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gloomwitchwrites · 1 day ago

Text

Task Force 141 Masked Metal Band AU x Backup Singer Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, brief mention of alcohol

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Part Two of Second Act

At the afterparty, Simon confronts you. You run to Lena for safety. During a game of pool, Simon makes you an offer.

Chapter One // Chapter Three

ao3 // main masterlist // second act masterlist

“Thought I recognized you.”

His voice is living memory, sending you down, down, down into a tangled web of barbed wire. You cannot shake it off or crawl out of it. The metal digs in. You’ll have to tear it from your flesh. Draw blood.

You were right to question why the drummer paused when exiting the stage. It was Simon, and he recognized you. The fact that you’re here only confirms whatever suspicion he had earlier.

But it’s not just him—not only him.

There are three others, watching at a distance, their gazes drilling into the back of your skull. Maybe it’s a small grace that you cannot see their expressions. Simon’s presence alone is already suffocating.

Signing those contracts to join Lechery on their North American tour was a new beginning. Now, you’re a trapped animal, realizing that it’s surrounded by predators. Simon is not a stranger. The other three band members are not strangers.

Worse yet, this is worst possible time for him to show up.

It’s not the right place. Not the right fucking situation.

But you cannot run from this. There is no retreat. The exit is on the far side of the room, and everyone in attendance would notice if you suddenly bolted.

Cruelty. Nothing else describes it.

Fate is playing a trick, circling back to the choices you made all those years ago, smashing your face into the door as it shoves you through it.

“This is—” Your voice catches in your throat, nearly choking you. Even your lungs betray you. “A surprise,” you manage.

A creeping numbness enters the tips of your fingers as if you’ve been standing outside in the cold for too long. With it comes an urge to shake out your hands, the muscles in your arms itching for release.

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirks with a hint of a smile. It’s such a familiar gesture that your heart momentarily flutters, remembering all the times he’d give you that one little look while never giving it to anyone else.

“That’s one way to put it,” he muses.

You inwardly flinch.

There’s too much meaning in his words, and yet not nearly enough. Years have separated the two of you, have separated you from the all of them. There’s little reason to hope that they’ll greet you like an old friend. If anything, they have the right to demand answers—to demand to know why you up and left.

With as much casualness as you can muster, you cross one leg over the other, resting your hands between your thighs. “It’s been a long time.”

It’s a stupid thing to say. Of course it’s been a long fucking time.

Simon’s mouth turns downward in a slight frown. His lips part, but instead of speaking, he inhales. As if changing his mind, Simon shifts his attention from you to Olivia.

“Am I interrupting?”

Now you ask.

“Yes,” you reply automatically just as Olivia says, “No.”

Your head snaps in her direction, eyes growing large. Olivia sheepishly brings her drink to her lips, taking a long sip.

It’s best to salvage this. And by salvage, you mean scrap it all together.

“Olivia and I were having a chat. I could come find you later?” you offer.

Take it, Simon. Fucking take it.

Olivia pops up off the sofa. “It’s fine,” she says brightly, some of that West Virginia accent seeping through. “You can take my seat.”

You want to strangle her. What the fuck is she doing?

“Thanks, love,” grins Simon as Olivia steps to the right to move out of his way.

As he slides by her, Olivia nods her head in Simon’s direction. “Talk to him,” she mouths. You give a little shake of your head. Olivia holds her cup up to her face, blocking her mouth from Simon’s view. “You’re welcome,” she says silently, slipping away to mingle.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

All the sound in the room suddenly becomes a roar, the lights far too bright. Your vision swims, and then it all narrows quickly as if you’re experiencing the world through the end of a straw.

It’s your name that snaps you back to reality.

Your name. From Simon’s lips.

He drapes an arm over the back of the sofa, body turned toward you with clear familiarity. This is not two strangers introducing themselves. Simon leans forward in an almost intimate manner, like he’s known you all your life.

But he does know you, doesn’t he?

The two of you may be separated by years but there was a time when your entire life revolved around him.

And not just him.

There was Johnny. Kyle. John.

Each of them an individual anchor. Then all together, changing you, shaping you until it became too much, and you dashed from them like a sprinting deer.

The mellow, overhead lights twinkle in Simon’s brown eyes. “You’re our backup singer.”

“One of three,” you correct.

Simon inclines his head. “Did you know?”

“That you were Lechery?” Simon nods and you shake your head. “Of course not. Think I’d accept if I did?”

“Don’t know, dove. Didn’t say much when you left.”

I didn’t say anything.

You exhale slowly, attempting to calm your nerves. “Congratulations by the way.” You gesture vaguely at the room. “On your success.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Simon. “It’s a change from when we first met.”

That’s an understatement. When you first met him, it was at a punk show in London. You were blitzed out on gin and tonics and Simon was just a masked stranger to you. A brooding, balaclava wearing beast of a man that you saddled up to and flirted with incessantly. The two of you went to his flat, and once there, you pounced on him. And when his bandmate, Johnny, came home, he joined in. The three of you went at it until the sun came up.

That was before you met the other two housemates. When they arrived, they wormed their way in, and suddenly it was no longer just you, Johnny, and Simon.

Three months of the four of them. Of the five of you.

Years have spawned since. Of course things have changed.

“Still living in that little flat in South London?”

“No. Building is gone.”

“Oh?”

Simon cocks his head. “They built a hospital.” He shrugs. “The area needed it.”

The two of you lapse into a stretching quiet. Conversation is difficult, and it’s not just because you’re a goddamn nervous wreck. The Simon you knew then was tall and muscular, but still had a boyish air to him. This Simon is a man. He almost appears taller somehow. His chest and shoulders are broader, taking up far too much space. You feel eclipsed by him. Smaller. Fragile.

Which is silly. Absurd.

You’ve never felt like that around him, nor any of them. Vulnerable, yes. But never insignificant.

He oozes darkness. Danger. Temptation.

When you first met him at that punk show all those years ago, you felt it then, too, but there was something more chaotic about it. Like a Molotov cocktail sort of frenzy, where now it’s large and looming and suffocating like pure darkness.

If you were to let him in again, Simon would swallow you whole.

“With all the money you have now, I’m sure you’re in something much nicer.”

Simon chuckles. “I have reliable heat now. That’s something.”

“Because the heat actually works? Or because you can afford it?”

This time Simon’s chuckle is a hearty laugh. “Got me there.”

A hesitation rises in your throat. Speaking with Simon again, having him near you like this, is warming parts of you that long went cold. Keeping him on this sofa might be the thing you need—but it will also lead toward a conversation you have no interest in having.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you murmur. “You’ve only just got here. I’m sure there are people who want to talk to you.”

“They can wait,” he says automatically.

From his tone, there is little room for discussion.

“I’m not important. In fact, I was invited here out of kindness.” This party isn’t for you. It’s for Lechery, and for everyone who made the European tour a success. “You should…mingle.”

It’s a meager rebuttal, and Simon knows this.

He leans forward a bit, closing the space between you. His gaze is so piercing, so primal, you’re pinned to the cushion, unable to move or think or speak.

“We’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting. Years. Fucking years. Not a word. Not even a glimpse of where you’d gone or what happened to you.”

“Simon—”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “I should be angry.” His gaze drops to your lips. “But all I want to do is kiss you.”

Your lips involuntarily part, and Simon groans lowly, his brow softening as he leans in a bit more.

“I have to go,” you whisper, drawing back at the last second. “Promised Lena a round of pool.”

As you scoot back, Simon’s arm darts out, his large hand grasping your bare thigh. It is a brand against your skin—a reminder of his touch, and that only sparks a fire in your core. His hand slides inward toward your pussy, moving higher up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up until it bunches tightly over your lap. He drags you right back to him.

“And you promised us you’d never leave,” he replies, that assertive darkness returning. “But you did.” A crease forms in the middle of his brow. “You did.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you hiss.

Glancing over Simon’s shoulder, you observe the rest of the room. Most people aren’t paying you any attention, but a few nearby partygoers keep looking your way. But as your gaze sweeps over the crowd, you find them.

Johnny and Kyle are no longer near the bar. They’ve moved closer to you and Simon, and it’s clear that Johnny wants in on whatever’s being said, but Kyle is holding him back. John is still at the bar, a full glass of whiskey in hand, staring off into space like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Why not?” he asks, and there is genuine concern in that question.

I can’t tell you. It hurts too much.

“Let me go, Simon,” you whisper, knowing that you don’t sound strong. Only broken.

Simon’s hand remains on your thigh. He glances down at it. Easing up on his grip, Simon lightly caresses your skin with his thumb. You shiver, pussy clenching. Like a snake encircling its prey, the desire for him slithers around and between your bones.

“Just say it. And we’ll go.”

Simon gently squeezes your thigh again, and this time, you have to stifle a moan.

“I can’t,” you breathe.

The words hurt. They’re a daggered edge. As much as your body and mind crave him, your heart isn’t in it.

Simon’s grip eases, and you scoot away from him, smoothing your dress as you stand. He stares up at you, mouth a thin line, face grim. You can’t even gather enough strength to say goodbye.

Moving around the other side of the sofa, you aim right for Lena. She’s chatting up Rudy, the man Alejandro spoke to earlier when he couldn’t find his phone.

“Sorry to cut in,” you say with forced cheeriness. “But I need to borrow Lena. We were going to play a round of pool together.”

“Were we?” she asks slowly, side-eyeing you.

You turn your fake smile on her. “Yes,” you emphasize through gritted teeth.

Rudy beams. “Course.” He winks at Lena. “I’ll find you later.”

As Rudy starts to walk away, you link your arm in Lena’s, pulling her tightly against your side. Your gaze darts everywhere, scanning the room to make sure the members of Lechery don’t appear from thin air.

“Bitch, you better be joking,” she deadpans.

“We’re playing pool.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “I suck at pool. And why are you looking around like that?” Lena glances around too, her mouth turned downward in a frown. When she finds nothing of interest, she turns her attention back to you. “You look neurotic.”

“It’s Simon,” you whisper.

“And?” she prompts.

“And what?” Lena lifts her hand and waves it in a “go on” gesture. “We talked.”

“Very helpful,” she retorts. “And what did you and Simon talk about?” Her slightly annoyed expression becomes devious. “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

She waggles her eyebrows and you groan. “If we don’t start playing pool right now, he’ll know I lied.”

Lena bursts out laughing. “Was the conversation that bad?”

“Not…exactly,” you mutter, tugging on her arm, trying to herd Lena toward one of the pool tables.

“I don’t understand. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either?”

“Yep,” you reply, tugging a little harder.

“Okay, ow. Girl, chill.” Lena comes to a dead stop and you nearly topple forward. “What did he say?”

You give the room another once-over. At first, you think you’re in the clear, and then you spot Simon just a few feet away deep in conversation with Johnny.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “They’re right there.”

Lena holds up a hand. “Stop. You’re acting weird.” When you don’t answer right away, her concern becomes rage. “What the fuck did he do?”

“Lena—”

“I will beat his ass.” You give her a bland look, and Lena sighs loudly, her rage melting away to bemused irritation. “Fine. I won’t fight him.” Her lips purse. “But I might accidentally spill a drink on him.”

“The conversation was fine. Just—” You chew on your bottom lip. “Not one I was expecting.”

Lena’s brow softens. “You haven’t seen him in years. And it’s not like you knew.”

She knows parts of what happened that summer, but she doesn’t have all the pieces. Of what she does, your reasons for fleeing isn’t one.

“No,” you agree. “I didn’t.”

You should consider the information a blow. Like a punch to the face, you’ve been thrown into a fight headfirst without any prior warning. Simon might have been the one to approach you tonight, but the others eventually will. There is an entire tour ahead of you. They will have every opportunity to bring it up.

Tour aside, you’ve signed on with 141 Music Group. There is little room for you to suddenly back out and turn tail. The ink is dried. The contracts signed and finalized. Breaking contracts isn’t unheard of, but you’d be screwing yourself financially. You’d also be putting Lena and Olivia in a tight spot. While each of you signed your own individual contracts, the three of you also signed one together as a trio.

You can’t just up and leave.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you admit, voice deflating like a popped balloon.

Lena’s face falls. She unlinks her arm from yours only to go in for a hug. “It’ll be fine. You have me. You have Olivia.” Drawing back, she places her hands on your shoulders. “All you need to do is be professional and do your job.”

“I know.”

“Fuck them,” she smiles, and then, with a sultry purr, “or fuck them.”

“Lena, I swear,” you mutter as she cackles.

Draping her arm over your shoulder, she turns toward the pool table. “Let’s play this god-awful game.”

It isn’t long before one of the tables opens up. Lena takes the lead, jumping in and taking the offered cue sticks. She hands one to you, and takes the other. Leaning yours against the pool table, you remove the billiard balls and set them on the tabletop.

As you start to straighten your spine, mind elsewhere, you don’t realize Simon is standing next to you until you nearly knock into him. You stagger backwards, but Simon is lightning quick, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you on your feet.

“Don’t fall,” he chides with a cheeky grin.

The back of your neck flares hot. A snarky retort simmers on your tongue but you swallow it back.

“Thank you,” you reply, tone cool.

Simon’s arm lingers a few seconds longer before slowly retreating. It’s incredibly languid. Nothing hurried about it. All of these people around and Simon has zero shame. Is he doing this on purpose? Does he want you uncomfortable?

Lena saddles up beside you. She leans against her cue stick, one eyebrow arched at Simon. “We’re about to start. Need something?” Her tone sends a clear message.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m playing winner.”

Damn it.

The winner will be you. Lena couldn’t play pool to save her life.

She makes a little sound of disapproval in the back of her throat. “Are you good with that?” she asks you, turning slightly in your direction.

No. It’s not fine.

“Perfectly,” you lie.

It’s the only answer you can give. A small crowd is forming, and the last thing you want to do is cause a scene.

As Lena shrugs and starts placing the billiard balls into the triangle rack, Simon’s hand lightly brushes over your lower back as he passes behind you. When you turn toward him, he doesn’t glance in your direction. He heads for Johnny, the two men taking up post against the wall.

Johnny’s gaze is intense—hardened. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. Which is so strange because he’s always been the most open of the four. He never could hide anything from you, and yet, you could never hide anything from him.

Lena grabs the sides of the triangle rack. She rocks it back and forth, bringing it to a stop. Removing the rack, she sets it aside, placing the cue ball in its starting point.

As you line up to make the first shot, your gaze flicks over to Simon and Johnny. Kyle has joined them, and he’s watching you right back.

Glancing away quickly, you go for it, striking the cue ball and sending it into the billiard balls. They scatter. You move into position again, sending your intended ball toward the pocket. It strikes the side just shy of the opening, moving away from the pocket and in the opposite direction.

“Your turn,” you say to Lena, stepping away.

You don’t dare glance in their direction. Sure, you could botch the game, play so poorly that Lena has to play Simon, but it would be obvious to everyone that you did. That’s how bad Lena is.

A few more turns and you completely have this in the bag. It’s not even negotiable at this point. Every time Lena strikes the cue ball and it misses her intended target, she winces. It’s followed by her giving you a sympathetic expression. She knows. She understands. At least, in some part.

It isn’t much longer before it’s called. Lena didn’t hit a single ball.

“Sorry,” she whispers just as Simon approaches.

He holds out his hand and Lena places the cue stick in his open palm. As she walks away, Lena glances over her shoulder, offering you a look of reassurance. She might not be beside you, but she has your back.

“Think we should up the stakes,” says Simon casually.

“How so?” you ask, pointedly looking away from him to fuss with the billiard balls.

Using his cue stick as a support, Simon leans in. “A bet, if you will.”

“Do enlighten me.”

Simon licks his lips. “If you win, I’ll let the matter rest.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“And if I win,” he continues, that wicked smile of his returning. “You’re mine for the next three days.”

You drop the billiard ball you’re holding. It hits the tabletop with a loud thwack.

“I’m—” A nervous laugh escapes you. “What?”

“Three days,” he repeats. “For three days, you belong to me.”

You glance over his shoulder. Lena is staring, open-mouthed at the back of Simon’s head. Kyle and Johnny are listening intently, both of them slightly pushed off from the wall like they want to come over and join the conversation. John is still nowhere in sight, but you don’t look for him. Simon’s presence is far too consuming, and you won’t back down.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Three days. And then what?”

Simon’s voice shifts to a sultry swagger. “You’ll do what I tell you. Without question.”

You snort. “Not interested.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, love,” he croons. “I felt you shiver when I touched you. Heard the groan you made.”

You hear Lena choke on her drink, spluttering slightly as she clears her throat.

“Simon,” you warn.

“Don’t deny yourself,” he growls.

An insistent voice within you begs you to take it, to accept and lose on purpose because deep down, you’ve missed him all these years.

Don’t deny yourself.

For three days, you belong to me.

“Three days?” you ask.

“Three,” he confirms. “And it starts when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct.

Simon’s smile is cocky. “We have a deal then.”

You nod and back away. Simon allows his gaze to linger on your body. It roams up and down, soaking in every inch. The look is devouring. Primal. You’ve seen that look on him before. Countless times in fact, and always just before he fucked you.

Simon sets the table, adding the billiard balls to the triangle rack. He rolls them, removes the rack, and takes one solid step back, observing his work.

“You break,” he says, nodding toward the pool table.

“Sure about that?”

“I insist.”

You line up your shot, striking the cue ball. It shoots forward, cracking against the billiard balls, sending them in all directions.

You slowly straighten your spine, giving Simon a silent dare. He’s not looking at the balls at all, but at you, and there is something lingering behind that stare. A bit of your confidence chips away, and then it shatters completely when Simon takes position.

With one shot, he knocks three balls into the pocket. Fucking three.

