#sorry for dumping a novel on you Panic. If you read the whole thing I am giving you the biggest hugs!

[morrigan-sims]

Please talk about your oc 🥺🙏 I'd love to hear all abt him

Panic!!! Hi!!!!!

Rook is my Swashbuckler Rogue for the DnD campaign I'm currently playing. He's a half-elf, and the bastard son of a nobleman, and the love of my life.

putting this under the cut because it's going to get SO LONG

His father and step-mother thought he was a huge embarrassment, so they weren't exactly his biggest fans. (If you see me tag his posts as "Adrian Lockwood", that's his birthname.) He ended up running away at age 17 and joining the crew of a pirate ship named the Tide Breaker under Captain Zara. He looked up to her immensely, and she taught him everything he knows about sailing and swordsmanship. She also gifted him his magic rapier.

He was promoted to first mate a few years later, which some people didn't take kindly to, since he was the youngest on the ship. He said anyone who had an issue could challenge him to a duel, and thought that would solve the problem. It didn't quite, and a few months later some of his crew mates bought him a drugged drink and sold him to a rival pirate captain, a cruel woman by the name of Captain Kora Wolf.

He was on board her ship, the Sea Snake, for two years before he managed to escape, setting the ship on fire in the process. Captain Wolf swore to hunt him down and kill him if he ever escaped, and he can only imagine how much more angry she is now that her ship was damaged.

He ran away to the Feywild, where he met up with the adventuring party and has been with them ever since.

He's generally a pretty easy-going guy. Kind, good sense of humor, always down to chat, he makes friends easily. He's a little bit superstitious, and believes every ship should have a ship's cat, or else it's Bad Luck.

He's very impulsive, often to the degree of recklessness. Sometimes it seems like he has no fear of death. He does, it's just that everything he's ever done, from leaving home to joining a pirate ship to joining an adventuring crew he'd only known for a few hours, has been because of his fear of being stagnant and bored. He wants to do interesting things and see the world, and if that leads to an untimely death, then hopefully it was worth it.

He's also claustrophobic because of the time spent in a tiny room on the Sea Snake.

Just last session he got possessed and almost killed three of his part members, including poisoning one of them with fey scorpion venom he's been carrying around for 11 sessions that I had kind of forgotten about. He feels absolutely awful about it, and is lowkey mad that his party members didn't knock him out if that was what it took to stop him from hurting people.

Oh, and Captain Wolf who kidnapped him is known as "Aunt Kory" to two of the party members (including the one who got poisoned), so that's going to be interesting when we meet her.

Me and another player also decided that Rook's closest friend in the party is the party's 40-something year old werewolf gunslinger, who Rook looks up to for having his life put together. Rook kind of sees him as a dad, in a way.

Oh, and our next dungeon is circus-themed, and I gave the DM the idea for a mirror-maze fight where you have to roll a d4 to see if you even hit the real image. (Kind of like a Mirror Image spell, but applied to the whole fight.) And the DM said I might get Boots of Haste after this dungeon!! And another party member is planning to buy me nice armor, because I'm the party's only melee fighter and my AC is a measly 15.

Here, have some images:

Image Collage that fits him well.

Art I commissioned from the lovely and amazing @/saplingdraws here on tumblr.

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[goldenchan-fx2thepeacock]

Friendly Neighbourhood Phantom

rKay, y’all remember how I said I would write a fic for that one post I reblogged? Well, Wattpad still hates me, but here ya go.

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Danny was bored. He’d finally mastered the powers that decided to show up when he ‘died’ in the portal accident, but nothing was happening. Not that it was bad, just boring. He felt like he should do something. And when he overheard Sam talking about volenteering, he got an idea.  “Sam, what was that thing you were talking about volenteering for?” He asked. “Oh, it’s a soup kitchen not far from here. You thinking about helping out?” she replied. “Well, yeah. I was thinking about using these powers for something useful,” “Danny, that’s genius. But volenteering is a big step. Maybe you could just help out people in ghost form?” “Huh, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks Sam!” He ran to class.

After school, he put his backpack down and changed. The first few times it was painful, but now it was a numb tingling sensation. He knew about the more sketchy areas in town and sped off. 

He set down in a playground with a bunch of kids. There was one sitting off on her own. She was glumly playing with the sand.  “Hey kid, want to play a game?” He asked. She stared at him. At first, she seemed startled, but she smiled. “Yeah! Let’s play hide and seek!” She giggled. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll count to ten and you go hide. Just don’t leave the playground,” He turned around and closed his eyes. She giggled and ran off. Once he finished counting to ten, he turned back around. He heard giggling from her, but decided to wander when looking for her. “Oh my gosh, you’re so good at hiding. I wonder where you could be,” He heard giggling behind him. After looking around a few trees, he acted like he’d just spotted the play structure. “Maybe you’re hiding in here?” He peeked under the structure. She giggled up at him. “You found me! Now it’s your turn to hide!” She ran off to the tree. He dashed into the slide and hid just in view. She spotted him immediately. “Ha! I found you!” “You did!” they played a few more rounds. 

They were the only ones left when her dad showed up.  “Iliana? Where are you?” He yelled. She dashed out from the play structure.  “Right here daddy!” She yelled and ran over to Danny. He smiled at her and waved goodbye.  “Iliana! That’s dangerous, don’t play with demons,” The dad snatched her away from Danny.  “He’s not a demon!” Iliana said. “I’ve heard about things like you,” The dad narrowed his eyes at Danny. “Stay away from my daughter,” “We were just playing hide and seek!” Danny protested. “And I’m not a demon,” “Preying on children is wrong. Go back to hell,” Danny held back the tears and left. He knew the feeling. Transphobes liked to tell him to go to hell, but this was horrible. 

Once he got home and finished his homework, he looked through his insta. Then he got a random idea. He went to the account blurb and clicked “make new account”. He took a selfie in his ghost form and set it as his profile pic. What to call it? He drummed his fingers on the desk and an idea came to him. He typed it in. Danny Phantom. He posted a bunch of anti bullying posts and selfies. He’d take pictures when volenteering as Phantom and put them up. 

When he got to school in the morning, there was the usual buzz. Sam looked at him. Tucker was on vacation for a few more days.  “So, how’d ‘volenteering’ go?” she asked. “Pretty good. I played hide and seek with a little girl. Is that a good start?” “Sounds good to me. But pretty good with you usually means that something happened,” She knew him too well. “I got called a demon,” He snapped. She grimaced. “Oh, Danny. I’m sorry. What was it?” “I think it’s just the whole ghost thing. I doubt he could tell I’m trans,” “Well, that’s gotta count for something!” “Maybe,” He sat down in Lancer’s class and pulled out a notebook.  “Anything else happen?” “I started an account on Instagram for ghost me. I called it Danny Phantom. Should be easy enough to find,” “Don’t you think anyone’ll notice the parralels between that and Danny Fenton?” “The people here are too stupid to guess that. Besides, no one’s gonna connect the dots between me and a random ghost,” “Good point,” Lancer walked into the class.  “Alright class, you know the drill,” Danny pulled out the novel they were reading this week. 

Danny spent the rest of the week helping out in random ways and putting the pictures up on insta. Maybe it was kinda cheap, but unlike some accounts he’s seen, he was doing it solely for the purpose of raising awareness, not to make a good face. There were a few other derogatory terms thrown his way, but it wasn’t horrible. Today, he was going to start volenteering for real. He set down in front of the soup kitchen.  “Listen, we don’t have soup till later. Come back then,” A guy wearing a big apron said. “Actually, I was going to volenteer to help out,” Danny said. The guy turned around.  “You got a bit of a look going on there. Why do you wanna volenteer?” “To help out the community. And I can’t help looking this way,” “Huh. Well, get an apron on and help me make this soup,” The guy turned around. Danny obliged.  “Uh, you never told me your name,” Danny said meekly. “Milton’s the name. And since I gave you mine, I’m gonna need yours,” “Danny,” “That all? No last name?” “You didn’t give me yours,” “Nah, but the kids like you usually boast about it. For a teen, you’re pretty humble,” “Thanks?” “Okay, enough small talk. Help me stir this while I get the other ingredients,” Milton thrust a long wooden spoon into Danny’s hands and walked off. Danny started stirring the big pot on the stove. He smiled and hummed a little tune to keep his attention. Milton walked back in. “No picture taking? You really are humble,”  “I guess it just didn’t occur to me. I mostly made my account to tell people to be nicer to the less fortunate,” (Yes, the first part is a Toph line, but less condesending in this case) He kept stirring but didn’t pull his phone out.  “You kids these days. Always an ulterior motive,” “I mean, I’m a ghost, so I could’ve been dead for hundreds of years for all you know,” Milton stared at him. “A ghost?”  “Jeez, don’t panic or anything. Not all ghosts are malevolent. And I’ve only been ‘dead’, per se, for about a month,” “I thought it was just dumb hair dye and contacts,” Milton gaped.  “Yeah, teenager just casually floats and nothing’s weird about that. Got the ingredients?” “Wha- oh yeah. Here,” Milton dumps the vegetable in the pot. “Sorry to scare you like that. I just didn’t want you calling me a demon or something when you found out,” “Why would anyone do that? Seems cruel,” “People don’t often care about anything but their prejudices,”  “Generalization or stereotype there?” “Stereotype. I guess. Let’s just make soup,” He wasn’t about to spill his troubles onto a random stranger. 

He stood in the window giving out soup. Sam was standing not far off taking pictures. He wasn’t completely sure if he should keep posting. But it was kinda late to do that now. Danny Phantom had started to gain attention Danny Fenton never would.  “What the hell? I didn’t know Milton was the type to let freaks help out,” One skinny teenager in ripped clothes said.  “I didn’t know there was a reason to not let a person help the less fortunate,” Danny handed him a bowl of soup.  “Sorry man. I guess the stress of having to come here everyday is starting to get to me,” “It’s okay. When Milton takes his turn, wanna talk about it?”  “Thanks dude,” The skinny guy sat down at one of the many tables set up. “No problem. It’s the least I can do,” Danny smiled at him. Milton walked up behind him.  “I’ll take it for fifteen minutes. Ghost probably don’t need breaks, but I’d feel bad if I made you do all the work,” Danny nodded and ditched the apron. He phased through the wall and floated over to the skinny guy. 

The guy looked startled.  “You’re floating,” He stared at Danny’s feet.  “Ya know, probably could’ve told you that myself,” Danny smirked.  “Danny! Is your shift done or something?” Sam ran over.  “Nah, I just was gonna let this guy talk about his problems to someone,” “You’re a ghost,” The guy looked lost. “Yes and no. Semantics. Listen, I’m not here to tell you about my weird life. I’m here so you don’t completely lose it from having to support yourself,” “Thanks again for that. So your name is Danny?” “Yeah. This is Sam. What’s your name?” “Jack,” Danny held back the snort that came with thinking of his bumbling father. Bumbling couldn’t have been more accurate. Jack Fenton gave Danny bumblebee vibes.  “Nice to meet you Jack. What did you need to talk about?” Sam snorted behind Danny. “Shutup,” Danny slid into the seat across from Jack.  “What’s funny?” Jack said. “Nothing. My dad’s name is Jack and you look absoloutely nothing like him. Sam is drawing certain parralels that don’t need to be there,” “Your dad? Do ghosts have dads?” “Half ones do,” Sam said.  “We’re not talking about that. Why do you have to come here. You don’t look much older than 15,”  “If it weren’t for the glowy hair and eyes, I’d say you don’t look older than 12,” “I’m fourteen,” “Close enough,” “Whatever. Why do you come here?”

Danny became a hit with the soup kitchen users. He’d talk to people about they’re issues with an air of concern. He didn’t shut anyone down no matter how small the issue. Soon, he wasn’t a freaky prospect, he was the ghost who listened to people’s issues.  “I think we should get Jazz to help you out at the soup kitchen,” Tucker said one day at lunch. “I mean, she knows, so it can’t be that weird. It’ll give her some field experience with helping people out too. Yeah, that’ll work,” Danny took a bite out of the glowing sandwich.  “Are you sure that’s safe?” Sam poked it.  “Eating ectoplasm won’t kill me anymore than I already am,” “Touche,” Tucker said. “That’s not how touche works, at least I don’t think so,” Danny replied.  “And you’re in academic english,” Sam laughed. “You are too! And english is like, my worst class,”  “Fair enough. But yeah, getting Jazz to help out is a good idea,” She forked her veggy lasagna. “Okay! I’ll tell her tonight,”

The soup kitchen wasn’t the only place Danny volenteered. He kept up the random helping and stopped a few crimes when he came across them. It wasn’t like he went looking for crimes, but it came with the territory. He stopped a car crash one time. Danny Phantom slowly became a hit on Instagram. Danny had to turn off notifcations at night. He opened it and gaped.  “500 followers overnight! And it’s going up?! Holy shit,” He turned the notifications back off and did his morning routine. It was break day, so he glared at the sports bra he knew he’d have to wear.  “If I find that ghost boy, I’ll tear him apart molecule by molecule!” Jack Fenton said. Danny winced. It was normal at this point, but he didn’t like it very much. “Oh Jack. You know we should study it,” He head his mom say. Danny didn’t know what was worse, his dad’s threats of death or his mother’s dissociation.  “Dann-o! We’re going looking for the ghost boy today!” Jack said excitedly.  “What did he do wrong?” “Nothing, but he probably has an ulterior motive to all this helping stuff!” Jack replied. Danny sighed and pulled out the cereal.  “That’s the ecto contaminated cereal Danny,” Maddie said. Mom, that’s what he meant.  “Oh, whoops,” He put it back and grabbed a new box. “Why’re we keeping it anyways?” “It’s an experiment!” Mom replied.  “You guys and all your ridiculous ghost stuff need to stop it,” Jazz huffed as she walked down the stairs.  “But we have proof of ghosts now! And some of them can get they’re hands on human tech,” Jack- er Dad, said. “You mean social media? People could just taken random picture of a random guy doing that and made something out of it,” “He’s floating Jazzibear, that means something!” J- Dad said loudly.  “Photo editting,” Jazz knew it was hopeless, but she did it for Danny. “Believe what you want,” Dad grabbed some fudge from the fridge. 

Jazz and Danny walked to the soup kitchen. Well, Jazz walked and Danny floated. It was Saturday, so they were taking an all day shift.  “500 followers Jazz! That’s crazy for one night!” “That’s great!” “I know. Oh look, we’re here,” Danny sped over to the kitchen while Jazz sat at one of the tables. “Hey, it’s my favourite ghost,” Milton said. “More like the only ghost you know,” “Yeah, let’s stir this pot and make soup,” Milton laughed. Maybe everything wasn’t great, but Danny was okay with that. He smiled and stirred the pot of soup. 

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And, la fin. Maybe it sucks, but I felt like writing something for this. My first oneshot actually. Let me know if you want more of this! The idea came from a post I read by @redrobin-detective. I reblogged it for those who want to see the original concept. Sorry if my grammar is a little strange to you. I’m from Canada, and grammar here is different than the States. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

awkward ~ harry styles

word count: 1911

request?: no

description: after taking a role in a movie that she regrets, she has an awkward encounter with the inspiration for the movie’s source material

pairing: harry styles x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

(fair warning, there’s some slight trash talking of after. i really don’t like that movie or the books so if you do...maybe skip this imagine)

“And here we have (Y/F/N), star of the new teen romance After!” the interviewer happily announced into the camera.

I tried not to visibly cringed as I waved at the cameraman.

When you’re an actress, there’s this unspoken rule that you shouldn’t regret the movie that will launch your career. And, in some aspects, I didn’t regret After. I made new friends thanks to filming that movie, and, even before the first trailer launched, I was becoming a household name.

However, there was some things I regretted about After...like the decision to star in it.

I took the role of Tessa before I even really knew what the movie was about. I decided to do some research by reading the books, only to become absolutely appalled by them. The relationship between Tessa and Hardin was absolutely toxic, and the books only plot was basically sex. The entire trilogy! It was like reading Fifty Shades of Grey for teenagers. At that point, however, it was too late. I was already signed on to do the movie and I couldn’t back out.

Now, I was locked into trying to talk good about the movie until it was announced that I had backed out for the upcoming two sequels, something that wouldn’t happen until months after the movie’s release I was sure.

I was on the red carpet for an award show and I had already given at least four interviews about the movie. I was starting to get tired of it. Was this how Robert Pattinson felt trying to promote Twilight? That poor man.

“Were you aware of the source material before you took the role?” the interviewer asked me.

I shook my head, giving her the response I had basically memorized at this point. “I wasn’t, actually. It wasn’t until I got the script and it said it was based off of a book by Anna Todd, and I knew I had to go read the books.

“What were your thoughts when you read the novels?”

I thought it was an awful relationships and sex for teens. "It was interesting. The first movie isn’t a super close adaptation to the first book, but I think fans of the original will still like it.”

“Were you aware it was a fanfiction before a book?”

I tried not to sign in annoyance at yet another familiar question. “I found out shortly after reading the books actually. That’s pretty fascinating!”

“I don’t know if you knew this, but Harry Styles is actually here tonight. Do you hope to meet him?”

I felt slight panic swell in me. I wanted to say absolutely not! I didn’t want to have to face Harry after what I had been a part of. He couldn’t have liked the fanfic, it was awful! He probably hated that this movie was being made, not that he could really do much about it considering Anna Todd changed all the names in the book so it could be published.

I tried not to let me panic show as I responded, “As a long time One Direction fan, I would love to meet him if given the chance.”

