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pitlanepeach · 4 months ago

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From Eden | Chapter Six (6/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Mentions of mental health medication. Sexual content. Francesca has a lot of anxiety but is being very brave about it.

Notes — Some time skips, which I’ve tried to make as clear as possible. This chapter (and the final 2) are a lot longer, so grab a tea and a snack. Also: my race calender/fic timeline isn’t perfect. Just don’t focus on it too much and it’s fine. lol

It wasn’t a dramatic goodbye.

There were no tears, no desperate clinging (however much Francesca secretly wanted to). Just the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen, still steaming from their morning tea, and Henry sulking under the couch because his new treat dispenser (Oscar) was leaving.

His duffle bag sat by the door — not even fully zipped — and Francesca stood barefoot in the hoodie she’d claimed as her own, her hands swallowed by the sleeves.

“You’ve got everything?” she asked.

He nodded. “I triple-checked. Twice.”

“Sounds excessive.” She teased, though the words came out quiet and unsure.

“Sounds like me,” he grinned, stepping closer, his hands slipping under her arms to rest at the small of her back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself against his chest. “Just… it’s been so nice. Having you here. Being with you for real.”

Oscar’s chin rested lightly on her head. “Yeah,” he said, after a pause.

Francesca’s fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

He shook his head. “No. Stay here. It’s cold.” He leaned back slightly to meet her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” she echoed. Then, quieter, “you’ll come back, right?”

Oscar let out a breath, soft and sure. “Of course I’ll come back. I already miss you.”

“You haven’t even left yet.”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

She laughed, and he kissed her. A steady, soft press of lips that lingered a moment longer than it needed to, a goodbye without having to say the words, really.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth like it was second nature now. “I’m only going to be an hour away,” he reminded. “Text me. Or call. Whenever you want.”

She nodded. “Okay. I will.”

“I like it when you bother me,” he added, as if she didn’t already know.

“I like being heard,” she said, a little wry. He was ridiculous. Who liked being bothered?

Another kiss, this one to her forehead.

She huffed out a breath, her cheeks flushing red.

And then he was throwing his bag over his shoulder and opening the door, glancing back one last time.

Francesca stayed where she was, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, watching until the door clicked shut behind him.

Henry mewled in despair.

“Yeah.” Francesca whispered. She stared at the front-door. “I think I know how you feel.”

—

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

osc

would u still want me if i was ginger

Oscar

I have nothing against ginger people

Francesca

🤨

did u date a ginger b4 me

Oscar

No I’ve never dated a ginger girl

Francesca

you’ve dated a ginger guy??????!

Oscar

Stop

I’m in a meeting

Francesca

ok sorry

i might dye my hair

Oscar

Whatever makes you happy

Francesca

ok <3

— two hours later —

katie talked me out of it

Oscar

Thank god.

Francesca

😾

ur mean

Oscar

You’re gorgeous just the way you are.

Turns out they don’t need me for anything else this week. I’m going to borrow a car and drive back to you. That ok?

Francesca

yay yay yay

of course it’s ok duh

also i have a question.

Oscar

What is it baby

Francesca

do u wanna take me on a date?

Oscar

…

Of course I do

Do you want me to take you on a date?

Francesca

yes

somewhere like… quiet

maybe not too far from the flat

if that’s ok.

Oscar

I’ll make it happen

Proud of you. 👍🏻

Francesca

ew why r u using the dad emoji.

Oscar

👍🏻

Francesca

oscar

Oscar

👍🏻

Francesca

you’re good at making me laugh

thank u

i got a bit anxious overthinking the date thing

Oscar

I know

Go make yourself a cup of tea and eat one of the pastries I got you

I’ll take care of everything.

Francesca

god i want to kiss u so hard rn

Oscar

👍🏻

Francesca

fuck off

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

Have you managed to get the outline finished? I’m getting pressure from the team at H.C.

Francesca

yes it’s been done for 2 days

im scared to send it to u

Katie

I need it.

They’re annoying me with their emails Francesca

Do this for me

I hate emails. You know this

Francesca

im worried it’s not going to be good enough

and they’re going to hate it

Katie

How about this.

I like reading. I love romance.

Send it to me. I’ll read it.

I will be brutally honest with you - no holding back.

Francesca

i would rather you be the one to tell me that it’s terrible actually

Katie

Send it.

Francesca

*word document*

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar

About to leave Woking

Do I need to go to Tesco for anything on my way back?

Francesca

i would like some cans of sprite

and also there’s this book i need for the video i want to film tomorrow

they sell it in tesco apparently

*screenshot of book cover*

Oscar

I’ll try my best to find it

Do you have dinner planned already?

Francesca

i didn’t know u were coming back tonight rmbr🤨

Oscar

Yes but what were you going to eat?

Francesca

uhhhhh i have some instant noodles in the cupboard

probably that

Oscar

I’ll bring food back for us

I’ll probably get there around 7

Francesca

im being very casual about this ‘u wanting to come back here so soon’ thing

but i might bite u or smth when u actually do get here.

fyi

Oscar

I’m sure you weren’t this strange before I made you my gf🤨

Francesca

no i was

just hid it better

do u want me to stop

sorry

Oscar

Don’t stop.

Francesca

😼

Oscar

Freak.

Can’t wait to see you

Actually leaving now. Call me if u need me. I’ll answer on the Bluetooth

Francesca

❤️❤️❤️

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

It’s really bloody good

Not perfect. Very real

That’s what makes it so good

They’re going to love it.

Can I send it?

Francesca

yeah. send it.

love u

Katie

Love u twice

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar

Is this the right one?

*picture of oscar’s hand holding a book*

Francesca

yesssssssssssssssss

thanku

Oscar

Cool

Are you okay with lasagna?

Francesca

yesssss please

that sounds so good

with garlic bread though

Oscar

Of course babe

Francesca

hurry up and get back here

want to smooch you

Oscar

Don’t make me blush in Tesco

Francesca

ooooooooooo ur so handsome

oooooooooo i wanna kiss u so bad

oooooooooooooo ur my boyfriendddddd

Oscar

You’re impossible.

—

The door swung open before Oscar even had the chance to knock properly.

Francesca stood in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink dressing gown covered in little hearts — fucking cute, Oscar thought — her hair a little mussed, her expression soft and sleepy. Hard to believe this was the same woman who’d been threatening to bite him an hour ago.

Her eyes darted straight to the bag in his hand.

“Book first,” she said, grabbing it from him. “Boyfriend second.”

Oscar blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she said, digging through the Tesco bag not unlike the way a raccoon would approach a bin. When she eventually found the paperback — slightly curled at the corners due to the fact that he’d piled the family sized lasagna on top of it — she held it up triumphantly. “Thank you. Best boyfriend award goes to you.”

He stepped into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. “Okay. What happened to wanting to smooch me, huh?”

Francesca, cradling the book like a newborn, looked up at him with a small, crooked smile. The way she held herself around him had already changed — looser, lighter — but there was still a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that made something tender unfurl in his chest.

“Oh, that’s still very much on the table.”

Then she launched herself at him.

She wasn’t particularly heavy, but Oscar still stumbled back a step, letting out a surprised laugh as she wrapped herself around him like an overexcited octopus. Her arms looped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he buried a grin into her hair, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, clinging tighter. “It felt like you were gone forever. I nearly forgot what you looked like.”

Oscar hummed. “I was gone for two days. And we FaceTimed twice.”

“Same thing.” She pouted.

He kissed her cheek. Then again, a little closer to her mouth. “I missed you too.”

“Okay,” she said, peeling herself off of him just enough to look at his face, though her arms stayed loosely around his neck. “I’m hungry. Ravenous. I’ve been glued to my laptop all day. I posted the Taylor video and it’s already getting such a great response. Comments are so sweet and—” She stopped herself abruptly, biting her lip. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. You’re probably exhausted.”

Oscar shook his head, eyes gentle. “Don’t do that.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I want to hear about it,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me everything.”

And then, without any real warning, he lifted her up fully off of the ground. Francesca let out a delighted squeak, arms tightening around his neck. He carried her into the kitchen, her dressing gown trailing behind them like a little pink cape, and settled her carefully on the counter. She beamed at him, legs swinging slightly.

