopping in this chapter but it's all necessary. Enjoy ♥️)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The words hung in the air between you. Swirling around in his head as he processed that he was sitting at a table with you after all this time. That you were smiling softly at him, not growling at him in frustration because he’d gotten on your nerves for the final time. 

“Tommy told me that you ended up going back to the hospital after you left that day and I-“

“You mean the day you tossed me out?” He interrupted, surprised by how he suddenly felt 10 years of anger surge to the surface. 

“Joel I-“

“I don’t need your sorries.” He stated plainly and you nodded numbly “What I needed then was for you to see how badly I was doing but you couldn’t.” 

He couldn’t say he blamed you really. You were facing life with a partner who was never going to walk again whilst you had to raise his toddler and the newborn baby you shared. 

‘Dwelling on the past isn’t going to change it so let's just agree to move on.” He piped up after a tense pause and he could have laughed at how your shoulders dropped and you allowed yourself to relax. 

You both sat in awkward silence for a while before Joel finally broke it. His question brought a proud smile to your face. 

“Noah’s turned out to be a fine young man.” He stated as he took a sip of his coffee “Sarah’s besotted with him.”

“He’s just like his father.” You gushed “Patient and kind.” You continued as you looked down at the wedding band and engagement ring that you still wore “He’d never said a cross word to me till recently. Learning that he and Sarah had been inseparable as babies was tough on him.

“He pleaded with me to reach out to you but I confess… I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me after everything.” 

“I never stopped caring.” Joel stated honestly “I have spent the last decade blaming myself for that crash… it should have been me that-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” You pleaded as you stared at him with round, tear-filled, eyes “The accident was not your fault! The truck driver is the one to blame for what happened and it was wrong of me to blame you.” You let out a long sigh before taking a large sip of coffee before continuing “I was pregnant and hormonal and facing having to care long-term for my partner as well as raise a toddler and a newborn.

“Life looked bleak and I just needed someone to blame… but I shouldn’t have blamed you.” You choked out, voice wobbling as you spoke that last statement. 

Joel remained silent. Watching you as you pulled yourself together before continuing. 

“I should have seen that you weren’t well, you're right.” You started again after a few tense moments of silence “After Tommy told me what happened… my mind started to replay everything and it was so obvious that something was wrong. I should have seen it… not shut you out so I could wallow in my own misery.” 

“I get it… I do-“ 

“But it doesn’t excuse it, Joel.” You interrupted “I should have done better by you and I’m sorry.” 

Joel nodded. Giving you a small smile before downing the last dregs of his coffee. 

“Well… now that all the tense formalities are out of the way… shall we get another coffee and catch up properly?” He asked with a grin, instantly lifting the mood. 

“That would be wonderful.” 

2 months later…

Joel watched from the patio as Noah and Sarah played a heated game of swing ball, Ali watching from the sidelines as she cheered her brother on. Tommy was at the grill, having promised Joel that he could ‘cook some damn burgers’, leaving the older Miller to watch the two childhood sweethearts play. Memories of a little Noah showing an even smaller Sarah how to throw a ball flashed in his mind. They had always played so well together. 

Some things never change it seemed. 

Joel’s attention was torn away from Sarah and her beau and towards you, as you placed the salad and condiments in the centre of the table. 

“Foods up!” Called Tommy and soon the table was filled with chatter as everyone dug in. 

It felt like old times. Only, someone was missing. 

Once the food was consumed and the dishes dealt with, Sarah, Ali and Noah slunk away to read their books under the tree at the bottom of Joel's garden, leaving you, Joel and Tommy to sip at your cold beers and catch up. 

"How's things been with you?" Tommy asked you as he turned to face you. It was something that you had always liked about Tommy. When he was talking to you he gave you his undivided attention and never butted in when you spoke. Something that Alec and his family had always done that had driven you to distraction... But never the Miller boys. They always listened to what you had to say. 

"Yeah, they're good." You nodded as you replied and placed your bottle on the table "Starting to meld well with the nice team. Making some friends too which is nice." 

"Any hot men in the office catch your eye?" 

Tommy's question took you by surprise and you couldn't help but glance at Joel a moment before you answered. He was looking anywhere but you and Tommy as they both awaited your answer and you felt a small pang of hope fill you. Why, you weren't sure. 

"Not really looking for anything at the moment." You said, shrugging your shoulders "Been so focused on work and the kids the last few months that I haven't really thought about what comes next." 

Your eyes drifted to Noah and Ali who were talking animatedly about, you assumed, something that had happened in the books they were holding. Both had ended up bookworms like their dad, something you were glad of as they had grown up. Buying them books to distract them from the reality of how sick Alec had been. 

"Plus Alec hasn't been gone long. Would be wrong for me to just move on." 

"You're entitled to be happy." Tommy stated plainly as he gave you that signature Miller look "He would want you to live life to the fullest. Lord knows you've earned that." 

"I guess." You shrugged. 

Truth be told, since coming back into the Miller's lives your feelings for Joel had started to stir again. He had turned out to be an incredible father, not that you had doubted him for a second but he had been forced to take on parenthood completely on his own when you had left. Ali's parents had died a few years after the accident leaving Joel with just Tommy for family but he had been in the army. So he had to take it all on by himself and he had flourished. Sarah was a kind, polite and caring young girl and the spitting image of her mother. Something that had made you both happy and sad. Happy, that she had turned out so beautiful, but sad because there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't miss Ali. So much so that you had named your own daughter after her. 

"How about you brother?" Tommy asked, taking the attention off of you "How's things been with that chick you're dating?" 

"We've been on like two dates Tommy." Joel sighed but his brother shrugged. 

'Still dating her." He chuckled as he took a long pull of his beer "Given her the Miller magic yet?" Joel choked on his beer as the words settled between you and your stomach sank.

He was dating? 

Of course, he was dating. He was an attractive young man, why wouldn't he? Yet this information felt like a punch to the gut. You knew you had no right to feel this way about Joel seeing someone yet it was a fight to keep the tears at bay. You would later realise as you analysed your feelings over a large glass of wine at home that a small part of you had always held onto the hope that one day, you and Joel may have had your chance. 

That after all these years, he would realise how you felt and would return those feelings. You would later realise that that was a fool's hope. 

You had broken things beyond repair with Joel all those years ago. 

There was no hope for the two of you now. There was no way he felt the same way about you. 

Oh if only you knew. 

You had found yourself quickly falling into old traditions with the Millers. Regular gatherings at Joels where food and laughter are shared only this time Noah and Sarah weren't babies anymore. You found yourself missing their antics. Howthey used to hide behind the wooden castle climbing frame that Joel had built Sarah before she'd even made her entrance to the world. They would crouch behind it and giggle, thinking no one knew they were there and you would all chuckle at them and how perfect together they were. Even from such a young age. 

You had found yourself wondering if Joel had ever thought about having more kids. He was still young after all, having had Sarah in his early twenties same as you had had Ali so young yourself. You had definitely thought that there would have been more children in your future but Alec's health hadn't allowed for that and so that dream of another baby had died along with him. 

When Sandy had stepped into the fold, you had had your question of whether Joel wanted more kids answered from the moment she'd opened her mouth at the annual pre-Christmas get-together. She was young, late twenties and perky. Both physically and personality-wise.

She had sat there for hours talking about how she had no interest in having kids. That she liked them but that it had never appealed to her personally. You had asked Joel if he had thought about having any more to which he'd replied "Nah, one and done for me." 

It had shocked you how blasé he had been about the subject and it had stung you. Why, you weren't sure but you supposed its because you had secretly hoped you'd have one with him one day. 

Now though, that pipedream seemed an impossibility that Sandy was in the picture. You hated her for it...

You knew you had no reason to. She was sweet. There didn't appear to be a bad bone in her body but she grated on your nerves with her big eyes and sickly sweet smiles. 

Your feelings for Joel may have had some bearing on your opinion of her you supposed. 

Those pesky feelings had only continued to grow the more time you spent with Joel. You and he would alternate some nights during the week for dinners or movie nights. Ali and Sarah had become fast friends, something you had worried would irritate Noah now that his relationship with Sarah seemed to have developed a third wheel but on the contrary, he seemed to welcome her. 

They still managed to find time to spend together without his sister hanging around but he didn't begrudge her presence when she was there. He'd always been a great big brother to her. 

But now it seemed that you had become the third wheel in Joel's relationship with Sandy. These once peaceful evenings had been overtaken by her loud personality but Joel seemed to lap it up, completely oblivious to how you were starting to pull away. Unable to watch them be so sickeningly happy. 

It all came to a head three months later. Unable to keep up the fake smiles any longer. 

"So, I found a new taco recipe I want to try for Taco Tuesday this week." Joel stated as he dried the last dish and placed it on the drying rack beside the sink "Churizo with fried potatoes, avocados, onions and Cilantro... Read it in a magazine this week and I knew I had to try it."

"Sounds good." You answered numbly as you picked up the last few dried plates and cutlery to put away "I'm sure the kids will love it." 

"You okay?" Joel asked upon sensing your tone. 

"Mhmm." You knew your reply wasn't fooling anyone. 

"Okay, what's up?" He asked, letting out a sigh as he turned his whole body to face you, rested his hip against the counter and crossed his arms, accentuating his strong arms and broad shoulders. 

"Nothing it's just... I won't be able to make Taco Tuesday this week. Or movie night on Thursday." You replied, not looking at him as you spoke. 

"Okay, I'll save that recipe for next week then." 

"I can't go next week either." You replied bluntly and his brows furrowed as he looked across at you.

"Why not?" 

"I'm going to be busy the next few weeks is all." 

"Few weeks?" He questioned and you simply nodded. 

"Yeah."

"Care to look at me whilst you lie to me?" He growled and you let out a long sigh before returning his gaze. 

"I'm not lying to you, Joel." You growled "I have a lot going on with work so I won't be able to make our usual arrangements for a month or so.

"But the kids-" 

"Can do all that shit without me." You replied, more snappy than you'd meant to. 

"That shit?" Joel pushed, his tone sounding a little wounded "Is something going on? Did I do something?" 

"No." You replied as you sighed loudly "You haven't done anything wrong."

It wasn't exactly a lie. His dating Sandy wasn't wrong. It just hurt you to watch. 

Joel didn't push but he knew you weren't being honest with him. You had always been easy to read, wearing your heart on your sleeve for the world to see but he didn't understand why you were suddenly going cold on him. Things had fallen back into place so easily. He thought things were good. He didn't push it any further. 

"You're still coming to the cook out week after next though right?" He asked and your heart broke at how hopeful he seemed. 

"Yeah, I'll be there." You lied, hoping he would believe you and would drop it. 

He seemed to buy it because his shoulders relaxed and he gave you a small smile. You smiled back but your stomach twisted painfully. You had two weeks to come up with a decent lie for why you couldn't make it. You knew it had to be believable or Joel would be around yours banging on your door and you knew you'd not be able to lie to him if that were to happen. 

You left with Noah that evening barely gracing Joel or Sarah with a goodbye and it was from that that he knew something serious was up. Just didn't know how to find out. 

...

Sandy had arrived a little after you had left. Cuddling on the couch, she instantly picked up on Joel's distracted state and didn't wait to question him on it. So he told her about how weird you had been that evening. How you'd suddenly become cold and closed off. 

"I don't know what I've done." Joel sighed "She was just so off this evening and then she's suddenly telling me that she's going to be busy for the foreseeable and I just... I don't get it."

"Oh Joel, baby, you're such a typical bloke." Sandy chuckled sympathetically as she turned her top half to look at him "She's obviously got feelings for you." 

"She doesn't have feelings for me." Joel scoffed "Don't be absurd." 

"Why else would she suddenly stop hanging out with her friend the moment he meets someone?" 

"I-" 

"I've had my suspicions for a while but the last few times we've hung out it's been pretty clear that she's got feelings for you Joel." 

"But she..." 

"Would you like it if you had a crush on someone and their new beau was there all the time?" She asked and Joel sighed "I am happy to back off a little if you want to spend more time with her but I don't think she'll want to." 

"She can't have feelings for me." He muttered and Sandy chuckled as she watched his mind whir. 

"Perhaps you should go see her and find out." Sandy shrugged, smiling sweetly at Joel as he looked up at her "Give her some closure." 

Joel parked across from your house before wiping his clammy hands on his jeans and willing his heart to slow. It had been a few days since that conversation with Sandy and what she'd told him played on repeat in his head. Did you really have feelings for him? He had never dared hope that maybe one day you would feel the same way he did. 

He had been practising what he wanted to ask you all evening. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do if it transpired that you did feel the same. He supposed he would cross that bridge when he came to it. 

Tommy had agreed to watch Sarah for the evening so that he could come to speak to you. He wasn't sure how this was going to go but he had wanted the option to stay a little later if things went the way he hoped they might. 

Finally, as he had willed his heart to slow, your door swung open and grabbed his attention. He watched as you stepped outside slightly, looking at someone who was out of Joel's eyeline. You were smiling at them as you spoke, words that he could not hear from the cab of his car but you seemed to smile shyly at whoever you spoke them to. He hoped that youwouldn't notice his truck parked across the street as he watched you from the shadows. His stomach twisted when a man he didn't recognise stepped into view and leaned closer so he could place a kiss on your lips. 

A myriad of emotions flooded him at once. He felt a pang of despair fill him as he watched you say your farewells for this man, but it quickly morphed into anger as he watched the man get in his car and drive off. 

You hadn't bailed on him because you have feelings for him. You bailed because you wanted to focus on your new boy toy. You'd rather spend time with someone you barely know over him and his family. You had other priorities now. 

And Joel wasn't one of them. 

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[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.�� 

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[judes-hoe]

Bitter rivals,Sweet love

Parrings~ Lewis Hamilton x oc

Summary~ She’s gonna be in f1 for her third year and goes to a team no one expects her to. She’s always got a cold expression and only those close to her know why. Shes been close one to many times to winning a championship and this year she’s gonna get it no matter what.

Warnings~ mutual mastrabation, making out, consent is asked for.

A/N~ CHAPTER 7 SHIT IS GETTING REAL

Pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6

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Vanessa looked at Toto like he had just stabbed her. “The fuck your mean the FIA is checking my car?” She said getting frustrated. “Calm down, they said that something might not match the measurements in your front wing.” Toto explained.

They sat there for almost an hour before they got answers. Vanessa got a penalty and moved back on the grid to p15, she was furious. Her team had checked the car multiple times.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was later at night Vanessa at the hotel laying in her bed scrolling on her phone. Lewis laying in his bed, but she couldn’t deny the tension anymore.

“Are we going to pretend that what happened a few days ago didn’t happen.” Vanessa asked out the blue. “Listen kid, you needed someone and I helped you, what they said wasn’t right, I helped you now let’s go back to normal.” He said and put his phone on his charger before turning his back to her. “Got it, you’re right, just wanted to help the hopeless kid who can’t defend herself.” She whispered to herself and also plugged her phone in turning to her side.

Lewis just let out a sigh hearing her words but doesn’t say anything. And like that they both go to sleep with tension still in the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Race day! Vanessa showed up to the paddock ready for this race, she had her confidence up and was ready to prove everyone wrong.

She did her pre race rituals and all that good stuff. Then she was in the car doing a formation lap. P15 she started, she was ready to dominate this race. The grid was now in their places after the formation lap. Vanessa watched the red lights turn on one by one, patiently waiting. As soon as the lights turned off she was off immediately gaining two lap.