I managed to get away from the interviewer before she asked anymore questions. I felt like I had to be on high alert now. The last thing I wanted was to run into Harry, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t want to run into me, either. Unless he didn’t know I was here, in which case that would make running into him even more awkward.

I managed to bypass any last interviews and get into the venue. Among the crowded room of people, I searched to see the one familiar face I was looking for. I let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see him and went on to mingle some of the other attendees.

We were only 30 minutes to show time when I heard the familiar deep voice that I had been dreading all night. “Hello.”

I turned away from the conversation I was having to see none other than Harry Styles stood behind me. I felt my face heat up in embarrassment and I just wanted to melt into the floor. Did he come looking for me? What was he going to say to me?

“H-Hi,” I stuttered, causing Harry to smile.

“You must be (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand to me.

I tried to remain cool as I shook his hand. “I am, yeah. It’s nice to meet you, too, I’m a big fan.”

“So I’ve heard. An interviewer out there told me that she had been talking to you just before she talked to me.”

I could only imagine what an interviewer had said to Harry. Some of the interviewers on red carpets were vultures, they just liked to stir up drama for the sake of clickbait.

“Is that...all she said?” I asked, afraid of what else might’ve been said to him.

Harry shrugged. “She just talked about the movie some. I avoided those questions.”

I couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from my throat at this sound. “I am so sorry, I hope you know how much I regret filming that movie.”

Harry tilted his head. “Why do you regret it? They’re already saying it’s going to be the next big teen romance phenomena.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Too bad I won’t see it grow after the first movie.” I mentally scolded myself for spilling the beans already as Harry gave me a confused look. “I didn’t sign on for the second movie, or the third or however many they’re gonna make in the future. The first After is the end for me, that’s it.”

“Why would you do that? This is an easy three movie deal, wouldn’t most people kill for that?”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re so concerned over this. I thought you’d hate the whole franchise considering it’s based on a really shitty fanfiction about you.”

To this, Harry chuckled. “Well, I don’t exactly like the After franchise. I’m definitely not looking forward to more people becoming aware of it due to the movies, but I also know what it’s like to try and break into the fame scene. It’s hard, you should always grasp what you need to in order to get to where you wanna go, you know?”

I smiled at this. “I guess you have a point. I’m just glad you don’t absolutely hate me for starring in the movie.”

“How could I hate you? I haven’t even properly met you yet, and so far, you’re too nice to hate.”

I felt blush creeping up my neck at this. I looked away from him, but couldn’t contain the smile on my face.

Harry and I talked for another while until we were being ushered to our seats. I hated to have to break away from him, but I had a feeling I’d see him after the show again.

The award show felt like it dragged on forever. I wasn’t nominated for anything, After hadn’t even come out yet, and I wasn’t presenting anything. I was just there to give interviews on the red carpet and to be just another face in the crowd. The performances were good, and the host of the show was hilarious, but I couldn’t help but wish it would just end already.

When it finally came to an end, I found myself waiting outside the arena for my Uber ride home. I was watching in confusion as my driver went in the exact opposite direction. Weren’t they supposed to have the GPS on their phone working? Where the hell was he going?

A car pulled up in front of me and the passenger side window rolled down. Harry’s smiling face beamed at me from inside the car as he asked, “Need a lift?”

I looked down at my phone, seeing how far away my Uber was yet again, before cancelling it all together and climbing into the front seat.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I responded. “Uber sucks.”

“You didn’t get a ride to the show with anyone?”

I shook my head. “My manager sent for this fancy car to take me, so that I looked good in front of the cameras and such, but didn’t arrange a ride home for me.”

“That’s shitty.”

I shrugged. “That’s show biz, kid.”

Harry smiled and chuckled at this, and I felt a warm feeling in my stomach. Not a bad one, quite the opposite really.

The drive was silent for the most part, just some quiet music playing. I watched out the window as Harry drove, unsure of what to really say or do in this moment.

“You like the show?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

I shook my head. “Not at all. I thought it was quite boring since I had nothing to do besides talk up the movie I hate to the press.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, that’s understandable. Award shows are more fun when you’re not just sitting in your chair for like two and a half hours watching other celebrities get awards for things.”

“You did good, though,” I told him. “Your performance was amazing, you had the whole audience on their feet.”

He tried to contain it, but I could see the proud smile on his face. “That’s what I try to do with my music - something you can dance to and feel something when you’re listening to.”

“You definitely do both.”

God, small talk is so awkward. Why can’t you come up with anything else to say?

“I’m not good at this,” I admitted.

Harry glanced over at me for a moment. “Not good at what?”

“Talking to famous people,” I responded. “Well, super famous people I guess. I chatted with some people tonight who were more on my level of fame, but you’re like...you have your own level. Doesn’t help that I had a crush on you during my One Direction days.”

Harry’s low chuckle confirmed that I had indeed said that last part out loud. I face palmed so hard, the sound of my hand hitting my skin was actually audible, which caused Harry to laugh more.

“I’m such a mess,” I groaned. “Just dump me on the side of the road, it’s my time to go.”

“If I did that, I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

I looked over at him. “You wanna see me again?”

“Only if you’d like to spend more time with me.”

My smile was so wide that my cheeks were actually hurting, but I could’ve cared less. He was actually asking me to hang out and spend time with him? Yes please!

“I’d like that a lot,” I told him.

I was slightly disappointed when we pulled into my driveway, but it wasn’t enough to rid myself of the excitement I was feeling. Harry and I exchanged numbers before I got out of the car and smiled at him one last time.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised. I was too shocked to say anything else, so I just nodded before making my way to the front door of my apartment.

When the door closed behind me, I exclaimed with excitement and jumped around like a child on Christmas morning. Who knew that the movie I so despised would bring me some good, and not just with my career?

[romance-geek]

sleep my long, unbroken sleep (niragi x oc)

warnings: violence, blood

author’s note: it's been a long long time?? i feel like most of the hype for alice in borderland has gone now, but i've gotten the urge to write again. so sorry it took so long! i'm thinking i'll do big chapters every update since future updates will probably a while, depending on my mood. hope you like it!

summary: Kuroba Chiyori may be born in the Borderlands, but no way in hell does she want to die in it.

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER TWO: fires find a home in me

PRESENT

Chiyori crouches down behind a tree outside one of the city’s stadiums, where the lights are as bright as can be in the Borderlands, beckoning players from all over Tokyo to join. There are signs nearby to lead people into the venue. Having been a citizen for all her life and a child of two of the most ruthless Game Masters, Chiyori knows the usual haunts; where to avoid and where to flock.

As much as she likes to consider herself an independent woman (and she very much is a woman now, thank you very much!), she prefers being surrounded by people whether familiar or not. Those earlier years spent locked inside a library with only books and dust as friends truly did wonders for her touch starvation. Craving companionship, but knowing death could pry them away from her bloody fingers in a blink of an eye. Her eternal dilemma.

And that night, nearly a decade ago, a decade of murder and sin, death stole the ones who brought her to life. She who guided the fates’ scissors, who lured her parents into a game they had a hand in orchestrating.

Thus began her undoing.

She could never really recall the whole night, most of her memories were of after. Bits and pieces would flash to her mind at the most inopportune moments (resulting in many near-death experiences), and to this day she cannot say what events led to the single clear picture in her mind. Of blood, gushing like a geyser from her father’s headless neck; of his wide-eyed head with a mouth frozen in a silent scream, rolling to a still beneath the shaking legs of her mother as her pulsing entrails out of her with a katana stuck to her spine, like a sick version of a magician’s show but only nearly succeeding.

Countless deaths had she witnessed in her childhood alone, usually by the lasers that come to claim players with zero days left as she watched through her library windows while nibbling on biscuits. Yet, this was the one that had her hurling her guts, almost in tandem with her mother’s dripping entrails.

Chiyori couldn’t tell you when was the first time she witnessed death, but she remembered the first time her hands took away someone’s life.

In a bout of adrenaline, and because the rules of the game permitted her to do so (each weapon can only be used once by each player, to up the ante), Chiyori wrenched the katana her mother’s killer used and drove it straight to his heart.

Battle Royale Kill Count.

Pretty straightforward name. Like Battle Royale, except only the one with the most kills survived. It was unlike the fiction novels she had read in her little library home, not like The Hunger Games where it only mattered who survived until the end even if you barely killed anyone, or like The Lord of the Flies where an adult appears to save you in the end.

At first, no one wanted to harm her. A child in the Borderlands? Unheard of. But as the game went on, the timer ticking down, the number of players dwindling, she knew they would come for her.

So she had to come for them first.

The katana was of no use to her any longer, so she had left it on her parents’ killer’s chest as he laid facing the ceiling, like a crude cross marker for her two parents.

She spent half of the time left looking around for stray weapons, but most of what she found were close-range types. She didn’t want to risk revealing herself to the others, so she persisted in looking around.

In one of the many rooms there, she found tucked into the corner behind a pile of boxes a large jug of gasoline. Relief flooded through her body as she scrambled for it. It was perfect! She only needed to spread the gasoline around, and it would only take one match for the whole building to burn.

Speaking of matches… She smiled horrifically, her face a mess of tears and snot with blood dripping down her nose, finding a little box with a few matchsticks amidst the junk.

Chiyori ran on the tips of her toes to avoid attention, hefting the jug and pouring it everywhere she could. All of a sudden, someone violently pulled at her ponytail. The gasoline sloshed over her front and clung to her clothes as the jug crashed to the floor.

She screamed as she was dragged back by a man with desperate eyes. He held a small knife, which trembled in his hands. The man struggled to straddle her as she kicked frantically, keeping eye contact with her while seeming to be in an internal war with himself. He raised the knife up high with both hands, the dull glint of it invoking her to grasp for something, anything to defend herself with. Her fingers latched on a broken piece of wood, with splinters and nails at the other end.

With a guttural yell, akin to the sound of pigs being slaughtered, the man drops his knife to try and dislodge the wood from the side of his head. It squelched in his efforts, blood and bits of skin coating the nails. While he was distracted, she grabbed the knife and plunged it into his right eye and twisted.

Chiyori knew something was wrong with her when she relished in his pain.

He dropped to the ground as she pushed him off, taking the jug and what amount of gasoline it had left to dump it all over his writhing body. She grabbed the matchbox from her pockets. She took one stick and struck it to light.

For a moment, she stood there, transfixed in the tiny flame.

Then, she dropped it.

The man lit up in a manner of seconds, his screams reaching a crescendo as the flames enveloped him.

Vicious thoughts ran through her mind. Vengeful. Mournful.

Hysteria replaced them when the flames licked at her clothes and ignited her as well.

She tried to roll around, but the room was quickly filling up with smoke and grew with even more flames. Chiyori ran outside, flailing her arms to no avail as it only seemed to fan the fire. Finding a clear patch of floor, she dropped and rolled for what seemed like hours of agony but was probably only a few minutes until the fire was completely smothered.

Third degree burns covered her arms, part of her abdomen, and her left thigh. The clothes stuck to her skin. The smell of barbecued pork along with smoke made her dizzy.

She stood up with a pained cry and limped as fast as she could to the entrance of the game venue. From different rooms, she could hear the panic of the remaining players as they fought against the fire.

The screen that dictates the amount of kills per player chimed with each death, the only number to increase was under her name, as she lit the fire that killed them. Subsequently, the number of remaining players were slowly counting down. She kept her gaze locked onto that number. The only way the game would end was when everyone else died.

Smoke started seeping into her nostrils again. She knew it was only a matter of time until the flames were upon her once more.

Finally, the screen changed.

𝐑 𝐄 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆   𝐏 𝐋 𝐀 𝐘 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 : 𝟎

𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐂 𝐋 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐄 𝐃

𝐂 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐑 𝐀 𝐓 𝐔 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒

The phone she grabbed at the beginning chimed in one of her cargo shorts’ pockets. When she fishes it out, the screen lit up with the following message:

【 𝙶 𝙰 𝙼 𝙴 】

♤　♤　♤　♤　♤

♤　♤　♤　♤　♤

𝐖 𝐄   𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋   𝐒 𝐔 𝐏 𝐏 𝐋 𝐘   𝐀 𝐋 𝐋   𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐒 𝐔 𝐑 𝐕 𝐈 𝐕 𝐎 𝐑 𝐒  

𝐖 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇   𝐀   𝐓 𝐄 𝐍 - 𝐃 𝐀 𝐘   𝐕 𝐈 𝐒 𝐀

The irony of her father, the King of Spades, dying at a Ten of Spades game to protect her and her mother… Were it not for Chiyori, both of her parents would still be here right now. Maybe they would’ve trained her in preparation for the games that she wanted to play since she was a child.

But now?

She wondered why she ever wanted to play.

After that game, she immediately sought help from her parents’ fellow game masters, but after her wounds were cleaned and patched she holed up in her library home with the intent to let her visa run out by itself.

Only it didn’t. Not really.

She thought she lost her sense of time when the number stayed at zero for nearly a week, only to realize that the Borderlands didn’t want its single native citizen out of its clutches. Whichever god that rules this sinful place, if there ever is one, plays with her life almost daily with its cruel tribulations, but condemns her efforts to die outside of the games. It is almost as if they want her to play in order to die.

Chiyori isn’t particularly religious, but she has often read books about religion and philosophy. When one has questions, one seeks answers, but none of the books in any library in Tokyo have ever explained the nature and laws of this place.

With the games not being necessary to her life and being the only way to die, she needn’t participate. And for a while, she didn’t want to either.

Slowly, she began to open up to her parents’ friends, but the Borderlands only took them one by one as each cycle passed until she didn’t have anyone left but herself and her books. But even books couldn’t give her the happiness it gave when she was younger. By that time, she was thirteen, still a child but now numb to the death that surrounded her. She started participating in a few games a year, to a few games a month, now nearly everyday when she realized that those deadly games were the only things that made her feel alive anymore.

Sure, she meets friends along the way, but they only die in the end. Sometimes by her hand. Such is life in the Borderlands. The sooner you accept that, the better you’ll survive.

When a good amount of people have arrived at the game venue, she stands from her hiding place and nonchalantly walks over to join them, hands tucked into her denim jacket, the leathery scar on her left thigh visible as she only wore cycling shorts.

The clunk of her combat boots prompts several of them to glance at her entrance. She coolly raises an eyebrow and runs her eyes over everybody, reading them almost like her beloved books.

Chiyori runs a finger along the table of phones, choosing one with a sleek black case. After it scans her face, she saunters to a wall and leans back to continue her survey of the other players.

“Hey, are you new here?” A guy wearing a long-sleeved neon green shirt asks her. There’s a girl with a thankfully less bright top holding his hand. Both of them are looking at Chiyori worriedly.

She gazes distastefully at his shirt. With a scoff, she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“If I may, miss,” the girl interjects, “You look like you don’t realize how dangerous these things can get… We only wish to help educate you.”

Their familiarity with each other suggests that they knew each other before ending up at the borderlands. Both of them had dyed hair, the guy sporting blond tips while the girl had long pink hair. The fact that the girl had no roots showing tells Chiyori that they must’ve only been in the Borderlands for less than three weeks.

No, Chiyori decides after a peek of inked flesh on the guy’s bicep, about as big as the size of her palm. It still has a cling film wrapped around it, so it couldn’t have been more than three to five days.

The girl knew the games were dangerous, so they played at least one, not very hard if they’re already at another. This is probably their second or third game. Most likely the second.

In spite of herself, Chiyori smiles at them. They might end up betraying her later when the game starts, but she appreciates their concern. Not that she needed it.

“Thanks,” she says. “But I think I can manage. You guys worry about yourselves, you haven’t experienced real danger yet.”

The couple looks at her, at each other, then they shrug as if to say ‘Suit yourself.’

Chiyori’s gaze drops to their locked hands as they leave to go back to their corner. A twinge of longing cuts through her.

She thinks the game should start any minute now when a guy with black hair almost to his shoulders and a few face piercings walks in hesitantly, looking around in confusion as he taps his hand against an ear. Her eyebrows go up as she checks him out appreciatively.

“He’s new,” she remarks quietly to the couple. “You guys have been here only about a few days, I can tell.”

The girl whispers, “How’d you know?”

“You guys are pretty obvious, as is that guy. How?” Chiyori nods to the guy with piercings. “Look at his hands. He’s patting his pockets, and from the shape of it it’s a phone. Where he came from, it was loud, so he’s here to watch a game but when he entered the noise was gone. So he’s new new.”

Chiyori can tell that although they’re impressed, they’re unnerved by her. As most people are. So she pushes off the wall and saunters towards the guy who is now fiddling with his phone, trying to turn it on.

The way he hunches his shoulders tells her he is a private person, so she stops a respectable distance from him. “Hey.”

He lifts his head up to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” His voice snaps, almost defensively.

She doesn’t smile at him, thinking he seemed the type of person to think it was condescending. Instead, she points with her thumb to the table where only a few more cellphones were available. “Your phone is busted. Take one of those.”

He sneered at her and says, “Fuck off.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Take a phone or you’re disqualified and trust me, you don’t want to be disqualified.”

He still makes no move to the table, so she takes his busted phone with a quick movement and throws it to the entrance of the stadium. The other players watch them, not wanting to intervene.

“You bitch, what—?!” His enraged shout is cut off when a red laser beams down from the ceiling and puts a hole into the phone. “What the fuck?!”

Chiyori locks her eyes with his, smirking at the contempt that he displays for her. “You came here to watch a game, did you? Which teams are playing? Doesn’t matter. You’re not here to watch. You’re here to play.” She shoves a new phone in his hands. “Humor me, would you?”