This time, you’re not smiling. Simon is going to win this. Easily. It’s funny that you thought you even had the chance. Which is fucking insane. Sure, you’ve seen Simon play but he was never this good.

It takes no more than a few turns. Simon sweeps the floor with you, never giving you a fair chance.

He knew he’d win. He fucking knew.

The bastard.

You want to rage, to feel frustration and anger in equal measure, to lash out at him for clearly tricking you.

But there is no animosity. The two of you made a deal. You agreed to this.

As the final ball rolls into the pocket, your gaze sweeps across the pool table. Simon is still bent forward from his shot. He’s not watching the ball at all. He’s watching you.

Simon grins, victorious.

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myotherblogforrin · 2 days ago

Text

Quiet Madness

(Rin's constant inner battle when it comes to you has driven him into a quiet kind of madness).

Warning: Swearing

You're supposed to be with me. You're supposed to be with me. You're supposed to be with me. His own silent mantra as he watches you gracefully straddle the motorcycle, sitting behind your boyfriend.

Why aren't you with me? Why aren't you with me? Why, why, why? His mantra began to break down as he watched you pull your helmet on.

Mine, mine, mine. You are mine! His inner rage shouted as he clenched his fists.

Forcing himself to nod as you waved goodbye, his perfectly trimmed nails dug into his palms.

Why am I not enough? Why is it so easy for you to leave me? Don't I matter? Don't you care about me?

Your heart slowly ripped itself apart as your jackass boyfriend kissed the bartender.

Rushing from the loud, crappy bar, you pulled your phone out and hesitated.

Would he even want you around? You'd dropped him so fast the minute your boyfriend called.

This was your Friday night with your bestie. The night you watched and played every horror title you could get through by the next morning.

Would he ever talk to you again? Would he forgive you and let you stay the night?

Your mind raced as you finally dug up the courage to call.

Rin was still pissed when his phone rang, your name appearing. He almost didn't answer. Rin convinced himself that hearing your lousy excuses was better than listening to the war raging in his heart and mind.

"What?" Rin's tone was cold.

"I'm sorry. So, so, sorry. Can I come back and..."

Rin's mind snapped when he heard your sobs. You never cried. Soul wrenching, grief-stricken sobs that poured salt into his already open wounds poured through the line.

"Where are you?"

"Sent...My...location," you managed between sobs.

You stood from the bench outside the convenience store when Rin's car pulled into the parking lot. Rin stood by the passenger side, door already open for you.

You didn't say anything. His expression the only warning you needed. Rin had plenty to say, but he never had the courage when you were so obviously hurting.

"What did he do this time?"

You glanced over at Rin, his eyes trained on the road. It broke your heart even more when you realized he thought you were crying over your ex.

"It's not about what he did," you spoke your voice breaking.

Rin had no patience for riddles or denials.

"Then what? I've never heard you cry," Rin admitted.

"I fucking hurt you, Rin!!! Why don't you ever tell me! You are my best friend and...I finally realized how crappy I've been to you! Why? Why do you even put up with me?! With this crap I put you through?"

Tears started falling again, but you reached over and covered his free hand with yours.

Rin saw sunshine and rainbows the moment your hand touched his. All he wanted was you, your touch, your love. He was desperate for it. And though he finally realized you were hurting for him, because of what you'd made him feel, he still couldn't say what he wanted to.

"You assume too much," Rin finally responded.

You pulled your hand back, realizing how stupid you were. It was Rin Itoshi. After his brother, he was the least bothered person on the planet.

Rin wanted to pull your hand back to intertwine your fingers together, but he didn't.

"Either way, I'm sorry. You deserve better."

Rin parked the car, the quiet madness sneaking back in as he began to overthink your words.

Better? There isn't better. It's you, you idiot. You are it! Why can't you figure that out? You can't leave. You can't leave.

He opened the car door for you and took your hand as you got out. You held his hand tightly, grateful for the small kindness he was willing to show you. You hated yourself for treating him so poorly.

Rin released your hand as he opened the door to his place, leaving you to shut it. When you turned around you found yourself caged in against the door. Rin's intense teal orbs burning into yours.

"Don't leave."

You didn't try to hide your confusion and smiled up at him.

"I wasn't sure you still wanted me to spend the night."

Rin groaned, unable to keep his frustration hidden any longer. How oblivious were you when his body was pressed against yours? When he was looking at you like a man desperate for water after years of dehydration.

"Idiot. Don't leave me."

Rin nearly crumbled when you looked at him with that clueless expression for the second time.

"You're my best friend, Rin. I'm never going to leave you."

Rin rolled his eyes before finally placing his lips against yours. Rin wanted to be rough. He wanted to get his point across in a way you would never question. But it was you. Rin could only ever be gentle with you because you had been his world for so long. No matter how tough or self-reliant you were, he would only ever see his sweet, gentle best friend.

"Be mine," Rin forced the words out, though it felt like the icy grip of death itself wrapped around his fragile heart, wondering what your answer would be.

You were still shaking from the gentle kiss your best friend had suddenly planted on you. You wonder when he learned to kiss like that.

"Yours? That sounds really, really good."

You grabbed the front of his shirt to bring him down for another kiss, but he smirked pulling away. Grabbing you by the hand, he headed towards his bedroom.

"We have to farm more rainbow weapons. C'mon," Rin planned on teasing you a lot before he kissed you again.

**Rin and reader play RE together, that's where the rainbow weapons mention came from.**

#blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #angsty #bllk rin #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock rin #rin itoshi x reader #kissing

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sunsburns · 3 days ago

Note

To add on to my previous thought, Joaquin could simply be doing the dishes his tags dangling an inch away from his chest or seeing them outlined under his shirt and I’m still drooling.

Like if he put them on me would he be acting the same way? Let’s find out, Joaquin lemme borrow your tags pls!

anything he does would have me swooning i don’t know what to tell u

and joaquín isn’t even doing anything particularly noteworthy, just standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes after dinner. he’s humming something soft under his breath, something familiar, and the low, absent-minded tune settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite expect.

he’s wearing one of his usual loose-fitting shirts, sleeves cut just enough to tease the toned definition of his arms. the fabric is thin, clinging to his back from the warmth of the water, and there, just beneath the cotton, you can see them.

the outline of his dog tags. they press against his shirt every time he moves, shifting, catching just enough light to keep drawing your eyes back to them.

you were telling him some story from earlier in the day, but the words falter on your tongue, train of thought lost entirely as you watch him.

it’s when he turns slightly, reaching for another plate, that they swing—dangling just an inch away from his chest, pressing against the fabric, teasing you like they know exactly what they’re doing.

your gaze traces the silver chain around his neck, how it peeks out from the collar, disappearing beneath his shirt. your fingers twitch with the sudden need to touch, and before you even think it through, you’re pushing off from the counter, stepping closer.

your hands skim over his shoulder first, light, almost absentminded, trailing down until they brush against the beads of the chain. you barely apply any pressure, just running your nails over them, feeling the warmth they’ve absorbed from resting against his skin all day.

joaquín stills instantly.

his breath hitches just enough for you to notice, and you don’t miss the way his fingers falter under the running water for just a second.

you pull the tags from under his shirt gently, letting the metal settle against your fingers, and then you tug.

not hard—just enough to make him stumble a step, enough to force him to turn toward you, enough to have his eyes wide and blinking as he processes what you’ve just done.

you don’t give him time to recover.

your fingers curl around the tags, keeping him close as you lean in and tug him even closer, pressing your lips to his before he can so much as utter a word.

for a second, joaquín doesn’t move. he’s too caught off guard, too caught up in you, the cool press of your fingers against him, the warmth of your lips settling over his. but then he melts.

the dish towel slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the sink, forgotten. his wet palms hover at your waist, dripping, for only a second before he touches—really touches—fingertips pressing into the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

he exhales into the kiss, slow and shaky, and it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips part slightly against yours, a moment’s hesitation—like he’s savouring this, like he doesn’t want to move too fast, doesn’t want to ruin the way your breath catches at the same time he does. he always kisses you like the first time.

but you don’t want slow.

you tug his dog tags again, just enough to tilt his chin down, just enough to feel the low, barely-there sound he makes against your lips.

and then he’s kissing you back in full, properly, like something in him just gave up resisting.

his hands tighten at your waist, then one slides up your back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing against warm skin as he holds you even closer.

the heat between you builds, your head spinning as he deepens the kiss, lips moving with a slow, deliberate ease—like he wants to take his time, like he’s making sure you feel every second of it.

and you do.

you feel it in the way his nose bumps against yours when he tilts his head, in the way his breath hitches when your fingers slide up, curling into his hair. you feel it in the slight, barely-there tremble in his hands, like even he can’t believe this is happening.

it all makes you smile.

when you finally break apart, your breath is uneven, your lips tingling and in a wide grin.

his face is pink, eyes still a little dazed, lips parted like he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened.

your fingers are still wrapped around his tags.

“what was that for?” he asks, voice quieter than usual like you just knocked all the air out of his lungs.

you shrug, giving the chain one last, playful tug.

“felt like it.”

#i got carried away srry #dog tags and chains are a weakness for me i fear #faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #the falcon #the falcon x reader #faye’s 14 love letters event ᢉ𐭩

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l-starsz · 7 hours ago

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Billie convincing reader to let her eat her pussy on her period

I'm inlove with your fics, you're such a damn good writer 🫶🏽🫶🏽

a/n: this probably isn’t great because i’m SOOO tired and my head is pounding rn but i hope it’s good at least🥲 and thank you so much ml!! i’m so sorry this took ages for me to write🫶

billie and i were laying in bed together, watching a movie. her back was resting against the comfy pillows on our bed, whilst my back was resting against her front. i was sat between her legs, and her hands were lightly resting against my thighs. we were both intrigued in the movie, or so i thought. whilst i was watching, and keeping up with the storyline, billies hands began to wander. they roamed up my stomach, cupping my boobs gently, before moving down again to this time, rest against my inner thighs.

i really tried to focus on the movie, but i just couldn't with her hands all over me. i knew nothing could happen, i was on my period, which meant that i had to wait a few more days until she could touch me. i'd been so horny. i was desperate for her, but we both knew that nothing could be done about it. well, she could fix my horniness, but i felt bad for asking her to do that when i was on my period. so i waited, and somehow put up with the feeling of being unbearably horny almost all day, every day.

soon enough, i felt her pressing light kisses behind my ear, down my neck, before lightly whispering in my ear.

"can i try something, baby?"

i slightly turned in her arms so that i could see her face, before answering her in a hushed tone.

"and what would that be, hm bil?"

"please can i taste you?"

my eyebrows furrowed and i looked away as i wondered why she was even asking. she knew i was on my period. she'd practically been taking care of me for the last few days. grabbing me a hot water bottle, or holding me in her arms whenever my cramps worsened. getting me whatever food i wanted when i was craving something. making sure i was drinking plenty of water. she really was the best. i just didn't understand why she was asking this now.

"i.. baby, you know i'm still on my period."

"i know.. i just can't wait!! i want to taste you please, love. i'll do anything."

i hesitated slightly. what if i made a mess, and then she got mad? what if i didn't taste good? she must have noticed the look on my face because she began speaking again.

"if you're not comfortable with this, then we don't have to do it. but i promise you that you don't need to overthink it, there should be no what if's filling your mind. you know i love you no matter what. i think you're the most perfect girl in the world."

how did she know?

it was like she could read my mind.

"pleaseeee? pinky promise i'll take great care of you, angel. just like always. pretty please?"

if i hadn't been so horny for the last few days, i probably would've said no, but that side of my brain just took over. i needed her so so bad. i reminded myself that she would always love me. this wasn't going to change that. she wanted this just as much as i did.

"if i say yes, can you put a towel down? you know.. just in case?" i mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

"of course, angel. whatever makes you feel the most comfortable." she answered me, placing soft kisses on my forehead.

once i'd spent a short amount of time thinking about it, i looked back into her eyes and nodded.

"i need you billie."

she just smirked at my words, before sitting me up slightly so that she could move from behind me, and settle in between my legs instead.

it didn't take her long to leave the room and grab a towel, folding it slightly and placing it underneath me. she sat on her knees at first, slowly pulling my pyjamas and underwear down so that she had the perfect view of me. once our clothes had been discarded in a messy pile on the floor, she leaned down to lay on her stomach, getting even closer to my core. i let out a needy whine when all she did was lightly blow against my pussy.

she could already see how wet i was. i hadn't told her about how needy id been for the past few days, but i think that as soon as she caught a glance of how wet i was, she immediately realised. she didn't bother to waste any more time, diving straight in. her tongue ran a long stripe up my pussy, before focusing on my clit. she was trying to get me wetter, it wasn't like she needed me to be wetter, she just wanted to tease. i reached my hands down to grab her hair, pulling her impossibly closer to my core in an attempt to get her to move faster.

we both knew that i was already pretty sensitive because of how long i'd needed this, so it wouldn't take her long to get me close, which was why she was trying to drag it out as much as possible. she wanted me to last as long as i could.

her tongue flicked my clit, before licking and slurping, just doing as much as she could to bring me pleasure. after what felt like an eternity, she finally moved to push her tongue inside of me. she worked her tongue against my tight walls as they squeezed against her. my orgasm was approaching fast, and my arousal must have been dripping all over the lower half of her face. at that point, i'd completely forgot that i was on my period, and i think billie had forgotten too. we were both too focused on me finishing.

i was so close, and to add to the pleasure, she pressed her fingers on my clit, quickly rubbing circles against it, making my moans as loud as they could get. i couldn't hold it any longer. no matter how hard i tried, i was too desperate.

"billie! baby, can i cum for you? please?" i moaned out.

"that's ittt." she praised, "cum for me, my love."

as soon as i heard those words, my orgasm hit me. my moans and cries were broken whilst i let the feeling consume me. my back was arching off the bed, and my hands were still tangled in billies hair, gripping onto it tight to ground myself slightly.

as i started to come down from my high, my grip loosened on her hair, and i felt one of her hands gently rubbing my stomach to help me calm down. when i finally flopped against the bed, trying to catch my breath, billie pulled her face away from me, looking into my eyes with a proud smile. all i could see was a mixture of my arousal, and blood dripping down her chin and coating her lips.

my cheeks turned red and i covered my face, embarrassed even though i knew billie was just happy that she'd made me feel good.

i didn't even notice her come closer to my face until i felt her carefully grabbing my wrists to pry my hands away from my face, and i heard her pretty voice.

"don't be embarrassed, angel. can i go clean you up now?"

"please." i nodded and thanked her, allowing myself to be lifted up in her arms, my head resting on my shoulder out of exhaustion.

once we took a long shower, and pampered each other, it was time for us to get back in bed and watch movies for the rest of the day, enjoying each others company just like usual.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #fanfic #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #wlw #billie eilish smut #wlw smut #smut #wlw post #wlw blog

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takenbypeter · 7 hours ago

Text

Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 682

A/N: Just a lil pure fluff for Bucky. I’m in my Bucky era again

You stared at your phone. Something was wrong.

Right?

See you soon <3

You read the text again focusing on the heart at the end. This wasn’t him, right? It must’ve been somebody impersonating him.

You sat at the counter of your kitchen in thought with your phone laying screen up while your hands were interlaced pushed against your lips.

You were starting to get worried. Should you call somebody, should you call Sam? No they were together, if someone got to him then someone got to Sam too. Your mind was racing in thought. The only thing that broke its focus was the sound of the front door unlocking.

Your eyes darted to the sound as you grabbed a nearby knife. But the hammering in your heart stopped once you saw Bucky entering your apartment.

You let out a sigh putting the knife down as he threw his duffel bag to the floor before looking at you for the first time.

“Woah, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just thought something went wrong on the mission for a moment, that's all.”

He frowned, taking his shoes off and stepping closer. “I said I’d see you soon, why would anything be wrong?”

He planted a kiss on your cheek, passing by you to grab a plum from the fruit bowl.

“I don’t know, I guess your message just threw me off.”

He let out a hmm, sort of in agreement. But that was it.

“Well the ending was the part that really threw me off.”

He nodded again as if that was that.

You were going to have to yank the bull harder to get the answer from him.

“So yeah, what was up with that? That’s not like you?”

“What?”

You pick up your phone, “Bucky, come on…” he looked at you as if having no idea what you’re talking about, you had to fill in the answer for him to continue the conversation, “the heart at the end! You’ve never done that before.”

“Oh I just thought it was a nice thing,” he shrugged it off as if it was no big deal.

“It is a nice thing, a really sweet nice thing but it’s just it’s so random, you know?”

Bucky sighed, “yeah I figured, you know I don’t tell you enough how much I care for you, so I figured I’d start doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Telling you I love you.”

Now that. That took you aback.

“Huh? You don’t tell me how much you love me?”

“Yeah…it took me so long to say it and some guys were talking on the mission and it just made me realize that I don’t say it as much as I should.” He finally turned to you fully, “I’m sorry, I’ll say it more often from now on.”

You wave your hands in the air trying to shut down this whole claim of his, “stop just stop. You say it all the time. It might not be verbal but you say it in the little things; when you make dinner, when I fall asleep and you carry me to the bed, when you buy me something because it reminds you of me—that’s all you telling me you love me Buck. Come on now don’t be silly,” you continue, clearly upset that he would even accuse himself like this, “and you do tell me you love me, so whatever those guys said they can buzz off. If anything it’s not you who doesn’t say it enough it’s me who doesn’t say it enough, so Bucky,” you go to where he’s now seated on a stool and you put two hands to his cheek squishing them in the process, “I love you.”

Bucky’s stoic expression breaks in your hands, knowing you’re passionate about his feelings and that you just want him to know how good he is, “I love you too.”

You grin and kiss him chastely. “Now aside from that, the heart was a cute touch. I'm definitely screenshotting this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while a smile continued to decorate his lips.