Over the course of the first five laps she overtook to p9. Now behind lance, wasn’t that hard to overtake. Now behind Checo, another easy overtake. P6 behind Carlos which was hard as she tried to overtake him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the 60th lap, 3 laps left of the race Vanessa was p2 behind max and was gaining speed in him. In her mind she knew she might just get podium again, but something else was saying she was gonna win. She was .978 seconds behind max, they crossed the line. 2 laps left, she pushed as hard as she could.

.865 seconds as she uses her DRS when she could and is now .372 seconds behind. They passed the finish line again. 1 lap left. Vanessa gave it her all to pass max. Between turn four and five she finally passed him.

“Push Vanessa push!” Calvin came on the radio. Vanessa pushed her car and built a 1.736 second gap between her and max for the rest of the race.

As she crossed that finish line Calvin came back on the radio. “Vanessa you did it! You did it! God you did it! You won your first home race!” Vanessa couldn’t hold the tears back. “I did it Calvin…I-i did it, for them this is for them, and to prove everyone who thought i couldn’t do it, they can all fuck off!” Vanessa said through tears and sniffles. “Oh okay now watch the language lady.” Calvin said with a laugh.

Vanessa pulled up to the P1 spot with max at p2 and Lando at p3. Vanessa couldn’t get out her car quicker and stood at the front of her car and pointed at the sky. She then race to Mercedes who were waiting behind the barriers. She jumped over the barrier and they all hug and pat her back. All say something like ‘you did it!’ Or ‘congratulations!’. It was like a dream come true to her.

As she was set down she took her helmet off and put the Mercedes cap on drinking her water. She could feel eyes on her, not from the team or other drivers, but him. She look in the direction and saw him standing with a soft smile and nodding at her.

She did her interview and was answering the questions she was asked. “I mean it’s like a dream come true, finally winning my home race. I mean i obviously wish they were here to see this but I know they’re watching over with smiles. But I couldn’t be happier, this will always be-“ she was cut off by a tap on her shoulder, she looked and saw Ferrari team principal, Fred Vasseur, he was holding an Italian flag for her. She happily took it and gave him a hug before continuing her interview.

She took on the top step, listening as the Italian anthem played. She looked up in the sky with a smile closing her eyes, the Italian flag from earlier was wrapped around her like a cape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late at night, partying with most of the grid and some of the Mercedes people. She had one drink, just a fruity drink as a treat for winning. It was midnight when the party had sorta died down, she had Daniel walk her back to the hotel to make sure she got back safe.

She walked into the hotel room and saw Lewis just on his phone. “Here you are, surprised you weren’t at the party?” She said going in her suitcase. “Didn’t feel like it.” He responded blankly. “Normally you’re a party type of guy?” She said but then she realized. “Is it because the party was basically for me?” She looked at him with a smirk. “No.” He scoffed.

There was a tension in the room but they didn’t know what. “You’re really that stubborn to not go to a party that’s about me?” She slightly teased him walking over to his bed. “No I just wasn’t in the mood alright?” He sat up and watched her walk closer to him.

They just stared at each other and Lewis stood in front of her. “You feel the tension too?” He asked looking in her eyes. “Yeah.” Was all she said and he smashed his lips on her holding her face in his hands. It was like a relief when he kissed her, she relaxed and kissed back. The kiss lasted for a moment before he pulled away. “You’re not like drunk or tipsy right?” He asked wanting to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of her. “No, no I’m not, I don’t drink.” She said and looked at him with honesty in her eyes.

He then kissed her again a little deeper this time, he then laid her on the bed and his hands moved down her body. He then pulled away again. “You sure you want this?” He asked a little out of breath. Vanessa nods her head. “I’m sure Lewis, I can’t deny the tension anymore.” She said softly and her hands moved to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head and throws it to the side.

They fully undressed themselves, Lewis lays next to Vanessa but in his side. His hand traveling down and teases her by rubbing her thigh. He’s kissing her neck, she then takes her hand that’s trapped between their bodies and reaches down and starts to jerk him off. It makes him let out a breathy moan and he slips his fingers inside her.

He has two fingers inside her, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Her hand speeding up around his cock. “Being such a good girl for me, always wanted to know what your had would feel like around me.” He said and sped his fingers up inside her making her moan a little louder. “Lewis, feels so good, please!” She said feeling her stomach tighten signaling she’s close. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers sweetheart, gonna cum for me?” He teased and rub his thumb faster over her clit.

She speeds her hand up on his cock. “Want you to cum with me.” Vanessa said between whines, he just smiles against her neck. “Shit Lewis I’m cumming!” She moans out, Lewis sits up more and smashes his lips on her to quiet her moans. As she finished her climax he slows his fingers down riding it out of her and he soon cums on his stomach and her hand. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean before kissing her neck again. “Did such a good job for me.”

He then clean you both up, putting a pair of boxers on and helping you dress back up. Just as he went to lay in his bed you spoke up. “Stay in my bed, please.” She said quietly as she was about to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: probably my longest chapter yet😭

Taglist: @tallrock35 @itsmrshamilton

[kaitawrites]

Silent Whispers 3

 

Pairing: "Wolverine" Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader

word count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst (love angst with logan howlett, he is just built for it)

Notes: This is 18+ as there are sexual themes within the story. This is a continuation of this post Silent Whispers, Part Two I hope you enjoy it all! I also am making a silent whispers logan tag #silentwhisperslogan so if I dont connect all of the chapters, the tag would bring it all together.

Taglist: @amelia262006 @clairealeehelsing @arrowenchantress @marcybug @cosmicmagicgirl @killerwendigo @danicl25 @sullyselena @wolviesgirl @@amandarobertsboyce @dulleyes13 @imagineme2you

Logan didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to say to you when he finally saw you again. He had briefly thought about it. Talk to you about how sorry he was and beg for your forgiveness. Explain to you that he would never treat you that way ever again. Two years and all he could think about is how beautiful you are. He caused you to give up on him. To make you feel like you’re second best. He failed to realize how good you really were to him. He opened his mouth just to close it once again. “You need to leave.” At first the words didn’t process as he was still in trance with your beauty. You looked exactly the same as the day you left. 

“You have to leave now.” You repeat yourself and the words finally process in his head. His eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Before he could utter a word, you were already closing the door on him. He quickly puts his foot and wedges it between the door. “Please, I know I hurt you. But please I just haven’t been the same. Nothing has been the same since you left.” He bawls his fists and bits his lower lips. He could feel himself beginning to choke up. Pretty embarrassing. “I miss you so much and I’ve been so stupid. I love you so much. I truly do. My heart is only for you.” You stare at him, eyes wide with the confession. You felt your heart skipping a beat at his words. But you were quick to get things in order, your eyes hardening as you once again try to close the door. “Just leave me alone.” 

“Mommy, Who’s that?” Logan was shocked to hear a little voice and before he knew it a little girl’s head peeks through the door. Logan’s whole body froze at the sight. She had dark brown hair and your big round eyes. Logan looks down at her and then up at you. The words written all over his face as he stares into your eyes. You nod your head silently. Logan couldn’t stop himself from falling to his knees and the excessive tears streaming down his face. The little girl gasp and places her hand on Logan’s hand. A sweet smile on her face. “Are you ok, Mister?” She had your sweet nature as well. A bittersweet smile is on Logan’s face as he nods his head. 

After seeing your daughter, your shared daughter. You knew you couldn’t just push him out the door now. He would follow the both of you to the ends of the earth. Nothing would ever stop him from finding the both of you. Knowing this information as well as knowing the type of person Logan is you decide to let him in. He sits on your couch as he marvels at the little girl who is playing with her dolls on the living room floor. 

He was still shocked. Unable to comprehend the situation fully. You patiently waited for him as you sat on the couch across from him. So many thoughts crossed his mind. ‘Were you pregnant when you left? Did you know that you were pregnant? Was he ever going to know that you were pregnant with his child? Were you ever going to tell him? What would have happened if he found you sooner? Would you all be a big happy family?’ 

He’s asking himself all these questions when you are right there to answer. He finally looks up at you. “Did you know when you left?” You shake your head no as a response. “I didn’t know until a few months later. They told me I was already 5 months in.” You response made his heart clench. He couldn’t even imagine how you felt when finding out. All by yourself, all alone. He feels even worse now knowing the situation. The tension grew between the two of you. The only thing that was heard was the small little words coming from your shared daughter. 

“What’s her name?” He whispers, surprisingly you can still hear his words. “Laura James Howlett.” Logan looks over to Laura. “Laura.” He whispers, not really calling her. She looks up at him, tilting her head in confusion. Something in Logan’s chest seeing her. The mixed features of you both right in front of him. “Why didn’t you come back when you found out? You could have put both of you at risk. You should have just came back.” You couldn’t control the way your face scrunches up in annoyance. “We are just fine. Everything is fine. We are literally in Canada and have all of our own things. We live off the land, have our own garden. Nobody even knew about this abandon cabin. I’ve been doing just fine. The only risk that happened is you being here and knowing about Laura.” 

Logan was taken aback at your words. “I’m not trying to argue with you. I know I hurt you. I know I did. And I am really sorry about it. I just want you to come back with me. Just come back.” You turn away from him, your legs and arms crossed. “Or you can just stay.” Your words make him freeze up. You had talked to him many times about the idea of just hiding away from the world. Living off the land and just throwing the whole X-Men name behind. “Of course you wouldn’t. Or should I say you can’t.” You suddenly get up from the couch and call Laura. As she gleefully makes her way towards you, you pick her up effortlessly. “You can see yourself out. I have to put my daughter down.” Emphasis on ‘my’ as you turn away from him and begin to walk up the stairs. 

Logan shoots up from his chair. “I’m not losing you again. I won’t.” He states with confidence. He was right there at the end of the staircase, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Please, I just-“ His voice begins to crack with each second that passes by with you not in his arms. He looks down at the floor, ashamed for what he did to you. “I just can’t lose you again.” He looks up at you, showing the tears that are beginning to form. Your resolve quickly dissolving at the sight before you. You open your lips to say something but close them. Afraid to say something you shouldn’t. You nod your head slightly. Logan didn’t know he was so tense as his shoulders drop and a breath of fresh air escapes his lungs. 

Upon arrival of the school for the gifted, you see many of your friends right before you. Charles has a wide smile on his face. “It’s good to see you back.” You feel Laura hold onto your shirt a little tighter. You begin to rub her back. “Time has done you justice, Charles.” You give him a tight lipped smile. You would be lying if you said you never missed any of them. Ororo, Charles, Hank, and even the little rascals. “And who’s this little missy?” Ororo approaches the two of you. “This is Laura, my- our daughter.” You explain. Laura peaks before hiding her face into your chest. A little chuckle escapes Logan’s lips. “She has a lot of warming up to do.” 

Ororo begins to play peekaboo with your daughter, making her laugh and become more open. Charles calls your name, moving your attention from Ororo and Laura and to him. “Why don’t you keep Laura with Logan and Ororo? I have somethings I need to discuss with you.” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Logan’s eyes already on you and the professor. You glance at him briefly. “It’s ok, I got it.” Honestly, I didn’t really have a lot of faith in Logan with your daughter but then again Ororo is there too. You follow behind Charles as he wheels himself to a more secluded area on the land. The two of you ended up in the gardens. 

“You should’ve came back when you found out about the pregnancy.” Charles begins. You roll your eyes at this, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. “Yea, I would definitely come back to a place where it is known to have mutants. And was even ransacked by the government. We were safer miles away from this place.” Charles shakes his head, swirling his chair around to face you. “We are stronger together. You should’ve came back. You could have put both of your lives in danger being all alone. And none of us knew where you were. Let alone know you had a child.” He states firmly. You bawl your fist in anger. You are not just some child. You could take care of yourself. And you’ve been doing a great job without them. To the point not even Charles knew where you were. 

“I am not a child. You do not need to speak to me like I am one of your students. You seen what they did to Magneto. What they did to his family. If I came back, Laura probably wouldn’t even be here right now. You seen what they did to Logan. What do you think would happen if they found out if he had a daughter thats just like him?” The fury boiled throughout your body. “She’s a mutant?” Charles asks but you keep your mouth shut. Moving your body away from him to look at the trees. “Please tell me. Is she a mutant? And is her mutation the same as Logans’?” You lift your shirt up to reveal tiny scratch marks barely even noticeable. 

“It was when she just turned 3, the terrible 2s weren’t done and she got me when I was telling her it was time for bed. She’s just as feisty as him.” Charles stares at the cut, many things running through his mind but he doesn’t voice any of them. He nods his head slowly. “Did you tell him?” You shake your head no. Logan had told you before how painful it was when he would retract his claws. And you didn’t know how he would react to knowing that she is literally a mini version of him. Would he hate her because she is a reminder of how he was before the metal claws? Would he want to abandon her because she acts too much like him? Would he get angry with you for not telling him sooner? Just too many questions you didn’t have the answer to. “Will you tell him?” Charles asks you.

“I will have to eventually.” You both return back to Logan and Ororo to find the other kids meeting Laura. They were even more surprised to see you. They all gasp and huddle around you. “Professor, Professor, When did you get back?” They repeatedly asked. You couldn’t help the smile appearing on your face as you’ve seen the little kids you left to come back to way bigger kids. They were some that were your height, some even taller than you. You really did miss them all. 

During this, you didn’t see the way Logan stared at you. Longing in his eyes and the way his heart fluttered when you smiled. “You’re going to try to win her back?” Ororo whispers in his ears. Logan sends a slightly mean glare at her. “She doesn’t want me. She’s moved on.” Ororo laughs at his response. “Believe whatever you want, loverboy. Moved on is not the word for it.” She elbows him to show that you are staring at Logan. You weren’t ready to connect eyes so you quickly look away and pick up your daughter. “Yeah, Moved on isn’t the word.” Ororo repeats. 

I love feedback, so don't be afraid to ask questions or give feedback.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Two: The Wastes

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: As you trudge through the wastes looking for the doctor, you and the ghoul decide to set up camp. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Navigating the barren wastes was never a task for the faint-hearted. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, the dry air sucked the moisture from your pores, and the ever-present radiation kept you on edge. Easy work for that damn ghoul, you thought. A sense of unease always lingered in these parts despite all the years you’ve done this.

The ghoul maintained a steady pace ahead of you, with the dog forging an even greater distance in front as she diligently followed the trail of her missing owner. Doctors have always been a sought-after commodity, but the substantial reward offered for this one hinted at something deeper. So far you’ve seen a ghoul, a knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, and a vault dweller mixed up in all of this. Who else is after this man?

The mangled remains of an old Soviet satellite loomed into sight as the dog bounded towards it, barking excitedly. Upon reaching the ruins, you spotted a pair of legs emerging from the debris, followed by a torso. But to your surprise, that was all that seemed to be present seeing as the head seemed to be sawed off.

"Oh, shit," you whispered as the ghoul knelt down to examine the body. The dog sniffed around, whining softly before resting her head on the lap of the headless corpse. It appeared that the doctor hadn't gotten far, evident from the unsettling sight of a bloody metal foot attached to one of his legs.

The ghoul starts to cough and wheeze violently, a sight that has become all too familiar to you from past experiences. Without hesitation, he retrieves a vial from his satchel resembling the one you had previously shown him and inserts it into an inhaler. Inhaling deeply, he lets out a long sigh of relief.