He touched her thigh gently, grounding. “I’ll sort dinner. You talk. Start from the beginning. And don’t think I forgot — tell me what Harper Collins said to Katie too.”

Francesca looked momentarily flustered, but her smile was soft. “Okay. So, I woke up super early. Couldn’t sleep. Ended up doing this last-minute edit on the Taylor video because I thought the voiceover sounded weird and it was annoying me—”

Oscar opened the oven and slid the lasagna in, listening as she spoke. He added the garlic bread to a tray and popped it on the top shelf, wiping his hands on a tea towel as she continued.

“—and then eventually, at like five, I posted it, and it took off way faster than usual stuff. I thought it might do well, but not like… this well. People are already posting clips on TikTok and, like, videos of them talking about me analysis too.”

He pulled out a bag of pre-washed salad and gave it a little shake.

Francesca pulled a face. “No thanks.”

Oscar laughed. “It’s baby leaf salad. It tastes like nothing.”

“It’s sad green sogginess in a bag. I’m not eating that.”

Still grinning, he put the salad aside without argument and leaned back against the counter, gesturing for her to continue.

“Okay. And then Katie called,” she went on, fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. His gaze zeroed in on her hands without meaning to. Slightly red, a few new dark purple bruises near her wrist. He blinked and averted her gaze before she could notice where his attention had fallen. “She said she sent the outline to Harper Collins. And they liked it. A lot, apparently. There’s going to be another meeting next week. It’s not, like, a done deal or anything but… it’s probably going to happen.”

Oscar’s chest swelled with something deep and proud. “That’s massive, baby.”

“I know,” she said, in a whisper, like she still couldn’t believe it herself. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll have been a dream.”

He stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “Nah. It’s real. You did that.”

She smiled into the kiss. “You’re annoyingly supportive for somebody who has no real interest in books.”

“You’ve watched every race since we started talking,” he said, resting a hand on her hip. “Even though I know you hate it. Seems like we’re even.”

She nudged his side with her knee and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, quiet for a moment.

“I really missed you.”

Oscar turned and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a beat — her legs swinging gently off the counter, his hand warm against her side, the quiet sounds of the oven in the background. Then she tilted her head, nudging her nose against his jaw.

“How was your simming?”

He let out a soft, amused breath. “Decent, actually. They’ve been saying nice things lately — about how I’m handling the car, learning fast. It’s been a bit surreal.”

She smiled. “I’m not surprised. Although maybe I’m biased, since I think that you’re the best driver in the world.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he looked suspiciously fond. “I have my moments.”

She gave him a measuring look. “What do they mean, though? Like… when they say you’re doing well — how do they measure that? Is it because you don’t crash a lot?”

He looked briefly thoughtful, then leaned his hip against the counter beside her. “Well, part of it is just about the data — lap times, feedback. But I think it’s also about how I’ve adapted. Rookie seasons are usually tough.”

“Rookie?” she asked, brows knitting slightly. “That’s like… you mean you’re in your first year?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. First year in F1.”

She blinked at him, clearly surprised. “Oh. Wow. Really? But you’re so good.”

His ears went a little pink, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess. I—uh, they’ve been saying I might win something. Rookie of the Year, maybe. Because I already have the podiums in Japan and Qatar.”

“Wait,” she said, brows lifting. “Okay. Podium. That’s when you got handed the trophy with Lando and the other guy, right? With the champagne?”

“Yeah. When I came third,” he said, trying not to sound too proud. “In Suzuka. And second in Qatar.”

“I didn’t realise Japan was your first podium.” Suddenly, she was so glad that she’d sat and watched the entire race.

He gave a small, almost shy smile and turned back to the oven to check the lasagna. “Thanks.”

She was still looking at him, trying to piece it all together. “I still can’t believe this is your first year, though.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been racing for a long time, just not in F1. Started in go-karts when I was six. Moved through the junior formulas — Formula 4, 3, 2.”

She gave a slow nod, processing. “Like levels in a video game.”

He chuckled, setting a timer on his phone for the garlic bread. “Exactly like that.”

She swung her legs idly from the counter. “So how’d you get into McLaren, then? They’re a, uh, good team… right?” She attempted.

That made his smile falter just slightly, like he was choosing his words. “Bit of a weird one, actually. I was with Alpine before. They had me signed as a reserve driver — like, waiting in the wings in case someone got sick or injured.”

She nodded along. “Okay. So what happened?”

“Well… they were supposed to offer me a seat for this year, but they didn’t. Or, they sort of tried, but it was messy. Public. I wasn’t even properly informed about it, and they kind of announced me without confirming things with me first.”

Francesca’s face twisted. “Wait — what?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at her with a wry smile. “They just… assumed I’d go along with it. But I’d already been talking to McLaren, because I wasn’t getting answers from Alpine. And McLaren offered me a proper seat. Real deal. They wanted me.”

“So you picked them,” she said.

“Yeah. I signed with McLaren. And then Alpine’s team principal — Otmar — lost it. Tried to sue me.”

She blinked at him. “Wait. What? Like — actual legal action?”

He nodded, looking faintly amused. “Yeah. They took it to the Contract Recognition Board, tried to argue I was theirs and McLaren had no claim. But it didn’t go anywhere. The CRB ruled I was free to go. McLaren had the real contract. That was that.”

She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You had a team try to drag you through court because you didn’t want to drive for them?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though the muscle in his jaw ticked slightly. “Yeah. It was stressful. It sucked, honestly, especially because it was all happening during the first few races of the season. But McLaren were amazing through all of it. They backed me.”

Francesca looked at him, a little in awe. “That’s… insane. No offence, but you’re kind of underselling this. You survived a motorsport custody battle and won.”

He laughed, properly. “It does sound much more dramatic when you put it like that.”

“Because it is dramatic,” she said, nudging his knee with her foot. “God. People online always talk about the politics in F1 but I didn’t realise it was that petty.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “But it worked out. Mclaren’s my home now.” He said.

She smiled at him.

He moved to the other side of the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, trying to familiarise himself with the space.

She cleared her throat. “Um.”

Oscar looked over. “Yeah?”

She fidgeted slightly, fingers picking at the edge of her dressing gown sleeve. “I, uh… I like your helmet, by the way.”

Oscar looked up from where he was rustling around in a drawer for a spatula. “My — what?”

“Your race helmet,” she clarified quickly, already pink in the cheeks. “The design. The colours. I think it’s cool.”

Oscar paused, blinked once, and then that slow, boyish smirk spread across his face. “Is this…” he started, crossing the small kitchen toward her, “is this like that TikTok trend? The one where girls admit they’re into guys who wear masks and helmets?”

Her eyes went comically large, and then she groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

“No, no, come on,” he said, grinning as he stepped closer and nudged her knee with his hip. “You like my helmet, huh?”

“I liked it before you made it weird,” she muttered into her palms.

“You like me better with the visor down?” he teased, voice low and amused. “Does it take me look all scary and mysterious?”

She peeked out from between her fingers, glaring at him. “It makes you quiet. That’s the appeal.”

He laughed, light and happy. “Rude.”

“I was trying to be nice,” she mumbled. “I see lots of pictures of you. You look… cool. Really cool. Like you know exactly what you’re doing, even though you say that you’re still learning.”

That softened something in him instantly. His teasing grin faded into something smaller, more genuine.

“Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot.”

She shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s just a helmet.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, nudging her leg again, gentler this time. “It’s a big part of the job. You wear one every race, every test. And the design — that’s personal. You pick it. You make it yours. Kind of the only part of the whole thing that’s really yours, you know?”

“I thought that,” she mumbled through her fingers. “Before you made it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything! You’re the one who—”

“Oscar.”

He grinned and leaned forward, nosing her hands out of the way. “Hey,” he said, soft. “Thank you. I like it too. It’s custom painted, you know. I’ve had different designs through the years but the current one, the colours, the patterns, it feels like me.”

She met his eyes again, visibly trying to recover her dignity. “It’s… really nice.” She glanced at her bookshelf, where she kept all of her trinkets. “It’d be cool to have a mini one. To keep there.” She told him. “On my shelf.”