With a glare, he turns on the phone. Almost as soon as his face is done scanning, everybody’s phones start chiming.

“Let the games begin,” Chiyori says, her excitement evident.

𝐑 𝐄 𝐆 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐑 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍   𝐇 𝐀 𝐒   𝐂 𝐋 𝐎 𝐒 𝐄 𝐃

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄   𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋   𝐍 𝐎 𝐖   𝐂 𝐎 𝐌 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄

𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄 :   𝟐 𝟎 𝟎   𝐌 𝐄 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑   𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐄

𝐃 𝐈 𝐅 𝐅 𝐈 𝐂 𝐔 𝐋 𝐓 𝐘 :   𝐓 𝐄 𝐍   𝐎 𝐅   𝐒 𝐏 𝐀 𝐃 𝐄 𝐒

When the difficulty level is announced, almost everyone starts cussing or panicking, apart from Chiyori and the guy with piercings.

She is momentarily breathless as memories of another Ten of Spades game come to her, but she shoves them at the back of her mind and turns her attention to the guy. Hostile he may be, something in her wants to help him. “This is the last time I’m gonna warn you. It’s kill or be killed, alright?”

He looks at her almost like a puppy, the angry facade he keeps up down for a moment.

“Welcome to the Borderlands,” she tells him.

They enter through another entrance to go into the arena itself. She hears the guy mutter in shock when he sees the arena. Like the rest of the Borderlands, the fauna is overgrown intermixed with other weeds and plants, except for a rectangular patch of land in the center where it was just plain dirt. Ostensibly 200 meters wide.

At the end closest to the entrance they came through is a long table full of weapons ranging from bows and arrows to javelins to throwing daggers. No guns. There are three people wearing grotesque halloween masks and nondescript clothes behind the table, waiting patiently for the game to start with hands clasped.

There were 21 participants in total. You know what they say: the more, the deadlier.

The guy in neon moved to grab a weapon off the table, but one of the dealers stopped him from doing so by brandishing a machete to his face. “Shit!” He squeaks. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!”

The dealer with the machete brings one finger up to the lips of his mask, as if to sush him, then wags the finger like scolding a child. The other dealers gesture for them to wait for the rules.

Their phones chime once again. “Rule: Players must race through 200 meters to get to the other side. Condition: Finish the race within ten minutes.”

Chiyori smiles grimly, realizing what the weapons were for. She drops her denim jacket to the floor, revealing the burns on her arms, and readies herself.

“Start.”

She sprints ahead of everyone else, zigzagging and changing direction at random intervals. Screams start to rise. Behind her, the familiar squelch of someone being stabbed urges her to run faster. Someone manages to run even faster than her, even with her head start, but who said the game is about how quick you can finish the race?

A javelin goes through the head of the player.

Not even sparing them a glance, she jumps over the body - because that’s all the player is anymore, a body - and nearly collides with the guy from before. He looks like he wants her to die, but contradicts himself when he pushes her away from a flying arrow.

She barely gasps out a whisper of gratitude before they both continue their run. The timer loudly ticks down from the stadium’s screens.

They are only a few meters away from the finish line when she notices a small movement from behind the tall grass at the other end. She grabs the guy’s arm and pulls him while still keeping them in motion, albeit going back in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing?! The finish line’s right there!” He growls.

“Look again,” she snaps at him. “Someone’s waiting for us.”

He glances back and confirms it for himself. “What the fuck kind of dystopian shit is going on here?”

“These games are never simple,” she says.

By now, there were only about half of them still alive. A few have run past the two of them already, but Chiyori knew they would regret not thinking twice. She runs to a body that has a throwing axe deep into the side of her neck.

A glance at the starting line lets her know that the masked people only have a few weapons left to throw at them, but she still remains cautious in her running patterns as she runs to a few more bodies to collect more light throwing weapons. The guy follows her example, a bloody machete in hand.

They run back to the finish line, where a few of the others have begun to realize that there was one more masked person to torment them. Their weapon of choice? An actual roaring chainsaw.

“I should have stayed home!” The guy with piercings groans.

“Would’ve been the better choice,” she agrees.

The masked person slashed their chainsaw with reckless abandon at whoever dared to come close. One of the players was using someone’s lifeless body as a shield to get closer. Another player runs to the side of the race track, but a laser immediately comes for them.

Chiyori glances at the guy with piercings, locking eyes with him, darts her eyes to the masked person then back at him. He nods.

Holding her breath, she assumes a throwing stance. She brings the axe behind her head, then extends her arm forward while at the same time letting go of the weapon while keeping her wrist and elbow firm. It sinks into the masked person’s jugular.

Trusting that the guy would take over, she whips back to face the starting line and grabs the small throwing daggers she collected in each hand. Just in time to dodge a masked person’s forward slash. She drops to the floor and rolls over, kicking them on the head to dizzy them. She jumps on their back and uses another dagger to cut their throat open.

With her legs wrapped around their torso, she rolls both of them over just as several arrows lodge onto the masked person’s chest. Heart pounding at the close call, Chiyori throws her remaining daggers and knives in rapid succession towards where the arrows came from, hoping to buy time.

She crawls to the nearest body, who is rendered nearly headless by a curved blade. She pulls it out, spraying even more blood all over herself and the floor. When she looks up, she finds a masked person struggling to remove a knife embedded into their eye socket. Stopping for a second to marvel at her blind but successful aim, she puts them out of their misery with a swing of the blade.

Chiyori looks around for the third masked person, finding them grappling with another player. She turns her gaze to the guy with piercings, who seems to have successfully dispatched his opponent. He has his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at her, but she is too far away to hear him clearly.

“... over here!”

“What?!” She screams.

The guy runs a hand through his hair in frustration, then points furiously at the stadium screens. She follows the direction of his finger, to find that there is only less than a minute left for her to cross about 100 meters to the finish line.

With no time to waste, she tightens her grip on the handle of the curved blade and runs for her life.

Chiyori is only a few feet away when a javelin twirls through the air and nicks her calf. She nearly drops at the pain, but perseveres and limps as fast as she can.

The guy with piercings picks up his opponent’s chainsaw and turns it on with a loud roar.

He sprints for the masked person making their way to Chiyori and slices them in half jaggedly.

With only twenty seconds left on the clock, he barks for the two other players in the finish line to help him drag Chiyori to safety, but only one actually does.

They cross the finish line with two seconds to spare.

Their phones chime in unison.

𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐂 𝐋 𝐄 𝐀 𝐑 𝐄 𝐃

𝐂 𝐎 𝐍 𝐆 𝐑 𝐀 𝐓 𝐔 𝐋 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 𝐒

They all pant in exhaustion, bodies slick with blood. Blood from the masked people, from the other players, from them. Chiyori can’t wait to go home and wash it all off, maybe take a week off from playing the games.

【 𝙶 𝙰 𝙼 𝙴 】

♤　♤　♤　♤　♤

♤　♤　♤　♤　♤

𝐖 𝐄   𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋   𝐒 𝐔 𝐏 𝐏 𝐋 𝐘   𝐀 𝐋 𝐋   𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐒 𝐔 𝐑 𝐕 𝐈 𝐕 𝐎 𝐑 𝐒  

𝐖 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇   𝐀   𝐓 𝐄 𝐍 - 𝐃 𝐀 𝐘   𝐕 𝐈 𝐒 𝐀

She struggles to stand, waving off any help offered to her.

Hand still gripping on the curved blade, she uses it to cut away at the long grass until she finds a small table with a single Ten of Spades card on it. Despite not having the need for it, she swipes it and hides it in her bra.

Chiyori limps back to where the others are. The guy with piercings has blood dripping down his nose, and a cut somewhere on his trunk causing the shirt he has on to cling to his form.

“Welcome to the Borderlands,” she repeats with a smile, referring to before the game started. “I’m Kuroba Chiyori. What’s your name?”

Warily, he considers the hand she offers for him to shake. He glances at her face, at her horrific smile, teeth stained with blood. He takes her small hand into his much larger one and slowly shakes it, feeling vaguely like he is making a deal with the devil.

“Niragi Suguru.”

[1zashreena1]

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry. 

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​ ​ @symbiont13​ ​ @nicke0115​ ​​ @bunnykjm​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​ ​ @girlpornparadise​ ​ @mandoplease​ ​ @heresathreebee​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​ ​ @jetiikad​ ​ @joalsglasses​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​ ​ @demoncatstone​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ ​ @poeedamerons​ ​

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently?  We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity. 

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him. 

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35. 

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports. 

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence. 

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems.  He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister. 

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him. 

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down. 

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball 

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that. 

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing. 

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting 

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that. 

Princess. 

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap. 

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?"  His knowing grin is infectious. 

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me." 

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly. 

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York. 

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is. 

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after. 

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff. 

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah.  You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics. 

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?" 

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together. 

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together. 

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little?? 

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners. 

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go." 

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location. 

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??"  He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed. 

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

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration. 

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder. 

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow. 

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly. 

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk. 

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

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+. 

Until his phone rings. 

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego,  sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or  angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface. 

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out.  Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix. 

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was. 

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal.  For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One. 

Grand Theft. 

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking. 

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together. 

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now. 

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking.  You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have. 

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected. 

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego. 

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood. 

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

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

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good. 

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches. 

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?"  You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation. 

"I…. grrrrrrrrr."  He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes. 

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly. 

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona. 

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background. 

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

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

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps. 

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point. 

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good. 

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin. 

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth. 

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice. 

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable. 

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom. 

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable. 

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk. 

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing." 

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars. 

Armored cars. 

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars. 

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns. 

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling. 

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love. 

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

 "I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

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

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week. 

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home. 

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man. 

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing. 

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement. 

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust. 

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself. 

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck. 

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside. 

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you. 

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"  

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed. 

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs. 

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

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

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps. 

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

 "Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

 "Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

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

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed. 

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes. 

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you. 

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears. 

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?" 

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours." 

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

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

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar. 

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you. 

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds. 

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing. 

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically. 

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw. 

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!" 

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?" 

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

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

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace."  He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth. 

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly. 

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off. 

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

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

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK. 

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one. 

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal. 

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt.  Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez. 

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you. 

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded. 

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive. 

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?" 

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby."  His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly. 

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation. 

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it."  You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard. 

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain. 

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

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

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances. 

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic. 

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

 "Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable. 

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

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly. 

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine." 

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?" 

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat. 

Seven is a very good number.

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

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand. 

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down. 

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding? 

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

40, 17, and 53 with Jason Todd. Love you!!! You deserve way more than 200 followers.

love YOU!!! sorry this is so late! 1.6k words of Jason x reader fluff in which you’re stuck in an elevator. 

17.“Did you just… agree with me?” “Oh, I wish I could take-““Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

40.“You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.”

53.“I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t such a wise idea to take the elevator during a raging storm, but you could only be so functional after a three-hour British literature final exam. 

Massaging the palm of your hand and gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip, agonizing over your concluding paragraph, you hit the down button with your elbow and had barely half a mind to acknowledge the torrential downpour outside the walls of Gotham Academy. 

The elevator dinged dismally and you trudged inside. 

Wordsworth said to fill your paper with the breathings of your heart but you couldn’t stop worrying that you dumped the jumbled thoughts of your mind onto the lined pages. You were fretting so intensely that you barely heard the pleas to keep the elevator door open. 

“Wait! I need to catch the elevator! Pretty please!” 

You startled and moved to press the open button, but a body barreled in through the doors and hit the wall with a slightly concerning bang before you could do so. 

The figure was broad and sinewy from behind, a backpack hanging off toned shoulders and veiny arms showcased thanks to a snug black t-shirt. Something about that admittedly nice butt was awfully familiar, and then the human canon turned around. 

“Oh. Hey, Y/N.” 

You stiffened and braced yourself, though you were unsure what you were bracing yourself for. “Hi, Jason.” 

He cracked a smile, slow and warm, and your heart skipped several beats before settling into a panicky rhythm. 

Oh. That was why you braced yourself. 

He quirked an eyebrow and nodded to your hands. The fingers of your left dug into the palm of your right so hard, your knuckles turned white. “Still recovering?” 

You dropped your hands. “In more ways than one.” 

Something about Jason always had you on edge. You two were notorious for getting into heated debates regarding humanist theory and the best Romantic era poets, and you’d nearly lost your mind when you worked together because the professor assigned partners for a literature analysis presentation – he pushed your buttons excessively. 

Maybe it was because he was so hard to read, but he was able to read you with startling clarity. You didn’t know much about him, only that he was a few years older, enjoyed blasting Bobby Brown, had strong opinions on bread, and knew Keats better than his own name. You had known him for four months, but he already knew that you despised untied shoelaces, snapped a rubber band against your wrist when you were nervous, and owned two cats. Your guard was highly fortified because people who’d known you for years barely knew one of those tidbits; who did Jason think he was, waltzing into your life and making you self-conscious every time you exhibited a nervous tick?

Your unease around Jason Todd might also have to do with the fact that he was so beautiful, he left you flustered and babbling angrily much more often than you’d like. 

“How’d you feel about it?” 

“About…what?” 

Jason laughed and you blinked in surprise at the sound of sunshine on this rainy day. “About the exam, Y/N.”

“Oh. Uh. I wish I felt better about it. You?” 

His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “I’ve been through worse.” 

“Who’d you focus on for the last question?” You asked as the doors glided shut with a groan. 

He snorted. “Coleridge, of course. Who else?”

You frowned. “Barrett Browning.” 

He shot you a dubious look. “Is it because of Sonnet Forty-Three?” 

Flummoxed, your frown deepened. “No…” 

“Mmhhmmm,” He nodded, mouth sliding up into a playful smile. 

“Well. Maybe a little.” 

“Quite the hopeless romantic, aren’t we?”

You opened your mouth to retort defensively but betrayed yourself; you locked eyes with him and suddenly found yourself lost in a sapphire ocean. “Yeah,” You sighed in resignation. 

His eyes widened, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “Did you just…agree with me?” 

You blushed deeper. “Oh, I wish I could take –”

Jason waggled a finger accusatorially. “Nope! You said it! No take-backs!” 

You jutted your chin out and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe you should have been concerned when the elevator groaned a little in dissent, but you couldn’t hear much above the little voice at the back of your head scolding you for not being more vigilant around him. 

“Fine.” 

His smile softened, gentle like the Caribbean, and much to your dismay, so did you. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

“I-I guess. I don’t know.” 

You did know when the lights flickered and died with a buzz and a few concerning sparks. 

You also knew when the elevator jolted and dropped a few feet, bouncing unevenly because it pulled a shriek from your throat, and you flung yourself at Jason Todd. 

He stumbled back a little with an “oof” but didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. 

He smelled of jasmine and old books and some kind of spice. You were in the middle of a third deep inhale, safe in his arms, when the elevator groaned again, reminding you where you were. You wrenched yourself out of his embrace and slammed against the wall opposite of him with a jolt, pressing the help button frantically – but to no avail, it looked like the whole array was shot.

The elevator made another agonized noise and panic seized your lungs. 

“Well. I think the elevator’s stuck.” 

“It still m-moves. What if – what if it falls all the way d-down? We’re gonna – oh, fuck, we’re gonna die in here, aren’t we?” You warbled, slowly sliding to the ground. 

Jason’s brow furrowed, shadows dancing against his skin beneath the dim emergency light. “We’re not going to die in here, Y/N.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut when thunder rumbled irately, practically shaking the walls. “You can’t guarantee that.” 

“We’re probably not going to die in here.” He simpered, taking steady strides over to you and the buttons. 

You had to choke back whimper when the elevator tilted slightly. 

You heard him shifting slightly, setting his backpack on the ground and kneeling next to it. 

His knee bumped your knee and your eyes snapped open, but he continued shuffling around in his bag, unbothered by the physical contact. 

You didn’t want to die before you could find out who scored higher on that exam, but you refrained from voicing this aloud. For the moment. 

“So, you’re scared of centipedes and dying in an elevator. What else?” He asked in a low voice. 

In spite of the slightly dire situation, you flushed, reminded of the unfortunate insect incident in the library a few weeks ago. 

The answer left your mouth before you could swallow it. “You.” 

You were unsure of how serious that response was and maybe he was too, because the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Me? I’m harmless.”

As these words left his mouth, he unearthed a daunting piece of technical equipment from his backpack. 

You wanted to tell him that he was actually quite harmful to your emotional stability, but instead you asked, “What the hell is that?” 

His smirk grew into something even more dangerous, setting your heartbeat awry again. “Our way out.” He pressed a button and what might be a laser flashed and buzzed menacingly. 

“You’re a psychopath.” 

“I prefer creative.” Jason told you cheerily, turning away from you to wiggle the suspicious tool beneath a panel near the bottom row of buttons. 

There were some more unsettling buzzing noises, but he must have known what he was doing because several moments later, all of the lights blink on. 

He pressed the help button with his knuckle, and it rang shrilly in acknowledgement. 

“Now, we wait.” He scooted back a little so he could sit in front of you, cross-legged and almost boyish in the way he looked at you expectantly, more like a patient puppy than a muscly twenty-something with threatening equipment and novels in his backpack. 

You felt your face heat up again. “Oh. Great.” 

He leaned forward a little, one dark brown arched in inquisition. “Are you really scared of me?” 

Your stomach flipped a little because he was striking up close, pink mouth and strong nose framed by handsome angles, earthy olive skin littered with storybook scars, and eyes that whispered the most tragic of poems in a language you couldn’t quite understand. 