"How many of those you got left?" You quip.

"I keep forgettin you’re here, you’re so damn quiet," the ghoul complains, slightly annoyed by your presence.

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred by his irritation. "Answer the question."

Grimacing, he carefully places the inhaler back inside his satchel. "Enough to get me through. Besides, you bribed me with a vial, so I’m assumin’ you got more. Don’t know why I ain’t just shoot you now and take it," he mutters, frustration evident in his voice.

"I'd make sure to break the shit before you even draw your gun." With a smug smile you take a seat next to the doctor’s corpse. “We’ve been walking for almost a full day now. Wanna rest?”

The ghoul looks at you wearily, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. "That vault dweller won't make it too far, so I suppose we can hunker down here for the night."

As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow across the desolate landscape, the small fire you managed create dances aflame, providing a small comfort in the darkness. Sticks of iguana meat, graciously hunted down by the dog, roast over the flames.

The ghoul lies flat on his back, his body weary from the day's journey, patiently waiting for the food to be ready. In this moment of stillness, you take the opportunity to observe him more closely. Despite the absence of a nose and the scars that mar his skin, you realize that, all things considered, he doesn't look too bad for a ghoul. There's a certain resilience in his eyes and a hint of humanity that shines through the decay.

"What're you staring at, smoothie?" His gruff voice cuts through the silence, abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts.

Startled, you quickly avert your gaze, hoping he doesn't notice the slight blush that creeps onto your face. "Nothing!" you hastily reply, trying to regain your composure. "So, uh, what's your name?"

"No," he curtly responds, his expression guarded.

"Okay..." you exhale, not wanting to push him any further. Sensing a need to shift the focus away from his guarded demeanor, you dig through your pack and retrieve a pipboy. With a few flicks and taps, you check on your radiation levels, noting that they are not alarmingly high but still present.

As you glance up from the pipboy, you notice the ghoul looking at you curiously. His gaze lingers on the device, and you can tell there is a spark of interest in his eyes.

"Scavenged a vault a long time ago," you casually remark, hoping to initiate a conversation. The ghoul nods, his gaze returning to the night sky above. Not a big talker, you think to yourself as you grab the cooked sticks of meat from the fire and toss one towards him.

He catches the meat with a swift motion, his eyes momentarily softening with gratitude before he takes a bite. The flavors of the wasteland dance on your tongues as you both savor the nourishment.

As the night sky envelops you in its dark embrace, you settle into a companionable silence once more. The crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of chewing provide a comforting soundtrack to your temporary respite. The dog rests her head on your lap as you eat the rest of the meal, saving a bite for her even though you watched her eat an entire radroach earlier.

As you offer her the morsel, a glint of appreciation shines in her eyes. She gently takes it from your hand, savoring the treat as she curls up beside you. You take a moment to observe her, the flickering firelight casts a warm glow on her fur, accentuating the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

You reach out to stroke her fur, offering a comforting touch. The dog looks up at you with eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and longing. It's as if she understands the weight of her loss, yet finds solace in the companionship she has found with you.

Unbeknownst to you, the ghoul has been silently observing your interaction with the dog. A flicker of emotion passes across his face, a brief but genuine smile that hints at a hidden softness beneath his hardened exterior. He turns on his side, settling in for the night, and offers a simple instruction.

"Make sure to put out the fire, smoothie," he says gruffly.

Looking up at his back turned to you, a small smile creeps onto your face. You rise from your spot and take a moment to extinguish the crackling fire, ensuring that all remnants of its warmth and light are gone.

Returning to your makeshift bedroll, you lay down next to the dog, who has already settled in for the night. The quietness of the surroundings wraps around you like a peaceful embrace. Gazing up at the stars, their brilliance shining through the vast expanse of the night sky.

As you lay there, the tranquility of the night begins to lull you into a peaceful state, coaxing your eyelids to grow heavy. The wastelands may be ravaged and unforgiving, but for now… there is a quiet peace shared among you, a ghoul, a dog, and a headless corpse.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🌅Don’t you dare run away (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7

Osamu doesn’t talk about what happened.

The main reason is that he wants to believe it was only a one-time thing. You were simply surprised to see your ex after who knows how many months or years; your relationship with Osamu is only starting even though you’ve known each other for a long time. Osamu wants to respect your boundaries; he wants to give you the time you need to get used to this new life. He’ll be patient (for once, his mother would say).

But that one-time thing lasts longer than expected.

Four months pass, you’re well settled in Tokyo, well integrated into your new team and Osamu has become a regular on the Omiya-Shin Osaka shinkansen line. He alternates between his shop in Osaka, where he has taken on a new full-time manager (Sato and Nagisa love her), and his new premises in Tokyo, which are still in the restoration phase. Osamu opted for a smaller place close to a university and a business district (strangely close to Akaashi's offices), the goal being to focus on takeaway food rather than a familial restaurant. Kita is getting ready to supply twice more rice and he’s just waiting for his former teammate to open the new shop.

By the time the Olympics end, everyone is aware that you’re dating. Bokuto couldn’t help but tell Hinata and Akaashi, Hinata couldn’t resist sharing the news with Kageyama during their game against Argentina, claiming it just slipped. And, from there, the secret practically ran itself through the team. By the time it got to Atsumu, he’d almost passed out from shock. The setter had cornered Osamu one evening. “Are ya serious? My own twin, my own flesh ‘n blood, and ya didn’t even tell me?”

But as soon as he finished his tirade, he sighed heavily and clasped Osamu on the shoulder. “Ya know, ‘Samu, I’m glad it’s ya though. She deserves it. Just... don’t mess it up, alright?”

And Osamu promised he wouldn’t. They went out to have dinner that night and Atsumu’s eyes got wet when the waiter served the plates.

“Yer leavin’ me again,” he whines to his twin.

Osamu groaned, “Stop bein’ such a crybaby for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to beat ya if I get stuck in the same place? It’s like we're runnin’ a race but with our shoelaces tied together. One of us has to get past the other.” Because it sounded too serious, or maybe because his eyes also got wet, Osamu stretched out his arm on the chair and his voice turned to tease mode again, “and I guess, I'm just better with women than ya.”

Atsumu got mad and they acted like themselves again, as if nothing happened, as if they weren't on the verge of tears at the idea of being away from each other. 

His mother, of course, was over the moon. She’d even sent a few of your favourite treats because according to her, this announcement warranted a full family celebration. “We always hoped, ya know,” she’d told Osamu with a soft smile, “that you’d end up with someone just like her. Maybe even her, actually.” She winked, and before Osamu could stop her, she was already planning the next family gathering (and a wedding.)

No need to mention Umi who was the first to know. Osamu received a text from her early one morning, saying how happy she was for you and hinting at his potential murder if he ever broke your heart. He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

The only person still completely out of the loop remains Suna.

For some reason, the thought doesn’t worry Osamu. Wordlessly, you both agreed to let things settle naturally. It’s only a matter of time before you tell him, or at least, that’s what Osamu believes.

But it’s now almost November and the guys from Inarizaki High have organised a team reunion in Tokyo when Osamu officially opens his new restaurant. Your boyfriend tries to ignore the feeling, but it does sting when you seem to avoid his gaze whenever Suna is nearby. At some point in the night, Gin—who’s the only other person not aware of your situation—wraps his arm around Osamu’s shoulder and asks him, “So, what about you, man? Got anyone special?”

Osamu pauses, his hand lingers just a little too long on his glass. He catches your eye across the table, but you look away. Something twists in his chest.

That evening, you fight for the time.

When you return home, Osamu is quieter than usual, barely meeting your eyes.

“Are you mad?” you ask, watching him from the doorway as he sits on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.

But he doesn’t look up. “That you acted as if I didn’t exist in front of yer ex, again? Huh, nah.”

You move closer to him. “Osamu…”

“Look, it’s fine,” he replies, and it breaks his heart not to look at your face. You’re probably hurt right now, but if he lands his eyes on you, he will probably just want to apologise and kiss your lips and your eyes and your cheeks to make the sadness go away, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

He huffs a sigh through his nose, “I said it’s fine.”

Then he gets up, his back is facing you now. Osamu feels his blood rushing through his veins, both out of frustration and guilt, “I get it if yer disappointed in this relationship.”

The words cut deeper than either of you expected, and for a second, you stay silent. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“Disappointed? You’re not the one who’s felt neglected these past few weeks,” you reply, and your voice raises just slightly higher. “Whether you’re in Osaka or here, it’s like I barely exist to you. I mean, at least when we were just friends, I felt like I had some part of you. Now… I don’t know, Osamu...”

Your shoulders slouch and your brows furrow. When he takes a glimpse at you, the frustration is fully replaced by guilt. 

“My love…” he begins, reaching for you, but you cover your stomach as if to shield yourself from him.

“No, I… I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe it was a stupid idea to let you follow me to Tokyo. I was selfish. And if you want to leave me, I understand-”

Miya Osamu has heard some stupid things in the past (especially coming out of his brother’s mouth), but leaving you has to be the craziest one. How in the world could he want someone else other than you? Now that he had a taste of what it’s like to be by your side, how could he ever think of leaving?

It’s been a decade, ten full years, that Osamu has been watching you from the sidelines. He saw you being almost chosen, half-loved by Suna. He watched you break and then pick yourself up before falling into the arms of your good-for-nothing ex again. It was unfair, it was infuriating to see you look at him with stars in your eyes when you obviously deserved so much more—the whole universe even. And then, without trying, he fell head over heels for you. He started yearning after you, desired to be the one you go home to every day, the one who makes your heart flip in your chest.

Now, in all modesty, Osamu can say he is no longer on the sidelines; he’s with you and he’s yours.

But words aren’t enough thus, he moves toward you, so quickly that it startles you. His hands find your neck delicately, his fingers get tangled in your hair and before you can pull away, he says, “Hey, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya understand? Yer it for me.”

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” you respond in a murmur. “You work so hard, and I’m so proud of you. I don’t want to be just one more thing you have to worry about.”

“But that’s exactly my role.” His forehead meets yours, “listen here, sweetheart, I would burn down the restaurant for ya.”

“But I don’t want that.” He makes you smile wide through your tears.

“No, me neither.” He chuckles but after, his voice softens, “What I mean is that startin’ today and for all the days that come, yer the one I’ll choose over everything. If I had to relive my life, I’d choose ya again and again, I’d probably choose ya earlier. Please, now tell me when something is wrong because nothing could ever make me fall outta love for ya. I’m not him.”

You put your hand over his, and squeeze tightly, “And I don’t want anything else, Osamu. Just you.”

“Then that’s what ya got. And promise me one thing.”

You nod and he brushes a tear from your cheek. “Anything.”

“Let’s just tell each other when something’s wrong. It’s shit to argue like that. I’m sorry if ya felt like I wasn’t here enough, I’ll make it up ya, okay?”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if letting go would make all of this disappear. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean what I said… I was just hurt, and I guess, I just miss you. We don’t see each other as much those days, but I know it’s for the better. As for Rin,” you look up at him and Osamu realises he forgot what the argument was about in the first place. He gulps loudly. “I’ll tell him, soon. But I just need a bit more time. I guess I'm just worry it'll make things awkward between you too...”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time ya need. And ya know, we're grown men, okay? No one’s gonna punch the other... he’d get hurt anyway.”

You laugh, (and avoid reminding him that Suna Rintarou is a professional athlete, probably for the sake of his ego) and only hug him more.

Feeling your skin against his as you slip under the sheets, is the only thing that matters now. You chose him, not Suna, and the thought is enough to make his whole body shiver.

You fall asleep first and Osamu, in an unusual moment of gratitude, wants to thank the gods for being able to see your pretty face everyday. Make it last forever, he wishes to ask them. When he closes his eyes later, he is convinced that they heard him.

The gods are funny entities. Maybe they did hear him and maybe they’re trying to impulse your relationship on the right path.

At least, that’s the conclusion your boyfriend comes up with when on a calm Saturday morning, as he is making breakfast while you’re taking a shower, someone knocks at the door.

Osamu sets down the bowl of batter he is holding, turns off the stove to prevent the baking pancakes from burning, and walks to the door.

The door swings open, and he has to take a step back in surprise when one Suna Rintarou appears in front of him.

“My mum wanted to give you – Osamu?”

Both men seem to be equally surprised. Osamu tries to hide his displeasure. He just wanted to spend a quiet morning with you, eating breakfast and cuddling, so why the hell is your ex in front of him right now?

“Oh Suna, hi… hm…”

“Dearest are you-” your voice chimes in but stops as fast. “Rin?”

Osamu widens his eyes and looks at you, he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m- hm- thank you for letting me sleep here yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

His excuse doesn’t seem to ease Suna’s doubts as the man with his usual sharp-eyed self, throws Osamu a side-eye. But soon enough, his attention falls on you and he crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Osamu’s face swings from you to him a few times. It’s clear that you’re speaking to each other without words. Whatever space he takes in your heart now, Suna has been here before and the string that once led you to him could never truly be severed.

“Osamu lives here.” You take his hand, “we are dating.”

There’s a long silence. It’s awkward and heavy. Osamu suddenly wants to pinch his arm, hoping none of this is happening. The man understands why you kept putting this moment off for so long.

But you’re brave enough to continue, “Did you come here for something?”

“My mum found that bracelet you lost.” He takes the jewellery out of his pocket. It’s discreet but Osamu and Suna gazes meet, probably to prove to your boyfriend that he didn’t just come to see you out of the blue.

You take the bracelet from his hand, thanking him a several times and claiming you were still hoping to find it, even after all those years.

“Please Rin, enter.” 

Suna is quick to take his shoes off and step into your living room, “She also baked you this.”

Your eyes shine when you see the box he is handing you, “Auntie’s cookies? Gosh, they’re the best. I’ll warm them up.”

You turn to your boyfriend with a smile. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Osamu clears his throat, “Yeah, me too…D’ya want a cup of coffee or-”

“I’m fine,” Suna replies with nonchalance as he passes past Osamu to follow you in the kitchen. The latter has to hold back a groan. It’s a good thing he started meditation because right now, he really needs to keep his calm.

Suna only looks at you as the three of you stand in the kitchen, waiting for the cookies to be savoured, “my mum didn’t put any peanuts in the cookies, you still think it tastes like soap, right?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, it’s so considerate of her.” You give Suna a cup of tea.

“Lemon tea, my favourite, you remember.”

You smile gently at him in response, but Osamu can see that your lips tug into a thin line after. Suna is acting out of character, and it’s confusing you as well as your boyfriend.  

“Angel,” Osamu starts and from the corner of his eyes, he can see Suna’s shoulders tense. “I also made pancakes; we can share it together if ya want. I went to the market this morning to buy raspberries. I’m sorry, I know ya love blueberries more but- ”

“She prefers strawberries.” The middle blocker mumbles, though it’s unmistakably aimed at reaching Osamu’s ears.

“Wait, wait, guys, what are you doing?”

The boys look at each other and just when they both open their mouths, ready to justify their actions, your phone rings.

“I have to take this, it’s for work – Hi Kuroo-senpai.” You say as you escape to your bedroom.

Osamu wishes he could follow you, but instead, he sighs. He, who waited all week to spend this morning with you, now wants it to be over.

He turns to Suna, but your ex doesn’t move even with those two eyes staring at him, as if deadpan. He’s not going to talk first and Osamu summons up all its courage to start the conversation.