He kissed her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

—

liked by hattiepiastri, stephbroher, and 41,987 others

bookishgoldie last week

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user17 ahhhhhh f1 + booktube (my worlds are colliding)

user8 i am SO excited for your next video pls upload soon

katiebirdx my godson is so beautiful

bookishgoldie isn’t he😍

—

The room was quiet, dark except for the soft golden spill of the hallway light that Francesca had insisted on leaving on. The bedsheets were warm and a little tangled, kicked down around Oscar’s shins. Francesca was curled up against his chest, her ear pressed over the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, one leg slung lazily over his hips.

It was the first night they’d shared her bed. The couch had been fine — cramped, but fine — and she’d liked the way he hadn’t minded, hadn’t pushed. But this… this felt easier than she thought it would. Softer.

His hand moved slowly up and down her back, tracing the hem of her t-shirt with absent-minded comfort.

“I like your bed,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled against his skin. “It’s my bed. Of course you do. I also have impeccable taste in blankets.”

He chuckled, low in his chest. “Mmm. Can’t argue with that.”

For a long stretch of moments, there was only silence, shared breaths, and the occasional shift of limbs, adjusting to new closeness. Then Francesca tilted her head just slightly, her cheek still pressed against him.

“Do you want to… I don’t know. Brainstorm date ideas?” she asked softly. “I was thinking about it again earlier.”

Oscar blinked his eyes open, a little surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, a little shy. “Just… you know. Not all at once. Just ideas. Things we could do. If I felt up to it.”

His hand stilled on her back for a second, then resumed its slow movements. “I’d love that,” he said. “No pressure. We can keep it all imaginary if that helps.”

She nodded against him. “Imaginary dates are safer.”

He smiled. “Alright. Imaginary date number one: picnic in the park. I bring sandwiches that are way too elaborate because I’m trying to impress you. You bring crisps and get mad when I try to steal them.”

She snorted. “Realistic.”

“Imaginary date number two,” he continued, warming to the game, “I take you to a little museum, rent the entire place out for just us. We look at weird 18th century art and pretend to care about it.”

“That sounds amazing, actually.”

“We leave early because it’s so boring and end up eating fast food in the car.”

“You would be the one to get bored first,” she teased.

“Probably.”

She shifted slightly, snuggling even closer, nose brushing along the edge of his collarbone. “I think I could do a museum. If it was just us.”

Oscar’s heart did something slow and fond in his chest. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.”

She smiled, sleepy and small. “That’s very boyfriend of you.”

He kissed her hair. “I am your boyfriend.”

“Mm. I like that.”

They lay in silence for a few more moments. Then, in a whisper so quiet he barely caught it, she said, “Thanks.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t move them for a long while. “There’s never a rush,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere, ‘Cesca.”

She let out a soft breath. ‘Cesca. Nobody had ever called her that. She liked it.

Then, after a moment, she told him, “I love the beach. I haven’t seen the sea in a long time. Forever, it feels like.”

His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hipbone through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. “Okay, baby,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go.”

She nodded against his chest, and he felt it more than he saw it.

“Okay,” he repeated, this time with a little smile, a little certainty, “but for now, go to sleep.”

“Only if you keep tickling me like that,” she mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Deal.”

She melted further into him, her breathing evening out as his hand continued its gentle rhythm.

—

The sun had barely started to rise when Oscar stirred, warm and grounded beneath the Francesca’s weight. She was breathing steadily, her cheek smushed against his chest, legs tangled with his. Her hand, as always, had found the hem of his shirt in her sleep and was fisted there. Soon, all of his shirts would have pull-marks and creases in the front — he couldn’t even force himself to pretend to be bothered by the idea.

He didn’t want to move. But he had an idea.

He leaned down, brushing his nose against her hair, inhaling that sleepy mix of raspberry shampoo and his aftershave that made his heart clench. “Francesca,” he murmured.

She made a soft, displeased sound and burrowed further into him.

He kissed her temple. “Baby, wake up.”

“Mmnnno,” she groaned. “Go away.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh and nuzzled behind her ear. “Do you trust me?” He asked quietly.

Still half-asleep, she didn’t even hesitate. “‘Course I do.”

“Good.”

In a practiced motion, he sat up, pulling her with him. She slumped into his chest, blinking slowly.

“What’re you doing?” she mumbled.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed one of his hoodies from the floor and gently tugged it over her head. She whined in protest but didn’t resist, letting him guide her arms through the sleeves. It was far too big on her, hanging down past her thighs, but it would keep her warm, and that’s what mattered.

“Where do you keep your flat keys?” he asked.

She blinked up at him blearily. “My bag. Front pocket.”

He found them easily before coming back, bending down and, without warning, scooped her up into his arms.

She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oscar!”

“I’m not giving you time to overthink,” he told her.

“This is kidnapping,” she said through a yawn. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. Then she nipped at the skin above his collarbone. “Don’t put me down.”

He snorted, not even wincing at the sharp pain of her fangs against his skin. “Not kidnapping if you don’t fight me.”

Outside, the morning air was crisp and biting. She shivered, instinctively pressing herself closer into his side, her face still tucked into the crook of his neck. He paused for just a moment, uncertainty flickering through him. Was he pushing her too far? Was this too much, too fast? But she hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t protested. She’d only held on tighter, quiet and pliant, when he’d whispered a soft “be good” to Henry and locked the flat door behind them.

So he settled her into the passenger seat of the sleek, absurdly expensive car (one of the McLaren courtesy models, perk of the job), and buckled her in. She blinked at the dashboard, then at him.

“This is a spaceship.”

Oscar leaned down to kiss her cheek before closing her door and walking around the car to slide behind into the drivers side.

She didn’t ask questions. She wanted to. The anxiety was curling quietly in her chest, a cold thread of apprehension weaving through her ribs. But she knew asking would make it worse. Knew that the need to control every part of her day was one of the reasons she hadn’t done anything like this in years.

Before even starting the engine, he had one of his big hands on her thigh, his grip tight and grounding and exactly what she hadn’t even realised she needed.

“I trust you,” she said again, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to hers, warm, steady, and he squeezed her thigh in three quick motions. “I know.”

The drive was quiet.

She kept her eyes closed for most of it, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing, the soft hum of the car, the weight of his hand on her leg. When the roads started to widen, when the buildings gave way to trees and hills, she could smell salt on the air and feel the shift in the wind through the cracked window.

Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs.

It was too much.

The world. The movement. The not-knowing.

But she didn’t panic. She let it rise. Let it crest. Let it fall.

Just kept breathing.

When he finally slowed the car, she opened her eyes. The light had shifted, gone golden — soft and hazy with the rise of early morning sun. She blinked, disoriented and heavy with sleep, as he pulled into a small gravel lot nestled against a grassy hill. And when he eased the car into park, she turned her head to look out the window and… froze.

The sea.

Endless. Expansive. Glittering beneath the sunlight.

And just like that, the ringing in her ears stopped. The ache in her chest loosened. She could hear gulls crying overhead. The steady hush of waves meeting the shore. The quiet, constant pull of tide.

“Hey,” Oscar said gently, not looking away from her. “We don’t have to get out of the car. We can just sit here. I just—”

She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears. He hesitated.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you not having seen the sea in so long,” he said softly. “Not when you clearly love it so much.”

The tears slipped free.

Francesca covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Not loud. Not panicked.

Just quietly. Fully. Overwhelmed.

Oscar leaned across the console, wrapping an arm around her and tugging her onto his lap. She curled up into him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re so brave, baby. So good. I’m here.”

She clung to his hoodie like a lifeline, breathing him in.

And for the first time in years, she let herself be small in someone else’s care.

They stayed like that for a long time. Not speaking. Just existing.

When she was ready, when her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking, she pulled back and looked out at the water again.

“It’s so blue,” she whispered.

He smiled. “It is.”

“I forgot how it sounded.”

“Now you can remember.”

She turned to look at him, her face blotchy and red and beautiful. “You really didn’t have to do this. I- I might’ve freaked out on you. Made a scene.”