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

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yailtsv · 2 days ago

Text

Basketball Practice - Pazzi’s daughter

💌 Syn: Paige watches Saylor’s first basketball practice back after being grounded from basketball for two weeks

»»— warnings: curse words

»»— notes: finally posting for saylor again after so many requests to start writing for her again 🙌

»»— word count: 576 (it’s a short one i’m sorry)

»»— pair: Paige x daughter!oc || Saylor Bueckers

todays the day that saylor can go back to practice again and she was extremely excited about that, before she found out that paige is going to be going to supervise. she knows she’s about to be made fun of bad, so she tried to get paige to change her mind - with no luck

which tells you where they are now - the high school gym

the whole team was doing drills with paige just sitting on the bleachers watching. the coach soon after blew the whistle for a start of a scrimmage game, and when everyone was walking towards the coach so he could pick who’s doing the scrimmage, jasmine walked up to saylor

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” jasmine said seething “what are you talking about?” saylor said already knowing what she’s talking about but trying to steer the conversation elsewhere

“you brought your mom?! wnba champion and wnba legend mom?! to MY practice without telling ME?! does that ring a bell stupid?”

“i didn’t bring her, she decided to come. i tried to get her to not come.” saylor says trying to defend herself and get back on jasmines good side

“well that doesn’t really matter does it?! she’s here and you didn’t tell me, so i didn’t prepare my game. i’ve probably been out here playing stupid because YOU didn’t warn me that she was gonna be here. this is YOUR fault. everything always leads back to you”

saylor and jasmine made it to where the coach was before saylor could respond - and of course he just had to put those two girls on the same scrimmage team.

during the scrimmage jasmine kept giving saylor stink eyes and was ultimately playing dirty with saylor even though they were on the same team. plus even after the scrimmage was over and they were back to normal practice drills, jasmine was still playing dirty - she always found a way no matter the drill or the distance in between the two girls

after practice and in the locker room away from the coaches and paige, jasmine pushed saylor into the lockers hard, before giving her a side eye and walking away towards her locker

saylor sighed and stood up, wincing in pain as she does before also walking towards her locker to get clean and dressed as fast as she can

walking out of the locker room before anyone else, saylor quickly went to the lobby to meet up with paige before jasmine or one of her minions could find her first

“hey, you did good at practice” paige said looking up from her phone when she heard footsteps walking towards her

“thank you, can we go now?” saylor says nervously - which doesn’t go unnoticed by paige, but she doesn’t say anything and just stands up “yeah, let’s go, moms making lasagna for dinner”

saylor just nods and the both of them exit the school and get to the car. when they are pulling out of the parking lot, saylor looks out the window and sees jasmine standing outside glaring at her

saylor just quickly turns her head to look away from the window - already knowing tomorrow is gonna be hell.

🏷️ @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @authentic-girl03 @ldapper @taylynbueckers44

requested on wattpad

#pazzi x daughter!oc #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #pazzi fics #yailtsv’s works 📝#paige bueckers x oc #azzi fudd x oc

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 3 days ago

Note

Maybee insecure reader x donna?? Ome day reader went to the village to do some shopping unfortunately she met some mean boys there who started commenting on her body and her purchases. Reader comes home crying which worries Donna. Reader locks herself up and stops eating. One evening Donna find reader crying again and confronts her

A lot of fluff at the end pleaseee!!

Yess!!!! I'm sorry about the plot twist, I know you didn't ask me to do it but, seriously, I couldn't help it!! Anyway, thank you for your request! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))))

False complexes

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt & comfort, unexpected plot twist I'm sorry, some eating disorders...

Word count: 7,503

Summary: You hated looking yourself in the mirror that morning...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! Well, I have to say that: Be careful with those complexes. Be healthy, and be yourselves, always! All the bodies are beautiful!!!

“Oh, come on,” you protested as you tried to tie your dress.

Turning around a little, you looked at yourself in the mirror to check if the garment you had chosen was really as tight as it seemed. Your hands ran over your hips, your belly and your gaze darkened a little. The echoes of the past began to sound in your mind like a distant and mocking whisper, but before they could be heard more clearly, some hands on your waist calmed them down.

“Donna,” you sighed with a tender smile, noticing how the dollmaker's hands hugged you subtly while her lips rested on your cheek.

“Mm?” the brunette murmured. “Tutto bene?”

“What? Oh, yes,” you answered amused, leaning your body on hers slowly, letting yourself be impregnated by the scent of lavender that always accompanied her. “I was wondering if… this dress looks good on me.”

“The dress?” Donna asked, frowning. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing, it's just that it looks very… tight,” you sighed, concentrating on your reflection, to which Donna imitated your gesture. “You don't think so?”

“Mm,” the lady answered dryly, shaking her head and capturing your lips in a mischievous way. “You look beautiful, tesoro.”

“Okay, okay,” you said amused, trying to escape from her addictive kisses. “Hey, Donna, I have, I have to go”

“No, stay,” your girlfriend whispered to you seductively, turning your body and tying your waist tightly. “Stay.”

“Tempting,” you whispered, biting your lip and resting your hands on her chest. “But I can't, Donna, I have to pick up the cake.”

The lady in black moved away with a gesture of surrender.

“I still don't understand why you have to order a cake from those villagers, I can make it much better,” she said, cooling her gaze. “You know I don't like you going to the village alone and…”

“Donna,” you said with a stern, firm tone, putting your hands on your hips. “What did we say about jealousy?”

The woman tensed and looked away, crossing her arms.

“It’s not jealousy,” she said in a childish tone. “Remember that you were dizzy yesterday, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Yesterday?” you asked. “Oh, yeah, well… you know, playing hide and seek with Angie makes anyone dizzy,” you concluded, downplaying it and leaving the bedroom.

“I could make a better cake,” Donna said, comically following you through the dark basement hallways.

“Honey,” you said, stopping abruptly and planting a soft kiss on her lips to silence any further protests. “Going out for some fresh air it’s good.”

“Ma…,” she protested, silenced again by your eager, tender lips.

“It's our anniversary,” you said with a calm sigh, caressing her cheek, suppressing a giggle. “It wouldn't be right for you to spend the morning cooking.”

“Certo,” the lady finally said, giving in to your weak arguments. “But, hey, (Y/N).”

“Mm?”

“Be careful, okay? I don't like you going out,” she whispered, ashamed of her nerves, of her somewhat absurd worries. Luckily, you were quite used to her behavior.

“I always be,” you joked, winking at the lady as you walked out the front door and felt the cutting cold of that place calm your discomfort. “Hey, wait, wait,” you said amused, running back into her arms, kissing her before calmly retreating.

Donna laughed blushingly and, as always when you left the house, she kept watching you until you turned the corner that led to the elevator, ready for a day of shopping in the village.

You were never a self-confident girl, you never believed in yourself or believed you were worthy of love or affection.

You remembered looking with some envy at the maids of the castle, looking at their perfect bodies, their uniforms dancing as they walked and dreaming, one day, of being like them. The lack of friends and sadness made you overweight and, for a girl like you, that was your downfall.

The mockery and laughter still remained in the depths of your mind, and although you managed to get out of there, keep yourself healthy with great effort, and start to stop listening to those mockeries, they would never disappear completely.

At 20 years old, you were a shy girl, but with enough confidence to stop listening to the laughter of your classmates and start to live far from the past. Your body wasn’t the most perfect, but you felt good about yourself.

Maybe that somewhat changing attitude was what attracted her attention.

At the masses in honor of the Black Gods you were just a villager looking for her place in that depressing village, but you were never alone. The Four Lords and Mother Miranda were always there, to remind you why you prayed, why you needed them. Of course when you were a girl you believed what the priestess said, you believed that everyone had salvation, that the Gods could help you, but it wasn’t like that.

No God helped you. Boredom and the feeling of obligation in those horrible masses made you distract yourself, starting to analyze the figures in front of you instead of listening to Mother Miranda's words. Dimitrescu, Heisenberg, Moreau, Beneviento; four founding families and four descendants who were chosen by the Gods.

Each one was stranger than the last, but there was one... a woman dressed in black that your eyes began to focus on for longer than usual.

Donna Beneviento, the youngest of them, was mysterious, captivating; a slender and gloomy figure which always remained silent, despite the sinister living doll she always carried in her arms.

Day after day you looked for new details in her dress, in the veil that covered her face, in her apparently soft hands, in her pale skin. Your observations were written down in your mind, and they waited to be completed, to know what was behind that black veil, behind that silent woman.

Of course, you weren’t as discreet as you thought, and one day, she approached you. Despite your logical fear of that situation, you remained calm while that doll, Angie, questioned you about your tireless glances.

Your clumsy response didn’t generate a punishment or a threat, but an invitation, an invitation to have tea that would be the beginning of your new life.

Donna was a strange woman, extremely quiet and shy, watching you through her veil. It was weird at first, but soon you got used to her silent gaze, her soft words and her hoarse voice, you got too used to it.

Love came like a miracle into your life, two years ago, two years since that first kiss, the revelation of her face, her beauty. She was a terribly beautiful woman. The scar on her face and the gifts the Gods gave her weren’t important to you.

At first the dollmaker was possessive, jealous, claiming you as hers whenever she could, but you didn't blame her for it. Despite that, and the illness of her mind, you discovered something wonderful in the dollmaker, the woman of your life.

“Good morning,” you said as you entered the old bakery.

The woman who served the customers greeted you with a bow that made you frown, but to which you were already accustomed.

“My lady,” she said, to which you rolled your eyes, approaching casually.

“Mrs. Dinovic, you don't have to treat me that way,” you said amused, shaking your head. “I'm just (Y/N), the same old (Y/N).”

“Of course,” the woman said, nodding uncertainly. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I'm just not used to… Well, to…”

“Bah, don't give it any importance,” you said, interrupting yet another apology, an apology that deep down, you adored. “Do you have my order?”

“Of course, (Y/N),” she nodded, taking a wrapped cake that she put on the counter, and which you gave an anxious look to while rubbing your hands. “Are you celebrating something?”

“Yes,” you said satisfied, grabbing the package carefully. “Today marks two years since I moved in with Donna.”

“Oh, um… congratulations,” the old lady said shyly. “I'm glad to see that you're happy, you deserve it.”

“Is that chocolate over there?” you asked, irrationally attracted to some bars that stood out on a shelf.

“The Duke has provided us new outdoor items. According to him, it's the best chocolate in the world,” the baker stated, handing you one of the bars.

“The Duke thinks that anything he sells is the best in the world,” you sighed amused, looking at the bar. “But... you've convinced me, I'll take a couple of them. Tell me how much everything is.”

“Gods, it's a gift (Y/N),” the old woman said, with an almost fearful look that made you sigh and roll your eyes again.

“No way,” you stated, taking a bag of coins out of your bag. “Would you dare to refuse Lady Beneviento’s money?” you joked, leaving the bag on the counter.

The woman laughed and shook her head.

“Good point, (Y/N),” she finally sighed, taking the money. “By the way…”

“Yes?”

“Y-You look good, sweetie,” she commented, making a genuine smile appear on your face.

Maybe the tight dress thing was an exaggeration.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dinovic,” you said goodbye, taking the cake and the chocolate bars, comically maneuvering to be able to carry everything.

Walking back to the mansion, you felt a heat in your cheeks as you thought about that compliment, deciding to open some chocolate, which, for some reason, you really wanted.

“Damn Duke, he's right,” you said with your mouth full, delighting in the sweet taste of the chocolate as you walked, approving his products. “I have to tell Donna to order more, of… oh, boy,” you lamented when one of the bars fell to the snowy ground.

Clumsily you bent down to pick it up, noticing a certain discomfort in your back that you didn't have before. As you approached your target, a quick hand pulled it out of your reach.

“Did you lose something, (Y/N)?” a male voice said, one you recognized long before you stood up again.

It was one of your nightmares, one of the boys who laughed at you when you were younger, the last person you wanted to see at that moment.

“Well, thank you,” you said without looking him in the eyes, trying to retrieve the chocolate, which the boy mockingly pushed away. “Oh, come on…”

“You want this, Moby? I assumed so,” he said, laughing amused, but interrupted by his friend, who made a face of terror.

“Sergei, leave her alone,” his partner said, with an apologetic look. “Come on, give it back to her.”

“So she can break the size record?” the bully continued mockingly, while you began to tremble. “Eating too much chocolate is bad, (Y/N). I think you should know it.”

“Dude, stop it, don't you know where she lives?” his friend insisted, handing you the chocolate quickly and urging the boy to go away.

“At the chocolate factory apparently, isn't that right, Charlie?” Sergei mocked.

You were speechless. You may have forgotten about your past fears, your complexes, but you weren't ready to face them again, you never were.

“Leave her alone or that crazy Beneviento will come for us,” the other said, whispering in a too loud voice.

“Hey, don't mess with Donna,” you said without thinking, earning a loud laugh from the bully, who elbowed his partner.

“Yes, Iulian, don't mess with her. Beneviento is too busy enlarging the doors of her house to fit (Y/N), isn't it?” he hissed with a sinister look, still laughing.

“Shut up,” you growled, gritting your teeth and destroying one of the bars with your hands.

“What do you have there? Is that a cake? I'm sure it's just an appetizer, right?” the boy continued, making tears slowly begin to form in your eyes. “You eat many cakes a day, don't you? Look at you, you barely fit into that dress.”

“Sergei,” his friend protested, pulling his arm again. “Do you want to die?”

“Stop worrying. I'm sure that by the time the fatty gets to the mansion, we'll have had time to escape, don't you think, piggy?” he dragged out his words slowly, making them land right on your chest, which was rising and falling very fast, too fast.

“Shut up!” you shouted furiously, turning around to escape from that horrible situation, a situation that was too common in your childhood and that you didn't want to relive.

“That's it, run, piggy! But leave us some chocolate, don't eat it all!” Sergei shouted, his voice getting weaker the further away you went.

You were nervous and terribly hurt, too much to think clearly. As you walked, on the way to your shelter, with Donna, you thought about those hurtful words, about your insecurity from a while ago in front of the mirror. You knew you couldn't believe the words of that stupid villager, but something inside you repeated them constantly.

Before continuing, shedding several tears in the snow, you stopped in front of an old truck, looking at your body in one of the rearview mirrors.

Your face, red from the cold and crying, seemed to have a rounder appearance than some time ago and your belly seemed to be pressed much more against the fabric of the dress, as did your chest. Was he right?

It had been a long time since you banished your complexes, you changed your life to feel better. You kept yourself in a healthy shape and a fairly balanced diet. You didn't understand why your body was playing such a trick on you, why it was increasingly far from being attractive.

Looking at yourself in the reflection increased your crying and the speed at which you returned to the old estate, with tears and laments being your only companions.

“It's about time, silly,” the Angie doll said with a demanding pose as you entered the mansion, your face hurt by tears and an irrational trembling in your hands. “What have you brought?”

“Angie, leave me alone,” you sobbed, hanging up your coat and checking the cake had survived your frustration.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the doll snapped at you. “What's wrong with your face?”

Taking that as an attack rather than a remark due to your obvious tears, you let out a pitiful moan, shaking your head and heading towards the elevator hallway, closely followed by Angie.

“Hey, silly, I’m talking to you! Did you bring me yarn?” the doll insisted, comically tugging at your dress to slow your steps. “Hey, don’t ignore me, you silly villager!”

“Angie, leave me alone!” you shrieked, opening the door and shaking the leg the doll had grabbed. “Leave me alone, okay?”

“Ugh, stupida,” the puppet hissed, comically walking away with a cocky pose. “You’re unbearable!”

“Whatever,” you sighed as you pressed the button, going down to the basement.

Already in the kitchen, you left the cake on the counter and lowered your head, letting out an intense but discreet cry, one that of course, Donna noticed right away.

“(Y/N)?” she asked, peeking through the door and changing her expression when she saw you lamenting. “Tesoro…”

“Donna, not now, okay?” you said, removing the hands that held your face and wiped away your tears. “Donna, let me go, please…”

“Why are you crying?” she asked, exerting more force in her grip, starting to get nervous because of your attitude.

“Nothing, it's nothing, okay?” you lied, shaking your head and turning your back to the lady, taking the opportunity to pretend while you put the groceries in the fridge.

“Va bene, but, but… (Y/N), amore mio…” the lady in black sighed grabbing your wrist before you ran away again, hurting you.

“Donna, let me go, you hurt me,” you protested, childishly breaking free from her grip and leaving her with her eye wide open and her hands starting to shake. “It's nothing, okay?”

“Sono preoccupata per te, tesoro,” she sighed with an intense look, managing to drag your body close to hers. “You're crying, why are you crying? Did something happen in the village?”

“No,” you answered dryly, wiping your tears on your own and shaking your head. “Nothing happened in the village, okay?”

“You’re lying,” Donna said, her tone accusatory, a tone that revealed she didn’t believe you at all. “What happened? Answer me.”

“I told you nothing happened,” you said, a senseless anger slowly invading you.

“You're lying to me, why are you lying to me!?” the lady said, furious, stamping the floor with her shoe like a little girl. “You're hiding something from me.”

“You know what, Donna? I don't feel like listening to you, nor am I in the mood to put up with your stupid jealousy, so…” you said with an indifferent tone, with the blood boiling in your veins. “I'm going to read.”

“Jealousy? Do you think I'm jealous?” she asked, grabbing your wrist again, digging her nails into your skin. “(Y/N), please… I just, I just want to know if anyone has done anything to you.”

You stopped with a gasp, feeling more tears spilling down your cheeks as you shook your head.

“No one has done anything to me,” you lied without looking at your girlfriend's face, trying with all your might to relax.

“You know you can tell me,” the brunette insisted, cupping your face in her hands, something that made you more nervous.