“Listen man I-”

“I’m not really surprised.”

Osamu blinks a few times.

“You guys always had that weird relationship. Ever since high school, I tried to keep her away from you, when we used to walk home together, she wanted to wait for you, but I often said you wanted to stay to practice more. I never told her that but when I moved to Hiroshima and she started spending all her days with you, I hated it. I tried hanging out with girls to make her jealous-”

“That’s a shitty move.”

“Oh, shut up, we were nineteen.” Suna’s voice sounds frustrated, it’s a first, Osamu thinks. He never saw that look on his face before, even when they shared defeats together. Maybe, he did truly love you? “And I regretted acting like that… anyway, she dumped me in the end. I guess that’s what you call karma.”

“Yer the one who dumped her first.”

He rolls his eyes in response, “I know. Biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve moved on now. I’ll go.”

Osamu is taken aback by his last words but realises he heard it right when Suna makes his way to the genkan again.

“Dontcha wanna wait til her call is finished?”

“You want me to stay?”

Osamu hesitates and it makes Suna chuckle. 

Once he’s done putting his shoes on, he looks behind his shoulder at his former teammate.

“You’re a lucky man, don’t you dare run away.”

A warm feeling spreads through his stomach, and something clicks in his brain as if he just remembered a happy memory from his childhood. He has no idea when and where, but Osamu feels like he heard those words before. Maybe from a dream.

“I won’t. I really love her.”

“The first match of the season is next week, I’m playing against Atsumu, if you guys want to come.”

“We will.”

“Don’t be jealous if she supports me though,” Suna smirks slightly and it pisses off the other man who can’t help but grin wider.

“Ya? Against the team she works for. When her brother-in-law is playin’, I didn’t know ya were so delusional dude.”

“Brother-in-law.” Suna laughs, but it’s scornful this time, “Don’t act like you’re engaged man. I’m going now, see you.”

This is the last thing Suna says before he gets out of your shared apartment.  

Engaged?

For the second time, a warm feeling hits him. It feels good, even if the thought sends a rush of nerves along with it. He doesn’t have the time to analyse it because you go out of the bedroom and scan the kitchen.

“He left,” Osamu explains as he wraps his arms around your waist. His nose finds your neck, breathing in your scent as if you’d been gone far too long—as if he’d been waiting for ages to feel you again.

“What was that about?”

He knows exactly how you’re looking at him right now, he doesn’t even need to meet your eyes. That's why, instead, he stays nestled in the crook of your neck, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm?”

“With Rin?”

“Suna.”

“Rin.”

He clicks his tongue and finally looks at you, “Rintarou.”

“Alright, with Rintarou.” You’re holding back your laughter at his childish jealousy, “Why were you acting all ‘I know her more’ like two prepubescent teens?”

Your impression of him only makes you look cuter. His fingers trace light circles against your waist and with a side smile, he replies, “What can I do? I’m a weak man sweetheart, I love ya so much.”

“I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and just when you’re about to get away from his grip, he pulls you closer, “I have to work a little bit.”

“But it’s Saturday.” He pouts.

“Kuroo needs me for a project,” your phone rings again. Before you can reach it, Osamu puts his hands under the back of your thighs and lifts you.

“Osamu, put me down, I need to take this call.”

“Mister bedhair can wait.”

“That’s rude.”

“But I wanna take care of ya.”

He starts kissing your neck once you’re sat on the counter. You don’t stop him.

You spend your first Christmas as a couple at his parents’ house. You insist on helping his mother prepare dinner, pushing Osamu away every time he dares sneaking into the kitchen to ensure everything is going fine. “It’s better to fry the chicken like that,” he says, or “I’d recommend a pinch more salt in those mashed potatoes.”

Finally, his mother sighs and shoos him away. “Osamu, let her breathe, for gods' sake!”

You can’t help but grin as you catch his eye, pleased to have his Ma’ on your side.

The dinner is great. Your relationship with his mother is clearly turning into an effortless connection. So, when dessert is served, and she starts telling you awkward moments of his childhood, that Osamu would rather leave forgotten, the man eventually excuses himself to “go to the restroom.” (Even if you both know he’s just escaping the spotlight.)

As he wanders down the hallway, Osamu glances into his old bedroom and spots Atsumu fiddling with an old suit. “Ya don’t want dessert?”

“Am on a diet,” his twin says.

“What’re ya doin’?”                           

“Am tryin’ on one of Pa’s suits. Got Meian’s wedding next week.” He gives the blazer a tug to smooth it out.

Osamu leans against the doorframe, “Didn’t ya just buy a new one like a month ago?”

“Yeah but…” The blond grins as his gaze meets his brother’s reflection in the mirror, “I’d rather keep the new one for yer wedding.”

Osamu is left speechless; he doesn’t even try to contradict the setter—why would he anyway? Wedding isn’t something the man even thought about in the past, but when it comes to you, it seems evident, right—like something he didn’t know he’d wanted all along blossoms in him. He can’t pinpoint why, but loving you always feels new, like he’s constantly discovering pieces of his heart he hadn’t known were there. He’s so in love, and maybe this love does deserve a proper ceremony.

The idea doesn’t leave his mind, even as you’re on the doorstep, ready to go home. You’re bidding goodbye to Atsumu when his mother tells him to drive safely.

“Ma’?” He tries to pipe up with confidence, but his mother discerns his discomfort with ease, “Would ya…I mean- d’ya still have yer mother’s ring?”

A smile blooms on her lips, it’s almost as wide as when she congratulated them for winning the Nationals a few years back. In a subtle move, she disappears inside and comes back with a bag.

“She would have adored her,” she simply declares in a murmur and it’s enough to create a wave of emotions in the man’s heart—sadness, nostalgia, pride, and above everything else, happiness.

So he takes the bag claiming later that inside his mother put “her favourite cooking book”, when you ask what she gave him. He’s not lying though, the older lady did put a cooking book in the bag, to avoid arousing suspicion, but what you don’t know is that it is accompanied by a small, black box tucked discreetly at the bottom, and that it contains a delicate gold ring. Later that night, before going to bed, Osamu opens the box in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. The ring is beautiful, but it’s also intimidating, even for a guy who has never shied away from a challenge. He’ll ask you one day, but it’ll take courage, more than he’s ready to muster right now (a little voice inside of his brain also wonders what he’ll do if you reject him).

For now, he’ll keep it safe, hiding in his nightstand, under an Onigiri Miya cap (you never asked questions on why there was a cap in there, much to Osamu's relief), so it’s close enough to reach whenever he finds himself ready to shut down the little voice. It's easier said than done, but someday—he hopes—he’ll find the right time to make it real.

And just like that a year passes and the box remains hidden.

It’s winter again when Osamu decides that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll just keep on delaying the moment. He’s in Osaka for work when he calls to ask you to spend the weekend with him in Hyogo. You are quick to say yes and buy the train ticket.

The cogs can be set in motion and the first knot in his stomach releases.

You arrive the next morning with a packet full of cannelés to offer Sato, Nagisa and Tano, their new manager. Everyone’s excited at trying the pastries but Osamu refuses to try one.

“We should go,” he informs you and takes your hand. You’re confused but follow him inside the car anyway.

The three other employees’ wave at you with wide smiles, it’s a good thing that their enthusiasm to see you leave doesn’t alarm you. Only Osamu knows why they’re so eager to see their boss get out of here, after all, they know what he’s about to do since they have been his trusted confidants this past week. In truth, Osamu has been practising his speech for days, first with Tano, the calmest of the three, who listened quietly as Osamu stumbled through his words. And then with the other two, who were more than happy to help him prepare for the big moment, his private rehearsal quickly turned into a bit of a group affair. They even spent the entire morning insisting that never in a million years you will refuse his proposal.

You spend the first twenty minutes of the ride trying to guess where you are going.

“Kobe?” You first ask, “Or Kyoto? Oh, that would be so nice, I’ve not been in Kyoto in ages.”

You seem convinced that it will be a city, but instead, he drives you to the countryside.

The road becomes familiar, Osamu can see in your eyes that you’re starting to recognize the landscapes; the fields of rice or matcha or flowers (he still doesn’t know which one it is, even in the daylight).

“Are we going to Kita’s farm?” You finally figure. “Don't tell me, I know it is Kita's farm. See, told you I’d guessed.”

You look so sure of yourself, cute, he thinks, and it makes him want to leave kisses on your grin and all over your face.

But the surprise only begins and when he pulls over to the side of the road, near a cliff, you start assaulting him with questions again. Osamu doesn’t answer, he just gets out, opens the passenger door and gently leads you out of the car.

“D' ya know where we are?” He says a few minutes later.

You glance around to look at the view and open your month, but he trails you off.

“This is where I feel in love with ya. Well- I guess I feel in love before, though I was very slow, but this is where I realised I was in love. Since then, I’ve not stopped falling for ya and for … well, everything about ya.”

“Osamu?”

He keeps going even though his heart threatens to explode in his chest, “I’m kinda nervous, but I really wanna do this. Yer the one for me, and I know I don’t always give ya the time ya deserve and I’m jealous sometimes… but I love ya and I’d like to laugh with ya for the rest of my life. So…”

He takes a little box from his pocket and gets on one knee (a little bit too harshly, he'll probably get a bruise tomorrow). The look of surprise—or rather shock, to be completely honest— on your face tells him you hadn’t realised what was happening until this moment.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for like a long time, and I really hope ya would accept to become my fiancé and perhaps my wife someday… if you’ll have me.”

You jump into his arms and Osamu fears he’ll fall down—not that he would mind. He would drown in oceans with you, get into a tornado, jump off a cliff, just to feel you against him.

“Dummy, idiot, argh you-”

“Why’re ya insultin’ me woman?”

He looks at you, there’s tears in your eyes, in this light, they look like stardust.

“I really want to be your fiancé and your wife and your everything.”

You already are, he wants to say but you shut him up with a kiss and he thinks you’ve never tasted so good. All the knots in his stomach can relax (because you said yes!)

The colour of the ring on your finger, golden, suits you. It reminds him of the sunrise and of the promise that you’ll be here next morning, and the one after, and the one after.

For the rest of his life, Osamu can fall asleep at peace because he knows you’ll always be the first thing he’ll see when he wakes up.

The wedding is planned for the following summer. You opt for something small and intimate, with family and close friends. His mother and yours help with the preparations, Umi chooses your dress, Bokuto does his bit too by ordering a cake from the patisserie  that's just opened next door to Onigiri Miya (this is entirely out of friendship for you, and not because he has a huge crush on the shop's owner), and finally Atsumu helps his brother find the wedding venue.

Everything is perfect, except for…  

“You said you wanted to invite the guys from high school.”

A sigh escapes from his nose and he avoids your gaze, “I know but-“

“The guys from high school that also means Rin.” He raises an eyebrow and his jaw clenches, “-tarou.”

“Alright, alright… Let’s invite Suna. It’s just, ya know, I want a very small weddin’, I’m not like ‘Tsumu.”

You cup his cheeks, “My love, I’d feel bad if I invited your team and not him. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll leave with Rintarou just before the wedding, huh?”

His ears suddenly feel warm, and he tries to hide the shade of red that invaded his face by lowering his cap, you burst into laughter.

“Oi!” he barks, offended, “stop makin’ fun of me or ya'll never hear my vows.”

Your teasing smile turns into a pout, and you look at him with puppy eyes. With that face, Osamu knows he’s screwed. “I’m goin’ to bed now,” he informs.

But before he can run away, you grab his arm and with your other hand, you trace a line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He can feel the coldness of the golden ring against his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and lets you whisper a few sweet words in his ear.

"You make me happy,” you tell him in the end.

“So do ya,” he breathes. His lips find yours; you quiver helplessly beneath the touch. He smiles, “And it’s only the beginnin'.”

a/n: I may or may not have shed a tear haha

I hope you guys are happy with this ending, if you're interrested to read more I can always write some short extra stories about them

thank you for reading, liking and commenting, it means a lot to me <3

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt, @iluv-ace, @cinnamonruts

[hbyrde36]

No Vacancy

Chapter 12: Checking Out

WC: 2983 | R: Explicit | CH: 12/12 | AO3 | COMPLETE!

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

*STEVE*

Steve was a nervous wreck for the entire ride back to the motel after his interview. He’d gotten the job, just like he’d known he would. What he hadn’t expected was that they would ask him to start so soon.

As in, Monday morning, three days from now soon. 

The elementary school’s main building had undergone massive renovations over the break, and they needed all hands on deck to make sure the classrooms, gym, and cafeteria were all set up and ready to go for the students on their first day back.

Thankfully, Steve had put in his notice with the city two weeks ago, and already worked his last shift as a lifeguard for this year. He hadn’t even told Eddie yet. It was meant to be a surprise, leaving them free to spend as much time as possible together, at least when the other man wasn’t working, before…

Well, just… before. 

Before whatever happened next, happened next.

All this time Steve had been trying desperately not to jump to any conclusions. He’d been patient, giving Eddie space to figure out what he wanted to do without putting any pressure on him. From the moment they returned from their impromptu weekend in Hawkins he never brought it up again—was careful not to mention the future too much, or talk about school, or Fall, or Labor Day, the official unofficial end of the tourism season. 

But each day that passed without Eddie coming to a decision made it harder and harder to not start assuming the worst. In Steve's mind, if Eddie was going to stay he’d have figured that out already and said so, wouldn’t he?

Then they’d had that mind blowing encounter in the walk-in at Eddie’s bar the other night. Bringing out completely different sides of each other in the most exquisite, intense, and incredible way. It had felt important somehow, Eddie sharing himself—giving himself to Steve in that way, falling apart so beautifully for him, trusting that Steve would put him back together again, the way Eddie always did for him. 

As they’d come down, holding each other so tightly while sitting on that freezing cold floor, while he kissed the sweat from Eddie’s brow, Steve had been sure that was the moment, that Eddie would turn to him and say what he’d been waiting so anxiously to hear, but Eddie only told him he loved him, and when his legs stopped shaking had stood, helping Steve to his feet. They’d gone back to the party, as though nothing had changed, and Steve was forced to accept that maybe it hadn’t meant what he hoped. Maybe it had just been one last hurrah before Eddie told him he was moving on to his next adventure.  

Steve stood outside the door to their motel room, the place he and Eddie had called home for the last two months, the place Steve would soon be calling home permanently once he made the trek back to Hawkins to pack up his old place, and dreaded going inside.

He knew Eddie would be in there waiting for him. The other man was off for the night and the two of them were supposed to go out with Chrissy and Robin later. Steve really didn’t want to ruin their evening before it had begun, or burst the carefully formed bubble they’d been happily floating in, but his Summer was over come Monday morning. They were running out of time, and he had to talk to Eddie about it as soon as possible. 

Stepping quietly inside, Steve was surprised to find the room seemingly empty. He’d expected Eddie to be laid out on his bed, watching one of those so-bad-it’s-good horror movies that always seem to be on cable in the middle of the day, but he was nowhere in sight. 

Steve was about to leave, figuring his boyfriend must be down at the office harassing Chrissy, when he heard Eddie’s voice speaking softly nearby.

The bathroom light was on, its door open a crack, something Steve hadn’t noticed with his mind so preoccupied with worry, and he could just see Eddie through the small gap standing in there, looking at himself in the mirror, and talking to himself.

No, not just talking to himself.

Eddie was rehearsing.

Rehearsing a speech… to Steve.