“You can make as many scenes as you want,” he said again. “But I will always try to give you what I think you need, yeah? Always.”

Francesca reached up and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

“I- you know, Osc.” she whispered.

Oscar’s heart stopped. Then surged.

He leaned in, rested his forehead against hers.

“Yeah. I know.” he whispered back. “I know.”

With the sea as witness, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his jaw.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Oscar was in Mexico.

Francesca and Katie were in her flat, the race coverage playing at a low volume on the TV as they chased Henry around the living room with a feather toy that had arrived two days ago — a surprise Amazon delivery tied with a note in Oscar’s handwriting, “for the little bastard”.

Francesca had laughed for ten minutes straight when she opened it. Katie had filmed the whole thing and, after stealing his number from Francesca’s phone, had sent it to Oscar, along with a voice note that simply said, “I don’t think it was that funny.”

Now, Henry was a blur of zoomies, paws skidding on the hardwood as he launched himself under the sofa to hide from the feathered menace. Francesca collapsed backward against the cushions, breathless and flushed. Katie flopped down beside her.

On the TV, the camera cut to a live shot of Oscar standing in the paddock. His race suit was half-zipped, arms folded casually as he chatted to his engineer, sun beating down on the brim of his cap. He was grinning at something, head tipped slightly to the side.

Francesca went quiet. Just… watching. Soaking him in through the screen like it might bring him closer.

Katie nudged her with a toe. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I just— I get it. Why they put up with long flights and stupid time zones and overpriced airport water. I’d do it. For him.”

Katie’s face softened. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. You being here, letting him in, the fact you’re even saying that stuff out loud — that’s a lot already.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered. “I just think… he makes me brave.”

The feather toy squeaked as Henry pounced again, launching himself at Katie’s leg with the precision of a tiny, sharp-clawed assassin. She screamed, jerking her leg away and nearly spilling the tea she’d balanced on the arm of the sofa.

“Bastard!” she shouted, glaring at the cat now crouched smugly by the TV stand, tail swishing.

“Shit,” Katie murmured, genuinely impressed as she leaned forward. “He’s good, then.”

“The best,” Francesca replied without hesitation.

The footage shifted to Oscar on the podium in Japan, then in Qatar, smile boyish and eyes squinting beneath the bright lights as champagne sprayed from either side. Francesca felt her heart swell and ache at the same time.

“He’s going to win an award,” she added softly. “Rookie of the Year. From the FIA — the people who run the whole thing. He keeps trying to act like it’s not a big deal, but it is. There’s a gala and everything.”

Katie glanced over, eyebrow raised. “He tell you that?”

“I… looked it up,” Francesca admitted, shrugging with a sheepish smile. “The night he told me he might win. I couldn’t sleep, so I just kept Googling stuff. The voting, the dress code, past winners…”

“You’re obsessed.” Katie giggled.

“Not obsessed,” she said, nudging Katie with her foot. “Just… proud. And maybe a little bit obsessed.”

Katie laughed. “Okay, but like, in a really soft girlfriend way. Not a weird clipboard-and-red-string-stalker way.”

Francesca flushed. “I’m just trying to understand it all. His world. Because he makes so much space for mine.”

Katie was quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s very fucking lucky to have you.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Francesca said quietly.

The camera cut to him again. He ducked his head.

“He doesn’t really know how to be the centre of attention. Which is crazy, considering the job he’s chosen.” Francesca laughed.

Katie tilted her head. “Sounds like he’s found the right person to help balance all that out, huh.”

Francesca didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, curled up in the corner of the sofa, the TV screen casting soft flashes of light across her face.

Then, almost to herself, “I think I want to go to the gala with him. If he gets the award.”

Katie blinked. “I— Uh. Wow. That’s… big. Seriously?”

Francesca nodded, tucking her knees closer to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. “I want to be there. I want to see him get it, hug him, tell him how proud of him I am.”

It came out calmly. Almost too calmly. Because inside, her heart was thudding like it had suddenly remembered all the reasons why that was a bad idea.

First, she’d have to travel to even get there — multiple planes, cars, etc. The venue would be huge. People would be watching. She’d have to wear something elegant, maybe heels — God, the idea of heels made her stomach flip. There’d be lights and flashing cameras and probably hounds of press. She could already feel the too-tight air in her chest, her body doing that thing where it anticipated danger before there even was any.

Katie hesitated, and Francesca braced — because she knew what was coming.

“Are you sure?” her friend asked softly. “I mean… that’s a lot, Fran.”

Francesca’s throat tightened almost immediately. She looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead of the skin that was itching to be scratched and tugged and twisted.

“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s not like it’s next week or anything. There’s time. Months, even. And—”

She paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then forced herself to breathe. To make the next words come out like they were calm and considered, instead of shaky and sitting way too close to fear.

“And it’ll take a lot of therapy. Like, probably multiple sessions just to deal with the dress shopping part. And definitely a higher dose of medication than I’m on right now. But… I want to do it. Not even just for him. For me.”

Katie’s expression softened instantly — because of course it did. She loved her. Francesca knew that. But the worry didn’t leave her eyes, didn’t waver. It was still there, settled in the tight line of her mouth, the way her fingers drummed absently against her knee.

“I know,” Katie said, voice low. “And I see that. How hard you’re trying. How far you’ve come. But… you also mask it really well. You always have. And I know what it looks like when you burn out. When you go too hard and then crash so badly it takes you weeks to feel even remotely human again.”

Francesca chewed on her bottom lip.

It was the truth, and it stung. But it wasn’t unfair.

“I don’t want that for you,” Katie added gently. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, just because you like him, or because you want to prove you can.”

Francesca looked over at the TV, at the basically-muted coverage still looping behind them. A slow-motion shot of Oscar stepping into his car, pulling on his helmet, caught in profile — calm and sharp.

“I know I’ve done that before,” she said, her voice soft. “Made myself sick just to prove something. But this… this feels different.”

Katie was quiet.

“I want to be someone who shows up, you know?” Francesca continued, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “I want to be there when they call his name. I want to experience the joy with him.” Her hands clenched briefly, and then she forced herself to loosen them. “I don’t want to live in this safe little box forever. I want more.”

Katie’s eyes were glossy now, but she smiled too. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. God, I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth. I’m so bloody proud of you.”

Francesca exhaled, letting herself fall sideways against Katie’s shoulder, their heads leaning together.

“You’re gonna look hot as fuck,” Katie said after a beat.

Francesca laughed — a real laugh, bubbling up unexpectedly.

She didn’t think it would ever truly go away — the debilitating fear, the constant, clawing need to be surrounded by safety and warmth. That wasn’t how agoraphobia worked. It could get better, sure. There would be progress, steps forward, days where the world felt a little less sharp around the edges. But would it ever vanish completely?

Probably not.

Still, she could learn how to live with it. How to manage the spikes of panic, the silent spirals. How to catch herself before the fall.

Oscar had shown her that it was possible — that the world didn’t have to stay small and suffocating forever. That the sea was still hers if she wanted it. That safety could exist outside the four walls of her flat.

He’d shown her what it meant to be cared for without conditions, to be seen and still held gently. If she asked for the world, he’d put it in her hands. No hesitation. No doubt.

She reached for her tea and took a sip. Her hands still trembled.

But she held it steady.

—

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

gonna walk to a café

i’m scared lol

His reply came almost instantly, despite the time difference.

Oscar

u got this baby

text me when you’re there

proud of you already 🧡

She stared at the screen for a moment, clutching the phone to her chest. Then, with a shaky breath, she pulled on her coat, slid her flat keys into her pocket, and stepped out of her building.

It hit her all at once — the cold air, the stretch of sky overhead, the noise of the street. Her pulse jumped. Her brain started whispering all the familiar taunts — what if you can’t breathe? What if you freeze? What if everyone sees you fall apart?

She stopped. Planted her feet. Breathed in.

What do you see? her therapist had said once, when she’d asked how to stop dissociating when things got scary. Don’t run from the world around you. Notice it.

So Francesca noticed.

The glint of morning sun on parked cars. The little cloud her breath made in the air. A dog straining at its lead, ears perked. A crisp packet doing a sad little tumble across the pavement. A window-box full of drooping flowers that someone hadn’t remembered to water.