“I’m trying to figure it out.” 

“You must not be completely petrified because you seem quite calm, considering we’re in a confined space together. Also, you threw yourself at me.” 

You gaped at him indignantly. “I hate you.” 

“Why? I’m lovely. At least three different people tell me on a daily basis.” 

It was your turn to arch an eyebrow. “By people do you mean drooling college girls?” 

That smirk returned. “Old ladies crossing the street and soccer moms occasionally, too.” 

You crinkled your nose in distaste. “Bleh.” 

“Beauty is meant to be appreciated.” Jason stated, fixing you with a look of saccharine reverence that made you think, perhaps, he wasn’t referring to himself through the eyes of appreciative grown women. 

Bashful, you broke away from his gaze, finding sudden interest in your sweaty hands and playing with your fingers. 

“That’s why poets exist.” You muttered. 

“Shakespeare, sonnet eighteen.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Now, his smile was all sunflowers and chirping birds on a summer morning. “It means you’re beautiful and I want to compare you to a summer’s day. And take you on a date when we get out of this elevator. If you’ll let me.” 

It took a few moments to shake you out of your daze. “If we can get out of this elevator and avoid a Shakespearean tragedy, sure.”

[whatifexo]

Goodbye - Scenario Dump

Hello, everyone~ This is quite possibly the last thing I’m going to post on this blog. It’s a dump of three unfinished scenarios I wasn’t able to finish in the past 2 years. As you all probably saw coming, I can no longer find the motivation to continue updating this blog and writing on a daily basis. I could write a whole novel on why I’ve decided to leave, but I’ll keep it short: Life changes and so do we. These last 3-4 years with you all have been almost surreal. From your kind messages to our crazy drabble games, I really felt welcomed as a writer and contributor to the fandom. Thank you so much for sharing this creative space with me. I will miss you all dearly. For those who are willing to stick around with me a little longer, I’m actually way more active on this blog! I’m also working on writing a little fic there, and after it’s posted, we’ll see if I do more. But for now, that’s where you can find me.

And now, for the word vomit you’ve all been waiting for under the cut. These are unedited and unfinished so pls forgive me if you find errors, lol. Thank you, everyone! See you on the flip!

Red Carpet - Jaebum

New Year ’s Eve.

You’ve grown used to spending it with the familiar waft of cookies and hot chocolate, the crinkle of wrapping paper, and carols softly playing on the radio. This year, you spend the last night of the year alone, ironically so amidst the energetic chaos flying about backstage. At some point, you’d escaped the insistent hands of your stylists and bowed past several of your seniors, never lifting your head to make eye contact. Utmost respect meant quick greetings. No questions asked. No suspicions. No one took notice when you slipped out the back exit and ascended up the flight of stairs leading into the rooftop.

Nausea hits you as soon as you peer over the edge and spot the red carpet below, still bustling with activity. The flashes from the paparazzi are blinding even from far away. Around them, fans crowd behind the barricades, holding up signs and gifts. A wall of security stands guard at the sidelines. Sleek, black vans with tinted windows roll slowly down the street, dropping off the stars of the night. Just hours ago, you were one of the many idols who walked down that glamorous path.

Your stomach flips at the memory of the event.

There was an overwhelming response to your arrival, even more so when your name made headlines after your iconic debut stage.

______,The Rising Star. Korea’s Next BoA. The Nation’s Pride.

Crippling pressure weighed on you as soon as you first touched limelight. Your fans rapidly accumulated. Your albums sold out in mere days. You received offers for commercials and acting roles, you were invited to guest on entertainment shows. Your company’s sales soared, and in turn, they prioritized your promotions over your label mates’. After all of this, tonight, on the red carpet, they had asked you how you felt.

You now chuckle sadistically to yourself, grabbing onto the metal railing and hardly feeling the cold there.

They think you’re ecstatic. Absolutely thrilled and honored to be here amongst the leading celebrities of the country, ending the year with trophies and explosive performances. Tonight, the world expects you to live up to their expectations.

How can you possibly fulfill these demands when your stomach is in knots and your throat is chocked with anxiety?

Dropping your hands from the railing, you step back with wobbling knees. Your dress suddenly feels tight around your body, locking you in a wicked grip. The worst of your fears race through your head.

What if you don’t deserve all of this attention after all? What if you break on stage? What if your voice falters and cracks in the middle of your performance? What if your fans are disgusted by your self-composed songs?  

If they hate it…

The shock of this thought shoots through your bones like lightning, and you stumble back, your heel snagging in your long dress. You yelp in surprise as your body loses balance and falls backward, colliding with a broad and solid chest.

A pair of gentle hands catches you by the shoulders.  

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

The voice is deep and quiet. There’s familiarity in the man’s tone, as if you’d heard it before in a passing conversation. Your guard raises, and you pull away to face the stranger who you assume to be a passing senior or staff member.

“I’m sorry. I’ll head back in-“

“I don’t think taking a few breaths calls for an apology.”

Im Jaebum, leader of Got7, stares back at you inquisitively with a raised brow.

Your heart stutters in your chest. The last time you’d seen him, it had been in the dressing room hours ago, when he’d been sitting in front of the mirror having his hair styled. You were passing by in the hall and your eyes met briefly through your reflection on the glass. He looked startled, smiling politely before blushing by the tips of his ears. The staff had abruptly the door to his dressing room before you could react.

In contrast to then, the Jaebum in front of you now no longer seems so shy. Dark eyeliner accentuates his eyes, adding a heavy undertone to his gaze that warms your insides. You panic slightly under the weight of his undivided attention, eyes unnervingly focused and…concerned?

Surely, you must be wrong.

“If you’re questioning my motives, then yes, I actually did follow you up here,” Jaebum’s lips curve into a smile. Your face warms in response. “You looked sick and pale, and I know that look all too well.”

“You do?” you blurt out, eyes widening at yourself. You never do this. Never respond to your elders informally or entertain colleagues who made their advances. In revealing something more than your stage persona, you were afraid of exposing your vulnerabilities. So you became a shell. Bathed in the spotlight, but never letting anyone touch your core.

Jaebum has thrown all of your practice out the window.

“I remember when I felt that way,” Jaebum nods, as if confirming something in your eyes. He’s reading you as easily as an instruction manual, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I felt something like it after Jinyoung and I stopped promoting as JJ Project.”

Jaebum’s gaze softens. He slides past you to look over the railing where the activities of the red carpet event have begun to dwindle. You watch his back and taut shoulders for a moment, hesitating. He could be up to something. Leading you to let down your guard so he can tease and torture you about it later.

You’ve heard stories during your training period. How seniors sometimes pressured rookie artists, manipulating the rules of seniority in order to bully the ones on the lowest of tiers. The end goal was to drive the rookies to quit, weeding out the competition so the ones at the top may stay there. It was a sick, twisted game played by a select few, but still a possibility in this line of business.  

But to be played by Im Jaebum?

You shake your head.

He’s better than this. You know it with certainty. Those eyes that met with yours in the mirror held the truth, and somehow, you know you can trust him.

Joining him to stand by the railing, you watch Jaebum examine his hands, calloused and stretched on the back of his palms. With a start, you remember watching an interview of Got7 weeks ago while you were on standby in the waiting room. Jaebum recounted a story of his stray cats in the dorm, each who had bizarre, yet strangely endearing personalities.

You find yourself smiling before he even begins to speak.

“I think my whole world fell apart and rebuilt itself when I re-debuted with the boys.” he folds his hands, toying with his fingers in awkward movements. “I hated them for a time just because they were new and inexperienced. But God, did they grow on me fast. I wanted to show off as their senior, but who was I kidding? I was still shitting my pants before our debut stage.”

You laugh out loud at this, and Jaebum turns to you, mirth in his eyes despite his unfortunate story.

“You know why they call me out for being so hyperactive out there?” he jerks his head to the side, referring to an imaginary audience.

You shake your head, and he sighs softly.

“Because I don’t think I’ll ever forget the energy of my first stage. As in, my first genuine stage. I was happy. I didn’t care about what others might think of me in that moment or afterwards. I was out there losing myself in my craft, and that’s the only thing I hold on to when I perform. That should be your only concern tonight too.”

His eyes dart over to the red carpet briefly, and you shiver, both from the chill of the night and the implication of his words.

“How did you know?” you stare up at him, wondering. In a matter of minutes, he’d figured you out. Related with your emotions and churning thoughts. Though all he did was talk about himself, you don’t think this is really about him. Not completely. Otherwise, he would have approached this conversation with much more arrogance.

No, that’s not it.

He’s comforting you.

The realization has your pulse quickening.  

“You can say I know from experience.” Jaebum grins with a degree of shyness, as if reading into your thoughts.

You hold his gaze for a few beats. The familiar flush on his ears has returned, but his eyes are unwavering. For the first time tonight, you let out an unlabored breath. Your heart is still running a marathon, but this time, in a good way. Jaebum is still watching you as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“Thank you.”

“For what? The pleasure is mine.”

There’s mischief laced in Jaebum’s voice.

You crack an eye open.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” Jaebum says incredulously, lips quirking into a smile. “I’m actually one of your biggest fans.”

The world freezes for a second.

The distant camera flashes halt to a stop, the sound of screaming fans dim to an acute noise, and the cold air lifts from your skin, warming your body from inside out.  Your vision blurs from the intoxication of Jaebum’s confession. His timid smile is all you can see.

“Why me?” you ask more to yourself than to Jaebum, recalling all the times you’ve quietly watched him with awe from behind the scenes, the charismatic leader of his team. Someone as occupied and charming as he wouldn’t have time to admire a rookie idol like you.

“Why not you?” Jaebum challenges, raising a brow.

“Because…” you struggle to reason with him. You’re not up to par with him. He’s several years your senior. You have not yet shown your full potential. “…because I’m me.”

“You’re being unfair, _______.” Jaebum chuckles, though his tone is bitter. “I didn’t come up here to get rejected.”

Your eyes shoot up to his in alarm.

“I wasn’t-“

“Rejecting me? I know, it’s hard not to.”

You barely manage to keep yourself from cringing.  

Jaebum, on the other hand, completely fails to hide his horror. Even in the dark, the dim glow of the moon is enough to expose his flushed cheeks.

Vicissitude - Part 3 (Chanyeol)

“Care to tell me why you haven’t been to work for the past three days?”

Kyungsoo is scary.

He entered the kitchen twenty minutes ago without saying a word, silently tiptoeing around you and your laptop at the table to brew some coffee. You’d almost forgotten he was there until he cleared his throat, paused for a solid few seconds, then dropped the big question.

You were hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But his low profile tendencies have a reason behind it, which is being highly aware of his surroundings and noticing changes.  Which you’ve clearly made.

You’re actually doing your homework.

A lot of it.

Along with other things.

“Oh, you know,” you say over the whirring of the coffee machine. “Places to be. People to meet.”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

You never knew Kyungsoo had so much sass in him. The quiet, deadly kind of sass that catches you off guard because he’s being so painfully casual for someone who’s about to pry for information.

And his back is still turned on you.

“I still haven’t gotten my paycheck, by the way.” you’re stalling, which is painfully obvious. “I’m going on strike.”

Kyungsoo finally shows his face after pressing a button on the coffee machine, the whirring immediately subsiding after he lifts the mug from the base of the machine. He studies you quietly without an ounce of emotion on his face, and you try to mimic the same neutral expression but you know you just probably look like you’re constipated.

“Paychecks come out every two weeks. And considering that you’ve also skipped out on the past few days…..” he doesn’t finish knowing that you understand the deal here.

No work, no pay.

You sigh, acknowledging defeat and turning back to your laptop to finish up that government paper you’re only halfway finished with because you didn’t actually start writing it until three days ago. Somewhere along the line, you’ve turned writing papers into a form of distraction.

In actuality, you hate writing. But it gives you something to do and think about other than the lingering touch of Yixing’s lips and the thin layer of guilt there that you’re still trying to figure out.

As usual, forgetting things isn’t as easy as it seems.

“Please tell me you’re going to go away soon.” you say without looking up from your laptop, because you know very well that Kyungsoo is still standing there with his coffee and he hasn’t shown any sign of movement.

He’s also making you think of things again which is bad. Very bad.

“I’m waiting.”

He wants answers.

He’s been hanging out with Baekhyun too much. He’s slowly getting just as annoying. And by annoying you mean being able to read right through you even with the façade you’re showing.

Are you really that readable?

“Then keep waiting.” you pull down your laptop screen and grab for your coat behind your chair, and only now does Kyungsoo set down his coffee in mild surprise.

“Where are you going?”

He sounds like your mom whenever you ask her if you can hang with some friends she doesn’t recognize the names of at any time past nine in the evening.  

Mind you, it’s only three in the afternoon right now. Therefore, Kyungsoo can’t call you out on this.

“On a walk.” you offer him a salute, which he doesn’t take very well as he scrunches his brows in thought back at you.

Amazing how much character development he can show within only a week or so after meeting him for the first time. There’s also the fact that you’ve somewhat taken a liking to him during your time at the lounge whenever you’d exchange random pleasantries in between working breaks.

Or how he randomly takes care of the people around him without much thought through simple things. Such as waking Baekhyun up every morning without yelling at him about his alarm that wakes just about everyone in the cabin except for him. And how he’ll diligently listen to Chanyeol’s guitar playing and actually give feedback unlike Jongin who merely offers a nod of approval whenever Chanyeol asks for his opinion.

The way he’d wash Yixing’s favorite purple hoodie every night and run it through the dryer because that’s how often that boy wears it.

Now he’s trying to ease off some of the burden from you too.

Except this isn’t his fight.

And he must realize it too with the way he’s fallen silent again.

That is, until you reach the front door and he calls out for you right before you slip outside into the freezing temperatures. You can’t help but stop and wait for his word of advice.