“Steve, I know…” Eddie paused, shaking his head at his own reflection. “No, no.”

Steve crept closer, careful to avoid a spot on the floor he knew tended to creak underfoot so as not to give himself away.

Eddie cleared his throat roughly before taking a deep breath and starting again. “Stevie, I'm sure you’ve been wondering…”

With an adorable little growl Eddie cut himself off again, gripping the edge of the vanity tight as he prepared to give it another go. “Get it together, Munson.”

Steve threw a hand over his own mouth to stifle a snort. He felt a little bad for listening in, and thought about announcing himself or coughing to alert Eddie to his presence, but his curiosity got the best of him and he remained quiet, desperate to know whether the love of his life was preparing to make him the happiest man alive, or working out the best way to let him down easy. 

“Baby,” Eddie began, his voice suddenly sounding rough, as though his throat were tight with what he had to say. “I’ve spent the last few weeks doing what you asked, really thinking about what it would mean to stay here with you. To put down roots for once. To build a life with you—a real one that we make together on purpose. A relationship that doesn’t end or change when the season does. I worried for a while that I wasn’t ready. That neither of us were, really. That it was too new, too fast, too soon for all this. That it would burn hot for a while but end up just a flash in the pan…”

Eddie paused, hanging his head, letting out a huff of wry laughter.

“But, as has been pointed out by everyone with eyeballs, you’ve always had a piece of my heart, even when I wasn’t ready to admit it, and if what a certain little birdie told me is true then I think—maybe I’ve always had a piece of yours too?”

“Eddie,” Steve gasped softly before he could stop himself, and Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes comically wide as they met Steve’s through his reflection in the mirror. 

“So you probably heard all that, huh?” Eddie said after a long moment frozen in shock. He shook his head, lips curling up into a shy smile. “Man, I really gotta start paying more attention to my surroundings before I run my mouth.”

Steve pushed the bathroom door open slowly and stepped inside the small space. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn't have eavesdropped… again.”

Not that it had been his fault the last time, for the record.

“Don’t be. The words were meant for you anyway, and who knows if I'd have been able to get the whole speech out if we were face to face.” Eddie turned away from the sink to face him. “You do have quite the history of distracting me.”

“Does this mean…” Steve started to ask but couldn’t quite get the question out.

“Yes, I’m staying right here.” Eddie said with no hesitation. “I’m so gone on you, sweetheart, and we both know I’ve never been one to think of the future much before, but, god—now I can’t imagine one without you in it.”

“Are you sure?”

Closing the distance between them, Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands. “Christ, baby. You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you? I actually can't believe I'm going to say this, but I've never meant anything more—if it was legal, and also not completely fucking insane after such a short time together, I'd probably ask you to marry me.”

Steve grinned, his vision blurring as tears sprang to his eyes. He reached up to cover Eddie’s hands with his own and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. 

“I’d probably say yes.”

Their double date that night wound up being a huge celebration all around. Robin and Chrissy were thrilled, and visibly relieved, to learn that Eddie had worked up the courage to admit what he wanted and commit, even if it had come out while Steve was listening in secret like a creep—in Robin’s words. 

The details didn’t matter, if anything it only meant more to Steve knowing those had been Eddie’s unguarded thoughts. 

The girls had their own good news to share too. After meeting Tracey at Chrissy’s party and getting a little friendly advice from the older woman, the two of them sat down together, wrote out a new business plan, and finally got approval for their sorely needed loan. Enough to get the past-due bills paid, boost their advertising, and get through the Winter if they were careful.

Steve and Eddie left for Hawkins the next morning. Dan was happy enough to let Eddie off for a few days once he learned his favorite bartender would be staying on year-round if they wanted him. 

They did.

With Wayne’s help they managed to get all of Steve's belongings packed up and shoved into the back of Eddie's van in a little over a day, dragging the old furniture he was leaving behind out to the curb for anyone passing by to take for free. 

It was strange to think he was finally leaving Hawkins for good. They’d come back to town as often as they could to visit Eddie’s uncle, of course, but this place would no longer be Steve’s home—and thank fuck for that. 

Wayne saw them off bright and early Sunday morning from the trailer, after convincing Eddie to pack up and take the rest of his own things along with them too, or at least whatever would fit in the BMW’s trunk for now, since he was “finally settling down” and all. Eddie had rolled his eyes dramatically, but Steve knew the move was only meant to disguise the way they’d gone all glassy when Wayne hugged him and told him how proud he was of the man Eddie was growing into.  

They returned home, finding the girls offering to move them into a different unit in the motel. Steve was hesitant at first, saddened by the idea of saying goodbye to the place where it had all begun, to the four walls and two very well-worn mattresses that held so many memories. But their new place was on the ground floor, a little bigger than their original room, and had a king size bed. It was also closer to Robin and Chrissy’s room—though not too close, because after Robin overheard them going at it that one time she swore she’d kick them both out or leave herself if she ever had to hear Steve shouting Eddie’s name that way again.

Steve couldn't even argue, he knew he was loud. 

Maybe he’d ask Eddie to start gagging him.

In the coming months he and Eddie fell into life together with natural ease, though it wasn’t completely without struggle. They hardly ever fought, and when they did it was almost always because they simply missed each other. Still working on fairly opposite schedules, it wasn’t unusual for them to go several days without seeing each other during daylight hours. In the end Eddie decided to stop working Sunday nights. The tips weren’t worth missing the time they could spend together on Steve’s weekends off, and Sundays became couple days. Sacred time for just the two of them to do whatever they wanted. To laze around in bed, fucking sweet and slow for hours on end, or go on dinner dates, or see a movie. An entire day every week completely devoted only to each other.

In their separate off time, they both did what he could to help Robin and Chrissy out around the motel. Once he’d proved himself, Steve took on the role of handyman and wouldn’t take a dime for his services, while Eddie took on the task of delivering the Buckingham’s newly designed brochures to every visitor's center and rest stop on the east coast within driving distance.

Their combined hard work paid off, and by the time Spring rolled around the motel’s future was looking bright, their reservations list as fully booked up for the coming tourist season as Robin and Chrissy had pretended they were the year before. 

It was late in the morning on Saturday, and Steve was busy installing a new air conditioning unit in the lobby, the temperature outside already reaching unbearable levels some days though it was only June first, when Robin asked him to come into Chrissy’s office for a minute.

Eddie was already in there with the two girls, looking just as confused and mildly  concerned as Steve felt. It wasn’t unheard of for the four of them to meet like this to go over what tasks needed to be done around the motel and divide them up accordingly, but Chrissy and Robin looked particularly nervous. It wasn’t a good sign.  Steve didn’t understand, he was so sure that things were going well.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, leaning down to drop a kiss on Eddie's lips before sliding into the seat next to him, their hands coming together automatically, fingers laced where they hung between the two chairs. 

Robin bit her lip, sharing a loaded look with Chrissy before turning back to answer him. “Listen, we may have, possibly, made a mistake with the bookings—again.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he glared at the two girls. 

“For real this time!” Chrissy added quickly.

“Okay, well, we’re already bunking together so I don’t know what—” Steve began, but Robin cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“I’m glad you asked, dingus.”

Steve frowned. “I didn’t—”

“We were thinking maybe, just for the Summer, that all four of us could share the two bedroom me and Chrissy are in.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open. He and Eddie both sat in stunned silence for a moment before exchanging matching horrified glances with each other.

Suddenly Robin burst out laughing, practically doubled over as her body shook with it. “Oh my god, your faces are priceless! I wish I had a camera.”

“Oh, you were kidding. That’s a relief,” Steve said, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Of course I was kidding.” Robin wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Do you honestly think I would voluntarily subject myself to three months of sharing walls, let alone a bathroom, with the two of you?!” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “It was one time! Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Pay for my future therapy and we’ll call it even.”

“Done.”

Steve thrust his free hand out and Robin stepped forward to shake it.

“Okay, so… what, this whole thing was a joke?” Eddie asked.

Robin shook her head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

Chrissy leaned forward, raking a hand down her face. “I’ve already had to tell several callers this morning that we were full up for their travel dates. We’re extremely overbooked, and Robin and I were sort of hoping you guys might be open to the idea of moving out to free up space?”

“Like, as soon as possible,” Robin added.

“Wait, what?!” Steve shouted.

“Yeah! Isn’t it great?”

“Robin!”

Eddie’s grip tightened reassuringly, drawing Steve’s attention back as he raised their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss over Steve's knuckles. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I think I know just the place for us.”

It turned out that Eddie had been eyeing up a slightly run down but adorable little cottage on his way to and from work every day for the last few months. Its windows had been boarded up all through Winter, the property overgrown and appearing abandoned, but a few weeks ago a for rent sign had appeared by the mailbox out of the blue, and Eddie admitted to letting his imagination run wild over the possibilities.

They called the number on the sign and scheduled a viewing for as soon as possible. 

The small three bedroom bungalow didn't look like much from the outside, or the inside for that matter, but Eddie was right, it was easy to see the potential. 

Steve could already picture the gardens he might plant. There was plenty of room to grow tomatoes and herbs in the backyard, and great big rose bushes would look amazing in the front, their color peaking brightly out from between the slats of an honest to god white picket fence.  There was even an old wooden arbor perched over the walkway just begging for some ivy to grow over it. 

The inside needed some serious updating. He wasn’t convinced the ancient appliances even worked anymore, but it was cozy, with so much character, and most importantly it had three bedrooms. One for them, one to double as an office and a place for Eddie’s books and guitars to live, and the last for Wayne.

Because Steve had fallen in love with this place at first sight, just like Eddie did. He already knew that the moment they had the money for a down payment they’d stop renting and offer to buy the place. And if Steve had anything to say about it, Eddie’s Uncle would always have a room in their forever home, a soft place to land should he ever need, or want it, just like he’d always made sure Eddie had. 

And they lived happily ever after, until gay marriage was legalized in their state. Then Eddie did propose, got down on one knee and everything right there on the beach by their beautiful home. Steve said yes, and they finally got married, and lived even more happily ever after as husbands. The end.

All my thanks and love to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend, and cheerleader.

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[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 9)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Warning: this chapter contains heavy subject matter and a steamy making out sess, proceed with caution.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

“Effie and I wrote these speeches together.” Y/N assures Katniss and Peeta as Effie doles them out. “Don’t be nervous, nothing crazy.”

Katniss nods.

“Just a few words for the fallen tributes of the district. For eleven that is Thresh and Rue,” Effie says, hoping to put their minds at ease.

At present, they are crammed into one vehicle, transporting them to the justice building. Arista is sat between Katniss and Peeta, a doll in hand. Peeta allows the doll to walk along his leg, occasionally dropping it to one side or the other; causing the little girl to giggle. She shouldn’t be here.

People of the Capitol have sent them gifts from the moment they were born, things much too lavish for district twelve. Such items are sold to peacekeepers and the money funnels back through twelve. Keeping them afloat. Very few offerings they keep, like the doll. A tablet for Everest, just like his mother’s. He taps away at it, almost as if he’s playing a game.

“Can I see?” Katniss asks.

The boy nods, holding it across the isle. It’s an agenda…no, a journal. She realizes. ‘Day one, district eleven. Agriculture. The train is five hours from home.’

Katniss blinks rapidly at the screen before handing it back. He shouldn’t be here. “Thought you were playing a game.”

“I have games.” Everest tells her, “you can pick one to play.”

“Show me your favorite.” Don’t worry about all of this. You’re just a kid.

He smiles. “I like this one. You have to dodge the logs and get the dot from one side to the other.”

“I won’t be very good.” Katniss confesses as he hands it back to her.

“It’s for fun, Katniss.” The boy shrugs, “you don’t have to be good.”

Y/N passes an affectionate hand over her son’s hair.

“When I married Haymitch, there was an understanding. Whatever we had to do to stay alive, we would do. But between him and I was also an understanding; that he loved me and that love is unconditional. He wouldn’t leave me if I was scared, he would be patient. He would wait for me. When there were time restrictions, if we couldn’t wait, he would get me through. I think Peeta could be that person for you, Katniss.”

“You think I should marry Peeta?”

“I think you should be his friend.” Y/N corrects her. “All of this pretending to be in love stuff will come easier, I promise. Do it on your terms, take your time.” While you still have time.

Katniss takes this into consideration. She doesn’t dislike the idea of being with Peeta. But the idea of being with anyone seems impossible to her now. Even out of the arena she no longer feels safe…maybe if they make it back home. After they’ve convinced Snow and the districts. Even then, she doesn’t think she can love anyone the way Y/N loves Haymitch; or be loved the way Haymitch loves her.

What Y/N doesn’t tell her is that their toasting, the one Haymitch asked for when she was ready, did not come until two years after their Capitol wedding. After they’d celebrated two ‘anniversaries’ and Everest’s first birthday. She doesn’t tell her how verbalizing ‘I love you’ is painful for Haymitch… how he cried after telling her for the first time. Because he lost every other person he’s ever loved. How his tears broke her heart, how much they still do.

The vehicle comes to a harsh stop before the engine cuts out.

“Crash landing,” Haymitch remarks.

They are ushered out in a single file line. Y/N, Haymitch and the children are left in the viewing room with Effie and Cinna to watch Katniss and Peeta on stage from the projector.

Nothing can go wrong. Katniss repeats the mantra over and over. Nothing can go wrong.

Peeta does most of the talking, he offered and she couldn’t say no.

Arista pays little attention to what’s happening, too preoccupied with chatting up one of the peacekeepers who is trying to keep a hard exterior.

Everest is slightly more involved, watching the adults around him; gauging their reactions. His mother is anxious, twisting her fingers around the fabric at the back of his father’s jacket.

Cinna catches him staring and smiles. “Can you see?”

Everest nods as all eyes fall on him.

Y/N whispers something to her husband that the little boy can’t make out. Haymitch reaches a hand back then, bringing his son up beside Effie.

The peacekeeper sends Arista back to her parents with a gift. “I got candy.”

“What kind of candy?” Y/N leans down.

“From him,” the girl tells her mother, pointing toward the man in the white suit.

“Did you thank him?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” Y/N boops her little nose. “This is actually one of my favorites, do you think we could trade?”

“Well, what do you have?” Arista arches a brow.

Y/N surrenders her shoulder bag. “Anything you want.”

Arista’s eyes light up, “really?”

“Mhm.”

“Thank you, Mommy. Here’s your candy.”

“Thank you.” Y/N accepts the tiny wrapped object. Sliding it into her pocket.

“Both Rue and Thresh were so young. But our lives are not measured in minutes, they’re measured by the lives of those we touch around us. For myself, and for Katniss; we know that without Thresh and without Rue we wouldn’t be standing here today.” Peeta speaks from his heart.

Though their speeches were approved by both mentors and their Capitol escort, they do not have the intended effect. A whistle is heard, three fingers in the air, the nearest peacekeepers drawing batons.

“Get the kids away from the door.” Haymitch bites out.

“What about Katniss and Peeta?” They’re still out there.

“I’ve got them,” he promises.

The audience grows to a distraught holler.

“What’s happening?” Everest turns to his mother.

“Come with me,” Y/N tries to keep calm as she takes his hand, moving quickly towards her daughter. Her bag all but forgotten.

“Mommy, why are they doing that?” Arista asks, seeing the older man being forced up onto the stage by peacekeepers.

“Shh,” Y/N turns her away. Hurrying both children up the stairs.