Your face was rounded, imperfect; she would notice, for sure.

“No, I... no, okay? Everything is fine,” you said with a forced tone, lowering her hands, pushing away her tender caresses.

“I-If someone has hurt you... I... they will... pay for it...” she said haltingly, breathing with difficulty. “I will kill everyone who hurts you, (Y/N), I swear, I...”

“Basta, Donna,” you said with a firm tone, crossing your arms and stopping crying immediately. “I don't need you to do anything for me, okay? I can defend myself, is that clear? Just forget about your murderous madness and leave me alone, can you do that? Can you just leave me alone for a fucking minute?” you snapped, growling and storming out of the kitchen, hitting the shoulder of the lady in black in the process.

“Ma, ma… what have I done?” she muttered before you disappeared.

Luckily, she didn't follow you.

In the solitude of the bedroom, you let the tears and frustration run through you mockingly. The mirror near the closet watched you, looked at you mockingly, looked at your imperfect, swollen body, the tight seams around your waist, your breasts…

“Damn it,” you protested, hitting the mattress and getting up to change your clothes.

It really didn't help you. In the reflection, your body kept laughing at you, your rounded face kept telling you that you were horrible, that Donna would never love you looking like that.

Naturally you weren't going to give up. You had to find a solution to that old problem and above all, try not to take it out on poor Donna.

She knew about your past, about the teasing of your classmates, and she always listened and supported you but fear is irrational. Anger, sadness, laughter... all those contradictory feelings began to haunt you for the rest of the day.

Donna didn’t deserve that attitude. She didn’t deserve to be ignored just because you didn’t dare to talk about what happened.

Talking about it would be reliving it, reliving your traumas, your complexes. Remaining silent was your best option, locking yourself away was the only valid solution you found.

That day you didn’t go up to have lunch; you stayed lamenting in the bedroom, alone, with the only company of the teasing of your past, of that day that had started horribly wrong. But there was something you couldn’t avoid, the special dinner with Donna, the dinner that celebrated your two years together.

“You don't like it?” the lady asked, apparently oblivious to what had happened hours ago, to your absence during the lunch.

Sometimes Donna surprised you. She was always a bit pushy, but mysteriously, when you needed some room, she left you alone. She was a wonderful woman. You didn't want to be rude, you wanted to please her.

“I love it, darling,” you said with a fake smile, playing with your food. “Donna, I don't fancy wine,” you added with an unpleasant grimace as you saw the bottle tilt towards your glass.

“I thought you liked it,” Donna said, frowning, but obeying your request. “It's your favorite, (Y/N), I bought it for you.”

“I know but… I don't fancy it, Donna,”

Of course, wine wasn’t your best ally at that dinner, you had to remain calm, to be able to control your anxiety and not devour the delicious plate of pasta that Donna had prepared for you.

“Okay,” she said, nodding with a shy smile and lighting a candle that had gone out due to the movement. “W-Wait, are you done?” she asked again, watching you push the plate away from you.

“Ugh,” you snorted, pretending to be full, caressing your belly comically. “I'm not hungry anymore, Donna, but it was delicious.”

“Um, but…” she stammered, looking at the food. “It's almost whole, (Y/N), and you haven't eaten, you should…”

“Donna,” you said with a serious, dark tone. “It's our anniversary dinner, I'd like for once, just for once, that you stop telling me what to do, okay, honey?” you hissed furiously, but controlling your tone.

Donna nodded slowly, sad and confused by your attitude, one that you instantly regretted.

“You’re acting weird,” the lady commented after an awkward silence. “Tell me, what have I done wrong?”

“You haven't done anything wrong, Donna,” you answered instantly, shaking your head and looking with shining eyes at your unfinished plate. “Everything is fine.”

“No, nothing is fine, (Y/N),” Donna contradicted you, gently grabbing your hand. “I see sadness in your eyes, I hear it in your words, please, tesoro, talk to me, what's wrong?”

“It's not…” you began, hesitating whether to tell her what had happened, doubting whether you really needed her comfort. “It's not the best day of my life, that's all,” you finished, looking away and holding back a tear.

“I… I'm sorry, (Y/N),” she whispered, getting up and walking around the table, crouching in front of you and gently grabbing your hands. “Tell me, is there anything I can do for you?”

You smiled tenderly, blushing at the ventriloquist's gentlemanly attitude, a very distant one with the rumors that were in the village about her. If only they knew her well…

“You're a sweetheart, Donna,” you whispered, accepting her caresses and looking into her bright eye. “But I don't need anything.”

“Mm…” Donna murmured, kissing your hands and staying thoughtful. “I'm sure the cake cheers you up, vero?” she said, getting up and starting to cut that delicious cake.

“Um, no, I…” you denied, knowing that eating something so sweet wouldn't improve your problem, that you had to resist the temptation.

“Chocolate always cheers you up,” she said, serving you a piece with a smile that couldn't hide her nervousness. “Try.”

“No, I don’t feel like it,” you denied, looking away and dragging your chair a little. “I’m… I’m tired, Donna, I’d like to go to bed.”

“But, but it’s your favorite cake and…” she said, blinking erratically, watching you get up from the chair. “It’s still very early and I would like, I would like us to do something together.”

“As you wish, but in the bedroom,” you said with a tired voice and a sad, but mischievous smile.

Donna smiled, nodding effusively and accompanying you to the elevator. Luckily, you knew what to do to dissuade the lady from her constant attempts to cheer you up. You also held out some hope that some nighttime activity would make you forget. Usually, it always did.

But, it was definitely not your best day.

The kisses echoed in the old bedroom, the caresses on your skin tore through the air with a melodic breeze and your eyes only showed tenderness, love, passion. Her hands wandered through your skin, through your clothes, while her lips rested on yours fiercely, wanting to conquer what had long been hers.

Her thin and cautious fingers traced the outline of your waist and, for some reason, that made you open your eyes and put your hands on her chest.

“Wait,” you whispered with a hoarse voice, moving away from her body. “Let… let me…” you murmured nervously, approaching the lamp on the bedside table and turning it off.

“What are you doing?” the brunette asked when darkness dominated the cold room, turning on the light again. “What's wrong?”

“Well, I thought that without light it could be more… mysterious, don't you think?” you joked, attracting her again to your kisses and taking your hand out from underneath, bringing it closer to the switch.

“But, but I want to see you,” Donna protested, pulling away from your kisses with a pleading look, panting as she began to dominate your neck with her lips. “I want to see how beautiful you are.”

“No, you don't want to,” you said, abruptly moving away from the brunette, pushing her to the side. “Turn off the light, Donna.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, offended by your reaction. “What do you mean I don't want to see you?”

“Nothing,” you lied, shrugging. “I prefer the dark, darling, come on…” you said with an impatient tone.

“No, no, no, no way. Let me see you, please… I want to look at you while I make love to you,” the lady said with a caress on your cheek, placing her hips on yours again.

“Donna,” you protested as she continued, ignoring an innocent request that, for you, wasn't so innocent. “Donna, stop,” you growled, pushing the lady away from your body again. “If it's not in the dark, I don't want to do it.”

“What's wrong with you?” the brunette asked, breathing heavily, frowning and starting to lose control of her emotions.

“It's just that...” you hissed, trying to calm down. You couldn't let poor Donna suffer a crisis because of you, because of your horrible body. “Nothing, nothing's wrong.”

“Y-You're making me nervous, (Y/N), this morning...” she said, whispering, playing with the sheets. “What happened in the village?”

“I already told you that nothing happened!” you shrieked, making the woman back away, scared by your behavior.

“(Y/N)…”

“We better try to get some sleep,” you said, turning over and covering yourself with the sheets, closing your eyes and hiding a tear.

Donna didn't answer. She simply groaned in frustration and lay down next to you, turning off the light.

Sleep took a while to come, and with it images of Donna rejecting you, insulting you for your body, making fun of you. It seemed like you had overcome your problems, but you were very wrong. The encounter with those bullies made you relive your past, made you feel self-conscious again, made you feel even more insecure.

You searched and searched in your mind for a solution, a way to avoid your complexes, a way to stop Donna from despising you for your appearance. You had to do something, or rather, you had to stop doing something.

Yes, yes, the best thing for you, at that moment, was to put your appetite aside, pretend that everything was fine and lock yourself in, exactly like you did a few years ago.

“How are you?” your girlfriend asked the next morning, with everything ready for breakfast. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” you said with a fake smile, leaving the infusion you prepared on the table, ignoring the growl of your stomach. “I'm fine, darling,” you affirmed again, giving the lady in black a soft kiss on the lips.

“You were crying last night,” the brunette whispered, as an informal, discreet comment. “Why didn't you wake me up?”

“Oh, well, I must have had a nightmare,” you said without giving it any importance, blowing the soft steam from your cup. “It's okay, Donna, everything is fine.”

“Mm,” she murmured distrustfully, reaching for a delicious croissant. “Cornetto?”

“No, thanks, I'll just have a tea,” you politely declined.

Donna looked at you confused, but shook her head, devouring the sweet. In other circumstances you would have been amused by the ventriloquist's voracious appetite, one that could even be comical.

But that morning the teasing of your former classmates and the envy you had of the castle maids when you were little made you irrationally angry.

“Hey, stop it,” you snapped unpleasantly, pulling her arm down so she could stop eating. “You've had three, Donna.”

“Cosa? Oh, well, you know I love them,” Donna murmured amused, with her mouth full. “You really don't want one?”

“Ugh,” you sighed, shaking your head and trying to keep your breathing calm. “Can't you stop eating?”

“Mm?” she murmured again, leaving the sweet on the plate and wiping herself with a napkin.

“Your body, look at you,” you said in a disdainful tone, to which the lady responded by blinking and looking at her black dress.

“What's wrong? Have I stained myself?” she asked amused, looking for some leftover croissant.

“How can you eat so much and have that body?” you accused, annoyed, crossing your arms and drinking your bland infusion in one gulp. “Don't you gain weight?”

“Oh, well…” she said, shaking her head. “The truth is that I can't gain or lose weight. My metabolism doesn't change, it must be a Cadou thing,” the lady explained, bringing out the darkest envy that was inside you.

“And that gives you the right to stuff yourself with food in front of me?” you asked in a mocking tone, making her innocent smile disappear from her face. “It's incredible, Donna.”

“Um, but, but…” she stuttered confused again, looking for the cause of your behavior. “What's that about?”

“Not all of us have those privileges, you know?” you exhaled, getting up from the chair. “It seems like you do it on purpose.”

“But what are you talking about? You're acting weird again,” Donna said with a weak voice, getting up from the chair and placing her hands on the table. “(Y/N), tell me what's going on, right now.”

“Donna, you should change the way you cook,” you sighed without thinking, with your mind hurt, not knowing what to do, what to say, how to face your fears without involving the woman of your life. “Pasta, pasta and more pasta… Don't you know how to cook anything else?”

“What?” she asked, frowning, offended. “I thought you liked my food.”

“I like it, but it's unhealthy, don't you see, darling?” you affirmed with a childish tone, leaving the lady even more disoriented.

“The food I prepare is healthy and balanced,” she defended herself with arrogance. “If you have a problem with that, just tell me.”

“Then why I’m that fat?” you asked in the air, pointing at your body.

“Fat? (Y/N), you're making me very nervous, I-I don't know what's going on and...” the lady said, having difficulty pronouncing the words correctly, trembling in terror at your nonsense. “T-The voices...”

“Voices? Oh, great,” you sighed abruptly, raising your hands. “Okay, keep your stupid voices, I don't feel like putting up with you.”

“(Y/N), why are you doing this to me? I didn’t do anything, I didn’t…” Donna said haltingly, sitting up, her breathing becoming increasingly labored. “I can’t…”

You, realizing how unpleasant you had been, how unfair you were to poor Donna, relaxed your expression, putting your hands on her shoulders.

“Shh, darling, calm down… Donna, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my love,” you repeated over and over again to make her reason before a terrible crisis. “I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, forgive me, honey, please…”

“What did I do wrong?” she asked, without listening to your reassuring words. “Is it because of something I said? I-I don't know what I did wrong…”

“No, no my love, I just… I'm just in a… bad mood, dizzy and… it must, it must be the damn spring and… my love, you're hurting me,” you protested when her hand grabbed yours, too tightly.

“Don't leave me, please, please, I…” the lady said desperately, with a lost expression, out of her mind. “Don't go…”

“I'm not going anywhere, I… It's, it's better that I go down… to… to read,” you sobbed, unable to contain your helplessness. “I just need some time alone, do you understand, my love? Come on, Donna, tell me you understand.”

“Y-Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “I-I'll give some room.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, kissing her tenderly as she loosened her grip. “It's just a phase, just that. You, you stop worrying... I love you, Donna.”

“Ti amo, (Y/N),” she replied slowly letting you go, watching you walk away again, succumbing to your old loneliness.

Nothing improved after your time alone. In the mirror, you checked to your dismay how all your clothes seemed to be a bit tight on you. It was no use telling yourself that you were exaggerating; all you saw was a chubby girl being harassed by bullies.

You stopped eating, you stopped wanting to taste the delicious dishes of the lady in black, but she, she stopped asking questions. Donna was obviously worried, but your words and requests were much more important than her worries.

You knew she sent Angie to spy on you when you went down to read, when you wanted to be alone. She knew you were crying, that something bad was happening to you, but she didn't say anything.

Until that night.

Your stomach hurt terribly, you had barely eaten a piece of fruit or an infusion. In bed, you tossed and turned trying to eliminate your appetite, but nothing worked, not even the hug, the comfort that Donna discreetly gave you, surrounding you with her arms, with the warmth of her body next to yours under the sheets.

Poor Donna, she didn't know what to do to calm your grief anymore. She was tense, desperate, almost as much as you.

The hunger was too insistent, and the lack of progress in your absurd goal of a perfect body frustrated you. Your mind was screaming at you, urgently demanding food. You were so depressed that you didn't think much of it, carefully getting up and heading to the kitchen.

The delicious cake from days ago was still shiny, calling you like a tempting snake. Your mind said yes, your stomach too, you had no other choice. Slowly you took a piece and little by little, it disappeared into your mouth.

Your useless and unhealthy improvised diet had failed and, as you wiped the chocolate from the corner of your mouth, a new reflection took over you. In a nearby pot, your swollen face shone, reminding you how unattractive you were, how much you had lost, how you had irremediably gone back in time.

“Fuck!” you shouted hitting the counter, letting the tears invade you, the regret for that delicious delicacy take over you.

You sobbed, cursed and cried for several minutes, regretting the day you were born, the day you met Donna, and imagining in your mind, the day she would abandon you.

“(Y/N),” a soft voice said, Donna, who appeared through the door, watching you in silence.

“My goodness… how long have you been there?” you asked as you dried your tears, regaining your composure.

“Long enough,” she said dryly, running to your side, hugging you without making any comment, pressing your head against your shoulder, making lavender invade you, making you want to cry even more.

“Donna,” you sobbed, burying your face in her body. “Donna, Donna…” you repeated clinging to her, letting your pain out.

“Amore mio… I'm here with you,” she whispered, with a calm tone, less impatient than in previous days. “You don't have to cry alone, tesoro…”

“You don't understand, I… I was really hungry and… I ate a piece of cake and…” you explained in the middle of crying, letting her arms, her hands, act as a buffer for your cries.

“Mm, it's normal that you're hungry, you haven't eaten for several days,” Donna said, lovingly stroking your hair.

“I know I'm weak and that I shouldn't but…” you continued sobbing. “Oh, Donna, I'm not okay.”

“I already know that,” she answered, pushing you away to dry your tears with her fingers, without stopping looking at you. “I beg you, (Y/N), tell me what's wrong.”

You moved away, looking at the floor without stopping sobbing, knowing that you couldn't hide much longer. It was the moment of truth.

“The day of our anniversary, when I went to get the cake I…” you began, taking a breath, ready to be honest. “I ran into my old classmates and they… they.”

“What, amore mio? What did they do to you?” the brunette insisted, brushing your hair away from your face, with an understanding voice that she had surely been rehearsing.

“They messed with me, they said I was fat and… then, then I looked myself in a mirror and I realized… that they're right,” you explained, noticing how little by little the pressure in your chest decreased.

“What? That's not…”

“Shut up, okay? You can say whatever you want, Donna, but I have eyes on my face, look at me, I'm a whale…” you interrupted, pointing at yourself.

“No, you're not, you're beautiful, tesoro, stop talking nonsense,” Donna said, nervous, seeing how little by little you lost your calm.

“You say that to make me feel better, but I know it's not true. My body is horrible and you… you're just with me so you're not alone, but you think the same as everyone else, that I'm a whale.”

“Stop talking nonsense, (Y/N),” the lady snapped, in a very serious, severe tone. “Your body is fine, there's nothing wrong with it, you're perfect, gorgeous, (Y/N), the most beautiful girl in the world,” she said with a sincere smile, one you couldn't believe.

“You can't deny what you see, Donna.”

“I don't see anything,” she protested, crossing her arms. “I see a beautiful girl, with a beautiful body and…”

“Stop it! Will you?” you shouted, making the brunette back away, without losing her nerves. “Look, look at me Donna, touch me,” you demanded, bringing her hand to your rounded face, to your wider hips, to your belly. “Are you going to keep denying it?”

“I can't deny something I don't believe, tesoro,” she said, grabbing your wrists to stop you. “Your body is perfect, you're a beautiful and healthy girl, you don't have any problems and... tell me, tell me who it was.” Her tone darkened little by little, a sign that she you to calm down.

“What? No,” you denied, seeing a shadow in her gaze that made you tremble. “No, Donna.”

“Tell me, (Y/N),” she asked you again, to which you shook your head. “They will pay for that.”

“Do you think you can solve everything by killing innocent people?” you protested unhinged, trying to avoid a tragedy.