“If you can’t tell me, tell someone who deserves to hear it.”

~~~

Your little ‘walk’ lasts about ten minutes tops until you decide to turn right around and come back to the comfort of the fireplace indoors. It must be below zero degrees today, with the fog making it nearly impossible to spot anything more than a foot away from you.

You’d only gone out about half a mile or so, but twenty minutes later you’re still walking and slowly beginning to panic as time continues to stretch and you fail to spot the cabin or the others that should be nearby.

Your vicinity isn’t exactly at its best given the circumstances.

To add on to the already dangerous situation, you hadn’t brought your cell phone with you either.

Brilliant, _________, just brilliant.

You wanted to drift far away from your problems but you didn’t actually want to be this far away.

Not even a sign of civilization.    

You’ve never hated yourself more than you do now.

Another set of time passes, you have no idea how much, but by then your nose is frozen and you’re certain you’re only minutes away from getting frostbite on your toes. Along with that, you’re also left with some thinking time, and said thinking time encompasses just about everything odd and dramatic that has occurred throughout the course of this trip and what exactly you need to do to survive this and finally untangle the tangled affairs of your heart.

And just when you think you might die without clearing up your ongoing issues, salvation comes.

There’s a guy wearing a bright orange jacket walking in the opposite direction as you, and at first you think it’s Taemin because you’re very familiar with that jacket.

Though when you yell out and frantically flail your hands to catch his attention, you realize two things.

One, the guy is certainly not Taemin. His shoulders are too broad to be Taemin and he’s also a few inches taller than Taemin.

Two, Kyungsoo’s words of wisdom just slapped you in the face.

“_______? Are you okay? What are you doing out here? God, you’re freezing.”

There are hands on your cheeks. Warm ones. Warm hands in the middle of Arctic weather. And if you close your eyes long enough, you can almost picture home.

“Chanyeol, I’m cold.”

His hands slip from your cheeks and you hear the unzipping of his jacket, crunching of the snow, and then there’s fabric being wrapped around your neck.

You open your eyes, instantly regretting it after finding Chanyeol standing closer than before. While he’s focused on burrowing you underneath his scarf, you take in the bits of snow nestled in his bright hair and the urgency in his movements.

The deep line of worry across his forehead.

You don’t know what to make of this. You don’t know what to make of anything.

All you know is that you have to tell him something.

Anything.

“Let’s get you back inside.”

He’s tugging at your arm, and when you don’t respond, his hold slips to your wrist and he forces you to stumble after him.

He’s not asking any questions.

Which worries you more than the cold piercing into your skin.

“Chanyeol.”

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before you start developing frost bite, but I don’t think we’re too far from the cabin. We’ll make it.”

That all sounds great and relieving but it’s not exactly why you called him in the first place.

“Chanyeol.”

“We should really pick up the pace, though. Just in case I’m wrong about where we are and we both end up-“

“Yeol.”

That seems to quiet him.

He slows his pace but doesn’t stop. You still consider it a small victory as his ears flare a hint of pink at his newly birthed nickname, and you feel yourself flush too. You aren’t concerned with that because your whole face is too frozen to show a hint of color anymore.

It’s just the embarrassed feeling that lingers.

That’s not stopping you.

You need to say this before you get back to the cabin and the magic of being alone and somewhat courageous out here begins to wear off.

“In sophomore year, my favorite instrument was the guitar.” you feel his grip on your wrist loosen which means he’s finally listening. You sniff and breathe out, watching your breathe puff out in a white cloud before disappearing into the fog surrounding the two of you like a heavy cloak. “And then I went out with Yixing.”

Chanyeol stops so suddenly you nearly walk straight into him.

He turns to face you, and as soon as he does you launch into an unpracticed narration of a story you haven’t told in a while and count down the minutes you have left before you really need to book it back indoors and possibly hide forever.

“I was ignorant to music until I heard him one day in the practice room, strumming some random song I wasn’t familiar with, and I don’t know why I stayed but I did until the very end of my lunch period and he looked up past the glass on the door straight into my eyes after the song ended. I knew I loved him the moment he sang to me that same song in front of the whole student council.”

Chanyeol’s eyes have gotten so wide his whole pupils are showing.

“People said things, of course. We broke the sacrilegious rule of seniors exclusively dating seniors. But that didn’t matter. I didn’t care as long as we were together. What really mattered was that he scored a scholarship in Europe and he was bound to leave the day after his graduation.”

You’ve started shaking and it isn’t from the cold.

Chanyeol reaches out towards your shivering fingers, hesitates, then stuffs his awkward hands in his pockets as a final resolution, and you mirror his position as you bite back tears.

“He gave me a note through his music player. Some sort of voice note on why he didn’t want to leave. But you see, I knew he had to. I wasn’t worth a promising future music career. There was so much waiting for him over there, but with me, he’d forever be stuck over here. I wanted to be selfish and that thought scared me.”

You’re almost done here. It’s obvious the ending sounds near and Chanyeol knows it too. He’s looking at you as if the world is falling. You’re glad the crisp, cruel air dries your eyes and snatches any chances of tears trickling down.  

“The last thing I heard from him was that he loved me. And the last thing I told him was goodbye.”

There’s a hole in this story.

Not a fairytale ending or a solution, but an important puzzle piece that you’ve missed. One that’s been there all along, hidden, unknown until you heard the gentle strings of the guitar again two years later.

And that single piece throws you off kilter. Rearranging everything else in a whole different picture.

What terrifies you the most is that it’s standing right in front of you.

“Was it, though?” Chanyeol’s voice has gone quiet in a way that you recognize because that’s what people sound like when they’re shattered. “Was it really a goodbye?”

Yixing and Chanyeol are friends.  

You weren’t aware of this and from the looks of it, neither was he, which means that Yixing has kept more secrets than you realize and maybe Chanyeol knows more than what you give him credit for.

You want to call it unfair that one day, you’re still stuck trying to get over the image of your first love and then in the next, he’s tugging at your heart again but it’s refusing to follow. Not anymore. There’s a new reason behind the pounding in your chest and you hadn’t expected to identify its source in the middle of nowhere.

Where it’s just you and the boy who’s asking if you’re willing to give the past a second chance.

“I don’t know.”

Chanyeol nods in slow motion, like he’s confirmed something scientifically. His feet are heavy when he turns, his boots driving deep into the snow, and you want to follow him and ask why he’s trying to solve a mystery that you feel is only a misunderstanding.

That would’ve been easier to do if you hadn’t seen him bite his lower lip before shutting you out.

He’s not the only one who’s made a breakthrough.

It doesn’t hit you suddenly, but it settles in as slowly as Chanyeol is trudging away. The image of Yixing trapping you that day against the shelves flashes through your memory, and you faintly remember closing your eyes, feeling tender lips that are certainly not Yixing’s.

You know how his mouth fits against yours already. You’ve always known.

The moment you closed your eyes and imagined someone else was a different story. Nowadays, you wish you never have to close them because there’s only one thing that enters your mind and it has nothing to do with Yixing.

Instead, it has everything to do with his friend, and what it would be like to melt against him.

Today - Jaebum

September 22, 2017

Contrary to what they say in trashy teen magazines, first love doesn’t always begin with a heart fluttering, innocent and graceful encounter. You feel obligated to correct that misleading piece of information. You almost mark it out with your pen, correcting the writer’s mistake, but then you remember that you’re not supposed to be the critic here.

You’re supposed to be searching for inspiration. Finding a subject for your next article. You’ve sat in this God-knows-where cafe for an hour, pouring over a pile of publications, desperate to find something. Blindly reaching for an unborn idea.

“Your stories have become bland.” Mark, your editor and usually kind companion, had delivered an uppercut punch before he even finished reading your last feature article. His blatant criticism shocked you. Not once has he ever complained about your writing. It quickly became a quest to please him again.

“This writing no longer sounds like you. Are you even enjoying this anymore?”

It’s not that you’ve lost interest. It’s just that sometimes, you find yourself holding back.  

“Write me something compelling and don’t even think of that promotion until you win me over.”

You didn’t think he was cruel enough to hang the managing editor title over your head. Additionally, he had struck a chord by sneaking in several romance pieces in your resources pile.

You get the hint.

In fairness, there used to be a time when you would eagerly compose romantic writings and hold on to love stories as if they were your own. Your former self embraced romance and took any risk that came your way. That was before he taught you to think twice. He taught you the reality to false beliefs. He taught you everything you know today.

These days, you’ve learned to choose your battles. Today, you find yourself surrendering to the nearly forgotten memories. As you read further down the advice column on first loves, clearly written by a young and inexperienced writer, you’re brought back to the first time you ever gave your heart away.

The very first meeting. When it was nowhere near how the fairytales described it, or how you imagined the love of your life would come to you.  

Because the weather is fair, because Mark is telling you to, because you don’t have much choice, you allow yourself to remember.

Just one last time.

~~~

September 21, 2013

The crash happens while you’re attempting to merge lanes.

You swear you made sure to look, not once but thrice, gauging the blurred lights on your side mirror and passing in front of the car that had seemed far away enough. You could say it was because of the rain. You could say that the pressure overcame you, that you were racing against the passing time that refused to wait for you.

A minute ago, you’d been accelerating without fear of the wet roads, pleading that you make it in time for your first internship. A minute later, you’re hearing the screech of metal and your body is being jolted forward. You don’t realize your car has lost control until you feel the wheels under you skidding sideways to a stop, just missing the guard rail, your life quite literally flashing before your eyes in an instant.

You find your hands shaking when you glance up at yourself through the crooked rearview mirror.

Except for your flushed cheeks, there are no signs of injury. No blood. All limbs intact.

The storm of honking behind you brings you back to your senses.  

“Are you fucking crazy?”

The driver of the other car is knocking on your window.

Drenched in rain, he has his phone pressed against his ear, probably calling for the police. Instead of worry, anger lines his face like the crack of thunderbolt.

His rude shouting somehow dissolves your fear and aggravates you, while a part of you admits that you’re mostly at fault. But your swelled up pride wins out over admitting your faults. The idea of losing even such a trivial and obvious battle as this one is utterly humiliating and embarrassing for you.

Especially since you just made a rookie mistake by trying to rush to work.

At least you’re willing to admit that you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.

Instead of rolling down the window and apologizing profusely or trading insurance information like what you’re generally supposed to do after a crash, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the rain.  

The guy is in mid sentence on his phone--something about giving directions and reporting a crash caused by ‘a dumb bitch’--when you slam your door closed and look up at him with blazing eyes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the idea of courtesy died with the beginning of your very existence.” you shout over the roar of the storm, the cars whizzing by, and the driver’s angry conversation over the line.

He stops yelling into his phone for a moment, jaw dropping open at your brazenness. You can see that he’s pissed, absolutely insulted, and you can already tell what kind of response he has in store for you.

“What did you just say to me?”

He steps forward with a threatening glare, puncturing your personal bubble until your back hits the side of your car. From up close, you can tell that he’s young, maybe around the same age as you. The sharp angles on his face create an illusion of older age. You know better than to be fooled, because a proper adult wouldn’t choose to wear ripped jeans on a rainy day or drive at sixty miles in a forty zone. A proper adult wouldn’t stand in the rain long enough just to fight a reckless girl and get their clothes soaked.

You’re aware of all this, yet you’re still fanning the flames.

“It’s shitty enough that I’m late for my internship. But to get hit by a self absorbed asshole? I must’ve murdered a whole town in my past life.”

“Are you kidding?” the guy scoffs, pounding his hand against your car. “I think you’re forgetting who fucking swerved into my lane without even thinking about it!”

“If you care to know, I checked three full times and saw a clear road!”

“Well damn then, let me call an eye doctor for your blind ass while I’m at it!”

“My ‘blind ass’ happened to keep your speeding ass in check!”

“Fuck me, you’re one to talk!”

“I may have lost a very important job opportunity because of you!”

“And because of you, my boss is going to slit my throat once he finds out that I wrecked his company’s car!”

You’re close to throwing fists by the time the police and ambulance arrive. You only break apart when an officer threatens to arrest the both of you if you don’t stop disturbing the peace. This makes no sense to you as the thunderous sky and building traffic are nowhere close to peaceful, but you step back and allow yourself to get examined by the paramedics.

On the other hand, the driver that had hit you is preoccupied with inspecting his car, running his fingers over the dent on his hood somberly as if he’d just lost a precious member of his family. Obviously, he has more concern for his vehicle than an actual person.

“Insolent prick.” you mutter under your breath when he later joins you in the back of the towing truck.

“I heard that.” he hisses back, the driver next to you shifting uncomfortably at your exchange of hostilities.

It takes hours to settle your dispute and walk away as calmly as you can with your car totaled and many dollars to spend. You contact the internship (Mark)

You hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.

[ssimagines]

Call My Aunt Marie || Barry Allen||Cancer 4

Pairing: Barry Allen x Sick!Reader

Word Count: 2698

Summary: You have cancer and are currently going through chemo therapy. You are currently seeing forensic scientist, Barry Allen. You are trying to figure how to work with your condition as it worsens.

Warnings: Serious illness, Cancer, Sorta sad not really, minor swear words

Note: this is based off Cancer by MCR covered by TØP. Sorry It’s been so long since I updated this series. Here is this part. It was up for like 6 minutes, but it was before major editing so here’s this one now sorry. 

One more part!!

Masterlist

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

You sat in front of the toilet emptying your stomach into the porcelain bowl. Your cheek was pressed to the cool seat in a soothing manner. Taking a deep breath, you pushed off the floor and flushed the toilet. You walked to the bathroom sink and started brushing your teeth.

The girl in the mirror no longer looked like the person that you knew. Her skin was pulled taut over her face. Her bones jutted out against her skin, and all the color in her skin seemed to be gone. She was no longer you.

You leaned onto your hands which were securely holding onto opposite sides of the sink. Your nose was nearly pressed to the mirror as you studied your eyes.

“Y/N,” you heard a voice call. You jumped as you turned around to see Barry. His eyes were adjusting to the bathroom light and still clouded with sleep. His hair was sticking up in all directions. His tall frame leaned against the door frame facing you.

You leaned back against the counter and looked at your boyfriend. He had been practically living with you since you had shaved your head nearly a month ago. The boy never left your side unless he had to go to work. It was nice to have him there.

“What are you doing up?” you said softly. Your throat was raw from your puking and the chemo in general. You couldn’t raise your voice above a whisper.

“I heard you in here,” Barry responded. “I came to check up on you. Is everything alright?”

Barry pushed off the door frame and came up to you wrapping his arm around your waist. You buried your face into his neck as you let him hold you. The toothbrush was still in your hand as you wrapped your arms around the muscular man. You were careful to not let the tip of your toothbrush touch Barry’s bare side.

As you stood in his arms you felt tears start to well up in your eyes. It wasn’t long before the tears were flowing freely, pouring out of you like there was no tomorrow. Barry pulled you in tighter and rubbed your back in slow gentle circles. 

The two of you stood like that for quite a while. It wasn’t until your tears stopped coming that you pulled away. Turning back to the sink, you finished brushing your teeth with Barry standing behind you watching. You refused to look at his eyes afraid of what you might see.

Lately he would give you this look. It was one clouded with pity, desperation, and guilt and you just could not deal with it. It wasn’t Barry’s fault that you were sick, but you felt like he was blaming himself and you just couldn’t deal with it.

After returning your toothbrush to where you kept it, you made your way back to your bed. Barry followed you turning off the bathroom light on his way out of the small room. You crawled into the bed getting cozy underneath the large number of blankets.

When Barry had seen your bed the first time with all the fuzzy blankets piled on it, he had laughed. You explained to him that the chemo made your body really cold and sensitive to the touch. The blankets warmed you, and the feeling of them against your skin soothed the irritation that basically everything else caused. He didn’t say anything else about them until he stayed over that night and was too warm to sleep. His solution was just wearing less to bed.

Barry slipped under the blankets and cuddled up behind you bringing you into his chest. His arm wrapped loosely around your waist as his head nuzzled into the back of your neck.

“Barry, everything hurts,” you whispered as tears started to emerge again.

“I know,” he said into the crook of your neck.

Barry kissed your neck gently and took his hand that was around your waist and ran it up and down your arm. The room was filled with the sounds of your sobs and his gentle shushing. Every once in awhile, he would press a kiss you your neck.

“I love you,” he said softly after a few minutes. You got control of your breathing a little which calmed your sobs.

You turned around in his arms to look up at the beautiful man. There were tears still on your eyelashes distorting your view of Barry. He brought his hand up to your cheek and wiped away some of your tears. His fingers brushed against your face so lightly you could have imagined it.

You looked down and snuggled your head into your boyfriend’s chest. You could faintly hear the man’s quick-beating heart. Barry’s hand found your chin and brought you face up to look at him. There were tears budding at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said repeated probably thinking you hadn’t heard him. “I know we might have only known each other for a few months, but I feel like it’s been way longer. I love you”

“I love you too,” you said tears again pouring out of you. “But that’s what scares me Barry. I’m dying.” Your voice cracked when you spoke, but you continued, “the chemo isn’t working and I don’t have much time left. I’m going to leave you, and then where will you be? I’m a ticking time bomb, Bare.”

“I’ll be by your side,” Barry said. “I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you because I love you. I promise.”

Barry kissed you softly. You pulled him closer keeping the gentle slow pace. You tasted both of your tears and his as you kissed. When you pulled away out of breath, you placed your face back into Barry’s shoulder. Your arms found their way around his waist as he rubbed warm circle on your back.

You fell asleep just like that.

You slept soundly after that not waking up until the morning when Barry had to leave for work. You fell back asleep after he had left and had slept until your aunt woke you up for your doctor’s appointment. She sat through the appointment with you, but she didn’t walk back with you because she had to go to work.

Arriving at the worn door of the two-bedroom apartment Marie had lived in for as long as you remembered, you stopped to look over it. Your keys were in your hand as you studied the door trying to remember each aspect of it. Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and stepped inside.

You closed the door as you scanned the kitchen and living area. Small parts of both you and Barry were among your aunt’s things. You walked over to the tv stand and ran your hand along the top of the tv thinking about all the times in the past two weeks Barry and you had watched tv together curled up on the couch.

You walked to the hallway and kicked off your shoes there. There were three doors branching off of the hallway: two bedrooms and one closet. There were pictures on the walls.  You made your way slowly down the hall looking at the pictures. There were ones with your whole family and some of just your aunt and her late husband. All the smiling faces of the people you loved. There was even a picture of you and your aunt at CC Jitters from when you had moved to Central City.

Reaching your Aunt’s room, you stepped in looking over everything. More pictures of her and her husband on the walls. There were knick-knacks that she had gathered over the years scattered around on the dresser and nightstands. A large bookshelf was pressed into one of the corners of the room and was filled with tons of books that you would never get to read. You ran your fingers along the spine of the books longing reading all the titles of the classics as well as some sappy romance novels.

Taking a deep breath, you exited the room and made your way into the guest room that you had called yours for the past three months. There was so much of you in this room. Pictures of you with your parents and your siblings were on the wall. There were pictures of your friends from college and high school on the dresser. There was even a picture that Barry had given you of the two of you on the nightstand. There was the ratty copy of To Kill A mockingbird next to the photo as well as your reading glasses placed on top of the book.

You moved into the bathroom that was connected to the room. Your makeup and necklaces were scattered across the counter top. Your eyes were soon met with all the drugs you had to take. The ugly orange bottles stared at you challenging you almost. You took a deep breath and picked up the bottles. You opened them one by one and dumped the pills in the toilet and threw the containers in the trash until they were all gone. You flushed the toilet feeling victorious.

You took a deep breath and looked at yourself in the mirror. The girl there looked more like you than the one you had seen last night. There was more life in her cheeks and her eyes seemed less dead. You ran your hands along your face and up to your hat. Taking it off revealing your bald head to yourself. You threw that away as well and made your way out of the bathroom to your bed.

You got under the covers of the still unmade bed and drifted off to sleep.

You woke up coughing violently an hour later. You covered your mouth, but when you pulled away you were shocked to see blood.

You got out of bed and ran out of your room. You tripped over your shoes that you had kicked off when you were looking around earlier and feel hard against the wood floor. You were too weak to get up as another set of coughing took over you again. You heard running in the mix of your hacking. A warm arm wrapped around your shoulder and helped you off the floor. You craned your neck to see Barry. Panic was written on his face as he looked you over.

He picked you up with one arm around you and the other under your knees. You shielded your mouth as the coughing continued. The blood was once again exiting your body as it hit your arm and ran down your chin. You felt a breeze, and the next thing you knew you were in the ER.

“We need help,” Barry called, and two nurses and a doctor came rushing over to you. “My girlfriend fell and is coughing up blood. Please Help Me.”

Barry kept repeating himself over and over as the nurses helped get you situated on a gurney. You grabbed Barry’s hand as they began whatever they had do. You squeezed his hand tightly. Coughs were still wracking your body still, and a nurse put a breathing mask on you.

“Call my aunt Marie,” you said in between coughs lifting the mask just enough. Barry just nodded as he pulled away to make the call.

The nurses were getting you hooked up to an IV as you laid their coughing. The doctor called to somewhere about some test that you didn’t care enough to listen to as the oxygen helped you get your breath back and stop coughing.