Hearing Katniss protest from the lower level, “no, please leave him alone.” The doors open and she is removed from the stage.

Y/N sits her babies down on the floor, “cover your ears.” They do as they’re told, looking to their mother for comfort. She kneels, keeping them distracted as best she can; from the screams, from the gun shot, from the cruel world whirling around them.

Haymitch carries Katniss, kicking and screaming, toward the stairs. “What did I do?”

“Shhh,” he hushes her as Peeta follows.

“No, Haymitch! What did I do wrong?”

“Shut up. Get in here.” He closes the door behind them.

“I did everything I was supposed to do.” Katniss says, tears flooding her face.

“Katniss,” Peeta runs his knuckles along her arm; hoping to soothe her.

She steals Peeta’s hand, latching on for comfort. “Just help us get through this trip.”

“This trip?” Haymitch snaps two fingers in front of her, “wake up, girl. This trip doesn’t end when you get home. You never get off this train.”

Katniss’ heart sinks at the realization. They’re still stuck on this train.

“You two are mentors now, which means every year they’re gonna drag you out and broadcast the details of your romance. Your personal life becomes theirs. From now on, your job is to be a distraction so that people forget what the real problems are.”

Peeta’s free hand balls into a fist at his side. “So what do we do?”

“You’re gonna smile, continue reading the cards that Effie gives you and you’re gonna live happily ever after. Think you can do that?” His eyes flicker between the pair.

Peeta nods. Katniss follows reluctantly, after Haymitch pats her cheek. Just like he did before she stepped onto the hovercraft for the games.

“Good,” Haymitch says, with a sad smile. “Come here.”

Still in a state of shock, Katniss steps into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. She watches through the window as the man from eleven’s lifeless body is removed.

“You’re gonna be ok, I promise.”

Katniss knows that her mentors will protect her…and Peeta. Anything she does is a collective loss or gain. Anything she does.

————————————————————————

Y/N manages to get through dinner on the train, choking down her meal after consoling Katniss, who refuses to leave her room. Peeta stays with her, opting for in room dining tonight.

Effie isn’t thrilled, but she understands and the younger children keep her plenty entertained.

Y/N and Haymitch break off before it gets late, tucking Everest and Arista into bed. Then Haymitch wanders down to the bar car, returning with a bottle. Seeing mayhem on the monitors of the control room as he passes.

“How the hell are we gonna fix this, Haymitch?” Y/N demands, the second he returns.

He uncorks the liquor, chugging a bit to get through this round of questioning. “There are ten other districts before the Capitol, they still have a chance to calm things down.”

She nods, swiping at traitorous tears. “How bad is it?”

Riots in the streets. “If all else fails, we have the show with Caesar before Snow’s party.” Setting the bottle aside, he pulls her in, “we’ll fix it.”

Y/N melts into him.

Haymitch tips her chin up. She is beautiful…and broken. Glossy eyes soften at the sight of him, lips parted and flushed from tears. “I love you.” The words claw their way from his throat; more painful to keep in than let out.

She kisses him then. Hot and hard, a little sloppy.

Haymitch cups the base of her neck, surrendering to the unrelenting force that is Y/N. The push and pull of her, the need for her.

Falling onto the mattress, lost in the heat of it. Something drops from Y/N’s dress as it’s discarded. The candy.

“You saving this for later?” Haymitch chuckles, holding it between them.

“Traded Arista for it.” Y/N admits, tossing the candy aside. “She got it off a peacekeeper. I’m sure it’s fine but…”

“Can’t risk it,” Haymitch agrees.

“Didn’t want to make a scene either, Everest is watching like a hawk.” She rolls off of him, onto her back.

“These kids,” Haymitch sighs. A gentle hand finds her bump, tracing patterns over the skin there.

————————————————————————

“We want to share with you the sorrows of your losses.” Katniss reads directly from the cards. In districts nine and ten, the crowd was calm. Now in district eight, two members of the crowd raise three fingers into the air. “The tributes of this district-” she breaks off as peacekeepers remove them from the scene; looking to Haymitch and Y/N.

They are no longer left in the viewing room, able to jump in and corral their victors if need be. Showing face to the masses to help calm them. Katniss wonders what kind of deals they had to make to be standing here with them.

Haymitch nods, encouraging her to continue. Y/N follows suit when Peeta’s eyes fall to her, jaw clenched. This is what we have to do. This is what they make us do.

Katniss picks up where she left off. “Were brave and noble warriors, who brought honor to their families and pride to their people. We are all of us united, both victors and vanquished, in serving a common purpose. The power and glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

People from districts three through seven are outraged with this speech, this falsehood, this injustice to the girl they saw in the arena. The Capitol won’t eat your soul, that is a fate much too kind for a victor. They break your connections, they make you theirs.

Districts one and two are more easily swayed, buying into the notion that the games are something to celebrate. The little girl who presents Katniss with flowers tells her that she wants to volunteer; just like she did.

The nightmares come and Peeta stays with Katniss most nights, helping each other survive.

Everest and Arista find ways to occupy themselves. Madge steps in when their parents have to tend the crushing weight of their titles. Tomorrow ends in the Capitol; Caesar and Snow, all in one night.

Y/N sits, legs crossed, beside Haymitch on the gray satin bench of the train car. Katniss and Peeta directly across from them.

“Snow is watching us.” Haymitch says, as if anyone could forget. “If he wants you to pacify the districts, I promise you, he’s not happy. Instead of being in love, you two sound like you’re reciting from a drilling manual.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Peeta turns his palms up, they’re all grasping at straws now.

Y/N leans forward, “I think-”

“We could get married.” Katniss meets her gaze when she says it.

“That’s not helping,” Haymitch taps a finger against his glass.

Peeta’s eyes never leave Katniss. Of all the times he’s thought about it, wanted it even; someday in the future, when it was real. Not like this, never like this.

“I’m serious.” Katniss decides, “if we’re on this train forever it’s gonna happen eventually, why not now?”

“It does make a statement,” Haymitch huffs a laugh, “I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peeta rises to his feet, “let’s do it.”

“Wait.” Y/N reaches out a hand to catch him, “we still have the show. We can find another way, something else to feed these people and keep them at bay for a while.”

“Like what?” Peeta plops back down in his seat.

“Like a baby.” Y/N forces the poofy skirt of her dress to lie flat against her bump.

“No, if you’re giving them that, we’re giving them the proposal.” Peeta protests. Y/N and Haymitch have already given away too much.

Katniss nods in agreement.

“Alright then,” Haymitch drinks to that, “let’s give them a night they’ll never forget.”

Part 10

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[miseta]

Chapter 9 ➺ A place for words

Starting over In Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

After moving to Madrid as the new Real Madrid photographer, Nicky's eyes can't look away from the pretty face of Misa Rodriguez. But how is she going to handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her working contract's strictly forbidding her to date players? Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clasico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique! Chapter 7 ➺ In the haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions TW: explicit sexual content +18 8,5K words

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

Misa came to the set laughing hard at the girl following her. The high pitched peals of her laugh rang and resonated in the small room, making my insides swarm happily, but was quickly joined by another deeper voice. 

Léa Koffi, thirty years old, was a tall and sturdy girl with voluminous light brown curly hair, big heavy lashed green eyes and plump lips that were now stretch in a rather charming smile. 

The two goalkeepers, dressed up in their Real Madrid kits, set foot on the background, Misa doubled over with laughter, her beautiful features distorted by her uncontrollable giggling. Léa waved comically her gloves in a theatrical gesture causing Misa to cower on herself as a new burst of laughter took her. 

I couldn’t help but broke a smile at their communicative cheerfulness, forgetting my job a moment and peering at them to try to get what was so funny in Léa’s mimics. 

“Salut Nicky! I made a joke Misa has liked very much but I don’t know how to turn her off now.” Léa explained.

“Hey Léa, dunno how to shut her down either, I never have.“ I giggled and the French goalie did another strange gesture with her gloves that multiplied Misa’s chuckles. 

“Sssstoop! …stoop, por favor!” The Spanish goalie stammered between two peals of laughter. I was still smiling when I felt a pang of annoyance pocking at the sight of my girlfriend dying of laughter so much she didn’t acknowledged my presence. 

I patiently waited for Misa to calm down, the goalie still chuckling while looking at Léa with tears of laughter in her eyes, my irritation growing with the more time she spent without having even greeted me. 

At last, Misa went silent, retook her breath and turned toward me. “Perdon, I’m ready!“ she rubbed tears from her eyes and waited for pose instructions. 

I swallowed her lack of politeness in silence, still vaguely amused by their childish entrance and preferring to focus on getting the photoshoot done quickly “Ok Goalies, as you saw, or did not still you were laughing so much, background is just a gradient of blue and gold, so you have to really impersonate the poses. You are goalkeepers, you are strong, you are walls, and you are Madridistas so you do it with class and heart. You face me both, ready to block a ball, gloves nicely outstretched. Feel it, show it, ok?”

The two girls nodded and took place. I corrected a few details to have them posing perfectly identically. The shot was good but the lights wasn’t so, and I took a moment to adjust them. 

“I’m sure you dive like this” I heard Léa say to Misa meanwhile I was orienting the spotlights better. Léa mimicked a very sloppy jump and stupidly shook her gloves. Misa giggled again and replied “I’ll show you the Misa’s style! Wait until we practice!“

“Can’t wait to see a dolphin play football!” Léa spat back and they both burst of laugher. There was something in the situation that was getting me really upset now. 

“Please, let’s focus, we don’t have all day!” I shouted, more roughly than I was intending and the goalies stopped, still wearing their smiles but a bit shamefully. 

They took the next pose, Misa on her knees and Léa bending behind her so I could zoom to have just their heads on top of another. The two goalies were smiling wide, and being, I must admit, a really attractive duo. That thought irritated me more without really knowing why. 

Maybe it was their incessant chatting between the takes, or the way Misa was fighting hard not to laugh at every words of Léa but I was relieved when the French goalkeeper went in the back room to change for her individual portrait. 

Now on our own, I peered at the Spanish brunette remaining in the room, bitting my lips. Angela was staying at my place until the departure of the goalie for her international break, and as happy as I was being with my best friend, I missed time alone with Misa very much. Right now, I was having a hard time to stay physically away from her, longing for the tiniest touch between us.

I needed contact with my girlfriend so badly and I dared to approach her in the short laps of private time, taking her hand and resting my head in the crook of her neck to breath in her smell. Misa tensed but swiftly planted a kiss on my forehead before pulling away. “Footballers are really quick to change“ she whispered as she stepped back, living me frustrated I hadn’t managed to kiss her back.

The back door opened and a really classy Léa entered the studio, wearing an almost back navy blue suit with a pure white shirt, the jacket suit’s collar embroidered with a gold Real Madrid emblem. “Not bad, what do you think?“ she grinned, stunning and obviously aware of it. 

Misa and I both acquiesced when she settled on the stool at the center of the set. 

“We’ll do a few serious official shots and more relaxed ones after Misa’s ok?” I told the French women while catching a glimpse of Misa disappearing in the changing room.

“Ok Nicky!” her green eyes stared at me. “For how long have you been working for the Real ?” 

I took a shot of her profil “It’s been eight months now, time passes so fast…” Three months had flowed since our first night in Paris but I felt Misa and I had considered being really together for only a week, our night at Sofie’s party had somehow sealed our mutual attachment. 

“Cool, your job looks great although not physical enough for me… oh waouuuu!” Léa’s long exclamation announced the return of the Spanish goalie, her brows going up and her mouth freezing in a gag. 

A strangled moan escaped from my throat when I discovered Misa in her Real Madrid suit. She was just sexy as hell, navy blue and bright white both enhancing her complexion, her muscular neck disappearing under the shirt’s unbuttoned collar, showing the letter “M” tattooed at its base. Her thick severe brows and smiling lips made me suddenly dream that her large hands, emerging from the jacket sleeves, would push me against the wall and have their way in my pants. My dirty thoughts accompanied her chic and formal silhouette as she walked to the set and I silently thanked we were not alone or I would never had the strength to stop myself from rushing at her. 

“Err… T…turn to the left, I will start with a... a 3/4 pose.” I was appalled to hear myself stutter, and even more when I felt my cheeks grow hot as an amused expression enlightened Misa’s face. 

“Now, face the camera, look straight at it” 

“I don’t know if I could stand Misa staring at me and looking like that!” The French women dropped. Léa was watching Misa from aside, the girl not even hiding her still opened mouth as she clearly fed on the sight of my girlfriend obediently posing. “You have such a charisma! In French, we would call you “belle gosse”. That means ”pretty child” basically.” Léa said to the Spanish brunette who chuckled with embarrassment. I was surprised at how easily she flirted in front of me, but I bitterly remembered she couldn’t know who I was to Misa. 

Jealousy came back in my life like this, crashing over me during a photoshoot, filling my body with anger and possessiveness in a heartbeat. Léa took back Misa’s place in front of the camera, her pretty smile another provocation, her winking toward Misa a silent insult. My face closed, transforming into a mask as I continued to take pictures, both of them having fun, resuming their chatting between the takes, while I was brooding. 

At the end of the session, my heart had sunk at the bottom of my stomach. It was true I had been annoyed or frustrated with keeping my relationship with Misa secret, but I had never felt angry or mad like I was being now. I was fuming I couldn’t shut Léa’s mouth, reduced to silently watch them getting along and act like the professional photographer that I was. 

Working at the Real, I could only be that, I would never be Misa’s girlfriend. 

Sadness field me up and swallowed me entirely as the two women talked together like I wasn’t there, Léa advising “If you put athletic tape that way it will work better, I’ll show you !“ and Misa shrugging doubtfully “I’m ok with my athletic tape, you know…”

I began to gather the lights and uninstalled the set, arms heavy and movements slow, the Spanish goalkeeper finally braking their conversation to walk toward me. “Need some help?” she asked as a shy smile flickered on her lips. Her cute face and soft look smothered me a little and I wished to buried myself in her arms, forget everything but her. As I couldn’t do that, I nodded moodily and let her fold the tripod. Léa joined us at putting away the materials and the three of us finished tidying everything up in no time. 

“Thanks for your help, we’re done.” I freed them, eager to be out of here as well.

“OK, bye Nicky!" Léa acknowledged. "Come on Misa, let’s change.” 

A new surge of possessiveness fogged my brain as I pictured Léa and Misa undressing together all by themselves in the small changing room behind the back door. I pursed my lips, disgusted by my own imagination, and swallowing the bitter taste of jealousy again. 

“See you, Nicky”, my girlfriend softy said but I couldn’t look at her and pretend to search for something in my camera bag. I heard the door shut and my heart with it. 

Loneliness and fear knotted my guts. I sat on the floor, arms around my knees, in the middle of the photography material bags, and let my face fall onto my arms. 

I couldn’t let our secret relationship last forever. It was already affecting both of us. But I couldn’t quit my job at the Real. I loved it and it was far too soon to tell if it would really work with Misa. I hadn’t the self confidence to convinced myself Misa would stay with me if she found somebody she could be with for real. Somebody like Léa…

My phone vibrated in my pocket, interrupting my dark thoughts, my heart leaping when I read Misa’s text. 

“Hola I want to see you more before international break! Can I come in your office 😌 ? I understand if you think it’s too risky 🫡“

A smile stretched wide on my lips, my dark thoughts put aside by the prospect of being just with her, even if it was only for a moment, my eyes prickling while I wrote back to her and rushed out of the room. 