“And you think the best solution to your problem is to stop eating? Angie, we're leaving!” Donna shouted, going out the door, stopped by a hand on her wrist, one that tried to pull her back.

“No, no, no, no! Donna, don't do anything!” you screamed, making your voice bounce off the walls. “Don’t do anything, honey, please, just… just hold me,” you sobbed, throwing yourself into her arms. “Hold me, Donna, please.”

She snorted, but finally fulfilled your wish, holding you tightly against her, silently, caressing your head, kissing you softly, doing everything that her erratic words couldn't do.

“I don't care about your body, (Y/N),” she whispered softly, still caressing you. “I will always love you, just the way you are. You are already perfect like this, amore mio, don't believe the words of fools. Don't you think that I don't care about my appearance?”

“It's not the same, Donna,” you whispered, miraculously calmer. “You are perfect.”

“Grazie, (Y/N), but you are very wrong,” she said amused, kissing your hair. “Neither I nor you are perfect, but we are together and perfection changes its meaning when I look at your face, when I delight in your beauty.”

“Sometimes you are too tender,” you laughed, pressing yourself against her chest. “B-But it's true that I'm getting fat. I-I don't look attractive.”

“Well, you're blind,” Donna joked, lifting your chin to slowly capture your lips in a wet, salty kiss.

“No, you're blind,” you whispered, rubbing your nose with hers, finally understanding that everything was fine, that the past tormented you, but you had to learn to ignore it. “Look at my face. Don't you think it's fatter?”

“Um, no,” she said, playing with your hands and looking at your features.

“Come on, all the dresses are too tight on me and… look, look at this, my breasts have grown,” you exhaled pointing at your body, making her mischievous eye rest on the indicated spot and move it away immediately.

“It must be your imagination,” the lady hesitated, shaking her head and fixing your hair. “You are just as beautiful as ever and your… your breasts too.”

“I was expecting that answer,” you joked, letting yourself fall back into her arms and immediately pulling away. “But I still feel… ah!” you protested when you touched your own chest, feeling a strange pain.

“What's wrong?” she asked, worried.

“Nothing, it's just that… they hurt a little,” you said frowning, running your hand over your breasts.

Donna pulled away with a strange look and looked you over meticulously from top to bottom, lifting your nightgown.

“Do they hurt?” she asked without looking at you, observing your slightly swollen belly, with a completely disoriented face.

“Yes, I don't know, it must be because I've gained weight and… Donna!” you screamed when a cold hand rested on your skin. “What are you doing?”

“Now that you mention it… you do look a little different,” the ventriloquist murmured, focusing on her exploratory caresses.

“I'm fat, aren't I?” you sighed, your smile fading at that sincerity on her lips. “I knew it, I knew that…”

“Taci,” Donna silenced you, shaking her head and looking at you with a frown. “(Y/N), tell me, when was the last time you bled?”

“What? Well… I don't know,” you said confused, surprised by her sudden nervousness. “A couple… a couple of months ago, I think, I've always been very irregular and…” As you spoke something came to your mind, a possibility you hadn't considered. “Gods, Donna, do you think that…?”

“Is it possible?” she asked quickly, grabbing one of your hands with hers, with a gleam in her eyes that led to a wide smile on your lips. “(Y/N), you're not getting fat... I think, I think you are...”

“Oh, Gods... is it true? Are we going to...?” you asked, with a different euphoria, completely forgetting about the hurtful words of those bullies, finding a wonderful meaning to those distorted reflections, to that non-existent complex that was becoming more and more evident in your body.

“Questo è il giorno più bello de la mia vitta!” the brunette shrieked, picking you up in her arms and spinning you in the air while the two of you cried with emotion. “(Y/N)!”

“Ugh, honey, put me down,” you said amused, protesting with little blows to her shoulder. “It's the happiest of mine too,” you whispered, panting from the weakness of your body. “But be careful, darling, I'm very weak.”

“Certo, you… sit down and… I'll prepare something delicious for you to eat and… please, stop getting lost in your past, okay? Now the present is the most important thing, and the future.”

“Yes, I… I've been stupid,” you said, fighting against the effusive kisses of your lover, slow, suggestive and nervous kisses. “Donna…”

“I'm sorry, it's just that I…” she said, repentant for her enthusiasm, giving you one last kiss and looking at you slowly, intensely. “You are my beautiful girl, the most beautiful in the world and… Gods… (Y/N), I don't want to hear you say nonsense one more time, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, making a funny gesture. “You're right, Donna, I don't care what those assholes say. I'm not perfect, but I think I could be am when I'm by your side,” you whispered into her lips, capturing them with emotion, bathing them in tears, this time, of joy.

“I'm coming, Donna, I'm coming!” a squeaky voice interrupted the moment.

The Angie doll appeared in the kitchen, quickly climbing the counter and gripping a large knife in a comical way.

“Well, who needs to be taught a lesson?” she asked in a threatening, amused tone.

“Angie,” Donna sighed, approaching the doll and taking the knife away. “Angie, we have some news to give you, (Y/N) and I are going to…”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no…” the puppet sighed. “I'll just say one thing… I don't change diapers!”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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daengtokki · 13 hours ago

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part ten // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 12.1k

RATING: mature/mdni—contains: fluff, hospital/nicu settings, choking (mentioned), meds (mentioned), manipulation, hallucinations, things staring ominously from a distance switching povs

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: 700 followers is crazyyyy, thank you so much for hanging out with me! My giveaway will be up within the next few days as a proper thank you to all of my readers, rebloggers, and those who leave me lovely comments and messages!

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Seungmin is terrified at the idea of picking them up and holding them, and his soft touches are still making him nervous regardless of them becoming more receptive to it. They know he’s here, and they know you’re here, and you think being held, together, is exactly what they want and need, but he looks at them and sees the same paper butterflies he just folded.

“When the nurse comes back, maybe she can show us how to pick them up without upsetting them.”

He beams and nods, “I do want to hold them. You should be holding them…are you able to feed them?”

The call button plays a cute melody when you push it. “Oh, no…I wish I could, but—“ you look down at yourself and cup your breasts in your hands. They have grown, and they are sore, but you haven’t noticed anything significant happening. You might need some help.

“That’s okay. That’s why we have special formula for them until you can. And if you can’t…oh, please don’t cry.” You watch him move through bleary eyes, and he carefully lifts himself onto the bed. “You’ve worked so hard today, and you’re tired.”

“What if it never comes, and I can’t feed them?”

Before he can continue his attempts at comforting you, the nurse returns. “Is everything alright?”

“She’s upset that she can’t feed them”

“Don’t worry yourself too much. They’ll be tube fed for a while before we try a bottle, or breastfeeding. But we have nurses to help with that, and I’ll have one visit sometime today to put your mind at ease.”

The top being taken off the incubator makes Seungmin nervous all over again; seeing them exposed, breathing and feeling the same air as him. But he needs to hold them, so he watches the nurse pick Haesung up with soft, open palms. She bends and brings him closer, rubs his back with two fingers, and hands him to you.

“Just like that—good. Skin touching skin, just what he needs.”

She does the same with Haneul, but this time, it’s Seungmin’s turn. He places one hand carefully on his back; the other cups his tiny diapered butt and holds him close. He’s perfectly still, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest, and Haneul moving along with it. His eyes open, just barely, and close again—when you look down, Haesung is doing the same, and from here you see the dark of his eyes each time they flutter open.

“They’re much cuter than they were on the ultrasound.” Seungmin laughs and gives moving a try. He sits back in his chair, and his fingers glide across the nape of Haneul’s neck. “His eyes are lighter than I expected.”

“Yeah, Haesung’s look kind of hazel, but they’ll probably get darker over the next few months.”

The sound of Seungmin’s phone startles you. It’s Heecheol, you assume, but he’s not paying it any mind. Every bit of his attention is on Haneul, and you don’t expect that to change until he’s safe in the incubator again. It’s another few minutes before the nurse returns, and when she does, Seungmin reluctantly gives him up so he can join his brother on your chest.

“Was that him?”

“Who?”

“Your phone”

He leans forward and taps his screen, “yes, it’s him. Uhm, he said he’s going to head back to the apartment, but he would love to see a photo of the babies.”

You drape your arm over their backs, and they gradually shift closer. It’s fascinating to watch them gravitate toward each other like two little magnets. “Yeah, we should probably take some photos while we have them here with us.”

Seungmin starts getting them from every angle he can, but it doesn’t take long before he’s distracted enough to stop and talk to them again. He moves to your other side and talks to Haesung, who seems to have fallen into a good sleep. “Okay, one more.”

Several hours later, Seungmin makes it home, and it’s only because you finally convinced him he needed to shower and eat. And you need to make me breakfast for tomorrow morning…please. He will, and maybe lunch, too. He’s almost completely forgotten about his antics before the labor started, and how much of a blur disposing and cleaning up became. It isn’t until he walks past the vacant apartment that he remembers leaving the body in there; well-wrapped, but still…it’s just sitting there, a few feet from the door. No smell, thank god, he thinks. At least not to him. Heecheol is still on the other side of this apartments wall, unless he left unannounced, and he might notice something Seungmin doesn’t.

He’s sitting in the living room—television on and playing one of the crime dramas you like so much. There’s one crib together next to him, and the other is halfway there. Seungmin wonders what else he did while he was here all alone.

“Hey dad, welcome back”

The smell of grilled beef, and something a little spicy hits his nose. “Cheoli, you didn’t have to do all this by yourself.” But his stomach grumbles at the thought of dinner, and he knows after he eats, he’s going to crash again.

“It wasn’t much. Besides, I helped myself to a few beers and the snack stash in the cupboard.”

“And made dinner”

“Your boys look good for twenty-five weeks. I think they’ll be okay, and you’ll have them home in no time.”

Seungmin watches him curiously as he heads for the finished crib. “You think?”

“Five…six weeks, maybe. But it could be as long as her original due date.”

“June 1st…I wasn’t even thinking about what day it was. Their birthday is June 1st.”

“Gemini,” Heecheol laughs. “You have Gemini snakes.” He’s uneasy as he sits here looking up at Seungmin, but not enough to leave, and not enough to keep himself from being happy for his friend. “Did you take any other photos?”

His phone is out before Heecheol even finishes the question, and suddenly, Seungmin is one of those annoying parents who can’t wait to show off their kids. “I did.” He pulls the last one up, and hands his phone over as he makes himself comfortable on the floor.

“They already look like you. Which one is this?”

“That’s Haesung…the youngest”

“Ocean, or sun?”

“Sun”

Heecheol nods. “And the oldest?”

“Haneul”

“Just like you. And I’m sensing a pattern with this family. Sky, moon, sun, sky again.”

He isn’t sure how that happened, but it worked out perfectly, and everything about it feels right. “What was your name when you lived in the states?”

“Hale”

“Hail? Like ice, like a hailstorm?”

“Yeah, just spelled differently. I wanted to keep the H sound, but I didn’t like most of the names suggested to me.”

“I like it. You kinda fit.”

He fits? Heecheol isn’t entirely sure how he fits, but if Seungmin says he does, then he must. The more he thinks about it, the less strange it seems. He is still here, after all. Why? What the hell has gotten into him?

***

One more gentle push, and the crib is just where it needs to be. The bed is still in the way, of course, but it’ll have to be in the way until he finally leaves. When the hell is he going to leave? If I leave now, I might never come back, he thinks. Any little excuse will easily keep him away, as it should, but first Heecheol has to disconnect himself from something he’s needed for so long. But it’s not a need for friendship keeping him here. No. It’s something else.

“They look great, thank you.” Seungmin peeks in and smiles in a way reserved only for you and him. It’s still hesitant, but enough to half-close his big brown eyes, and enough to make Heecheol’s stomach do a somersault.

“No big deal. I like putting things together, so if there’s anything else…”

“Let’s eat first.”

The question gets closer and closer to the tip of his tongue as he watches Seungmin eat, and he’s eating well. He’s enjoying himself, and it’s the calmest he’s seen him since he was a few beers in at the baseball game Friday night. But it’s been nagging at him since you mentioned it. “I don’t wanna pry too much, even though seeing your meds might be as personal as things get…”

“You can pry.” Seungmin means it, even if his heart does race a little at the thought of a personal question, especially after what happened last night.

“Tokki mentioned something to me before we went to the hospital, and I was curious about it.”

Seungmin just nods—relieved it’s not about last night.

“Something about you wandering into the woods back home…if you’d ever done that when we were kids. And something about an incident with your stepfather.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, maybe it’s too much.” He waves it away and tries to think of a new subject, but nothing comes to him. The mood of the room has already shifted, and everything is now the pine forest. It’s all he can see in the back of his eyes—the silhouette of the trees against a cloudy night sky; the silence; the heavyness and the feeling of something clinging to your back as you weaved through the trees. “We don’t have to…”

“She told you I went into the woods that night?”

It seems like he might get more information than he intended. “Not…no, not exactly. She asked if you’d done it when you were a kid. And she asked if I’d ever seen anything strange in there.” He lied right to your face and told you no. “Why did she ask, and why do I suddenly remember what we saw? I pushed it so far down, and now I can’t get it out of my head.”

“We didn’t see anything, Cheoli. Just a shadow. Just heard some sounds.”

“And smells. The feeling of something crawling under my skin.”

Seungmin closes his eyes and sees the scratches his nine year old self clawed up his arms. The itch that his nails couldn’t fix; the garden shears couldn’t fix it, either, but he never knows for sure until he tries. Only one thing stops it. “I’m sorry that you remember.”

“So you went back in there, alone?”

“I don’t have an answer for you, just like I don’t have one for her. But yes. I went in, and she had to come find me, and I don’t remember what I did when I was in there.”

Heecheol nods firmly, hoping it signals a change in the conversation. Bringing it up did not make him feel any better.

“My stepdad drove me a mile in that winter. He dropped me off and left me there, and I cried and screamed for hours until she found me.”

The cruelness of his stepfather had no limits. Heecheol knew that before he learned about this—he didn’t think it could get worse than being pushed down the stairs, or locked in the shed all night. “I’m sorry, Mo. I wish I would have been there for you.” Killing his mother still takes the prize, though.

“I needed medicated before that happened. I needed it even more after. But…it’s still there.”

Heecheol knows he’s getting much more than he intended. He’s getting answers for the question he asked, and the one still sitting in his head, too. The professional part of him knows schizophrenia more frequently manifests in self-harm than it does murder, but it does happen. He finds himself staring at the thin scar on Seungmin’s forearm as more pieces fit together. “Did something happen when he left you there?”

Seungmin remembers it in pieces, and it comes to him like most of his dreams; disjointed and confusing. The memory returned to him slowly, over several nights in Daegu. Not even you know the details of this particular nightmare. “It was late afternoon when we went in, so most of my time there was at dusk…and dusk may as well have been night in those woods. But when night came, well—”

“What did you see?”

“It saw me more than I saw it, but I did see what it wanted me to see. It peeked from behind the trees, and it whispered…I think. I could hear something in my head…noises, vibrations…”

scratch scratch

“No…” Seungmin mutters. “Not now.”

“What?”

scratch scratch

The prickle of goosebumps moves down his arms; his stomach lurches. “Did you hear that?” He asks Heecheol, already knowing the answer. “The scratching?”

He waits a moment and listens before shaking his head. “I didn’t hear any scratching.”

Not now, he thinks, and his head falls into his hands. A few deep breaths might help, so he peeks through his fingers and focuses on the movements of his feet. One deep breath, and Heecheol’s hand moves gently over his back. It does the opposite of what Seungmin thinks it will—it calms him, just like yours does. The warmth is a welcome change to the cold sweat washing over him. “It’s not there…” he whispers.

“No, probably not.”

scratch scratch

“Fuck…last night didn’t matter.”

Heecheol chooses to ignore that comment for the moment. “Where is it coming from? The front door?”

Seungmin nods, and Heecheol’s hand is gone. The lock clicks, the door opens slowly, and there’s silence as he imagines him standing there looking out at the empty hallway. He returns, and his hand lands on Seungmin’s back again. “Look at me.”

Just like he listens to you, he listens to his friend. A soft voice with a hint of demand, as if he has no choice. Heecheol might have made him if he hadn’t immediately lifted his head, but the look is just as soothing as his touch.

“Let’s talk about something else, yeah? We have better memories to dwell on, I’m sure. How’d you do in school?”

“School? Oh, that feels like so long ago. I did well until high school, but I managed to graduate thanks to my aunts. Almost went to junior college, but I was too…uhm, I guess it wasn’t a good time.”

Heecheol nods in understanding. He doesn’t need Seungmin to explain that his illness held him back, if that’s what it was. Maybe college didn’t feel necessary after the inheritance he received from his father. Looking around the apartment gives him all of the information he needs to know in regard to that—Seungmin and you want for nothing. “I don’t want this to sound insensitive, because it’s just curiosity…”

“Yes?” Seungmin doesn’t care what it is, as long as it keeps him distracted from the noises in his head.

“The two of you aren’t married, even though I recall the nurse addressing you as her husband. And she doesn’t work, I take it?“

“We’re not, and no…she quit her job when she thought she was leaving for good.”

He wants to ask more about that—considering what he witnessed, the dynamic of their relationship is far more interesting than it was two months ago. “She’s here illegally.”

It’s been the least of his worries lately, which may have been a stupid mistake. The wrong person finding out could have upheaved everything just as badly as Seungmin messing up a kill. Now his mind wanders to the body down the hall—all the two of you ever do is play with fire. He can’t be so reckless. He can’t risk anything happening to you or the babies. “Yeah, I guess we should work on that. Marriage would be a good start.”

“The sooner the better. Put a ring on your to-do list.”

“What is it, Min?”