“You’re going to be okay,” one of the nurses said squeezing your arm lightly. You just nodded at him even though you knew that that wasn’t true.

Barry’s POV

The waiting room was decorated in pale blues and greens. The chair that I was seated in wasn’t all that comfortable, but I made do. My hands rested balled up in one another as I anxiously twisted one in the other. I kept my head down looking at my bouncing knee that kept pace with the ticking clock on the wall. I brought my hand up to rub my forehead out of habit.

Marie sat beside me. Her face was passive as she read a book. Everything about her looked so laid back that it made me mad. Here I was going out of my mind as the girl I loved was somewhere suffering, and she just sits there calmly.

I had been there for about an hour. Marie had joined me about 20 minutes ago having come directly from work. Y/N had been taken away nearly fifty minutes ago. I had been promised that I would be able to see her again when she was situated in a room.

“Marie Joseph,” a voice called. My head shot up and looked to the woman who had spoken. Marie put her book away and picked her bag up beside me. I stood up when Marie did and walked with her over to the woman.

“I’m Marie,” she spoke. “How is my niece doing? Can we see her now?”

“Her coughing has stopped and the fall did no lasting damage,” the woman said. “She is in room 315 if you would like to see her.”

“Thank you,” I said. The woman gave a pert nod before walking away. I watched her for a moment before gesturing to Marie to follow me. We walked silently to the elevator. I pressed the button, and the elevator was there in moments. It was empty when we stepped on.

“She’s not okay, is she?” I said as the doors closed. Marie let out a sigh.

“No, Barry,” she said. I looked at the older woman. The passive expression had been replaced by one of sadness as she looked forward with a frown.

“How long does she have?” I said. My voice was quieter than I had expected it to be. Marie laid a hand on my arm.

“The doctor’s this morning said not much longer now,” she said.

“I didn’t know she had an appointment this morning,” it hurt that she hadn’t told me.

“She didn’t want you to know,” she spoke again. “I think she feared you wouldn’t like what they had to say. I know it seems mean of her to leave you out of it, but she just wants to protect you from this.”

“That’s not her job,” I said and pressed the third-floor button hard causing it to crack slightly. “I’m supposed to be the one protecting her. This is my fault. If I hadn’t changed the time line, then she wouldn’t have gotten sick. I was supposed to protect her.”

At this point I was sobbing. Marie stepped closer to me wrapping her arms around me.

“Oh honey, this is not your fault there was nothing that you did that caused this,” Marie said.

The doors slid open on level three. I diverted my attention to the floor and stepped out of the elevator away from Marie. She stood there a moment longer before she too stepped out. The doors closed behind us.

There was a sign posted with room numbers. It said 300-340 to the left. I raced down the hall looking for the room. Of course, I wasn’t running as fast I could have, but I was running fast enough that a nurse at the nurse station yelled at me. I heard Marie taking a leisurely pace behind me.

I nearly passed Y/N’s room. I only realized when I saw her in the bed through the window. I grabbed onto the door frame to help stop my forward movement and turned to walk in.

Her face lit up when she saw me.

“Barry,” she said. Her voice was soft, but even. She reached out to me and I quickly came to grab her hand.

“Hey, beautiful,” I said pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“You’re still here,” she spoke again. “I thought you would have gone back to work.”

“I told,” I started, “I’m never going to leave you.”

Part 5

[silverschaos]

Detention | Reggie Mantle

Pairing: Reggie Mantle x Reader

Description: A bad day leads to you getting detention and getting close to the last person you’d ever thought you would.

Warnings: there’s a swear or two in there fo’sho.

Word Count: 1977

A/N: this isn’t the greatest and trying to write reggie was different but here we are. lemme know what you think. i also just added everyone from my usual tagslist bc i remembered this time. ok cool. 

Trouble wasn’t something you found yourself in often. You were the good student with the highest grades, never truant and had a reputation for being nice and polite to everyone. It was one of the reasons why everyone enjoyed your company. You were usually the nicest, friendliest and most positive person around school. There’d only been one time you’d ever gotten into trouble and that was in second grade when you’d stole Jughead’s hat off his head because you thought it was cool and put it on your own. He’d cried because you’d refused to give him it back so the teacher yelled at you, gave you a timeout and made you gave the hat back. That was the only time in your whole sixteen years of age. Up until today. It had been a particularly bad morning. First the stupid alarm hadn’t gone off making you half an hour late then the moment you stepped outside mother nature decided to work against you and send a mass of rainfall. There had been no time for the bus so you’d ran all the way to school getting splashed by the passing cars on the road. By the time you got to school you were drenched, late and in the worst mood possible. Your usual happy smile was nowhere to be seen. Instead, you stormed into the classroom, threw your books down on the desk and sat yourself in your seat with a huff, arms crossed over your chest.

“(Y/N) when you’re late to class, I expect a reason and for you to slide in without making a ruckus,” the teacher glared at you now standing in front of your desk. You scoffed. “Bite me.” The gasp of a few of your classmates could be heard, a shocked looked on your teacher's face that soon turned to thunder. “Get to the headmaster's office, now.” It wasn’t until you were sat outside the headmaster’s office next to Reggie Mantle when it really hit you that you’d messed up. The panic set in. Would this go on your permanent record? Would you get expelled? Suspended? Surely that was too much of a punishment for bad mouthing a teacher, right? Nervously chewing your nails, your leg bounced up and down in anticipation of what was about to happen. You’d never in your life been to see the headmaster for anything bad like this. This was quite possibly the worst day of your life. Maybe that was a bit dramatic but nothing like this ever happened to you. “Chill, it’s gonna be fine.” You snapped your head to your right to see Reggie looking at you, an amused look on his face. “What’s the school’s resident goody two shoes doing sat outside the headmaster's office, huh?” “Shutup, Reggie,” you said timidly. Reggie wasn’t exactly someone you were on great terms with. At any given opportunity, he and his squad were always hurling comments at you and your best friend Jughead. It was mainly at Jughead more than you although you did get the occasional comment every now and then. You were loyal to Jug, though. He’d never admit it, but you knew how much it bothered him when they were always on at him. “Aw, come on,” Reggie started, arms folded over his chest. “No. You’re rude and mean and full of yourself and I don’t want to talk to you so just lea-” Before you could finish your sentence, the headmaster stepped out of his office, calling you in. You gulped, picking your bag up and walking in the room to meet your fate. “Feels weird dropping you off at detention,” Jughead chuckled, coming to a stop outside the door that had detention on the front of it. You frowned, leaning against the wall. “Don’t laugh, Juggie. This is the worst day of my life.” “Oh god, can you get any more dramatic?” You shot him a glare with your arms folded across your chest. In your world this was the worst day of your life. The punishment for your little clapback was a week's worth of detention which wasn’t too bad but you’d never had detention before. Not once. Jughead found it hilarious that you were panicking so much over something as simple as detention. All you had to do was go in the room, sit down for an hour and read a book or do some work. It wasn’t exactly complex but to you it was terrifying. “Well, here goes. Meet you at Pop’s in an hour?” You asked to which Jughead nodded his head. That was your usual after school routine only today you’d be a little bit behind schedule. “Sure thing, trouble. Try not to go too crazy in there,” he grinned, giving you a patronising pat on the head before he headed off probably to sit at Pop’s and work on his novel while he waited for you. As you stepped into the room, you noticed there was only one other person sat there (along with the teacher at the front desk but that was a given). Of course, it was the one and only Reggie Mantle. As he heard the door open, his head perked up and a smirked graced his face as he saw you timidly walk in and sit yourself down on the desk to his right. You pulled out a book and some homework you needed to get done before finally turning to look at him. As you were about to open your mouth to speak, Reggie held his index finger up to his lips telling you to be quiet. You’d forgot that talking in detention was a big no-no. So, with a sigh you turned back to your work. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later when the teacher had to leave the room telling you both to stay put that he actually spoke to you. “See, told you it wasn’t gonna be that bad!” He said smugly. “Not that bad? I’m in detention,” you groaned, putting your pen down on your paper and turning to look at him. “How often are you here?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Not often. Got into a bit of trouble for purposely tripping over some dude in football. ” “Do you get a kick out of being a dick to people or something?”

“What? No.” He actually seemed offended which took you back a little bit. “I’m actually a pretty decent person.” “Try telling Jughead that.” He frowned, looking at his work instead of you. “That’s just… that’s just banter when I’m with the guys. Nothing personal.” You ignored him so he carried on talking. “Look, I’ll prove to you I’m a decent guy. Let’s play twenty questions.” Was he serious? Did he really want to play a stupid game to prove he wasn’t a complete jerk? Getting to know him a bit better might not be the worst thing in the world but at the same time you were in detention. The teacher could walk through the door any minute now causing you to get into even more trouble. You eyed the boy who looked incredibly sincere so you nodded your head. “Fine, Reggie. Um, what’s your favourite colour?” “Blue. That was a lame question. What’s your favourite food at Pop’s?” So, that was how the next ten minutes were spent. You shot questions back at each other, learning new things. You saw how passionate he was about football, how much he loved his family and how when he was on his own he wasn’t that bad of a guy. It made you seem him in a whole new light. Your fun was cut short, though when the teacher walked back into the room but the both of you sat there with smiles on your faces. That’s how detention for the next week went - you’d play a game of twenty questions until you got talking about something and the teacher walked in. If the teacher was in the room, you’d lowkey pass notes to each other with silly little jokes and comments. It was safe to say you and Reggie Mantle had formed some kind of friendship. It even showed during normal school hours when he’d walk past and say hi to you and even to Jughead which caused your best friend to automatically assume the world was about to end and everyone should prepare for the apocalypse. It wasn’t until the last day of detention when a wave of sadness hit you that you wouldn’t get this alone time with Reggie anymore that you realised you had feelings for him. So, you did the only thing you usually did when you caught feelings for anyone and that was shut them out. Relationships never ended well for you. Your last boyfriend had dumped you to get with one of the cheerleaders and after that you'd vowed off catching feelings or dating again. At one point you'd had feelings for Archie but shut them down and thankfully they passed but this with Reggie was difficult. Anytime he said hi to you or smiled your way all you wanted to do was bound over to him and talk to him but instead you put your head down and ignored him. He was confused and hurt. One day when you were sat at the table in the library reading a book, you heard a chair been moved and looked up to see Reggie with a confused look plastered on his face. "I remember you told me sometimes on free periods you like to hide out in the library and read so..." He half smiled then sighed. "What's going on, (Y/N)? Is everything okay?" "Yeah, everything's fine," you tore your gaze away from him and focused back on your hook, giving him short snippy answers. "Did I do something? I'm sorry if I did." He sounded sad and that hurt your heart. You didn't want to make him sad but this was for the best. Just in time, the bell rang signalling class. You stood up from the table, book in your hand as you headed out of the library without a word to Reggie hoping that he wouldn't follow you but he did. Clutching your book to your chest, you sped up but he jogged to stand in front of you so you couldn't go anywhere. "(Y/N), stop ignoring me. Why are you pushing me away? What did I do?" He pleaded, his eyes boring into yours and you felt yourself melt inside. He had the most beautiful eyes. The Reggie you thought you'd known was so different to the one you knew now. He was a sweet, dedicated boy that just had a hard exterior. He liked to come across as the alpha but really he was a teddy bear and all you wanted to do was hug him. With a sigh, you shook your head. "You made me fall for you and I-I can't do feelings. You probably don't even like me anyway which is good because it'll help me get over it faster. Just stay awa-" Before you could finish your sentence, you felt soft, warm lips on yours. It was a short, sweet kiss but it shut you up. It was hard to not smile after that. You shyly looked at the ground then back up to Reggie who had a cocky little grin on his face. "You're damn crazy if you think I'm staying away from the nerdy little girl that somehow worked her way into my heart. If you didn't guess, I feel the same way." "I dunno, I might need some more convincing," you gained a little bit of courage, biting your lip nervously as he just laughed but pecked your lips again much to the shock of the students around you. Maybe detention wasn’t that bad after all.

TAGSLIST: @apocalypticangell @iwannadiehere @harrypotterimmaginaa @itsjaynebird @jvghead-jones-iii @sparklingriverdale @imperfectanatomy 

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: A Purpose-Driven Life

Authors for SSR_Confidential_2017 have been revealed! I wrote A Purpose-Driven Life for sapphire2309. And, uh, in a STUNNING lack of connecting-the-dots, I didn't check before asking the only other person volunteering as a beta to beta for me. And did not notice that I HAD GOTTEN MY RECIPIENT TO BETA FOR ME until I was uploading my fic. ::facepalm:: Also, I am hovering really close to burnout, and so I don't think I should do any more ficathons for a while, much as I love them.  The last two, I wasn't able to actually get myself to write until the deadline was bearing down on me, and then I was in pure panic-mode and not really able to make good writing and editing decisions.  (Thank you to those who have held my hands through this.)  I don't need the extra stress. Anyway! I like this fic, here it is. Title: A Purpose-Driven Life Author: beatrice_otter Fandom: Agent Carter Rating: PG Characters: Dottie Underwood, Agnes Cully | Whitney Frost Word Count: 6,194 Betaed by: sapphire2309

Written for: sapphire2309

Summary: Dottie escapes the Red Room as a child. Everything goes differently from there.

AN: ::hangs head in shame::  Why yes, yes I DID accidentally ask my recipient to beta for me without even realizing it until I went to post. I AM SO SORRY, SAPPHIRE2309! I swear I will never ask for a beta without double-checking who the recipient is!

AN2: Yes, I know, I have fiddled with the timeline. According to the show, Dottie Underwood was a pre-teen in 1937, while Whitney Frost was already an adult living in California and starting to work as a model/actress by 1934. I have made Dottie older and Whitney younger, to match.

AN3: I was not able to figure out the cost of a mob hit in the 1930s. However, I was able to find the cost of hiring a hitman in 2013 (http://ift.tt/2tiSTH0), and use a historical inflation calculator to figure out what that would have been in 1935 money.

AN4: in your letter, you said you love stone-cold-terrifying villain!Whitney, but you also ask for what would have happened if she'd gotten what she wanted (science) in the first place. And I think in that case, she wouldn't have needed to become stone-cold-terrifying villain.

At AO3 and FF.net and Dreamwidth

Vsevolod's hands scrabbled for purchase on the side of the building, and, desperate, he hissed at her to help.  He was weak. He, the great agent of the motherland, should have made the jump easily.  Any girl in the Red Room could have, and he was supposed to be her superior. She had made it, and she had been shot—twice—while he was unharmed.

In the Red Room, any girl to miss such a simple thing would be left to suffer the consequences.  Madame would never have allowed her to help a girl so stupid.  They would have watched them fall to their deaths, and taken the warning.

She did not need the warning, and there was no one else but the fascists patrolling below to learn it, but neither did she need Vsevolod's incompetence hindering her actions.

Vsevolod's eyes were wide, frantic, his voice strangled, as he ordered her to help him.  But he was not Madame, and so the girl … didn't.

He fell, and she did not stay to watch him hit the pavement.  Even the fascists, incompetent as they were (and they were worse than Vsevolod) would hear it and come.  But even with the guards on alert, she would have an easier time escaping without him. The entire mission would have been easier without him, and if she had not been forced to fix his mistakes, she would not now be injured and their cover would not now be blown.

She was disgusted, more than anything.  If Vsevolod Petrovich Kuznetsov was the flower of Soviet manhood, the best the Motherland could offer, then the Motherland did not deserve to survive. It was a simple thing to escape the office building holding Nazi scientific research, and slip off through the city.  She was half a mile away when the explosions and fire started, and she smiled at the result of her handiwork before continuing on her way.  It hadn't been part of the plan, but once they had been discovered, they had needed to destroy any evidence of what they had been looking for and who they were.

 She now understood Madame's reaction to the NKVD man who had come to requisition a girl from the Red Room. He had told them it was an honor to be selected, that the lucky girl would learn much from Comrade Kuznetsov, that she would see how true Soviet Men were destined to rule the world.  Madame had not contradicted him, but neither had she agreed, and all the girls could read every fraction of a line on Madame's face. And Madame had been as close to laughing as she had ever seen her.

 New Soviet Man indeed, the girl fumed.  If anyone were to rule the world, it would be the New Soviet Women of the Red Room. Mother Russia would be better off without him.  But she knew she would be punished for his death.  Madame would not care he was dead, but the NKVD man would, and Madame would care that she had killed him without instructions.  Daughters of the Red Room were to kill easily, quickly, and often, but—as with everything they did—only under orders.

The information had been transmitted over the radio before they had begun to make their way out, and anyway she would need a different way back to Russia, now that Vsevolod was dead.   As she skulked through the city to find a place to hide until things were quieter, she pondered what to tell them. One lie after another was discarded, as was every omission or shaded truth.  She could not lie to Madame.  Madame knew her as intimately as she knew Madame.  Madame would know, and it would only worsen her punishment.  No, punishment was inevitable.

It wasn't that she was afraid of it; endurance of physical hardship was routine, ordinary.  Pain in her life was more common than comfort.  But it would be humiliating, to be known to have failed in this way; and the consequences would last a tediously long time.  She could not regret Kuznetsov's death, but neither was she looking forward to what was to come.  She would return to the Red Room, and she would be punished.

…

Unless she didn't return. This was such a novel idea that it almost distracted her.  She retreated into an alley, behind a pile of pallets, and thought about it.  Comrade Kuznetsov had reported her injuries over the radio.  He was now dead.  Certainly, the NKVD would believe that she would be even less competent than their great agent, and had also died.