Her heart still raced, but her feet kept moving.

By the time she reached the café, her fingers were frozen and her stomach was doing that slow, swooping panic thing it did — but then she spotted Katie by the window, already waving.

Francesca pushed through the door. The bell jingled above her head. The warmth and scent of coffee hit her like a hug.

Katie was up in a flash, wrapping her in a real one. “You did it,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Francesca didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Her eyes were hot and blurry with tears, but she nodded, and let herself lean into Katie’s warmth.

They sat by the window. Ordered muffins and flat whites, Francesca’s with oat milk.

Francesca’s hands trembled around the mug at first. But Katie didn’t mention it — just kept talking, light and breezy, about some ridiculous email thread she’d been stuck in that morning.

And slowly, Francesca started to relax. Her fingers stilled. Her chest loosened. She took a bite of her muffin and actually tasted it — lemon and poppy seed, bright and soft.

Out on the street, life moved around her. A child in a school uniform trailed a parent, kicking a pebble. A bus drove by, and the windows slowly got misty from inside. Someone laughed across the room.

And Francesca realised, quietly, achingly, that the world could still be hers, in any way she wanted it.

They didn’t stay long, maybe an hour and a half, but by the time Francesca got back to her front door, her legs felt like lead.

Katie had walked her home, not hovering but close enough that it didn’t feel like she was alone. They didn’t talk much after leaving the café — just a few quiet murmurs about Henry and whether they’d both want to have a pizza night this week — but Katie squeezed her hand before heading off.

Inside, Francesca shut the door behind her and let her back hit it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

Her hands were cold. Her face was flushed. Her heart was still a little loud. But…

She’d done it.

She fished out her phone and typed, thumbs slower than usual, deliberate.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

i did it

it was cold. i should’ve worn gloves

but the muffin was good

It took less than a minute before Oscar replied.

Oscar

What flavour muffin did you get baby

Francesca

lemon and poppyseed

i wanted chocolate but they’d sold out

Oscar

How dare they

I’ll UberEats a chocolate muffin to the flat

So proud of you baby

Francesca

—

She really didn’t mean to write the whole thing.

At first, it was just a paragraph — a single paragraph that came to her in the shower and refused to leave her alone. Then it became a scene, and then a chapter, and then, somehow, fourteen days later…

“I think I blacked out,” she said, eyes wide, cradling a mug of tea. “I opened a blank word document and now I have… 82,000 words.”

Katie just stared at her. “I— What?”

“I finished the draft. Of the thing. The book.” Francesca said slowly. “Like, the whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. There’s an actual story in there. Characters. Pacing. A climax. I have no idea how it happened.”

Katie slowly lowered the spoon she’d been stirring her coffee with, mouth parted. “Francesca. Babe. That’s… that’s bananas. You wrote a whole book in two weeks?”

“I didn’t try to,” she said, almost sheepishly. “It just kind of… poured out. I couldn’t stop. It felt like if I did, I’d forget how to do it.”

Katie got up from the kitchen table and crossed to her, putting both hands gently on her shoulders. “That’s amazing. It’s also extremely unhinged, but in a way that I deeply respect.”

Francesca laughed — properly laughed — and it felt so surprising in her own mouth that she covered it with one hand, like it might escape again if she wasn’t careful. “I think it might be crap.”

“It probably isn’t,” Katie said with a smile. “You’re just your own worst critic.”

Later on, when Katie was gone and the sun had started to set, she sent a photo to Oscar — her laptop open on the coffee table, the word count highlighted in red.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

author gf vibe.

Oscar

So many words

No explanation

Francesca

i kinda finished writing the book

Oscar

I think you mean started writing it

Two weeks ago.

Francesca

i guess i found my groove

i also think i have carpal tunnel now

my hands are very sore

Oscar

You’re crazy. I can’t wait to read it, baby

—

liked by oscarpiastri, flonorris, and 64,529 others

bookishgoldie hi. posted a vid on youtube and it’s pretty special to me. go give it a watch ❤️ love ya’ll

view all comments

user64 YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK?!!!!!

user52 i really appreciate u being so open about your mental health. it helps SO MANY PEOPLE

—

Her camera was rolling, the soft ring light casting a gentle glow over Francesca’s face. She stared at the blinking red dot for a long moment, gathering herself.

“Hi,” she said, finally, her voice still a little scratchy from nerves. “Um. It’s been a while. I missed last weeks upload. Sorry about that.”

She gave a sheepish little smile, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her dressing gown had been swapped out for a black hoodie, soft and oversized — not hers, technically, but she didn’t think anyone would notice. Unless they looked close enough to see the little orange swoop on the left shoulder.

“I’ve been… working. A lot.” A pause. “And not just on my usual content. I’ve been working on myself, too. I’ve made some really big progress with my mental health. Not linear. Not easy. But… real. Lots of therapy. I kinda, like, actually leave the flat now.” Her voice caught slightly, but she kept going. “I’m still scared most of the time, but I’m learning how to deal with that in a healthy way.”

She let out a long breath, then reached down, holding up a printed stack of pages — thick, with a title page on top. “Anyway. I wrote a book.”

A beat. A smile. That dazed, giddy kind that always came when she said it aloud.

“I know. Wild. It just kind of… spilled out of me. And I’m still in shock. But it’s happening. It’s a romance, obviously.” Her smile twitched into something shyer. “I really enjoyed writing it, which is probably why I managed to do it so fast. I had some good inspiration.”

She bit her lip, trying and failing not to blush, then looked off camera briefly. “I’ll be sharing more soon,” she said, regaining her footing. “It’s still early days — editing, cover design, all the terrifying fun stuff. But it’s coming. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

There was a pause. Then, quieter, “Thank you for sticking with me. Even when I disappear sometimes. Even when I get scared to do this. It means more to me than you know.”

She reached out to stop the recording — then hesitated.

“Oh — and no, this hoodie isn’t mine. I stole it. No follow-up questions.”

Click.

—

Top Comments:

@litwitch420

the way you casually drop “I wrote a book” like that isn’t the most iconic thing you’ve ever done. proud of you, bestie.

@hannahsbookshelf

I don’t even care what the book is about. I’m buying ten copies. One for me, nine for the girl who couldn’t leave the house but still kept trying

@crymewithcoffee

not Francesca writing a book, going to therapy, AND soft-launching in the same video… multitasking queen.

@thisissochaotic

“i leave the flat now” I’M SOBBINGGGG you don’t understand how proud I am. been here since the ‘flop eyeliner tutorial’ days and this is the growth arc of the century.

@traumabrat98

Been battling agoraphobia for years and this gives me hope. Thank you.

@henryhasfans

I’m only here for Henry tbh but good for you I guess (jk I’m so proud of you I’m crying and I’d die for you)

@softestheartsclub

Your face when you talked about “the boy” 😭 you glowed. I don’t even need to meet him — if he made you write a whole book and start living again?? he’s a keeper.

@pidgeinajar

idk who needs to hear this but francesca wearing Someone Else’s hoodie while announcing her debut novel and mental health glow-up is PEAK soft girl renaissance

—

The front door clicked open with a soft thunk, and before Francesca could even reach it, Oscar was already inside, dropping his bag beside the shoe rack and wrapping her up in a hug so tight her feet left the ground.

“Hi,” she murmured into the side of his neck, her grin buried in his neck. “Welcome back.”

“Hi,” he said, kissing the side of her head, voice low and tired and happy. “Missed you.”

There were flowers in his hand — some daisies, a few sunflowers, wildly uncoordinated colours like he'd grabbed whatever looked brightest at the airport. A few petals had fallen off in transit. Still, they were perfect.

Francesca reached for them, heart too full. “These are tragic and I love them.”

Oscar gave her a sheepish smile. “Thought they looked happy.”

Before she could respond, Katie stepped out from the kitchen holding three glasses of Prosecco, eyebrows shooting up.

“Oh my god, you’re real,” Katie said, walking toward them with a glass of Prosecco in each hand, the third awkwardly balanced between her elbow and her ribs. They were celebrating the completion of Francesca’s first draft. “I was starting to think you were just one of Francesca’s very elaborate delusions. Like the time she thought the pigeon outside her window was trying to communicate with her through Morse code.”