His gaze is fixed on the incubator in front of him; on the two of them cuddled together, sleeping soundly. Seungmin is still feeling a little bit of disconnect between him, father, and them, his sons. It doesn’t feel real yet, and he knows that’s partially because the three of you are still stuck in this hospital.

“Hey…are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” He is. He really is.

Heecheol visited briefly before heading back home, and Seungmin does still feel a little guilty for not taking him to the station. Heecheol assured him it was fine, and him spending time with you was much more important. You made it a point not to stare at him as if at any moment you would have to defend Seungmin, and you did pretty well.

“I’ll finish cleaning everything up when I get home, now that I’ll have time by myself.”

You squint your eyes at him, as if it’ll clear up any possible misunderstandings between you. “Okay.” Since coming into the room, he’s been distant.

“I have something for you.” Seungmin’s hand fidgets in his pocket, but he doesn’t let you see what he has yet. “I’ve never asked you what kind of jewelry you like, but since you don’t wear much, and the things you do wear are very simple…I went with that.”

“Jewelry?”

He nods, and red starts to creep up his neck. “But if you don’t like it, we can pick something else.”

“No, no I want whatever you picked.”

Finally, he pulls his hand out and reveals a small wooden box, but he doesn’t know what to do as you stare excitedly at it. Should he hand it to you? Open it and ask how he assumes you’d expect a proposal to happen? Yes, he should probably make this that type of moment for you. “Okay.” He slides the lid open, and he doesn’t think he can get more nervous until he sees the ring again. Maybe it was a bad choice. He really should have asked what you liked. “I…” he stops when he feels himself starting to stutter.

“Yeah?” You take his hands in yours and hold them steady.

“I…was thinking we should get married. Pretending seems silly now that the babies are here, and I want you to feel safe and secure with me in every way. I should have asked you months ago.”

“We should, you’re right.”

“Yeah?”

You pull the ring out of the box and examine it carefully. “I was waiting.” The color is a soft blue, and on each side is what you assume are tiny moonstones.

“I’m not sure what kind of gems you like, but I figured their birthstones would be a safe choice.”

“Birthstones? Oh, is that what they are?” You look again, watching the middle gem change to purple under the harsh light of the room.

“Moonstone. And I forget the name of bigger one, but it’s pretty…right?”

Every angle gives you a new color; blue, purple, and even a hint of green. The June birthstone is one thing, and it was a safe choice—it was also a good choice, but it changing between yours and his favorite color is another; it feels like it was made just for you. Seungmin takes the ring back and slides it until it’s snug against his mother’s silver wedding band. “It’s perfect. You are very good at this.”

“At what?”

“All the little things you do for me. And the things you say.”

His fingers tap nervously on the bed. “I mean everything, all of it. Everything I say and do.”

“I know, Minnie. You’re a natural.”

He smiles, but not before trying to hold it back. “As soon as you’re able to come home, we’ll make it official.”

Three days in this bed has been more than enough, and you’ve been waiting not so patiently to be discharged. Going home without the boys will be difficult, though. “They said today, probably.”

“Heecheol said they could be here the rest of the time you should have been pregnant. Is that true…they’ll be here for months?”

Before you can answer, the nurse knocks softly and lets herself in. In her hands is a clipboard full of the discharge papers you’ve been waiting all morning to sign.

“How long will they have to stay here?” Seungmin asks, and his concern seems to be coming from the fact that you’re going home. You assume he felt content knowing you were always close by, even if he missed you, but that won’t be the case soon.

She smiles sweetly at him, obviously honing in on his anxiety. This is the same nurse that made you feel better about being here, and about how well the twins were being cared for. “It’s always hard to say for certain. They came very early, but they’re both healthy, so our main concern for them is weight gain.”

“We can visit them every day, Minnie”

“You can.” The nurse looks in at them sleeping comfortably. In each of their mouths is a pacifier, and both of them seem to already mastered their sucking reflex. “It’s very important you see them as often as possible. They could be home as early as six or seven weeks from now if we can hit our goal weight…two kilograms at the very least would be ideal.”

“See? Your boys are healthy and strong, and we’ll have them home with us soon.”

The apartment feels different, even though it’s only been a few days. It’s not just the sight of a nearly finished nursery (the twin bed is gone, in the apartment next door, you assume), and it’s not the cots pushed neatly against the bedroom wall. The difference is coming from inside of you, and from the missing pieces that you couldn’t bring home. You never imagined missing the comfort and discomfort of them being safe inside of your stomach, but you do. And now it’s just…you. Your hand moves from your chest, still sore for the exertion, down the still noticeable bump. Everything is sore. Between the labor, and the uncomfortable bed, you can’t remember the last time your body held onto so much pain.

“Do you feel okay?” Seungmin sneaks up to place a kiss on your shoulder, and his hand lands next to yours.

He knows you’re not, and he only asks to lead into the next question. “I’m good.” You’re not exactly hiding it very well, and Seungmin saw every moment of pain as you pushed. “Just sore.”

“I can help you shower. Or if you just want to get into bed, I put clean sheets on. There’s a heating pad in there, and the air conditioner if you get too warm.” You turn and face him, and he smiles. “Or…early dinner. I prepped stuff for galbijjim.”

“Can I have all three?”

***

“So, he left without asking any questions?”

“Questions? Oh, Heecheol. No, he didn’t bring anything up except what you asked him.”

“Me? What did I…” What did you ask him? Everything from before all the pain is a blur. “I can’t remember.”

“You asked him if I wandered into the woods when we were kids. And the answer is no.”

Theres nothing stern or harsh about his voice, but you feel it in your gut regardless. Tears start welling in your eyes, but you manage to keep them at bay. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been worried. I wasn’t trying to go behind your back for answers.”

“Oh I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not angry, love, I promise.”

“I thought he might remember something you couldn’t, that’s all.”

Seungmin pulls you to your feet, but you’re suddenly feeling self conscious about dropping your robe. “I know. He hasn’t seen the things that I have, fortunately.” His hands tuck beneath the tie, and you grab them before he pulls it loose—the response is a confused look, a lick of his lips, and an arm around your waist. “No?”

“I do, I’m just not used to this body. And it’s been a while since we’ve had sex, or touched…or anything.” A few weeks, but it feels so much longer.

“Not because I didn’t want to.” Both of his arms slide around you and rub the sore muscles. “I’ve been afraid of doing something to hurt you, or them.”

“What happened that night, Seungmin? Why did you kill? Was it just a kill?”

The questions take a moment to sink in—not just remembering what exactly happened that night, but what you’re asking him, too. It was just a kill, he thinks…that he can remember. So much of it disappeared the moment you called him. “Yes, I think so; I used my knife, slit his throat, made a fucking mess. Luckily not so much that I couldn’t keep Heecheol in the dark if he looked for me in the bedroom.”

“His throat. It was a man?”

His hold on you tightens. “Yeah, I remember that much. It didn’t help anything, though. I can already feel it coming back.” The feeling, the itch—it starts moving in on him even more as he stands here with you. He held it back with the help of you and the babies, but now he can’t deny what the quiet is bringing. Maybe he can hold it off a little bit longer. “He was expecting sex, but nothing happened this time.”

“You’ve been so stressed, that has to be part of it. But we can relax a little now. They’re okay, and they’re safe.”

“And so are you. I can sit out here while you go in, if you want. But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Your hormones are going crazy. One moment, you feel ecstatic at the thought of seeing and holding them again, and the next you come crashing down because everything feels out of your control. You’ve gone through your entire adult life in the same body—one that Seungmin seemed to enjoy—and now you feel like somebody else. What hasn’t changed is the way he looks at you.

“I got you some new shampoo and body wash to try. It’s supposed to be good for after, so…”

“You did?” The overwhelming urge to cry returns, but the tears are different this time. You let them come and it scares him for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Why are you crying, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” you wipe at your cheeks and blink away the tears. “I’m just…uhm, everything feels so intense. Sorry, I’m alright. And I’m hungry, I guess."

“Oh, I think I understand. Are you feeling down?”

The tie is pulled loose, and the robe slides down your shoulders. “I was, but I'm okay.”

Seungmin’s eyes follow as it falls, but he catches himself and lowers his gaze as you walk by. You don’t look much different to him, but still, he finds you more attractive now than he ever has. It’s not how you’ve filled out, and it’s not the roundness of your face, or the blush across your cheeks…it’s just another version of what you were before—the one who loves him and his children. He told you months ago he would kill anyone who touched you, and that hasn’t changed, Seungmin feels that more intensely now than he ever has. He knows you feel it, too.

Eighteen days of care in the hospital is showing on the twins. Holding them is different already, and they feel less and less like butterflies with each visit. Seungmin sets his fingertips on Haesung’s back, and the rise and fall of his breathing calms the thoughts that continue to break through. The noises are quieter when he holds them.

“Have they put on weight this week?” You ask the nurse. “Are they doing okay?”

“According to their chart, Baby Haesung has gained a total of 500 grams since June 1st. Haneul has gained 492 grams. Another good week.”

“So they’re doing well?”

“Very well.”

Every morning, the two of you spend three, sometimes four hours here, holding them and talking to them. Every evening, you return for at least an hour for more skin to skin, and sometimes a song. Leaving is difficult. The two of you are here the most of any of our parents. Please remember to take care of yourselves and get plenty of rest. The nurse was looking at you when she said that yesterday. You have been sleeping well, though, and you were finally able to produce your own milk for the first time last week. Maybe that will bring them home even sooner.

Seungmin does the math on the walk home. “They might be there another two or three weeks before they reach two kilograms.”

“Maybe. But I’ll make sure I’m eating well and pumping enough for both of them every day.”

“Sounds exhausting…I’m sure it is.”

“According to my nurse, I should be eating an extra thousand calories a day to keep up.”

He stops and looks around, and then back at you. “A thousand? We should grab something extra for lunch then.”

There’s a little bit of guilt in him as he jogs down the steps and away from his mother, but not enough to stop him. And he’s not a complete liar, because he is going to work today…just not for another few hours. The trip to Seoul is a few weeks behind him, and it’s only plagued his mind more with each passing day. Now he’s finally doing what he thinks might help him sleep more soundly at night. Even the act of texting Seungmin seems forced, and he hates that, because Heecheol knows that deep down inside he feels the same about Seungmin as he did right before everything happened…and two months ago, when he laid eyes on him again after so many years. His friend grew into something he didn’t expect. From awkward and small; terrible eyesight; quiet and timid until he was on the pitcher’s mound, to what he is now. Seungmin is something else entirely—quiet, but charming and handsome. He carries himself well, whether he’s aware of it or not. The biggest difference, though, is that he’s now capable of the same violence that lived inside of his step father.

Still, as conflicted as he is about what he witnessed (it’s still sitting in a weird place in his head, like it hasn’t truly settled in yet...as if he dreamed the whole thing), part of him wonders what could have been, had the two of them found each other before you crossed his path. Even if Seungmin had no romantic feelings for Heecheol, it still could have been just the two of them…and god, how how badly he wants that. It’s painful to think about.

The bus takes him past the hospital and continues north for another few miles before the scenery starts to become familiar. Not a good familiar. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel once he got this close, but now it’s here—a cold, heavy rock sitting in the pit of his stomach. But visions of his childhood come through much clearer now. Warm summer nights in the greenhouse, looking at the stars; staying up too late and laughing too loudly, risking the wrath of his step father; testing their courage by seeing who could stand at the edge of the woods the longest, backs to the trees. Seungmin somehow won every time.

The bus driver eyes him curiously as he exits, and the loneliness sinks in as he drives off. It’s already unnaturally quiet, and he hasn’t even reached the edge of the forest yet. Now he has to walk two miles through it, and he’s beginning to have second thoughts.

The backyard looks the same. The greenhouse, the hanok…everything is exactly as he remembers it. It was summer when he left all those years ago, so even the wildflowers are nearly identical; the chipped paint, overgrown grass, and rotting wood is the only giveaway that so much time has passed. Heecheol half expects them—Seungmin and him—to come ripping around a corner laughing. But it’s quiet. More quiet than he remembers it ever being.

The first place he heads for is the greenhouse.

Inside, everything is in full bloom, and it’s more crowded with flowers than he’s ever seen it. He doesn’t know the names of them like Seungmin and his umma did, but he recalls seeing the purple ones (dried up and withering away) in Seungmin’s bedroom.

He walks up the messy path past the shed, and when he gets to the front door of the house, he’s not surprised to find it locked. As abandoned as it seems to be on the outside, the inside must be relatively well-kept if the two of you were staying here. Breaking in crosses his mind, and why not? Would one little broken pane of glass seem suspicious? It doesn’t take much to convince himself. Heecheol finds a rock, then changes his mind and looks around for something with a little more weight. A dragon statue catches his eye, and he remembers Seungmin finding and spending all of his allowance on it for his umma. He had to, he said, because they were both dragons, so technically it was for both of them. Heecheol picks it up, and the corner is sent into the bottom right panel of the window. It takes two tries, but he succeeds, and finding the latch and opening it is too easy. Climbing through the small window is a little more difficult at six feet tall, but he manages it gracefully.

He was right. The inside looks dated, but lived in. The first aid kit sits on the kitchen table, and blood seeping from that self-inflicted (he has to assume) wound runs through his head. Heecheol isn’t sure why he’s here, or what he’s looking for, but he wanders through each room anyway. Maybe he’s hoping he’ll learn more about his friend just by being in this space and breathing this air again. He needs to know what turned him into a killer.

***

Both of you slept in this morning, and after your two bowls of bibimbap are finished, (Seungmin tried to push a third on you) it’s finally time to see the six week old twins. The last two weeks were better than the others, so you’re hoping to hear at least one of them has finally reached the two kilogram mark.

You watch carefully as the nurse fills a bottle with your breastmilk, and she hands it to Seungmin. “Haneul has one more test to pass. Dad will feed Haesung, since the two of you have been successful…” She waits as Seungmin reaches in for him, and by now, he scoops him up easily and confidently before taking the bottle. “And we’ll see how well big brother latches onto mom.”

They took to pacifiers and bottles quickly, but actually feeding from you has been a challenge, and you can’t figure out why. You cradle Haneul and sit, and when he opens his eyes, his recognition of you feels stronger than it ever has. Daengmo made the trip with you this time—a desperate attempt, but the dog feels a little otherworldly sometimes.

“Go ahead and try…just like you have been.” The nurse tells you. She hasn’t lost any faith in your ability to do this with him, but you she must sense your nerves.

“Okay, sweetheart...” you adjust yourself and bring him closer. “Just like we talked about, right?” This time you relax, because every other time, your overthinking didn’t help at all. Seungmin watches quietly, and the sounds of Haesung feeding relax you even more. “Oh, I think he did it.” His fists clench, and as soon as his fingers find Daengmo’s soft ear, they open and close around it.

“Yeah, he did.” Seungmin whispers. “You two ready to go home?” He looks down at Haesung happily eating, and he stares right back up with wide open eyes. Seungmin gently pulls back on the bottle until it’s free. “I’m sorry buddy, you need to catch your breath.” He swallows and sighs, and when it seems like he takes in enough air, he starts to fuss.

***

The sun is low in the sky when he gets to Seungmin’s bedroom. He didn’t expect to stay so long, but it was easy getting lost in the things that were left behind. In here, it’s easy to see how abruptly things stopped that night. It doesn’t seem like Seungmin has taken much, or even moved things since he left for his grandmothers house. Heecheol needs to keep things as neat as possible, or he’ll know someone was going through his room.

But he quickly realizes that nothing in here will give him any answers. Everything about this space is him before all of the bad things happened. Enough time has been wasted, and he needs to walk through the woods again to get out of here—he has no intention of doing that after sunset. Heecheol cleans up the mess of glass and pulls the curtain tight, and he looks back at the house one more time as he heads down the pathway. He ignored it the first time, but as he walks past the shed, he stops. What could be in there except for the memories of stories he was told about the long, cold nights locked inside? It makes him nauseous just thinking about the mental anguish Seungmin endured in there. Just him, the cold silence, and the smell of—

“What is that?” He says to himself and looks around. It’s just him here, he knows that, so why is he suddenly catching the familiar scent of a fresh cigarette? The smell turns his stomach even more, but it must be in his head. “Is someone here?” His heart pounds as he waits for an answer from nobody. Silence. Just the wind, and the slow creak of the shed door. “Fuck, I need to get out of here.” He tries. Heecheol’s next step lands wrong, and he barely catches himself as he falls forward into the patchy grass. His wrists give out, and he ends up flat on the ground—uninjured, at least. But he can’t even laugh at his clumsiness. Heecheol jumps up and looks around again, still expecting to see someone. Or something. The smell seems to have disappeared, so he shakes it off—he shakes everything off and starts his walk toward the pine trees.

With any luck, he’ll make it out before dusk hits and darkness takes over, but he’ll have to walk fast.

“There’s nothing in there. We were stupid kids just making stuff up and seeing things that weren’t there, and Seungmin is fucking schizophrenic…of course he saw things.” Telling himself that does nothing to quell his nerves, and he feels a pang of guilt for what he says about his friend. Seungmin was tortured and ridiculed for seven years, and the same hands that did it took his mother. Of course something inside of him needs to take that power back, that control, and kill. Maybe he did find some answers.

The woods seem to take every last sound as he enters, and Heecheol moves quickly down the middle of the narrow dirt road. Two twisty miles. He could cut right through and make it a little more than a mile, but he wouldn’t risk it, not with night so close. The trees are disorienting and everything in here looks the same, so another misstep could be disastrous. Just walk, don’t listen, don’t look around.

***

Seungmin can’t take his eyes off of them as they cling together at his bedside. You told him they had to sleep in their own cots, but keeping them together was fine as long as one of you were awake to watch them. And that’s what he does—he watches, and he still can’t believe how natural it is for them to hold each other the way they do. They are the same now; almost the same size, same dark eyes, same head full of hair just like he had as a baby. The nose, the ears…his ears. Truly identical.