Madame would not.  Madame knew her capabilities.  Madame would know she had survived, and hunt her down.

But possibly not, if there was a body.  With the fire, there would be no way to positively identify that it wasn't her. And even if Madame suspected, she would not want to show weakness by admitting a child of the Red Room could escape.

She knew how to get bodies.

It was a simple matter to find an apartment with a girl her size in it.  Even simpler to slip in, put a pillow over her face, and smother her in her sleep without ever waking the parents sleeping in the next room.  She dressed the corpse in her own clothes, packing the corpses's belongings in a bag she found.  With any luck, they would believe the dead girl had run away.

It was a little awkward carrying the corpse and the bag and the pillow, but doable.  Once in a more secluded location, she used the pillow as a crude silencer and shot the corpse in the places she herself had been shot. A stop in a garage got her fuel to douse the corpse in, so that it would burn beyond recognition.

The most difficult part of the whole operation was evading the firemen to dump the corpse in the burning building, but she managed handily.  She had learned her work well.

Then back to the garage where she had left her new possessions.  There was a sink which she used to bathe, and tools which she used to remove the bullets.  The pillowcase became bandages.  Dressed in the dead girl's clothes, which were now hers, she walked out onto the street as dawn broke.

***

At the train station, a charming young girl introduced herself as Adette and bought a ticket to visit her sick grandmother in Bremen.

***

The hardest part of the journey was smuggling herself across the Atlantic.  An adolescent girl travelling alone on a train to visit her grandmother was one thing.  That same girl traveling alone across an ocean was more memorable.  And Adette (now Vera) did not want to be remembered. At all.

It was a pity this opportunity hadn't waited a year or two, Vera thought as she hid in the hold of a tramp steamer.  Her figure was just starting to mature, and if she'd had hips and breasts it would have been a simple matter to make herself up to look older, and then she could have travelled more comfortably.  Still, there was something so exhilarating in making her own choices without Madame's iron-fisted control.

***

Vera (now Doris) liked America. It was big, it had a lot of people, and it was firmly isolationist.  No one cared what was going on in Europe, and for that reason, the Red Room cared little about America.  And there were so many people to watch, to copy, so many people to become.  She'd been free of the Red Room and Madame for almost a year, now, and she'd been twenty different people, and she'd liked being each and every one of them.

She'd spent the whole time travelling, because an adolescent girl travelling alone was less conspicuous than an adolescent girl settling down somewhere.  In about six months, she estimated, her figure would be developed enough that she could settle down if she wanted and get a job and a room in a boarding house and build a permanent identity.

If she wanted to.  The kind of jobs they tended to hire young girls to do were awfully boring.  And well beneath her qualifications.  Really, it was a lot more fun to pick the pockets of unsuspecting fellow travelers and book her next ticket to wherever caught her fancy.

In any case, she had six months or so to decide.  Longer; there was no rush, really.

***

The longer Doris (now Millie) was free, the more bored she got.

If she had realized that ahead of time, she might have reported in as she was supposed to.  Yes, she could make her own choices and her own plans … but now that she did not have to worry about the Red Room, what choices and plans could she make that would be worthy of her skills?  If she were no longer working for the glory of the Motherland and the advancement of the Red Room, what was she working for?  She was a bullet with no target.

Her days in the Red Room had been hard, very hard.  But they had also been full, filled with lessons and tests in everything from academics to combat to interrogation, both resisting it and doing it.  She had spent hours perfecting her tradecraft as a spy, learning every possible way to blend in.  Even when her training had been tedious or painful, there had always been a purpose to it a goal.  The promise that one day, she would be the very best, and would have things to accomplish that no one else could ever do.

Well, she was the best. Certainly better than that fool of an NKVD man.  And what was she accomplishing?  Nothing beyond her own survival.

She picked a few pockets for money, and got a train ticket.  She stayed on the train until she arrived at whatever city she had chosen.  She watched the scenery, she watched the people, she played the part of a young girl traveling alone.  Then she got off, spent a few days in whatever city she found herself in, kept up her training as best she could on her own, picked another few pockets, and got back on the train.

Survival and independence was all well and good, but she was a polished weapon.  She was stagnating, she could feel it.  Losing her edge.

Madame would sneer, to see her with no goal other than her own survival.

But what could she do that was worthy of her?

***

Traveling through Oklahoma had been a mistake, Millie (now Dottie) realized.  With the Dust Bowl, farmer after farmer had gone under, and in a farming state that left not much but poverty.  There wasn't much to steal to buy a ticket with, and it was harder to stow away on a train than a tramp freighter.

Still, the people were interesting.  People always were, she had learned.  Dottie liked watching them and wondering what it was like to be inside their silly little minds, with such narrow concerns and all the constraints of society just hemming you in.

Every now and then she saw someone who had a glimmer of something more.  A fire, a spark, something about them that wasn't controlled by the world around them.  A purpose. And then Dottie would stay and watch, or maybe strike up a conversation.  (Maybe if she talked with enough of them, she would find a purpose for herself.)

Dottie wasn't expecting to find such a person in Broxton, Oklahoma, but it was especially nice to find one who was a girl, like her.  Agnes Cully was so controlled, so quiet, as she moved around the diner taking orders. But then you looked in her eyes, and there was fire in them.  She was a few years older than Dottie, her figure developed and her looks good no matter that she didn't dress to accentuate them.  And on her breaks she read big, thick books, math and engineering.

Dottie got herself a job washing dishes in the diner, telling the owner a sad story of too many mouths at home to feed and needing to make her own way in the world.  It got her a menial job and a cot in the back room. And time to make friends with the intriguing Agnes.

***

Agnes, it turned out, didn't say much.  Or, at least, not much that mattered.  She said all the right social nothings, but it took a while for Dottie to worm her way inside her trust.  In the time that took, Dottie learned a lot of things about Agnes from gossip.

She learned that Agnes' mother Wilma was "no better than she ought to be" and that Bud Schultz paid the Cully women's bills.

She learned that Bud Schultz was best friends with the county Sherriff and played poker with the town doctor every Friday night, but no female in town between the ages of ten and thirty wanted to be in the same room with him, if they could help it.

She learned that Agnes was considered strange, and the only girl in town who had made it all the way to her senior year in high school in the last three years—some even said she was trying to get into college.

She learned that half the town thought Agnes was turning tricks on the side, despite the way she avoided most men when she could and practically flinched when she couldn't.

But that was all on the outside, and it told Dottie nothing about Agnes' spark, about the person inside the shell.

Dottie had the money for a ticket, now, but she stayed.  What made Agnes tick?

***

The books were Dottie's way in. She asked Agnes if she could borrow them before they were returned to the library.

"I doubt you'd like them," Agnes said coolly.  "They're not novels."

"I don't read novels," Dottie said.  "I like learning."  It was true, although if she were going to study science she'd prefer anatomy.  More practical use, in her line of work.  Her former line of work, that was.  She'd had too much instruction-via-fiction to find stories interesting for their own sake.

"All right," Agnes said doubtfully, still looking for a catch.  How delightfully suspicious she was!  "You can read it as long as it's back in the library by Friday—I can't afford the fines."

"Neither can I," Dottie said brightly.  "Don't worry, I'll take really good care of it!"

And she did.  And the book gave her a marvelous excuse to ask Agnes questions, to explain it all, and as it turned out, that was the key to Agnes' passion.  Within a week the two were, in the words of the diner's owner, thick as thieves.

***

Dottie watched from the kitchen as Agnes tried (unsuccessfully) to avoid getting groped by Bud Schultz, saw the way every muscle tightened in resistance.  And saw how the sleazebag walked out of the diner whistling, no tip.

"Why do you let him do that?" she asked, after both their shifts were over and they were sharing a cigarette out back.

"You think I have a choice?" Agnes said bitterly.  "Mama would throw me out if I made him unhappy. She's always on me to be nicer to him, as if that will make him more generous."

Dottie snorted.  "That's a foolish hope, if ever there was one," she said.  "He ain't got a generous bone in his body."  She took a last drag of the cigarette and handed it back to Agnes.

"She's worried about losing him," Agnes said.  She took a puff, breathed the smoke out through her nose.  "Thinks maybe she can get him to marry her, eventually."

"Your mama's not very bright, is she?" Dottie said.  "But you know you don't have to stay.  We could just hop on a train, go to a big city, get a job there, and you'd never have to see Bud Schultz again."

Agnes shook her head. "I can't.  I have to finish the school year, have to get my diploma, so I can apply to college.  If I can get them to take me, I'll be out of here, and not just to another situation that's as bad or worse.  I'll have a chance to really do something.  If I can just stick it out here another six months."  She stared down at the dirt beneath them. "If I can just avoid his hands until then.  Once I'm in college, everything will be different."  She said that a lot.

"Don't you worry, Agnes," Dottie said.  "He won't ever touch you again.  I'll see to that."  She smiled.

***

When the news came that Bud had been found dead in an accident with his hunting rifle, Agnes stared at Dottie with narrowed eyes.  Dottie smiled back happily.  Nobody suspected a thing, and she hadn't gotten to kill anyone in over a year.  It would have been fun planning the whole thing out anyway, but even more so knowing she was protecting her friend.

"Did you do it?" Agnes hissed later when they were alone.

"Me?" Dottie said, widening her eyes in surprise.  Agnes sure was smart, and it wasn't just book smarts, either.  How fun!  "How could I have done it?  I'm just a girl, and he was a big strong man. Besides, you heard what everyone is saying—it was an accident."

Agnes grabbed her and shoved her up against a wall.  Dottie could have escaped, of course, but Agnes would never hurt her, and besides, she wanted to see what would happen.  This was the most fire she'd seen in Agnes yet.  "Don't play the innocent with me, Dottie, I know you, and we both know a girl can do a lot of things people don't want to believe she can. Did you kill him?"

"Does it matter?" Dottie asked.  "You don't ever have to worry about him again.  You can't tell me you're sorry he's dead—I won't believe it."

"I'm not, but … but killing is wrong," Agnes said.  Anyone else might have thought she meant it, but Dottie could feel the relief in her, the hope.

"You don't really believe that," Dottie said, smiling.  "Not when it's a jerk like Bud.  I bet there's only five women in the whole county who aren't breathing a sigh of relief right now."  Agnes' grip loosened ever so slightly.

"If someone did kill him, it was a public service," Dottie said.

"Don't … don't kill for me again," Agnes said.  But her eyes told a different story. There was gratitude there.

"You don't really mean that," Dottie said confidently.  "Now.  Finish your school, get your diploma, and then let's get out of here."

***

As it turned out, Agnes graduated top of her class, but the university wouldn't take her in the science program.  Agnes was devastated.

"There, there," Dottie said, holding her and rubbing her back in a comforting technique she'd seen many mothers use on distraught children.  She was quite pleased with herself for figuring it out—comfort not being a thing she had much personal experience with.

Agnes sobbed some more.

"There, there," Dottie said.  "It's not the end of the world.  It's not the end of your dreams.  We'll go someplace else, and then you can get into a different school—a better one than the University of Oklahoma.  Or you can get a job in a research lab—you're smart enough, even without the fancy piece of paper."

"But what if they don't take girls, either?" Agnes asked.  "And it'd probably be more than we could afford."  Even when Bud had been at his worst, Dottie had never heard Agnes sound that defeated.  Like there was something broken inside her.

Agnes shouldn't have to feel that. Agnes should be able to show the world the fire that lit her.  Agnes should be able to burn the world down, if she wanted.  "You just leave that to me," Dottie said.

Agnes pulled back and stared her in the eye.  "You planning to kill someone?"  She was trying to sound disapproving.  It wasn't very convincing to Dottie, who knew her better than her own mother did.

"Why, Agnes, I'm shocked," Dottie said.  "I thought you were smarter than that.  If I killed a dean or someone, they couldn't order you to be admitted from beyond the grave, now, could they?"

"No, I suppose not," Agnes said tiredly.

Torture was out, too, because in the long run, the years Agnes would be at school, it had too great a chance of coming out somehow.  But it was truly a shame Dottie hadn't been able to find any blackmail material for the dean or president of the University of Oklahoma.

Still, there had to be a university out there with a first-rate science program that had an administrator Dottie could blackmail.

"Now, I know it's hard," Dottie said, "but here's what we're going to do.  We're going to pack our things, and get on the train to wherever you want to go, and we'll get you into a school there. Okay?"  It was lovely to have a goal, a purpose to accomplish.  Dottie could feel parts of herself stretching and waiting that had lain dormant since her escape.  Perhaps it didn't matter if she didn't have a purpose of her own; she never really had, had she?  All she needed was someone else with a purpose she could help accomplish, who needed the things only Dottie could do.

"Okay," Agnes said.

***

A week later they were in Los Angeles, California, with jobs in a diner and a shared room in a boarding house. Agnes spent every spare minute studying, and so did Dottie—school administrations, not physics.

"Oh, it was worth it coming out here even if I never get into college!" Agnes said with glee one day, flopping on her bed and holding a book up in triumph.  "The public library has so many more books!"

"Wonderful," said Dottie indulgently.  "I'm so glad you're happy.  Which school do you think you'd want to go to?" Dottie soaked in Agnes' enthusiasm, it was so exhilarating to be around.

"Oh, probably UCLA," Agnes said.  "I know it's mostly a teacher's college, but they do have a science department that's not bad, and because it's a teacher's college, they have a lot of women on campus.  USC would be a second choice; they're more expensive, and their physical science program focuses mainly on turning out engineers, and I want to do theoretical research.  But they take women, too, even in the science classes!"

"Which one has that man you were excited about?  Millikan? You've read his textbook twice already."

"Oh, he's the chairman of the Executive Council at the California Institute of Technology," Agnes said.  "If I really could go anywhere, that would be it.  They've got Millikan and a whole lot of other big names in physics. Millikan's got a Nobel, did you know that?"

"Does he?" Dottie said. She knew, of course, because Agnes had told her, but she liked seeing Agnes this way.

"Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful to study with him?" Agnes said.  "But CalTech doesn't take women, and they're awfully expensive."

"But if you could, you'd go there?" Dottie persisted.  UCLA and USC would be easier to get Dottie into, because they took women, but if pressure was needed they were larger schools—more people to get to. CalTech would definitely need the pressure, but it was smaller and younger and so there were fewer people making the decision.

"Absolutely," Agnes said.  She sat up and stared at Dottie.  "Dottie, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that everyone has pressure points," Dottie said.  "And anything's possible, if you're willing to do what it takes."

"If it gets me into CalTech, I'll do anything," Agnes said.

"So will I," Dottie said.  She smiled.

Agnes looked at her, and Dottie could see her thinking it over, what it meant.  Agnes still wasn't used to killing, wanted to do things the way society said was right, though Dottie had never figured out why.  Thank goodness she seemed to be getting over it. They both knew that if society had its way she'd still be back in Oklahoma trying to stay out of Bud's sweaty hands or working at some diner or other, wasting her time and her brain. Or married to some farmer who wanted a cook and a maid he didn't have to pay.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Dottie," Agnes said.

***

The head of the maggia in LA was a guy named Joe Manfredi.  Everyone knew that; he'd taken down his rivals in a bloody gang war a few years earlier.  Getting his location was a little harder, but it did Dottie good to flex her training for once.

"So what's a pretty young thing like you want to be a hit man for?" Manfredi asked.  She'd bluffed her way past his guards fairly easily—thank God she'd finally developed a usable figure—and seated herself at his table at the restaurant where he held court.

"I'm pretty good at killing," Dottie said.  "And I figure, if you've got a talent, you should use it.  And why do something for free when you can get paid for it? Beats waiting tables."

He laughed.  "That it does, babe, that it does.  I like you.  Okay."  He snapped his fingers, and one of his goons pulled out a notebook and a pen and handed it to him.  Manfredi wrote down a name and an address in it.  "If he ends up dead in the next week, I'll pay you $350.  $400, if it looks like an accident."

"Accidents take more time," Dottie said.  "$600 for an untraceable accident."

"$400 if it looks like an accident at first, and another hundred if it gets ruled an accident and there aren't any more questions by a month from now," he countered.

"Make it a hundred and fifty, and you've got a deal," Dottie said.

"All right," Manfredi said.  "A hundred and fifty.  What's your name, kid?"

"Dolores Miller," Dottie said.  It wasn't a name she'd ever used before, which meant it was a name that couldn't trace back to Agnes.  "I'll be back for my money in a week."

***

It was an easy accident to arrange.  The target had his own fruit trees, which he pruned himself, and it was a simple matter to weaken the ladder so it collapsed under him.  And his pruning knife just happened to lodge itself in his gut as he fell—what a shame.  It wasn't quite as satisfying as killing Bud had been, but she wondered why contract killer hadn't occurred to her as a career choice.  Well, it wasn't like she'd been old enough to get hired to do it until now.

In any case, the money bought her a lot of information on the members of the Executive Council at CalTech. Some of them were squeaky clean, as far as she could see … but not all of them were.  Infidelities, homosexual affairs, dirty finances, stealing the work of other scientists.  One, she found with glee, was in hock to Manfredi with quite substantial gambling debts.

***

"You sure do good work," Manfredi said after her third kill for him.  He admired the pictures.  This one had been something of a test—he'd wanted it messy, and he'd wanted documentation.  He probably thought she'd be too delicate for the job.  In Dottie's experience, women were a lot less squeamish than men were. And she had no problem with the mess, except that she'd been careless enough to get blood on her coat, and it had taken ages to get it out.  Madame would have been so disappointed.  Might even have killed her for it.