***

The freshly taken photos of the goalkeepers were quickly displaying on the computer as they uploaded. I was staring vaguely at them, thrilled to see my girlfriend coming, yet a bit mad, when she entered my office still wearing her suit and I couldn’t help but grin interrogatively at her. 

“I didn’t changed since you seemed to like that suit so much” she answered my silent question with her own irresistible mischievous smile. A particularly gorgeous shot of the footballer appeared on the screen, making her point.

I glared at them both, real and digital Misas, and jumped on my feet to reach the door under the curious stare of the goalkeeper. My hand dipped in my pocket to retrieved the office’s keys to turned it inside the keyhole, the light chuckle of the goalie music to my ears when I locked the room from inside.

The few steps separating us closed, I did not wait another second before kissing her, forcing my tongue between her lips and finding my way inside her mouth. Her taste relieved me as she moved her tongue with mine, her arms pulling me close to her at last. Our nose collided as we oriented our faces to kiss better, our making out lasting without really fulfilling my need of her. I pushed more, searching for something else, something that was probably not in her mouth, my longing for her growing with my irritability and I went to bit softy her upper lips. Hearing her sigh aroused me. I moved to her neck, wanting to hear more of it and I nipped her again, feeling my teeth sink in her skin. 

“Ay! Nicky! You’ve planned to eat me for real or what ?” Misa’s hand fell on her neck as she winced. 

I froze in guilt of having hurt her “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bit you like that! Are you bleeding?” She put her hand away, revealing only a red mark but no wound. “Huf, it’s not! I’m so sorry Misa! I got carried away… I… I guess I was still mad at you for being that hot it messed with Léa’s head earlier.”

Misa stopped massaging her neck, amazed “What? Nicky you’re not jealous of Léa, are you? And you bit me for it?”

The mention of the evidence brought back my anger, mixing with guilt to change in bitterness “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at you?! Or what she dared say!… Arrr…she’s having a crush on you I tell you that! Plus you seemed to find her so damned funny! And I could say nothing…” 

“Nicky!” Misa’s soft laugh fed my wrath, but when she held my hands, boring her brown eyes in mine, I felt it starting to melt away. 

She spoke calmly, “It’s not like that. We, footballers are not modest, we spend far too much time sharing what you would consider intimate moments all together. We’re used to compliment each other on our body, training or behavior, to make fun of each other… Valé, Léa said things but it’s not bound to mean she has a crush on me.”

I pouted in response, unconvinced. The room was quiet with the computer finishing to upload the photos and putting itself on stand by mode. The goalie’s face came so close I could feel her breath. Red spots sprinkled her cheekbones, her lips corners twitching as they murmured “Even if it was the case… it’s you I want.” 

“Oh Misa…” I fell onto her mouth, hugging her like my life was depending on it. “I want you too!” I love you so much, why can’t I just tell you? 

I got lost in our kiss again. Feeling Misa’s lips moving on mine was all that mattered, my heartbeat fastening at the precious thought of her wanting me, needing me. I craved to feel more of her desire right now, her sexy suit boosting my longing for her and my hands slipped under her jacket to free her shoulders. “Nicky! Not now, not here! Are you crazy ?” Misa shot me an alarmed look but finished to take off her jacket and we connected our lips one more time.

“I want you now, please!” I panted between kisses.“Please!”

Misa shuddered at my begging. Her fingers played a moment with the hem of my T-shirt and I stepped back, taking her with me until my back hit the farthest wall of the office. I doubled my efforts “Misa please, just… touch me, tócame! ” my breathing becoming pleading sighs.

The goalkeeper was clearly battling against herself, unable to decided if she should take the risk of us hooking up at our working place. Her furrowed brows and tensed features were turning me on like hell and I worked at unbuttoning her shirt, grinning in victory when I sensed her grasp my top and pull it over my head. 

Her mouth was unable to resist the urge of kissing my exposed breast. “Fuck me, please!” I gloated, keeping my voice low. That seemed to make Misa give away her last reluctance, delicately sucking and nipping the skin there. 

She pulled back, blushing hard. “You want me to fuck you in your own office, Cariño?” she breathed, her timid voice showing she was excited as fuck to overstep the limits and being begged for it.

Misa shyly willing to play our little game set my body on fire, I guided her hand down to my pants and she thrusted it inside over my underwear. 

Her fingers pressed unbearably lightly through the fabric. I whined, bucking to increase the pressure of her touching but the brunette’s hand deliberately stayed out of reach. “Qué passa? Lost your tongue?” She asked before finding my mouth and kissing me like a goddess, my complaints dying on her lips. “No, it’s still there. Say it, is that you really want ?”

I moaned again, surprised to discover Misa really enjoying herself at edging me, thrilled to be excited so much by her ordering me around. 

I yelped, ready to do anything she’d want to feel more of her fingers. 

“Please Misa! Fuck me in my office!” 

Misa’s hand left my jeans only to come back under my panties a second later. Her dominative behavior had me wetting like crazy. I groaned as her fingers spread my intimacy, her other hand found mine and pined it to the wall, her mouth back against my lips to muffled my cries again. 

My eyes shut as her fingertip found my clit and began to flick it slowly. She whined too, pushing me harder against the wall while I was going far away from my office, lost between her tongue in my mouth and her fingers gathering all the pleasure they could from my body. Completely overwhelmed, I barely felt Misa’s hand leaving mine to grasp the nap of my neck as she changed her flickering pace to fast and rough at once. I was so drenched her wobbling against my core made lapping sounds. I let a loud moan erupted against her mouth, shocked as enjoyment took over me so quickly.

My face fell on her shoulder as I came, breathing out my orgasm through her long hair, the delightful feel stretching my lips in awe. “Already? I heard the goalie whisper as soon as it faded. She lift my face as I guilty nodded but I noticed something had shifted inside the goalie, her eyes were hungry like I’d never seen. 

“Oh no no…” she murmured, leaving my pants and grasping my face in her hands, the one slick with my own wetness coated my cheek and spread the smell of sex around us. It was her turn to take my lip between her teeth, pulling softy before letting it go. “After the scene you made, I think I want to fuck you more.” she said, her breathing deep and her eyes hooded. 

The strangled whimper I let out was cut off by her heaving me in her arms, grasping my bottom, and I hold to her broad shoulders as she walked me toward the desk. The brunette pushed away the papers and stuff covering the surface in a swift move and dropped me on it. My legs ensnared her waist, keeping the girl as close as I could as she unzipped my jeans. “Take off your pants, in fact take everything off” she commanded, her Spanish accent heavier with her sighs as she gathered her hair in a bun. 

I obeyed so willingly, undressing completely and sitting back on the cold surface. As I looked up at the gorgeous goalkeeper already bending over me, her completely unbuttoned shirt coming out of her suit pants revealed her bra and shaped abs. My gaze rose back to her face, her feature looked harder with her hair tied up. “You drive me so crazy!” I confessed. Her soft and luscious lips parted to let out jerky breaths, and she was back at touching me in a heartbeat. 

My oversensitive core sent ripples of electricity through by body. I let my hands travel on her shoulders, arching more to deepen the sensations. My palms lost themselves along the contracted muscles of her back as she pushed her way inside. My head fell backward, lost in the wonders of pleasure as I relished on each of her thrusts in me. 

My fingers descended on her waist and slipped under her suit pants. Feeling her bare plump ass under my hands, I realized she was wearing a thong and waste no time before grasping her cheeks, pulling the goalkeeper waist against me and feeling her fingers sinking further. 

“This is so good… you feel so good! I can’t!” I half moaned half whispered and reluctantly left her ass to lie down on the desk as pleasure became too intense for me to stay standing. Droplet of sweat pearled on her temples. Misa was blushing heavily as she watched my naked body spread on the desk, her fingers curling and stroking my walls a moment. I gasped when all I wanted to do was to shout obscenely how good she felt. But then she grabbed my thigh, and started to fuck me for real, faster and deeper. 

Bliss. Everything was quiet around us apart from the muffled sounds of our rasping breaths and the wet noises of her fingers pumping in and out. Misa’s face had that concentrated look again, the one she had on our first night when she had made love to me. I felt going wetter, if that was even possible. Her lips opened again and she closed her eyes while she continued to fuck me at a fast and steady pace. Bliss. Misa! Unbearable bliss. The sight of her beautiful face went blurry as tears of pleasure filled my eyes.

I hold on two or three more seconds, focusing on how fucking good it felt to be fucked by Misa Rodriguez. 

Her name tumbled from my lips several times, coming again much stronger than I expected. I felt the tears escaping the corner of my eyes, my body and mind trying to take in the unbearably good feel. Her fingers left me and her hand dropped my thigh, but I couldn’t move, feeling properly knocked out by one of the greatest orgasm of my life. 

“Nicky, you ok ?” Misa's voice asked. 

“Hell yeah” I managed to say, floating, blissed out. I blinked and more tears ran down my temples. 

Hovering, I rose up slowly to discover the goalie sat in the armchair and cleaning her hand with a tissue, her cheekbones still a bright shade of red. She looked all shy and sexy again like she didn’t dare to fully realize what had just happened here. My juices had dripped abundantly on the desk making the scene worthy of a bad porn movie ending. Standing up, I felt more wetness running down my thighs, I crossed eyes with the goalie who returning my shocked look with an embarrassed grin before handing me a tissue.

I wiped myself, put my cloth back on and went to sit on her lap, nesting my more than satisfied body against her torso. My head fell on her shoulder and Misa slowly stroked my hair as I sensed myself drowsing with the endorphins. 

“You remembered when I didn’t give you the gold medal back in Paris?” I asked, the grinning goalie nodded and I declared “I think you’ve just won it”.

“Por fin!” she smiled shyly “That was something for myself as well, thought I was going to come too…” 

That awoke me at once, my smiling eyes founding hers “You did?”

“It’s not everyday your secrete girlfriend pleads you to fuck her in the middle of her office, which is a few meters from my own working grounds, and even less far from her boss office who could fire her for less than that, all of that making her so wet…” Misa longly exhaled as she finished to speak.

“You saying it like that is a lot, it could make me want to beg again.” I bit my lips, gazing hungrily at hers. “I could beg to kiss you somewhere else right now, would you like that? I suggested, my murmur so low it was barely audible. 

Misa’s blushing reappeared in the instant. “Si, por favor…" she heaved a sigh, a pleading look flickered in her eyes before she closed them quickly, ashamed of being so needy.

Her confession made me kiss her tenderly. “The begging was mine to make, my sweet Misa.” I said fondly, sending her chuckling and turning frankly crimson.

I heaved myself to my feet, leaving my girlfriend’s arms not without harm, but more than ready to go eat her out. I crouched between the brunette’s leg, unbuttoned and unzipped her chic pants, and slowly took it off. The goalkeeper’s smooth stomach rose up and down jerkily as I pulled her drench thong down her legs, gasping and turned on again myself. Misa sunk in the desk chair, her hips sled at its edge, and I put one of her leg above my shoulder as I leaned my face between her tights. I heard the brunette’s rapping sights when my fingers spread her lips. Her hands fell on my hair as I bend over to take a first run. 

The goalkeeper let out soft pleased moans. My tongue circled her clit and her hips wiggled to have me right on spot. “Please” she sighed as I continued to tease her, her pelvis rising again. I took pity on her, my mouth finding and sucking her core and I heard her strangled groans die with the sound of footsteps approaching in the corridor, knocks against the door resounding shortly. 

We froze like statues. My lips and nose were already soaked with her wetness, her fingers still buried in my hair as we exchanged a panicked glance. Not making any noises, we turned our heads to see the doorknob bending down but the locked door remaining shut.

Something clicked in my mind, I rose up, my gaze searching the room in dismay. “Our phones! Where’s my phone?!” I muttered in panic. Misa stood up as lightly as she could, put her underwear and pants back on and began to look for it but it was nowhere to be found! Where was the damned thing ?! I’d lost it in the tumult of our frolics. It could be anywhere, on a stool, a self, or had dropped from the desk… 

That was it. Ana was going to call me, would hear my phone ring in my locked office, as I would not pick up she would call Misa or Léa, hear the goalie's phone in the same locked room, see the lights on from under the door and figure something was going on. She would find it suspicious, use her spare key to enter and understand the evidence at once. 

Misa grabbed my arm, putting my fortunately not so loud vibrating phone in my hand, the screen displaying Ana’s name as I foresaw. I immediately turned it off, told the brunette to do the same and we remained speechless and shaking as we waited a moment for the footstep to die away in the corridor. 

“That was so close!” I panted, heart pounding “I’d completely forgotten I got to see her after the shooting!” 

Misa glanced at the drying obscene stain on my desk, then at my shiny lips, her dimples pocking on her cheeks and about to burst of laughter, “Madre mia, imagine she had entered! I hope you’re going to shower before seeing her…” 

Her words freed her laugh and I joined her, in need to relax after having imagining myself packing this very evening. Ana surely wasn’t pleased by my disappearance. Moreover, I really need to take some time to clean myself. I would have to come up with some good made up excuses for being late and unreachable.

“Misa… I’m so sorry, I really need to go to Ana as soon as possible…” I apologized, serious again. 

She shifted uncomfortably, wincing. “I know.” she exhaled deeply and jumped on place, frustrated as hell. “Two hours of gym session and I’ll should be fine!”

My feet took me to her agitated figure. “I feel really bad living you like this! I was dying to… well nothing.” I stammered as she shot me an accusatory look and shuddered. 

I wrapped my arms around her neck, closing my eyes, a pang of sadness poking at the thought of being away from her for two entire weeks “Have a good time with your teammates at international camp Sweetie, I’m going to miss you.”

“Thanks, I’ll miss you too Cari” Misa’s nose grazed my cheek before we exchanged a last long and tender kiss. 

***

On the evening, I met Angela at a bar terrace, taking a seat with an heavy sight and quickly ordering a drink to the waiter passing by. 

“Hey, what a day!” I said to my friend. 

Angie took a sip of her cocktail with a worried look. “Oh ! what happened? Hope everything is ok?”

“Well, to start, shooting was awful. I think Léa, the second goalkeeper, found Misa well to her taste. Then, Misa joined me in my office, I was a bit mad at her but she said sweet things and……. we ended up hooking up.” I confessed, Angie smiling and winking in return. “But I forgot I had a meeting with my boss at the same time. Girl, she knocked at the door while we... I let you imagine the state we were in! Thanks god I locked the door! Anyway, after that I rushed to her office, put together some random technical issues during the photoshoot for excuse and she bought it.” I shortly paused, amused by my friend’s shocked face “My boss offered me to become photo director !” I dropped, grinning wide. 

“Woaw! Well done Nicky, cheers to that!”

We lifted our glasses. “Yeah this is great ! She said I should start on September. I’ll direct the filming and photo team and work with set designers. She liked my ability to create a global vision of Real Madrid’s visual communication and want me to develop it. Honestly, I’m in heaven even if it means much more work. Pay will be better too!” I said with excitation though I lost my smile quickly and Angela went straight to the point. 

“But you don’t know what to do about Misa…?”

“Yeah…” I sighed “I can’t leave my job. But I don’t want Misa to be unhappy.”

“Do you think she’s feeling that bad?”