“I— that was one time,” Francesca groaned, her voice muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. She didn’t move away from him, though — fingers curled into the hem of his t-shirt like muscle memory, like she needed to know he was still there. Still real.

Oscar’s arm stayed wrapped around her waist, steady and warm.

He glanced between the two women, visibly entertained. “Hi,” he said, smile crooked. “Francesca’s told me a lot about you.”

Katie handed over his glass, eyes scanning his face with barely disguised curiosity. She didn’t say anything immediately — just sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was assessing a very expensive, very complicated piece of IKEA furniture.

Oscar didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, though his hand did tighten ever so slightly at Francesca’s waist.

“She better have,” Katie finally said, tone light but edged. “I’m very important to her.”

Francesca groaned again. “Katie.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Oscar said, a little too quickly, already half-grinning. “I get it. Honestly… I like knowing you two are so close.”

Katie raised a brow, as if surprised by his easy sincerity.

“I mean it,” he added, glancing down at Francesca, then back up. “You’re important to her. And I’m really glad that there’s someone else who sees her the way I do.”

Katie’s expression softened, just a bit.

“Well,” she said, after a beat, “good answer.”

Oscar smiled. “Thanks. Felt like a test.”

“Oh, it was.” Katie clinked her glass against his. “And you’re not done yet. But… you’re doing alright so far.”

Francesca laughed into his chest. “You’re both so annoying.”

“You love us,” Katie shot back, giving Francesca a quick, affectionate pat on the arm as she breezed past. “Now come on, there’s cake, and I’m not slicing it until everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Like she hadn’t just casually dropped the big L word.

Like she hadn’t just implied that.

Oh my god.

Francesca’s brain stalled, cheeks warming as she blinked rapidly up at Oscar, who, mercifully, didn’t seem to be reacting with any kind of alarm.

Instead, he watched Katie retreat into the kitchen, then leaned down to murmur near her ear, “She’s intense. I like her.”

Francesca huffed a quiet laugh, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Told you she’d be like this.”

He smiled, warm and genuine, eyes soft as they met hers. “Yeah. She loves you,” he added, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Francesca’s throat tightened unexpectedly. It hit her somewhere deep, that quiet reassurance. That he wasn’t threatened by the friendship she shared with Katie, or overwhelmed by the depth wrapped around it. That he saw the weight of it and respected it.

“I’m lucky,” she said, voice a little rough.

Oscar’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “You’re loved.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Just a press of her mouth to his, gentle and real. Something in her saying thank you without needing the words.

Oscar stilled for a beat, surprised by her initiating it, maybe, and then kissed her back with a soft hum in his throat, his hand cupping the back of her neck. It was brief, sweet, but lingered in the same way that it always did with them.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were warm and her eyes a little too shiny.

Oscar’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Hi again.”

She laughed, the sound muffled as she dropped her forehead against his chest. “Hi.”

From the kitchen, Katie’s voice rang out. “If you two are done making out, the cake is getting impatient!”

Francesca snorted into Oscar’s shirt.

He just smiled and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”

—

It was late by the time Katie left, the last crumbs of cake still on their dirty plates piled up in the sink. Francesca had smiled so much her cheeks were aching, and Oscar hadn’t stopped touching her all evening. Little things like his hand at the small of her back, arm around her waist, kisses on her knuckles whenever he could.

Now, the flat was quiet again. Just the two of them.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, brushing her teeth with one hand, the other lazily twisting the hem of Oscar’s shirt. He was already in bed, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken, propped up against the pillows, scrolling absently through something on his phone. Shirtless.

She watched him for a second.

Noticed the strong slope of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the way his chest rose and fell in that even, sleepy rhythm. He looked up when he felt her staring.

“Hi, beautiful girl.” he said.

She grinned at him around her toothbrush, cheeks pink.

As soon as she’d rinsed her mouth out in the sink, she padded over to the bed on bare feet, curling up beside him under the duvet, slotting her body into the space he immediately opened for her.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbled against his skin, her fingers curling lightly at his side, nails digging into his skin.

“So are you,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch feather-light. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Just… full of cake. And happiness.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a beat. Just looked at her, his gaze soft, reverent in the dim lamplight. “I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled, shy, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “You brought me flowers.”

“Half-crushed ones, yeah,” he chuckled.

“They were perfect,” she whispered.

Their lips met, slow and soft. No rush, just heat, rising in degrees, like a pot of water on an open flame. Simmering, simmering.

His hand slid down to her hip, not demanding, just there, grounding. Her fingers fanned out across his chest, slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” he asked against her mouth.

She nodded, then leaned in to kiss him again, more insistently. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He shifted them gently, giving her room to roll onto her back, then hovered above her, foreheads nearly touching. His hands explored with care; the curve of her waist, the dip just beneath her ribs. He stared at every movement his hand made, like he was trying to memorise every inch of her body.

“You tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured. “You tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stop, though.”

He kissed her again, her mouth, her neck, the hollow beneath her ear, and her body arched instinctively into him.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her (his) shirt, resting warm and still against her bare stomach, waiting. She nodded once, more sure about this than she’d ever been about anything, and he peeled it off with the same gentleness that he reserved only for her.

When she tried to cover herself, out of habit more than fear, he caught her hands gently.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful, ‘Cesca.”

She flushed. “You always say that. Call me that. Beautiful.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He kissed his way down her chest, slow and careful, taking care to notice every little reaction she gave him. Every time her breath caught, he paused. Every time she arched up to meet him, he smiled into her skin.

Her legs parted to welcome him without needing to be asked. The weight of him above her, around her, was a certain kind of comfort. And when he finally slid into her, it wasn’t shocking or overwhelming or intrusive.

It was right.

She let out a shaky exhale, fingers digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed.

Oscar stilled, forehead resting against hers. “Okay?”

She opened her eyes. Nodded.

And then he moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even really about sex. It was about them being together, like this. About breathing the same air, pressing close enough that the fear didn’t stand a chance. He held her hand the whole time, fingers interlaced, their bodies shifting in the slowest, most perfect rhythm.

She let the thrill of sensations roll over her, the heat, the fullness, the sharp pulse of her heart softening into something sweeter. Safe. Loved.

When she came, it surprised her. Gentle and deep and unlike anything she’d felt before. Her breath caught in her throat, a tear slipping down her temple as Oscar murmured her name, again and again, grounding her in the present.

He followed soon after, with a deep grunt and a tremble that echoed down to his toes. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just kissed her. Tucked her hair back. Pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he whispered, like he hadn’t meant to say it yet, but couldn’t not.

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Her chest ached, in the best way.

“I love you too,” she said softly, voice trembling but sure.

Later, they curled around each other, her head resting on his chest, one leg slung loosely over his. The sheets were tangled around their hips, warm with the quiet hum of leftover heat between them. His hand moved in lazy circles on her bare back, soothing and unthinking.

Francesca let herself melt into it. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat — her new favourite sound.

Her voice came soft, nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Can you take me back to the sea tomorrow morning?”

Oscar’s fingers paused for a second. Just a second. Then he resumed the gentle motion, even slower now. He tilted his head so his lips brushed her hair. “Of course I can.”

—

Oscar was sleeping, one arm draped around her waist, his breath warm and even against the back of her neck.

Francesca reached carefully for her phone on the nightstand, trying not to wake him. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second, heart still fluttering with something so tender and unreal she could barely believe it had happened.

But it had.

They’d said it.

She opened her messages, scrolled to Katie’s name.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

we said the L word

he said it first

and i said it back

katie. i think i’m in love with this man. like properly. like forever.

—

Oscar shifted behind her, murmuring something incoherent, and nuzzled into her shoulder with a content sigh. Her heart ached in the best way.

—

Katie

SHUT THE FUCK UP

Are you still breathing

Francesca

i would follow this man into war

im a new woman. i am reborn.

we. had. SEX.

like actual sex. not metaphorical holding-hands-and-weeping sex.