"Thank you, Joe," Dottie said, glancing around his office.  It was the first time she'd seen it; he didn't want to look at the pictures over a meal.  It wouldn't have bothered Dottie's appetite one bit, but men were more squeamish.

"I got another one for you," he said.  "This one's gonna be a bit trickier."

Dottie nodded along as he explained.  Still not much, compared to what the Red Room had trained her for, but beyond any of Manfredi's hired thugs.  But when he got to the subject of payment, she shook her head.  "I don't want money for this one, Joe," she said. "I want a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Manfredi asked, sitting back in his chair.

"An easy one," Dottie said.  "I've got a friend.  She's really good at physics.  Brilliant. You wouldn’t believe her mind. She wants to go to CalTech, because it's the best.  Just like she's the best.  But they don't take women."

"And you've done your homework and you know all about Merle Hutchinson's bad luck with the ponies," Joe said, nodding.  "And you want me to take part of my debt out in trade, getting your girl in."

"That's about the size of it," Dottie said.

"You know he's not the guy who's gonna make the final decision on this," Joe said. "I mean, you're going to have to get to others on the board, you know."

"I can do that, no problem," Dottie said.  People were so easy to manipulate, if you held something over them.  And the ones Dottie couldn't blackmail, she could seduce or threaten as needed.  Her job as Joe Manfredi's favorite killer would be more than enough help.

"I bet you can," Joe said.  He thought for a few seconds.  "I want to meet her."

"Pardon me?" Dottie said.

"I want to meet her. Your girl."  Joe shrugged.  "I'm putting my neck out that she's as good as you say she is, I want to meet her beforehand."

"All right," Dottie said.  "I'll arrange it."

***

"And why would the head of the LA maggia care about whether or not I get into CalTech?" Agnes asked, skeptical.

"He owes me," Dottie said.  "Or he will soon, anyway."

"In other words, you're killing people for him," Agnes said, making a face. "Anybody important?"

Dottie considered. "Nobody you'd care about."

Agnes sighed, staring out the window at the brick wall of the building next to their boarding house. "And he has the board of CalTech in his pocket?" she said distantly.

"One of them," Dottie said.  "I can handle enough of the rest to get you in.  Then you just have to be your normal, brilliant self and prove us right."

"I'd rather get in because I'm good enough," Agnes said.  "I should be able to get in on the strength of my own brain—I'm at least as smart as any man on campus."

"Probably smarter," Dottie agreed.  "But if they're too stupid to see brains just because they come attached to a woman, I've got no problem with twisting their arms to make them see."

Agnes considered this. "Neither do I."

***

They met Joe for dinner and drinks at his restaurant.  He asked Agnes about her history, and why she wanted to go to CalTech, and he listened to what she said, and not dismissively, either.  He didn't try to hit on her, and he kept his hands to himself.

Agnes blossomed under the attention, and chatted away about the state of physics and the experiments they were doing at CalTech.  Dottie understood most of it, because Agnes was good at simplifying it to teach it, but Joe asked enough questions to prove he was actually listening.

Dottie smiled.  More people should pay attention to Agnes.

"What's so funny?" Joe asked her.

"I was just thinking," she said.  "The world would be a better place if there were more real gentlemen like you, Joe."

"Hear, hear!" Agnes said, raising her wine glass.

Joe laughed.  He probably thought she was joking, Dottie reflected, but she wasn't.  What did she care how many people he had killed, or how many rackets he ran?  But it was awfully nice not to get dismissed or discounted just because she was female.

"All right, I like your girl," Joe said to Dottie at last.  "I'm assuming you've got a plan, 'cause you got a plan for everything."

***

A few days later, Dottie and Agnes sat just outside Joe's office while he talked with Merle Hutchinson about how he could pay off his debt.  The vent was open so they could hear everything.

"Read this, see what you think," Joe said.  Agnes had written her latest work up in the proper format.  She couldn't test it without a lab, but the math all worked. And now they'd see what Merle Hutchinson thought about it.

"This is brilliant work," he said after a while.  "How'd you get ahold of it?"

"What, you think just because I'm Italian that all my people are stupid?" Joe asked.  "You think you got a monopoly on smarts in your fancy Institute?"

"No—no!  That wasn't what I meant," Hutchinson said. "I mean, why didn't they just submit this to a journal or something?  Or send it in to us like normal?"

"The person who wrote that wants to go to CalTech," Joe said.  "They want it real bad."

"Well, based on this, he's well qualified," Hutchinson said.  "We're always looking for brilliant minds.  Graduate or undergrad?"

"Undergrad," Joe said.

"Well, have him send in his application, and I'll certainly see he gets in," Hutchinson said. "With a mind like this, I'd do that regardless."

"It's a little bit more complicated than that," Joe said.  "You wanna meet the person that wrote that?"

"Of course," Hutchinson said.

Dottie squeezed Agnes' hand. Agnes stood up, squared her shoulders, and went in.

"I wrote that paper," she said.  "I'm good enough for CalTech—you just said so.  And I want in."

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Hutchinson said.  "We don't admit women!  They're just not up to the kind of work we do!"

"I'm up to it," Agnes said.

"It's not possible!"

"Make it possible," Agnes said.

"Miss Cully, here, she's the best girl of my best killer," Joe said.  "So on the one hand, I've got my best hitter coming to me and saying, 'Joe, my girl's real smart.  She wants to go to CalTech, and she's smart enough to do it, too.'  And it's the truth—she is that smart, you said so yourself.  On the other hand, I've got you.  A guy with too much bad luck to win at the ponies and too stupid to know when to quit. A guy who is consistently late with his payments, and still can't lay off the ponies.  I'm being very generous, here.  I could call in your debts all at once.  I could charge more interest than I am doing currently."

"But your interest is—"

"I am giving you the opportunity to pay down a chunk of your debt to me, Merle, a very substantial chunk. Or we can continue on with our arrangement as it is, and I tell my best hitter—my very best hitter, mind you—that you are the reason Miss Cully here isn't going to CalTech.  Do you see where I'm coming from, Merle?"

"Yes," Hutchinson said with a defeated sound in his voice.

Dottie smiled to hear it. She wished she could be in there watching, but Hutchinson would be more intimidated if he didn't know that Joe Manfredi's best hitter was a woman.  Besides, the more anonymous she could be, the less chance there was of anyone being able to put together the details and make trouble about it later.

"But I'm not the only one making that decision.  I can recommend it, but I can't guarantee it."

"You leave the rest of it to us," Agnes said.  "We'll take care of it.  As long as you do your part."

"Okay, okay," Hutchinson said.  "How much are you taking off my debt for this?"

Agnes slipped out while the two men finished up the final details and gave Dottie a big hug.  "Thank you so much, Dottie," she said. "This is like a dream come true!"

"You're welcome!" Dottie said.  She didn't know what that was like, never having had any dreams of her own, but it was almost as good to be able to bask, second hand, in Agnes' dreams.

***

Three years later, Agnes graduated valedictorian of her class at CalTech.  She needed no help to get her graduate degree at the school of her choice, and a plum research position after that.  She went on to win the Nobel Prize for physics.  She never had to worry about male scientists taking credit for her work; those who tried simply disappeared.

Dottie continued on as a hitman for Joe Manfredi and other maggia bosses for years.  The Red Room never realized she was still alive.  To keep it that way, she avoided all contact with government agents of any nation.  Although Dottie dabbled in the intersection of politics and organized crime, she never met Peggy Carter.

Dottie and Agnes were best friends for the rest of their lives.

[jefardi]

Not my story, just wrote a review that broke the character limit on Ao3 thrice over. So posting that here. @okapifeathers

Cool, awesome and Bravo!

This is going to be a long review, so strap yourself in!

Disclaimer: I thoroughly enjoyed this story and any critiques I make are with the best intentions of helping self-improvement. Also, I tend to jump around topics a lot, sorry (not sorry)

Let me take a bit of backstory before I begin the review proper;

I honestly was just browsing tumblr idly when I came into the NicoMaki tag out of pure boredom… I want to say either 3 or 4 days ago. Discovering that this was my jam happened fairly quickly and lo and behold I ended up searching invariably for fanfic on Ao3 (which, honestly was only because I was doing it mobile, else I would be using FF.net…). Love Novels (which a friend farrrr more into Love Live then I am, has pointed out is a song name, which I had not the faintest clue) was the first long formatted story I read in the Love Live Fandom. I’ve read a few Hogwarts AU for the same pair but that’s it. Nothing else.

To a certain degree, I think this is why I’m so enamored with this story; I have no pre-conceived notions or head canons that it could realistically conflict with… oddly enough, the reason I have trouble even reading RWBY fanfiction nowadays, is because I write my own, which then makes incompatible head canons with others’. To put it simply, I can hear Nico or Maki talking in your story exactly as they do in the dub (because I’m a scrub who can’t understand Japanese…).

Perhaps what draws me the most to this pairing is one of the things that stand out the most, that is to say, the way you do the chemistry between Maki and Nico.

That is the biggest selling point, one that all other stories I read after this for this fandom will have to hold themselves to; having dialogue that flows and ebbs like the way you write it. The back and forth that happens so naturally between two characters with misaligned world views or clashing personalities.

Very often in writing, especially in fanfiction, authors have a bad tendency to not understand or have trouble differentiating between saying something in-character or just having the character be a mouthpiece to what needs to be said. Which in turn breaks the suspension of disbelief that these are real, organic characters. Characters that exist just as well as any average person off the street. The manner in which you write them completely side jumps that.

With that out of the way, lets dive in, shall we?

You handled the slow burn extremely well, in fact it was rather incredible. I think the strongest point, though possibly the oddest to me, was how to handle Maki’s end of the romance. Throughout the first half (or was it 12 chapters? It blurs a bit to me), there was a lot of build up on Nico’s end, making the audience very firmly know her point of view of the dynamic. Yet Maki’s view…. Was, how to put this, rather vague?

Perhaps that was intentional, but it certainly seemed like that we weren’t given a clear understanding of what she thought of Nico until way, way later. At first this was a non-issue, seeing as it was thought/implied that she didn’t have feelings for her and it was a one-sided romance (poor Nico), except once Christmas hit, that all changed. It was weirdly jarring how Maki suddenly went from no clue to “yup, I’ve always had these feelings wheeeeeee”

On the one hand, it seems that Maki wasn’t thinking about it up until then because she was flying by the seat of her pants once school started, yet I can’t help but think back to when they are in Nico’s apartment, in the first chapter, eating cake. That is when Maki is not quite stressed, yet it’s not even something she brings up, when its later implied she thinks heavily on it.

Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, except your story relies heavily on introspection. In some ways, that might be an even bigger selling point then the interactions between the main characters; it is enlightening and amazing, and does exposition dumping far better and less jarring then any other way, especially since Maki is more of a introvert by her nature. Yet, by this very fact, the very fact that it isn’t brought up in introspection early one is a weird one, especially in hindsight.

This segue ways into the next thing I noticed; the way the introspection messes with the pacing.

Now that might be subjective on my end, but during the whole course of this, you’d have bits of dialogue with huge chunks of introspection. There was a tendency on my end to keep skipping the introspection to find the next dialogue, which resulted in a lot of rereading something.

The other issue I ran into during the pacing was how much it jumped around. One moment we’d be going through a very long scene and then line break, and it skims through the next several weeks. To a degree, I understand brevity is the soul of wit, but at the same time, it was beyond frustrating when this happened at several points of the story. If you want, I can go back and find though I think it’s a lost cause at this point, given that having already read it, my eagerness to jump ahead is sated haha.

Other pacing issues; this was a big one for me, but sometimes you’d have very important things happen… and then format in such a way that it didn’t pop out immediately. Again, possibly personal preference for me, but when Maki’s dad calls before the birthday, its like a sentence in the middle of the paragraph, and I swear I missed it twice before I could figure out why Maki was freaking out. This happened a few times, where a important thing that should, by all rights, have its own line, being jammed into the middle of a paragraph.

Another one of the strongest points of the story was honestly how you handled Maki and Nico’s ship sailing.

While I might have railed on it a bit, I certainly  enjoyed it when it wasn’t some awkward confession, or having to watch Maki’s feelings develop and effectively watching the story drag, but instead by revealing she has always had them… that made it good. Like really good. Like A+++++ give yourself a cookie, go to start and collection a thousand dollars kind of good.

Swinging back around to the interactions, between Maki and Nico, there are some of their exchanges which made me burst out with ugly laughter. Like holy shit dude, good shiiiit. Personal favourites are of course, the time when Maki attempts to make breakfast and drops it and Nico just deadpans “well, I’m sure the floor appreciates the meal.” Another, which while its not quite nicomaki, it is related, is Nico’s realization that she has indeed left Maki home. Alone. And her kitchen might not be standing when she gets back.

There are a lot of interactions that you wrote, that I just flat out found hilarious, okay? :P

Skipping back to critiques, I think there was one moment that stuck with me… not because it was amazing but because it was ultimately one of the most unsatisfying in it. The moment where Maki goes “they know.” It’s quite obviously cliffhanger material, but nothing is quite as much a punch in the gut as getting to the next chapter and realizing that the worry that Nico has is essentially worthless (not completely, but you get what I mean). It’s akin to seeing an episode of something and ending with major developments… only for It to get regened as a dream at the beginning of next episode. Maybe I’m being a bit overly harsh but that’s what it felt like to me.

Wow, okay, I’m at 1400 words. That’s, um, huh. More then I’ve done in a long while.

Moving on…

As a story, and from my own personal experience of trying to write semi-realistic slowburn, there is something that I have to say I’m most envious of and that is the way that you created drama within the story.

For instance, the way Maki’s father is set up.

For all intents and purposes, he is the primary antagonist, or as close as we get to one. He is the one that Maki is the most concerned with, the one that continually gives Maki stress like you wouldn’t believe, the one who basically drives her to the point of several mental breakdowns and a panic attack or two. Yet for all of this, outside of the final chapter, I don’t think he says more then maybe… 10 or 15 lines? Rather it’s the looming possibility that makes him such a negative force. Realistically, he can’t do all that much to harm Maki. I mean, he COULD, but I feel like that’d be a whole another type of story.

In that way, this story is very much about Maki failing to meet her father’s expectations. Its not something grandiose like saving the world or the school, nor is it about her father blowing up. Rather its infinitely a much smaller and larger thing. Perhaps the glory of it all is that he doesn’t need to be. In fact there is real no conflict besides what Maki sets up for herself. No external forces conspiring against them, just what Maki thinks would make her father happy.

To be perfectly honest, the moment Nico rang the doorbell, I was so into the story that I could feel Maki’s anxiety, my heart was just about to pound out of my chest.

I think, at it’s core, Love Novels’ theme is about choice.

While I would call Nico and Maki the main characters, I would argue heavily that Nico isn’t the main, main character. She effectively is the same person as she was at the beginning. The only character who experiences real character growth is, of course, Maki. She goes from being a caged bird to a freed one.  

To an extent.

I have to believe that this story is not over by a long shot(not just because part two is up to 3 chapters, of which I’ve read a bit of the first… thought I should this first tho).

Namely I’m wondering if Maki is actually going to finish her medical degree.

A reoccurring theme that occurs throughout this story is that of choice, and Nico brings up multiple times that Maki isn’t truly happy being a doctor, but instead hints at how she is happier being behind the piano, or being an idol. Which makes me think if she might change majors or drop out completely? Much like it was stated above, given her father isn’t abusive nor is the one with money and her mother actually gives a damn, she isn’t going to lose her inheritance at this point (though I do wonder if she will buy the café Nico works at just to make sure she doesn’t have to work ever again and lazes about in bed all day…)

At this point I’m getting speculative because I’m wanting to lock my speculations in a time capsule before starting part 2, so just a warning about that and what not…

Another thing I’ve noticed, and it still stumps me is the way the first chapter starts. The tone feels off. Like something much greater is about happen that day, when all conventional story telling wisdom would make it be the happy times before the bad, not Maki getting a sense of foreboding doom.

I have two great hopes for the next part. Maybe three, but the third is super long term.

First, I’m hoping that its something that focuses more on Nico’s development instead of Maki. I say this because as a character, Nico has literally no reason I can think of to block her from doing her dreams of being a professional idol. She doesn’t have to pay for the kids’ college, and Maki can pay her share of rent/food money. Going along with the theme of choice, it would be Nico’s turn to deal with that, albeit with some help from her ever so supportive girlfriend/soulmate/princess ;)

Another would be to see Maki’s continued development, i.e. seeing her continue her choice to do something she is passionate about not something that was pre-chosen for her at birth.

My final curiosity is less about the characters and more about the ship. Namely what you will do with a relationship in the long term. As of now, they are currently in their honey moon phase, and like all things, as the poem, Ozymandias teaches us, nothing is eternal. The good times won’t be around forever, or if they do this might get stale really quick.

I’m actually personally quite excited that you are continuing this on past the getting together stage. I’m very, VERY interested in the long term. How the stress of a first relationship would get to them, or how they would just do the wrong thing. Really anything like that. I want to see them screw up, and take a break, or get angry and yell at each other. Something that breaks their bond so it can be remolded. Speaking of which…

This might be a personal gripe, but while I can accept that they could all (Muse) of them be other than straight (quite easily, actually), I’m curious to why you had them all pair up (besides honoka)?

Buh, I think I may have missed a few things, but I’ve gone over triple the character limit that Ao3 allows so I think I should post this. I might update it later, however.

Like I said before, this was awesome! You should feel proud ^_^

Cheers!