“Hey…” Seungmin looks behind him where you’re starting to doze off on your side of the bed.

“Yeah?”

“What if I mix them up?” He’s serious. You’ve never seen him look so serious. “Is that possible?”

“Do you know who is who right now?”

He stands and looks down at them. “Uhm…yes. This is Haneul,” Seungmin adjusts the mitten on his left hand, “and this is Haesung.”

“Mhm. How can you tell?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I just know?” He looks to you for more reassurance, and you crawl across the bed to give it to him.

Your first few weeks home after giving birth were difficult, and Seungmin knew to give you all the space you needed, for as long as necessary. Eventually, you felt yourself returning to the way you were before you found out you were pregnant, and before you thought he was growing less attracted to you. You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, but the two of you are still working on getting back to the way things were.

A shiver runs through him when you squeeze his shoulders. “And if it helps, Haneul has a little mole…” you place a kiss on top of Seungmin’s left ear, “right there. Haesung doesn’t.”

“It does.” He turns and gives you a look—a look that says please kiss me, touch me. Anything. All he’s gotten in weeks is a sleepy handjob. He’s been so patient.

“Lay down with me.” You pull him until he follows you under the blanket. “You’re gonna kiss me until my alarm goes off. We have eight minutes.”

***

The sun is setting a lot faster than it should be. Either that, or he’s walking slower than he realizes. It’s not like this isn’t familiar. As monotonous as the walk through these trees tends to be, he remembers landmarks, and most of those landmarks are still here. But still, he’s losing light, and the end of the road is nowhere in sight. Heecheol checks the time—6:55. The tops of the trees swallow up the sun, and whatever signal he had back at the house. Some sound returns, though...a rustle of dry leaves, as if an animal is scittering through them; a very distant bird song.

Almost there, he says, almost…can’t be more than a kilometer left, right? He should have checked his steps before he started. Maybe he should have just stayed home, or went in to work early for the night. And suddenly, as if the forest can feel his nerves starting to boil over, just like the smell of cigarette smoke hit him by the shed, another familiar scent starts to fill his nose. He wants the smoke back. He would trade this for any other smell. It has to be in his head, though—it has to be his fear going into overdrive and making him think he’s smelling the rotting corpse of a deer. Maybe that’s what it is. There aren’t many, but he’s seen deer running from these woods and through the yard plenty of times. It only makes sense that one would wind up dead not far from the road at some point.

Cheoli?

He cups his ears and closes his eyes. How stupid of him to come here, alone. Alone! Walking through this horrible fucking forest by himself so late in the day. And for what? He found nothing useful here.

Heecheol. Is that better?

Why does it sound so sweet and light and feminine?

“Stop, please. I just want to leave.”

Maybe you’re still accustomed to Hale

The voice sounds like you. It sounds shaken and full of curiosity, just like you did when you asked about this place. It even has your accent down. Why is he hearing your voice in his head?

I’m not in your head

“Yes you are.” Heecheol walks faster and starts humming loudly to himself. If someone were to stumble across him, they would assume he was out of his mind. He feels out of his mind.

okay, I am…but I’m also right here

The forest floor hurts much more when he hits it, and this time, there’s no catching himself. He tastes blood on his lips, and a moment later, the unbearable throb of his wrist hits. If it wasn’t a twig he landed on, it was definitely his bone snapping. Where? He blinks the dirt from his eyes and looks around, but there’s nothing. And then there is something…the sound of footsteps. Heecheol scrambles to his feet, injured arm tucked against his chest, and stumbles as he tries to find some balance. He fails and lands hard on his side, and everything in front of him goes fuzzy and dull, like an old vhs recording. It doesn’t go away when he shakes his head.

stop moving so much

The voice changes. It’s stuck somewhere between yours, and the raspy smokers voice of Seungmin’s step father. It’s a horrible sound and it makes his wince.

that’s better, let me look at you

it slowly loses the sweetness of yours, and now it’s somewhere between his and something inhuman. “Where are you?”

you remind me of him

“Who?” He needs to stop talking to it.

but you’re weaker than him

Seungmin? Is the voice talking about Seungmin? He doesn’t ask. Heecheol keeps his mouth shut, but his mind is racing. If the static in his vision would go away, he could get up and run, but it’s getting worse. The only thing he can think to do is reach for his phone, and when he finds it, he pulls up anything he can. He can’t see, and only one hand is functioning properly, but whatever he does works. A ring. So he has a signal now. Two, three rings…four.

“Hello? Cheoli?”

“Seungmin, can you hear me?”

“Yeah…the connections bad, but…are you okay?”

“N-no. I don’t know.”

“No? It’s getting worse, I’m losing you.”

The call drops. He’s alone again.

***

Seungmin’s furrowed brow would be cute if he didn’t look so serious. It’s not just confusion on his face, it’s worry. A lot of it. You heard his phone ring, but everything else was lost in your post-nap fog. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer right away, so you turn and check the cot on your side. Haneul is still sound asleep after his first time eating at home. Next you crawl over Seungmin, still quiet and staring at his phone, and check on Haesung. He’s just coming out of his nap, and a soft cry is starting. Before he can get too far, you reach in and run your thumb across is slowly fattening cheek.

“Uhm…not sure.” Seungmin tries calling one more time, and when it doesn’t connect, he starts typing. “It was Heecheol, but he sounded weird. The call dropped and I can’t get him now.”

“Do you have his mother’s number?”

He shakes his head and drops the phone in defeat, but he’ll worry until he hears back. “Hopefully the text gets through.”

“What did he say?”

“I asked if he was okay…he said I don’t know.”

“It’s hard not to worry, but I’m sure you’ll hear back soon.”

Seungmin needs and appreciates your positivity, but everything about the short phone call, even the static as it struggled to connect, felt strange. He checks the message he sent, but it’s just an error message now. Not delivered. “Yeah. I’ll try to keep my mind off of it.” Haesung is starting to cry a little louder now, so Seungmin pockets his phone. “Are you hungry again, buddy? Maybe you need changed.” He looks to you, because he’s only had the chance to do that a few times during hospital visits.

Every new experience with them is exciting for him, no matter what it is, even a diaper change. He insists you just watch while he works on Haesung, who’s still softly crying from whatever is bothering him. And as sweet as Seungmin finds the sound, at least for now, he hates not knowing exactly what’s wrong.

Before he can unsnap his onesie, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Heecheol?”

The static is loud enough to hear from a few feet away, and you don’t hear a voice behind it.

“Cheoli, I don’t know if you can hear me…I can’t hear you.” Seungmin’s voice is strained, as if he’s holding back the urge to scream into the phone. “I can’t hear you.” He stays on the line for a few more seconds before giving up and ending the call.

What can you say to him to put his mind at ease? This isn’t how you want his first day at home with the twins to be—plagued by worry and helplessness. You know he would benefit from a Xanax if you can convince him to take one. “Let’s get them changed and I’ll make you some tea. And maybe you should take something.”

“Take something?” Haesung squirms and kicks when Seungmin sets his palm on his stomach. “Oh, right…maybe. Tea would be good.” He looks at you every few seconds as he works, but you don’t know if it’s nerves about the job he’s doing, or if he’s trying to read something else on your face.

“I want you to enjoy your first day here with them, and I know that’s gonna be hard now, but they want all of you.”

Seungmin looks at Haneul, comfortable in your arms, and then back to his hands as they finish fastening the new diaper. The sound Haesung makes as he kisses his forehead finally gets a smile out of him.

The worst headache he’s ever had in his life is pulses behind his eyes, and the tiny line of sunlight coming in is excruciating. He can’t move. He doesn’t want to move, but he needs water and pain killers. Heecheol knows only one thing, and that’s that he is currently lying in his own bed. He doesn’t even know what day it is, or how he got here, because the last thing he does remember is falling in the woods and…his wrist. The pain in his head is masking the pain of his fractured, swollen wrist until he moves it. “Fuck. Umma!”

A few seconds later, the soft sound of her slippered feet hit the hardwood floor. “I’m coming Cheoli. You must have had a rough night, there’s fresh coffee out here for you.”

“Umma, please bring me some water and Tylenol. And ibuprofen. Please, I’m sorry.” Asking his sick mother to fetch him things is his new low. Past Heecheol would roll his eyes at him. She doesn’t mind, though. She’s back a minute later with a bottle and a handful of pills.

“That bad? Oh, Cheoli, your wrist!”

He looks at it again and realizes just how bad it looks. It’s nearly twice the size of his right one. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine, umma, I just need to get this headache under control and I’ll get to the hospital.”

“Weren’t you just there a few hours ago?”

“What time did I get home?”

She sits on the edge of the bed and thinks. “Oh, it must have been around 6 am, when I took my medicine.”

“I got home at 6am?” He throws four pills in his mouth and downs the entire bottle as she nods at him.

So he can’t remember anything between 7 pm yesterday and waking up at noon. That’s a lot of missing time. His phone doesn’t give him much, but he does see several calls between him and Seungmin. One he made that lasted about eight seconds, and then two from Seungmin that he definitely doesn’t remember getting. There’s also an unread text message that delivered around the same time he got himself home.

Hey, my calls aren’t getting through. What’s going on, are you okay? This might not get through, either. Please call me when you can.

The signal isn’t strong in the outer parts of Uljin, so the bad connection isn’t surprising. He just can’t remember a single fucking thing after that fall…and now the eight second phone call. Heecheol decides he’ll call Seungmin, but not until after some x-rays and a splint.

***

“It’s just a sprain, surprisingly.” The doctor squints at the x-ray, but she doesn’t have to explain it further for him. He’s seen plenty of broken wrists on this light box. “I was sure with that swelling it was going to be much worse, but that’s because you let it go for so long.”

“Yeah, I had a weird night.”

“I’ll stabilize it for you, but you know we can’t do much else. Keep up with the Tylenol, and expect light duty for a while. Or just use some of your time off for a change.”

Time off. Right, he does have some saved up, but using it while he’s injured seems silly. He keeps telling himself he can use that time for an actual vacation, but he never plans anything, and he rarely leaves home. But another trip to Seoul is always a possibility. No…I can’t do that again. What if I see more of something I don’t wanna see? Maybe he should see more, because Heecheol still feels like he dreamed the whole thing.

The phone rings a few times, and eventually, he gets the generic voicemail message. He doesn’t leave one.

Hey, I’m sorry if I made you worry. Hope you’re well. How are the twins?

Seungmin calls as soon as the text delivers.

Cheoli! You’re alright? What the hell was going on last night?

He hears him, but it’s through that same static. A little bit more of last night returns to him.

Cheoli, say something

Sorry, hey. His head starts to throb again. “I’m good, everything is okay. I had a little too much to drink last night, and it’s finally starting to wear off.” There is a small chance he’ll actually believe that.

“I was wondering if you were ever gonna get in touch again, considering what happened last time”

Oh god, he knows. No, you idiot. The babies. “How are they?”

We brought them home yesterday! They both reached their goal weight and passed all the tests.” His voice quiets. “It’s scary, though. They’re still so small and fragile.

They’ll grow fast, and I’m sure they’ll seem fragile to you for a long time. But I don’t wanna keep you. Go be with them, and maybe we can just forget about the weird drunk call.

Already forgotten

The static in his head dissipates along with the call.

***

The buzz of his phone wakes him immediately, probably because he’s quickly become accustomed to jumping at the smallest sound, but he ignores it until he looks in on both of them. Haneul is on his side of the bed tonight, sound asleep—you’re finally in a deep sleep, too, so he’s careful about leaning over and looking into the cot on your side.

Seungmin is the only one awake, and his text message is, not surprisingly, from Heecheol. He must be at work, and bored, to be texting at 5:30 in the morning.

I’ll be in Seoul tomorrow! Maybe tonight. I won’t impose on you, I can get a hotel. Just wanted to let you know.

He doesn’t say why he’ll be here, but it doesn’t matter. Seungmin doesn’t mind his friend visiting, especially since he clearly didn’t witness anything too damning last time. He doesn’t act like he did, at least. Good enough for him; maybe not good enough for you.

“Why are you up, Minnie?” You mumble into your pillow.

Seungmin smiles and brushes the hair away from your face. “Just checking on them.”

It’s almost time for your alarm to go off anyway, so you sit up and start the process of waking yourself up.

“Did you get enough sleep? I can bottle feed both of them if you’re too tired.” He gives you his best puppy eyes, because he genuinely means it. Tired or not, Seungmin always tries to get you back into bed, and he has yet to say no to a feeding or a diaper change.

“I could never do this without you.” His eyes drop to your chest when you lay back again, and they stay there as you adjust and feel yourself to gauge the tenderness. He moves your way, shifting over until he’s snug against your side, and he very carefully wraps his arm around you. “I’m starting to think you were made for this whole parenting thing.”

That feeling of inadequacy keeps fading for you as the days pass with them, but it’s nonexistent in Seungmin’s mind. There never seemed to be any doubt in him about your ability to be a mother, and if he ever doubted himself, he hid it well.

He squeezes tighter and smiles, but his eyes don’t leave your breasts. “You think so?”

“Mhm. And I always took you for a thighs and ass guy, but maybe that’s because these weren’t there.”

A warm hand moves beneath the blanket, down your hip, and then slowly back up to your side. “No, I like your…everything. I always have.” But his need to touch the soft skin spilling out of your sports bra overtakes him, and he kisses and bites until you start to laugh. “Everything.”

“No favorite parts?”

“Favorite, hmmm…” He leans back a little and looks you over, and now you’re feeling shy under his intense gaze. “Yes.”

Seungmin’s smile makes your stomach flip, and you’re struck with a strange sadness—a looming feeling that he’s going to be ripped away from you, and you don’t know why, or where it’s coming from. Pregnancy hormones are still running wild through you, and nothing makes much sense right now. Just him, and them, and it’s all so much. You’ve never felt overwhelmed with love for so many things at once.

“This.” The pad of his thumb runs across your temple and tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “Because…it helps keep mine together. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do I? I don’t…I don’t know either.”

The silence is interrupted by Haesung crying out. It’s the loudest you’ve heard from either of them, and it sends a wave of panic through you. He swings his fists through the air and toward his face until you carefully lift him and hold him against your chest. “He’s warm.” You carefully remove the mittens from his hands. “How does Haneul feel?”

Seungmin reaches in and touches his forehead, his chest, and his legs. “Seems okay.” His eyes pop open and his fingers go right to his mouth. “Just hungry, I think.”

You stand with him and head toward the kitchen, hoping the motion will calm Haesung and quiet his cries. It may just be hunger, but it doesn’t sound like a hungry cry. You don’t get far. “Seungmin!” It slips out. Shouting is the last thing you want to do, but you can’t help it. The noise brings out another cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“There…right there, don’t you see it?” It’s been so long, you almost forgot about them. “It’s sitting there, by the stool.”

He looks, but there’s no reaction or jump or surprised gasp. “I don’t see anything. Let me get the light.”

“The dog. It’s the white dog. It’s staring right at me.”

Clearly he sees nothing, because you watch as he walks right by the two blue eyes to switch on the kitchen light. It’s there, tall and still, head down and eyes pointed at you, and then at Seungmin as he makes his way back to you.

“Close your eyes.” He blocks your view and sets a hand on Haesung, who’s tiny back is still heaving from his steady crying. “It’ll be gone when we look again.”

Maybe, if you count backwards from ten. Nine…eight…seven…your eyes pop open when Haesung starts to calm down. His face finally relaxes, and when he looks at you, the feeling of dread seems to pass. “Did you feel it , sweetheart? Is it gone?” You peek around Seungmin’s shoulder and look. It is gone.

The rest of the morning, Seungmin seems to look around hesitantly when one of the boys cry, and his eyes linger in every dark corner as he walks around the apartment. After mentioning it and pulling out the black wallet from the cafe several times, you manage to convince him you’ll be fine by yourself for an hour or two. Still, he’s reluctant to leave after the dog sighting.

“I was hopeful for a while that it was just…nothing. Stress. And then I wondered if they were pregnancy dreams.” Even though you were both having them. The shared delusions don’t really faze you much anymore. “Now they feel like bad omens.”

“Omens of what?”

“I dunno. But if you’re feeling itchy, go, I want you to. But please be careful.”

Seungmin goes, but he regrets it as soon as he hits the sidewalk and starts his trip south. The only thing on his mind is the three of you, all alone for the first time since coming home a few weeks ago. And even though they’re almost always quiet and happy (he was starting to wonder why babies are so stressful for some parents, but he’s guessing you and him have been lucky so far), and even with two of them, easy enough for one of you to handle solo for a few hours.

Still, he feels guilty. He tries to shake it off and focus on the task at hand—casing the creep that harassed you last month. Seungmin hasn’t forgotten, and he’s no less angry than he was the moment he witnessed him mouthing off and grabbing you. He still sees your distressed face, so close to tears—breaking his nose wasn’t enough, he’s looking forward to this one.

But he’s just gathering information today. Seungmin doesn’t want this guy anywhere near the apartment, even if he isn’t getting out alive.

He finds a bench across the street from the address on his business card—a life insurance salesman. Seungmin still finds it funny all these weeks later, but 5 pm comes and goes, and he starts getting antsy. A late worker, of course. Or maybe he just has a family he doesn’t want to go home to. Seungmin is hoping for no family to make his job much simpler. He decides to pull out his phone to give you an update, but there’s already a text waiting for him…

I think they miss you

Oh, are they upset? I can head back, just say the word

no no we’re fine sweetie…just wanted you to know how much we looove you

A warm blush creeps up his neck and face as he types. He knows you don’t want him distracted, just to be extra cautious.