REAL. NAKED. BODY-TO-BODY. SEX.

and it was so good i think i saw god.

i am speaking to you as a ghost. i have perished. i have transcended.

i am levitating in the corner of my bedroom.

Katie

I’m not afraid to block you.

…

Is he… big?

Francesca

NO. MINE. BACK OFF HARLOT.

Katie

Jesus Christ

It was that good huh

Francesca

I. Transcended.

—

Francesca’s hand was tucked securely in Oscar’s. The world was still quiet, save for the cry of gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves.

Oscar nudged her gently. “You look happy.”

“I am,” she said honestly. “It’s like my brain is breathing. I’m not… scared.”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you think you’d ever want to live somewhere like this? Near the water?”

She glanced sideways at him, brows raising slightly. “Like… move?”

He shrugged, but the question lingered in the air. “Maybe. Someday.”

Francesca didn’t answer right away. They kept walking. The breeze picked up, tugging her hair, and he watched as she closed her eyes for a second, just breathing in the salty sea air.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, my flat is my safety net. My bubble. But this… this doesn’t feel scary. Not with you.” She paused, then added, “I think… it would be possible. Maybe with my therapist on speed dial.”

Oscar smiled. “I could make that happen.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “You- I mean, is that something you want? To live near the water?”

“I think it’d be nice.” He said, noncommittal, but honest.

“If I ever did leave my flat behind… it would have to be for something really, really good. Somewhere Henry would be able to call home for the rest of his life. Somewhere I could always rely on to feel secure.”

Oscar stopped walking. Tugged her closer until she was pressed against his chest.

“Baby,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, squinting against the morning light. “And I’d want to be with someone who makes me happy, as often as possible. Not always, but… often.”

He leaned down and kissed her, salt on their lips, sunlight on their skin.

“Okay,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “I’ll work on that.”

When they started walking again, her hand found his once more, thumb tracing the back of his knuckles.

Oscar was quiet. Thinking.

Not in the way that meant worry, more like… turning over puzzle pieces.

“I think you’d like Monaco,” he said eventually, voice soft and a little far-off. “It’s warm all year. Sunny. You could leave the windows open and let the air in, not just light.”

She glanced at him. “That’s a big change from London, huh.” She said, quietly.

“Maybe,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “It’s small, too. The whole country. You wouldn’t ever feel lost in it. Everything’s within reach. You can walk almost everywhere. I know all the quiet spots.”

Francesca blinked. “You… you want me to live in Monaco?”

“I want you with me,” he said, simply. “And I want you to feel safe somewhere that we can both call home forever. I think it could be a good place for you. No pressure, obviously. Just—” He glanced at her. “I think about it sometimes. You, there. Henry too. Able to watch the water from a balcony.”

She was quiet.

“You’d be busy,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “With racing. And everything else. I’d be on my own a lot.”

Oscar didn’t pretend otherwise. He gave a small, thoughtful nod, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Yeah. But I’d come home to you. Every time. And… you wouldn’t really be alone. You’d never be far from someone you know.” He hesitated, then added, “The girls— I mean, if you wanted to know them.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him. “The girls… You mean the WAGs?”

Oscar’s nose scrunched a little, bashful. “They’re all nice. Some of them travel with us, but not all of them.”

Francesca hummed, then looked back out toward the water. A gull wheeled overhead, shrieking. The waves were starting to turn silver at the edges now, sun climbing higher.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Osc.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. “I— It excites me, though. The idea of making somewhere our home. And I do like the idea of being able to see the water from my window. Or a balcony, like you said.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t try to convince her. Just reached for her hand and tangled their fingers again. “Want to pick up pastries on the way home?” He asked.

She looked at him incredulously. “Uh. Yeah. When have you ever known me to say no to a pastry?”

He rolled his eyes at her, and then he kissed her.

Just because he could.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca

hypothetically. in the future.

if one were to move to monaco. like monaco monaco. the fancy boat people place.

would that be a terrible decision or just like. a very bold rebrand.

asking for a friend (me)

also oscar told me he’d wait forever if it meant i’d be happy and i almost fainted like a victorian man seeing ankle for the first time.

Katie

When you say “in the future”

Do you mean 5 years or 5 weeks because those are very different things fran

Francesca

I HAVEN’T EVEN MET HIS FAMILY YET

he hasn’t met MY family yet

i’m still trying to mentally prepare for him being in the same room as my sister

we’re not there yet

we’re like. emotionally there. but logistically? spiritually?? maybe not. idk.

Katie

Answer my question you scoundrel.

Francesca

I DONT KNOW

maybe 5 months

maybe a year

maybe never

but also maybe i’ll wake up tomorrow and pack a suitcase and just see what happens

is this what love does??? it makes you consider international relocation???

Katie

It absolutely does.

And also you’re unwell. Deeply. Fundamentally.

But in like. A beautiful way.

Pls continue

Francesca

his eyes are so brown.

like unfairly brown.

like melted chocolate mmmmmm yummy

Katie

I’m gonna need you to calm down before you start a fire in your PHONE

What is this?? Shakespeare meets horny tumblr??

Pull yourself together girl

Francesca

i can’t

he said “baby, you’re all I want” last night and i saw god

like my brain blue-screened

if he blinks at me too lovingly again i’m going to dissolve into mist

Katie

ok nope. i'm out.

i’ve reached my francesca-in-love limit for the day

you’re talking like a victorian poet who just discovered lust and it’s deeply upsetting me

Francesca

LMAO

wait no come back

i haven’t even gotten to the part where he called me a good girl

Katie

🔇

this is me putting you on mute.

tell oscar to pay my therapy bills

Francesca

lol x

i’ll invoice him in kisses.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

Note

Request: video gamer Steve who is very very private & constantly has competitions with his friends/followers. But one day he does & q&a and someone asks him about his ring/necklace (or something that is noticeable) & he talks about his partner. & Eddie who is a well known musician who talks about his partner Steve. And somehow their fans put it together that Steddie are together. Then they do a really cute q&a on Steve's channel all about their relationship & its really cute

MY LOVE!!! Honestly, if Liam didn't watch so many gamers on YouTube, I would be so clueless. I never got into video games (because I'm so so bad at them you guys it is actually embarrassing) and I never really watched streamers on YouTube or anything. But I know that some of them have like a cult following and so I am picturing Steve to be one of those here. Please don't ask what games he would play because this is a choose your own adventure part of the story. - Mickala ❤️

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

Everyone made fun of Steve for how much he talked with his hands. Even on camera, his hands were constantly in the frame, moving and emphasizing his passion for whatever game he was playing for that stream.

He should have realized that wearing a ring on his usually bare hands would have given him away.

It was his first livestream competition since Eddie proposed on their trip to the Maldives.

He was still a little high off of, well, everything, and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He ignored the first question that popped up.

who got you that ring?

He shared some basic personal stuff with his fans and followers, but he kept most things private, especially his relationship.

But then questions kept coming in.

R U ENGAGED???

usually the girl wears the ring right

If you’re taken I might have to unsubscribe

The last one made him pause.

It’s not like he was an idiot, he knew that there would always be a handful of people who followed him because he was attractive. He didn’t mind, especially because some of them would message him and explain that they ended up getting into games because of him.

“Okay, wait. Sorry guys. Um. I wanna address something before we start the actual stream.” He held his hand up, looking over at the ring Eddie proposed with. “I share a lot with you guys. I came out about a year ago during a stream as bisexual, and it really shouldn’t have been much of a shock, but it caused a bit of a…thing.” He grimaced. “And I guess most of the reason that I came out then was because my boyfriend had come out as well, and it felt like something we could do together without actually doing it together. Most of you know I was just gone for a week on a much needed vacation. I was with my boyfriend, and he proposed while we were there. I said yes because he is the only person I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”

Steve put his hand down, sighing.

“I understand if that makes some of you unfollow me, but I do hope you look at yourself and try to come to terms with why that is what makes you unfollow someone you enjoy watching. Anyways, the ring is beautiful, and it's a simpler version of one he wears every day, so it means even more.”

He felt relieved, but also a little stressed, and knew he’d be calling Eddie as soon as this was over to talk to him about everything.

“Let’s get gaming!” He gave his best smile to the camera.