“I don’t know. I won’t lie to you, It’s hard for me as well. Everyday, I feel like a child trying not to get caught. I just wish we could hang around like everybody else. We’re not doing anything wrong, this is so unfair! I don’t know what to do Angie…” 

Angela put her hand on my arm from across the table. “You know, that is exactly what I feared when you told me about your feelings. Hooking up is a thing but falling in love with her… I feared it would made you sad not be allowed to be with her, and it’s happening… But Misa seems a patient person and so are you Nicky. Don’t worry, just wait and enjoy your time with her. You’ll see in a few months what to do.” Angela patted me and giggled lightly “You are already all jealous and protective, the girl had you falling deep! What did Misa say about Léa ?” 

“She said it was probably nothing… and that she wanted… me” I melted at the thought. 

“That’s very cute! I think you can relax, Misa’s feeling good with you but I also think you should talk to her openly, be honest about what you want. She did her part by saying that, now it’s up to you. You have more to loose than she does so she probably needs to be reassured you really want to be with her.” 

Why did all my closest friends had to advise me to talk with the goalkeeper? Unsure of myself, I’d always been bad at doing the taking. But my friend had made a point, Misa was in much more uncertainty than I was, her very presence in my life in contradiction with my professional future at the Real. 

My heart tightened at the idea of Misa silently waiting for me to express my feelings in vain, dreading weeks after weeks I would finally chose my job over her… “You’re right Angie. I’ll make it up to her.” 

***

During the next days, Angela went back home and I felt a bit lost at being all alone again. The days seemed so longs without Misa at the ciudad. Being in the Australian national team, Hayley wasn’t there either. Though I was relieved I had less work I quickly became bored without my besties to spend the time so I had the idea to contact Sofie’s friends Carmen and Swen. 

As promised, Swen took us on a tour of the fancy galleries in the center of Madrid and we ended up in one of Carmen’s cutest address: a hidden vegetalized rooftop bar not far from Lavapies. Cocktails were delicious and they even played a few songs I knew Misa liked. I imagined a romantic evening here with the goalie at her return. Close to my home, the bar would be the perfect place to tell her my feelings. My mind raced on its own at planning the day. First, we would meet somewhere in town and I would tell her I was going to take her to a surprise location. Misa would be excited all the way down here, she would fall for the place when she would enter, and I would confess falling in love with her while sharing a Piña Colada or a strawberry Mojito. My insides swarmed at the thought. Once I had checked with Misa she’d be free on her return, I spend the next working day neglecting my work to plan our reunion with care. 

The footballer and I texted every day. During the evenings, we told each other about our respective daily events and often ended by sharing a sweet word or two. We couldn’t call for the goalkeeper was not having her own room and I started acting cheesy, watching for long minutes our selfies together before sleeping. The more time I passed away from her the more I longed to see her and have back our endless chatting stretching in the night as we cuddled.

At least I could see her on TV when I watched the two matches the Seleccion played. Misa was benched as she foresaw but the Spanish team won both games, lifting her spirit. I loved when she told me details from the matches I couldn’t see, or about a really pushing training session she handled well, or when she sent photos of her doing nonsense with her close friends Jenni, Alexia and Laia. Her texts overflowing with passion made me so needy I started to count the days.

***

Two weeks later, it was under a bright and hot sun that I came to wait for the goalie, literally itching to find her again at the Parque del Retiro. July in Madrid was no joke, I was sweating hard in my tank top and short, the strap of my camera digging into my bare shoulder when I walked in the wide alleys, freshening under the shade of the trees. I turned to a smaller shadowy path, stopping to whip the sweat from my forehead and gulp some water before sending to Misa my precise position. 

Standing in my fresher spot, I spent the forward minute peering impatiently at the ends of the alley. My heart was drumming in my chest, the prospect of being reunited with my goalie so close. Tired of us being locked up in our apartments, I had taken the risk to meet outside, in a park, on purpose, a symbol to show Misa that I really wished we could be a regular couple. She had accepted without question, clearly pleased by my initiative to be out our homes together at last.

As soon as it appeared, I recognized the tall and sturdy silhouette from afar, her walk unmistakable. She stepped into a patch of sun, her smile wide as she waved to me and she did a small hop before starting to run toward me. My glance stayed locked on her smiling face coming closer and closer until we flung in each other’s arms. 

Her smell filled my lungs as we hugged tight, the feel of our bodies pressed together the best in the world. Her breathing mixed with the sound of the wind blowing gently in the foliage. When we pulled back, looking into each other’s eyes, we kept smiling fondly, in no need to speak. Misa’s gaze went down to my mouth, hesitant when I wasn’t, unable to resist crashing my lips against the goalkeeper’s. It was the third time I dared to kiss Misa in a public place. My heart danced. My brain slowed down, living the moment with Misa covering my mouth with little kisses like she couldn’t get enough of it. 

The goalie buried her face back in my hair. “You’re smelling like my shampoo” was the first thing she said.

“Buenos dias Maria Isabel” I laughed at her missing to say hi again. 

Misa rolled her eyes and pompously bowed in front of me “Good afternoon Lady Nicky” she said, failing to take a chic English accent, rolling the « r » of afternoon a very Spanish way. However even as a joke, I couldn’t help but feeling satisfied by Misa Rodriguez bowing to me.

“You may rise Gentlewoman!” I responded as she looked up to me playfully. “And I may have bought your shampoo while you were away…” I added, ashamed. 

Misa seemed touched, her mouth did the pout I loved “You missed me so much?”

“Maybe” I reddened, embarrassed to admit being so cheesy. “Come on, we have a photography course waiting!” I said to make diversion and I led my giggling Misa to a more flourishing part of the park. 

I spotted a nice lawn where a few birds were pecking at the remains of a cake. 

“This is perfect. We’ll go quietly to not scare them away.” I took out my camera, and put the leash around the brunette’s head. “I’ve already done the presets, speed is medium because there is plenty of lights, though it’s getting cloudy…” I glanced at the sky, blue barely visible behind the sheer of white clouds. 

“Maybe heat will drop.” Misa said hopefully, frowning as she looked up at the dazzling white sky. Shortly, she glanced back to the camera in my hands. “So, do I need to change the presets?”

“If there is less light, you have to …?” I tested her photography knowledge. 

“Diminish speed, no, increase speed… !” She said glancing at me unsurely. 

Misa was focusing for once, making my heart melt. “Yes, increase speed, because if shutter speed is too slow, your photo is going to be …?

“Blurry?” her brows half frowned half rose as she watched me expectantly to know if she was right. 

“Well done Maria Isabel!” 

“Yes!” Misa jigged proudly. She wanted to kiss me but changed her mind because of people sauntering around. “I’ll try to take a photo of the pigeon there.” she advanced and crouched with caution. I watched her putting the camera in front of her face, concentrating as she turned the lens to zoom in. The pigeon was still searching the grass for a few crumbles when a crow landed smoothly, making the other birds fly away, the sounds of the shutter resonating restlessly. 

Misa came back to me, watching the camera screen eagerly. “Mira Nicky! look!“

I glanced at a nice shot of the flying crow, its wings spread up and its beak opened. She scrolled back, showing me the other photos. 

“Well done Misa, this is good! Exposure is a bit strong, you should diminish diaphragm opening, but good job on the focus, the crow’s sharp!”

“Gracias Nicky!” she smiled wide, gratitude in her eyes mixing with something mischievous. “I’d like more color. Can you correct the presets for me Cari?”

Her ducky demanding expression had me accepting at once and I took back the camera, focusing a moment on the screen to do the changes. “Ok, I think you’ll like it better now…” I went to give the camera back to Misa but the goalkeeper had disappeared. 

“Misa?” I called, glancing all around me to see where she had gotten to. “Misa it’s not funny! Where are you, what’s going on ?” 

I walked to the grass. More people were spending time on the nearby lawns, making it harder to find the missing goalie. I called her again, confused and wondering what other madness had gotten her. 

“¡Bu!” The goalie sprang at me from behind a large tree, making me nearly die of fear and herself of laughter. 

“Fucking shit! Mis!” I shout at her, grasping my camera, the goalie laughing out loud.  

Still chuckling, Misa tried to take me in her arms but I shoved her away, ashamed of having been pranked that easily. The young women attempted one more time and succeeded at ensnaring me with her arms. I struggled to break free, wrestling against her firm grip, trying to make her fall but her strong feet stay firmly on the ground. 

After having fought a moment, I decided she deserved a low blow as well, I put my camera back in its bag “No more photo for you”. Then I started to tickle her along her ribs. I gloated at my girlfriend surprised scream, instantly backing away. I took the opportunity to slam hard into her, the effect of surprise allowing me to unbalanced her and we both landed on the grass, giggling. 

I glanced around me, checking if it was safe for us to be that close, I thought it was okey and pulled Misa toward me. The goalkeeper let me took her in my arms, laying her back against me as my mouth found and peck her cheek. After pulling out her phone, Misa took a selfie of us cuddling, exhaled deeply and closed her eyelids. A strong blow of the wind made her hair dance around her head and I moved the strands of hair from across her face when raindrops began to fall. 

“Oh no! Mierda!” The goalie exclaimed. 

We jumped back to our feet “Fuck! Who know, maybe it’ll stop soon?” 

But more rain began to fall and Misa took my arm. “Come on, I know a place where we can shelter in waiting.“

Drops were pouring hard now, and we ran along with the hurrying people thought the alleys of the park. At a time, Misa led us to a narrow desert path, the dense vegetation there couldn’t shield us from the pounding rain. 

“Esta alli!” she shouted as we reached a crossroad, her hand was still grasping mine firmly, dragging me along with her to a really tiny empty kiosk. We rushed at it, jumping inside the small but protected space at the end of the path. 

We were drenched to the bones, shivering in our short and light cloth in spite of the still relative heat. In the hope of warming me, Misa began to rub my arms but she only spread the water onto my skin and stopped. She turned over to watch the rain fall. 

“Madre mia! We chose the only raining day in Madrid to go to a park!“

“It’s really bad luck!” I responded, feeling a bit down, all my romantic plans reduced to nothing if the rain would not ceased. I watched Misa’s silhouette detaching against the rainy horizon and my mood brightened. Nothing could go wrong as long as I was with her.

Feeling playful again, I slowly approached the brunette from behind, and squeezed her waist with a scream to scare the hell out of her. 

“Ahhh! No Nicky!” Misa fled from my ready to tickle outstretch hands and I pursued her inside the minuscule kiosk, tears of laughter in my eyes at her panicked air. ”Noooo! Déjame!”

“You seem cold! I just want to warm you!” I joked as I ran after her. I didn’t know Misa was so ticklish and it was really fun to finally have a way to be physically threatening to her. 

Eventually, she climbed onto the low wall circling us, arms in front to protect herself from my assaults. “Nicky! Cari! No! Porfi!” she begged, laughing hard. 

“Okey! I think you’re warm enough! I’ll stop.” I laughed. “You can climb down I won’t tickle you”.

Misa looked at me doubtfully, arms still stretched out. 

I laid out my hands to show my good faith and to help her go down “Sweetie, I promise you I won’t”

A new strong blow of the wind swept us, making the goalie shiver and she trusted my offered hands to help her down, yet on her guard when she landed in front of me. 

The rain was still falling hard. With the direction of the wind, it had soaked half the kiosk where we were not. It was a veritable storm now. There was no way we were going to be able to go to the rooftop bar I had in mind, enjoying a cocktail under the setting sun… 

Misa’s hands were still in mine, soft and relaxed now that she’d get I wasn’t going to foul her. My fingers gently brushed hers. My glance came back to her face framed by her long wet and wavy hair, her smirk brightening the moody weather. I took in her soft look, her eyelashes and brows where a few drops had clung, the ones pounding on the roof a noteless smoothing music. I felt aligned with everything right now. 

It wasn’t going to happen as I planned but I didn’t care. A few things had not happened as I planned since I came to Madrid and I wasn’t complaining about them. Therefore, I was contemplating the beautiful person in front of me, the one that unexpectedly came to my life, when my lips parted to speak the words.

“I love you.” 

My heart clang to her brown eyes opening wide, her brows going up with a smile of surprise. 

She shut her eyes and I felt the grip of her hands tighten as she exhaled. The goalie led her face closer and opened her eyes again, the gold ring on her nose glinted as she cocked her head to the side, the corners of her mouth twitching when she said “I love you too”. 

My heart skipped a beat, or two or three, her big dark eyes losing themselves in mine, shiner than usual.

“Te quiero!” She repeated in her own tongue and her hand fell on the nap of my neck, pulling me into the softest kiss we had shared yet. My eyes prickled as I attached myself to her lips, savoring the taste of her mouth, the smell of her breath, of her sweet and floral perfume melting in the musky scent of the rain. The feel of her body striving to hold me closer made me feel so desperately in love with her it took me a moment to realize I was tugging hard at her wet T-shirt like I was afraid Misa and her love for me would vanish if I ever let her go. 

The goalie’s lips left mine to kissed me on the forehead as she hugged me gently. I melted in her cute embraced, overwhelmed. 

“I want to be with you Misa” I said my hands still locked on her back. “For real”.

Our body parted to stare at each other, I felt cold without the warmth of her front pressed against me. The goalie’s grin had reappeared but only to fade away shortly. “Mi tambien Cari, but I don’t want you to quite your job for me. It makes you so happy…”

“I’m happy with you” I replied at once but I was feeling we needed to talk more now were where at it. “Look, I’m not saying I’ll quite the Real tomorrow but I won’t loose you for a stupid working contract.”

Misa’s nose twitched again. “Yeah I know.” Then, she went to sit on the low wall behind her, her head falling down. “Nicky, I need to tell you something… Because of clubs rivalry, I had been kind of forced to hide my previous relationships. And when you arrived at the Ciudad and we started hanging together I thought, Increíble! I may have found somebody I can openly be with! Then, you told me about the close… it was like I was bound to go all over again.” My girlfriend lifted her head, guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry I’d been weird, it’s just hard for me sometimes.” 

I crouched in front of her to take her in my arms. “Misa, baby, I’m so sorry…” It broke my heart to be the reason of her deception even when I wasn’t responsible. "I can’t quite right now, you have to give me time.” The goalkeeper bit her lips and sighted again, worry flashing on her pretty face.

“I’m not in a rush and I get you.” she answered before rising up to peer at the pouring water. The paths all around us had become muddy. Misa turned back to me, her face sad when she spoke “But what happens next? Do you really know what it takes to be with a professional athlete? If you’re not working for the club, our schedule won’t be aligned anymore. Meaning I will be away almost once a week, all my weekends taken by matches, several weeks out of town for international breaks and competitions, plus the regular working and training obligations you already know…” The young woman took my hands back in hers and asked “Do you think you could be happy in a relationship like that?”

The rain pounding on the roof was easing as Misa’s chest rose up and down, laying the future of our story together in her question. A perplex expression drawn her features as she saw me smiled mildly.

I replied without a doubt “You’re worthing it. I can’t promise you it’s gonna work but I’ll be more than happy to try.”  The goalie smiled back and I placed another kiss on her lips. “Te quiero Misa, nothing will compete against that”.

After hearing my words, Misa went back at hugging me tight. Her breathing fastened and her slightly shaking warm and soft voice announced “Rain or not, I’m dying to go home now…”

Dripping from the roof, the rain was back at its full force and wrapped the kiosk in a veil of water. We glanced at the sunken alleys of the park, shivering again. Hand in hand, we jumped thought the curtains of heavy drops, leaving the shelter where we just laid out our hearts for the first time.

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