더 사랑해

He catches him in his peripheral vision, taking his time, digging in his bag as he heads for the crosswalk. Seungmin follows. The man seems distracted, so keeping up is no problem, and the streets are just busy enough to keep him hidden. The walk isn’t going to be far, though. The address on his license is only a few blocks away, but Seungmin starts to feel uneasy halfway into the tail, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s just him. Just worry. Stress. Less sleep. Thinking of your last words to him before leaving gives him the extra push he needs.

Go, you’ll feel better when it’s done. And I’ll feel better when I get to hear all the details.

You haven’t been shy about asking for details lately. Seungmin has told you stories about almost all of his kills now, most of them in the last two weeks. Yesterday you asked, very sweetly, for him to wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze just a little. He resisted for a while, but giving in was inevitable. You felt far too fragile beneath his touch, and he didn’t ask if you got flashbacks the way he did as his thumbs caressed your throat. Flashbacks, and all of his blood rushing to his cock as you pulled and scratched to get him closer. Seungmin was relieved that you initiated. He was afraid to admit how badly he needed you if you weren’t ready yet, but you needed him just as much.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. No more distractions. The man takes a left, and he’s gone, but not for long—the building he disappears into is the one.

“Seungmin!”

Not him. Some other Seungmin. There must be at least one other Seungmin on this street right now. Focus.

“Mo!”

There’s only one Seungmo. Despite his racing heart—racing from the chase, and now racing double because Heecheol is in the city already, in this district, on this street. How is that possible? The sound of his friend’s soft voice is good to hear, though, he’ll admit. Maybe today wasn’t the day. Seungmin turns to look, but it takes a moment to find Heecheol’s face in the crowd. “Cheoli?” But even after the crowd dissipates, there’s no sign of him. Heecheol isn’t here, and he’s not on the other side of the street, either. “Heecheol?” The buzz in his pocket brings him back, barely, but the text message does the rest of the work.

This is where I’m staying. Just got here, earlier than I was expecting. Hope to see you!

The newest message is a room number.

Heecheol is miles away, so why did he hear his voice so clearly?

“Hi”

“Hi, you okay?”

“Mm, yeah, but I think today might be a bust. I’m gonna head home.”

It’s not a complete lie—he would never lie to you, but before Seungmin starts home, he decides to take a short detour. A quick subway ride to Heecheol’s hotel, and he’ll pick up dinner on the way back. It works out, because he very obviously chose somewhere as close as possible to the apartment. He wonders if he should let him know he’s on the way, or if the surprise visit would be nice. He did say hope to see you, and he sent his room number, as well. Sounds like an invitation.

A pang of guilt hits him on the way up the elevator. His mind remains on you, of course, and how you’re doing at home all by yourself. But he knows you’re fine, because you’d call or text if you needed him immediately. Seungmin won’t be long here, and he’ll pick up all of your favorites on the way home.

He knocks, and he listens to the soft sounds on the other side of the door. Footsteps, maybe a look through the peephole, the click of the locks. The door swings open, and he sees him. Just sees him. It’s his friend, he knows, but the static filling up his head makes his knees buckle and his eyes water. Seungmin doesn’t think he’s ever fainted in his life, but this must be what it feels like.

“Mo…hey, you good?”

Hands grip his shoulders and shake him a little, and he comes to. It’s no longer pitch black, but his vision is fuzzy, and the static turns to a low hum that slowly quiets as Heecheol comes into view.

“Seungmin, say something.”

“H-hey, Cheoli.” He stumbles in with the help of Heecheol steadying him, and suddenly, he’s fine. Like nothing happened. Uhm, yeah I’m good. Sorry.”

“If you say so. You look good.” He closes the door, and sweeps his arm across Seungmin’s shoulders as he faces him again. “You must have been doing something important.”

“Important?”

Heecheol lifts Seungmin’s hand and examines the rings on his fingers. Seungmin lets him—he’s still trying to get his brain to catch up. “Yeah. Are these really Loewe?”

“Yeah, sorry…I don’t wear them much.”

“Sorry?”

He spins them nervously, “they’re flashy, I don’t like being flashy,” and finally looks at his friend. His hair is messy and damp from the shower, and he looks comfortable in his sweatpants and t-shirt. “I should have told you I was coming.” There’s a black splint on one wrist. “What ha—“

“No, you didn’t have to. Surprise is nicer.”

The hum returns. It feels like his brain is bouncing off the sides of his skull. If only Heecheol would reach out and squeeze it like a vice—that might make it better. “Cheoli.” He breaths. The faint feeling is coming back, and he isn’t sure he can stop it. Seungmin reaches for him, and his forearm is grasped tight by Heecheol’s good hand.

“Seungmin.” He replies matter-of-factly, face blank, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Come here.”

“Okay…” he takes a step closer, and Heecheol pulls him until they’re almost nose to nose. But he doesn’t step back. He does nothing but examine his face; his sharp eyes, his parted lips. “O-okay.”

It’s not really a shock when their lips press together. No, not at all, because you’ve already told him this—that his best friend is in love with him. You told him it’s okay, it isn’t strange or uncomfortable for you. It’s understandable, you said, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Seungmin laughed when you said that. There’s a laugh rising his chest right now, but he keeps it down as Heecheol pulls away to get a better grip on his mouth.

Seungmin wonders if you knew this would happen, and if this is okay. The guilt he felt about not being home with you doubles…triples as he opens his mouth to let Heecheol’s tongue in. It stopped though, the humming, that horrible feeling in his brain. All that’s left is a shiver running up his thighs, and the undeniable throbbing between them.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it.

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honeypiehotchner · 2 days ago

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The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

I need y'all to know that I'm writing part 18 rn and it's getting GOOD I can't wait this fic is so fun to write and I'm so happy you guys are loving it as much as I'm loving writing it!!! 🤭💞

Warnings: once again they're...getting along? never fear they still argue though, things are...about to get crazy, (i hope we are picking up on the subtle moments of attraction bc they're only going to get worse xoxo)

After three days of straight paperwork — and one annoying HR meeting because someone from a different department must’ve heard you and Hotch arguing and decided to tattle — you’re going insane. You need something else to do besides sit in a chair staring at files all day, listening to Morgan and Reid bicker, and glaring at Hotch every time you catch him looking at you through his office window.

You’ve heard nothing new from the case in Alabama. Radio silence from the unsub. Radio silence from the police. Nothing new from the sketch Lila helped with, too. Nothing at all, with anything.

You’re going stir crazy.

You need a new case to come in. Given what Strauss told you in that meeting, you expect a new case to come in any minute.

What you do not expect is to come back from lunch on the fourth day to find Strauss in Hotch’s office, or for them to be arguing. With the door open, for god’s sake, so everyone in departments three floors down can hear.

You don’t think before you haul ass up the stairs, especially not after you hear your own name in the midst of their poor attempts to not shout, turning everyone’s heads. Your mind immediately conjures up the worst case scenario: that they’re arguing about your father, about how Strauss let you seal that part of your file, and somehow Hotch found out that she let you, and now it’s all getting blown out of proportion.

You can’t make out the source of their arguing, though, because they’re just shouting nonsense at one another, bordering on insults.

Jesus, is this what it sounds like to everyone else when you and Hotch argue?

Strauss and Hotch both stop bickering as soon as they spot you hovering in the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at them like a parent catching two siblings in the middle of an unnecessary fight — which isn’t that far off the mark.

“Ma’am,” you nod to Strauss. “Hotch,” you look over at him. “I heard my name. What’s going on?”

Strauss answers, turning toward you, “Richard Monroe has stopped cooperating with the authorities. He’s said he’ll cooperate again, but he wants to speak with you first.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, one hand planted on his hip, his other hand pointing an accusatory finger in Strauss’s direction, then at you. “There is no reason for Richard to speak with her.”

“Why not?” you ask, trying to keep your tone on the calmer side, at least while Strauss is present. “If it’ll make him cooperate, I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you,” Strauss says, relieved, before turning to give Hotch a lethal glare. “See? I told you you’re getting worked up over nothing, Aaron.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, whether to assure yourself or Hotch, you have no idea. “It’s one conversation. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him bef—”

“It’s not just one conversation,” Hotch fumes.

“Stop acting like I can’t handle this job,” you argue.

Hotch almost looks offended. “That’s not what I’m—”

“I don’t care what it is,” Strauss shouts over the both of you. “Agent, you’ll speak with Richard tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled it, and I’ll forward you the details. Hotch, I’ll let them know you’ll be attending as well.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch says.

“What?” you blurt at the same time. “I don’t need him to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to go alone, and frankly, Aaron, if it bothers you so badly, you should go with her, as Unit Chief,” Strauss says, her phone ringing in her pocket halfway through her sentence. “I’m late for a meeting. This is settled. Understood?”

Hotch looks like he’d rather put his own foot up his ass until he tastes the sole of his shoe. “Understood.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nod, stepping aside to let Strauss leave. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother waiting for Hotch to speak before inviting yourself into his office all the way. It takes everything in you not to slam the door behind Strauss. He yanks the blinds closed with just as much anger, chest practically heaving. You’re surprised he didn’t rip them off the wall with the force.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss. These walls, no matter how much you wish they were, aren’t soundproof, and by now you’ve probably attracted the attention of the entire goddamn floor, let alone your nosy teammates who are returning from lunch.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Hotch fires back, rounding his desk. You know what he’s doing, trying to tower over you and intimidate you. It won’t work, not with you. He should know that by now. “Did you know about this?”

“About Richard Monroe being a manipulative piece of shit? Of course I’ve known— I’m not a fucking idiot, Hotch.”

“I never said you were! Stop putting words in my—” he curses, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his hand on his hip. “I don’t want you speaking to him.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened in that interrogation room?” Hotch says, voice surprisingly calm for how angry you remember him being that day. “He recognized you and you won’t tell me why—”

“Because I don’t know why,” you shoot back. It’s the honest truth, even if there’s pieces of information you could share. But you don’t want to; you’re not ready. “And I don’t know why you don’t trust me, but it’s grating on my nerves, Hotch. You say I’m a valuable asset to this team, yet you’re acting like I’m not capable of speaking to an unsub that I've spoken to before — for an hour.”

His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He just keeps standing there, looking down at you, clenching his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow,” you say, standing nearly toe-to-toe with Hotch. “Whether or not you join me is entirely up to you. But if you’re just going to act like this, then,” you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get someone else to go with me. You can call out sick for all I fucking care.”

You storm out of his office then, slamming the door behind you so hard you’d be surprised if the window didn’t rattle.

You jump when you realize Rossi is standing in his office doorway, watching you.

“What?” you snap. You don’t mean to take the frustration out on him too, but it’s hard not to when he’s lurking like that.

Rossi raises his eyebrows, backing into his office without another word.

You can’t deal with this right now.

Hotch’s door opens behind you and you spin around, freezing when you’re face to face with him. His expression is as unreadable as it always is, but you know he’s pissed at you.

“I’m going home to rest up before tomorrow,” you say, making sure your tone conveys it not as a request but a statement of fact. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hotch nods once and that’s good enough for you, so you turn and head for your desk, gathering your things.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, flashing a tight smile to the rest of the team. “Bye.”

“Um…bye…?” Reid looks around to be sure everyone is as confused as he is. They are, but they all shrug, letting you leave.

Up the stairs, Hotch watches you go, knuckles white from where he’s gripping the railing. He shouldn’t have let you go so easily, but you both need to cool down, and if you’re really going to do this tomorrow, you need your rest.

From beside him, Rossi pointedly clears his throat.

Hotch turns his head, following Rossi’s silent request to follow him into his office. He pushes the door closed behind him.

Hotch starts to pace, then stops in the middle of the room, lifting his arm and dropping it in a what the hell gesture. “She’s going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dave smirks. “And you’re going with her?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Aaron replies, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll have to tell her tomorrow. If he says anything else about recognizing her—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t saying that just to get a rise out of her? She’s a new agent, she’s attractive—” Rossi cuts himself off when he sees Hotch’s glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “I know.”

“She doesn’t know him, Aaron,” Dave says. “How would she? He’s a serial killer who’s been on the run—”

“He knows things about her childhood, Dave,” Hotch cries. “If he knows about the kidnapping, and her father, then who knows what else he’s heard— who knows what he’ll do—”

“Aaron,” Rossi shakes his head. “I know you want to help her, but you can’t protect her, and she can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Hotch says, dropping his hand in defeat. “I know.” You’ve been taking care of everything ever since he first met you. He knows you’re more than capable.

He just doesn’t want to find out what happens when you face something you can’t handle alone — and if he’s the one who lets you go at this alone, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He can’t shake the gut feeling that you’re in way over your head and you don’t realize it. Because you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.

+++

You hardly sleep at all, so you’re in a piss poor mood the next morning, and you blame Hotch for it. Naturally.

So, of course, it also irritates the fuck out of you when you arrive at the office and there’s a coffee waiting on your desk. And an apologetic looking Unit Chief standing next to it, identical coffee cup in hand.

You toss your purse down in your chair, glaring at Hotch. “Are you in a better mood today?”

“Peace offering?” he says instead, gesturing to the coffee on your desk.

“Did you poison it?”

He stares at you tiredly.

You pick it up, keeping your eyes on him as you inhale the steam still rising from the hole in the lid. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Thought it might make the drive easier.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Am I driving?”

“No,” he scoffs — which oddly almost sounds like a laugh.

You snicker, bringing the cup to your lips. You don’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes follow the motion, or the way they get stuck on your lips before he averts them, like he senses he’s been caught.

It takes everything in you not to call him out on it. You settle for tasting your coffee and letting out a noise of surprise.

“What?” Hotch asks. “Is it wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” you reply quickly. “It’s right. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Good. Um, I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nod, raising your cup in cheers. “See you in a bit.”

Hotch heads up to his office without another word, leaving you with a whole world of confusion.

He’s buying you coffee now? Seriously?

Thank god no one else was here to witness that. You’d never live that one down if Morgan heard all of it.

You shove your purse aside and sit down, putting your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, continuing the long process of mentally preparing for speaking with Richard Monroe today.

“Long night?”

You raise your head to glare at Morgan, but it holds no real heat. You’re too tired and you’re not even mad at him. “Don’t even get me started.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ as inhales sharply. “That bad, huh?” He drops his bag next to his desk, instead coming over to prop himself on the edge of yours. “Talk to me.”

“Morgan,” you sigh, dropping your head back into your hands. “Not today, seriously.”

“What’s happening today?” he asks. “You never did say why you left so suddenly yesterday.”

You lift your head and glance toward Hotch’s office, slightly relieved to find his door closed and his head turned down toward paperwork on his desk. When you look back at Derek, he does the most not-subtle look over his shoulder at Hotch before looking back at you.

“No.”

You lean back, eyebrows furrowed. “No what?”

Morgan starts to grin. “You two finally get your shit together?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Who made the first move?”

“Get off of my desk,” you say through gritted teeth, shoving his leg. “Nothing happened. I have to go speak to Richard Monroe today and Hotch is coming with—”

“What?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “Richard Monroe? Why him?”

“Because he’s not cooperating with the investigation anymore but says he will if he speaks to me first,” you explain like it’s nothing — because it is. “Strauss told me about it a couple weeks ago.”

“No,” Morgan shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of this.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your coffee. “Now you sound just like Hotch.”

“Good,” Morgan slides off your desk, shrugging. “‘Cause this doesn’t sound like a good idea. You had a panic attack after talking to him.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“I know what those look like,” Morgan argues. “Whether or not that’s what you call them, that’s what they are.”

“Leave it alone,” you warn.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Just— You know the drill. Call me if you need me. And try not to kill him,” he adds with a quick glance up to Hotch’s office.

“No promises,” you reply, tipping your coffee back.

+++

When Hotch comes down to the bullpen an hour later, you notice everyone’s eyes zeroing in on his coffee, then yours, taking note of the matching cups. Prentiss is first to raise her eyebrows at you. You give her a look that just says don’t. She says nothing, but her smirk tells you she’ll be messaging the group chat about it later.

“Ready?” Hotch asks.

“Yep,” you nod, grabbing your purse and standing. You offer a mock salute to the rest of your team. “See you on the other side.”

Morgan laughs, shaking his head at you. “Try not to kill each other. Please.”

You and Hotch roll your eyes at the same time, freezing when you catch the other doing it.

It takes a surprising amount of effort on your part to not smile.

You swipe your coffee off your desk, downing the last remaining drops as the two of you walk toward the exit. “Thanks for this again, by the way,” you say quietly, tossing your empty cup in the trash can in the hall. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, tossing his as well while you hit the down arrow on the elevator.

The silence blankets you both inside the elevator as you stand as far apart as possible. Like you both know you need to cherish your personal space before you’re stuck in a car together for three straight hours — one way.

Since Hotch is driving, you head toward where you know his car will be in the parking deck. The spaces aren’t even assigned; he’s just a creature of habit. You, on the other hand, hardly ever park in the same spot. Hotch has always wondered why.

“If this radio turns on and starts playing some classical music bullshit, I’m going to be so disappointed in you, Hotchner,” you tease as you buckle yourself in.

Hotch says nothing as he turns the key in the ignition. A second later, The Beatles’s white album fills the car. Namely, the song “I Will”.

“Seriously?” you grin. “The white album?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” you hum, looking out the window. “I’m partial to Abbey Road.”

“Of course you would be.”

Your head whips toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smiling.

You narrow your eyes before turning your head, biting back your own smile for the second time this morning.

Maybe you are warming up to each other — slightly — or maybe it means nothing.

Whatever it is, you don’t have time to think about it today. You have a serial killer who wants to speak with you, who somehow knows who you are despite you having never met him before, and the only explanation must have something to do with your father — who Hotch still knows nothing about.

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