—-------------------------------------

“Yeah, we had a nice week off together, alone, and I finally got to propose. I don’t think we left the bed for 24 hours after that,” Eddie laughed.

The interviewer laughed too, used to Eddie’s jokes and blunt answers.

“I’m glad you got to spend some time just the two of you. This has been a busy world tour for you and Corroded Coffin and you’re only halfway through!” The interviewer, Hannah, stated. She smiled at him when he nodded. “Anything new planned for the second half of the tour?”

“We can’t give out secrets, Hannah, you know that,” Eddie smirked. “But Gareth did say I should tell you about one thing.”

Gareth definitely had a crush on Hannah and had pouted endlessly about being scheduled for a different interview at the same time as Eddie’s interview with her.

“Oh?” she leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

She maybe had a crush on him, too.

“He actually wrote a song that’ll be on our next album. He doesn’t usually get bit with the writing bug, but someone’s inspired him,” he winked at her, smiling at her blush. “Anyway, it’s been added to the setlist for the second leg of the tour and we’re all really excited for everyone to hear it.”

Eddie felt his phone vibrating in his pocket multiple times. All the guys knew he was in an interview and couldn’t answer a call, so who the hell was calling him?

It was easy enough to ignore through Hannah’s next question, until it started again.

He reached in his pocket and checked to see who it was, eyes going wide when he saw ‘Stevie’ with a picture of them on their vacation lighting up his screen.

Steve never called twice in a row unless it was an emergency. He knew if Eddie didn’t answer, he was truly busy.

He felt his heart racing as he looked back up at Hannah, who instantly seemed to catch on to something happening.

“We’re going to a commercial break, but when we’re back, Eddie’s gonna share a few hints about the next album!” Hannah said, immediately shutting the mics off and gesturing for him to get up.

Eddie took off his headphones and stood, walking out of the room as he answered the phone.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just-”

“Hey, no, it’s not bothering me. I was just in a radio interview with Hannah so we had to cut to commercial break before I could answer. What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned that something terrible had happened.

“Fuck, I forgot that was right now. I’m sorry. Call me back when you get to the bus,” Steve seemed like he was trying to rush off the phone.

“No, Stevie, wait. What’s wrong?” his tone was firm enough to let Steve know he wasn’t going to let this drop.

“Um. I just had a livestream thing. And like, people asked about the ring, so I told them I was engaged and some people just didn’t take it that well and then I went online and some people have apparently put it together that the Steve you talk about is me because of something I mentioned about my vacation and something you posted about the vacation and so I think everyone’s gonna know and I’m sorry,” Steve was panting by the end, speaking a million miles an hour literally taking the breath from him.

“Okay, well, we knew this would probably happen eventually, my love. I’ll just call the guys and we can talk to Chrissy about it if it gets picked up by the media. No reason to panic,” Eddie tried to calm him down while watching through the window to the recording booth where Hannah seemed to be introducing a song to kill more time.

“But I ruined our plan!”

“No, love. People ruined our plan. And it’s okay, anyway. We’ll figure it out.”

“But your fans will be mad that it’s me. I’m just…me!”

“You’re not just anything and any fan of mine who says or thinks that, isn’t a fan,” Eddie sighed. “I love you, and we will figure this out. Whatever we gotta do, okay?”

Steve let out a long breath before responding.

“I love you too. Tell Hannah I said hi?”

“Of course. I love you so much, okay? ‘Til death and beyond.”

Steve let out a small laugh.

“You’re not allowed to use those lyrics in the vows. But I love you so much, too.”

“We can discuss that later. I wrote you a very metal love song that I fully intend to use some of in the vows. Okay, bye!”

He hung up before Steve could argue and walked back into the studio, mouthing an apology to Hannah, who just waved it off with a smile.

Everything would be fine.

—-------------------------------------------

“The lighting isn’t ideal, but it’ll be fine,” Steve was pacing, double checking his set up while Eddie watched.

He tried helping, but kept being told not to touch things, so he ended up just sitting on the hotel bed.

Steve had traveled halfway across the country to do this, his stress was at an all-time high, and Eddie didn’t need to get his head bitten off.

“Five minutes,” Steve said, shaking his hands nervously.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Eddie said, waving him over to the bed.

“No, you’ll distract me.”

“Yes, which is exactly what you need for a minute. Come here.”

Steve sighed, but went over to him, dropping onto the bed and resting his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“What’s got you so worried?”

“Everything.”

Eddie sighed.

“But specifically.”

“I just don’t want you or the guys to lose fans because of me,” Steve was playing with the edges of the hole in Eddie’s jeans absentmindedly.

“Sweet boy, we lose fans because we endorse a certain amp brand over another. We’ll be fine.”

“This is bigger, though. I’m just a nobody who got lucky on YouTube playing some games,” Steve whined.

“And I loved you before that. If they don’t want me to be happy, they aren’t real fans anyway. You’re my future, not whatever woman still thinks she has a shot with my gay ass,” Eddie said.

“But it isn’t just you who suffers.”

“None of us suffer. We lose some homophobic, idiotic fans who shouldn’t ever have claimed to be fans at all. None of us want people like that around.”

Steve’s alarm went off to signal one minute before the livestream started.

He jumped up and pulled Eddie up with him.

They’d already gone over everything together, discussed it with Chrissy and the guys, even Steve’s manager, Robin, about how this would work.

Steve would pretty much act like it was any other livestream, but Eddie would be there for the first five minutes or so so they could do a quick explanation of things.

Eddie would do a phone interview with Hannah in 30 minutes while Steve was gaming, covering a bit more and answering some questions about their relationship.

Then they’d both have a night off to decompress in the hotel before Steve had to fly back home and Eddie had to head to the next tour stop.

Hopefully, the buzz would die down relatively quickly.

Steve did his normal intro, but Eddie’s hand rested on his knee out of sight, squeezing once when he heard his voice start to shake a little while introducing Eddie.

“There’s been some rumors about us, and we just wanna be completely honest about things so that the rumors stop,” Steve continued. “First of all, we’ve been together for almost four years. Way before I got anywhere with YouTube, before Corroded Coffin had even released their first album. And we were friends long before that.”

“Even though I had the biggest crush on him in high school, I didn’t admit I was in love with him until we both moved to Chicago. Wasted years,” Eddie shook his head.

“Second,” Steve smirked, looking over at him for a moment. “The week off in the middle of his tour had been planned for Jeff to go home and be with his family for his wife’s birthday and daughter’s graduation.”

“Anyone who thinks Steve threw a fit about needing a vacation and made the band take a break is just saying so out of spite that we had to move around one of the tour dates to make the week off work. It’s not up to you to come up with a narrative,” Eddie added, brow raised like he was chastising children.

“And finally, most importantly, what either of us choose to share is up to us. We do not owe anyone any explanations. Our relationship is ours. Being public figures already takes away a lot of our autonomy, and this is something neither of us will budge on. We are willing to share our happiness, but we are not willing to let everyone become a part of our life together.”

Sometimes, Steve said things in such a way that Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare at him in awe. He loved him more than anything, and sometimes the only thing he could do was kiss him.

He did so now, not exactly forgetting they were live streaming, just not really caring.

Steve tensed for a second, but then relaxed, cupping his cheek and smiling into the kiss.

Eddie pulled away and looked back at the camera.

“On that note, I’m gonna leave Steve here to his gaming. If you aren’t nice, I’ll ban you from Corroded Coffin shows for life,” he waved before standing and leaving the camera’s view.

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly as Eddie walked out of the bedroom, blowing kisses back at Steve the entire way.

—-------------------------------------------

After that, Eddie made random appearances on Steve’s live streams, and Steve flew out to a handful of shows to support Eddie.

It’s not that they were hiding before, but they just hadn’t felt like they should have to try to.

Now they didn’t.

Steve even did a Q&A with the band on tour while playing games with them.

They were all pretty terrible at it, complaining most of the time about how D&D was so much easier than this. Eddie didn’t play, but he sat next to Steve and braided his hair while he kicked their asses, asking them all the questions that popped up from people watching.

When he got to one for him, he smiled and kissed the top of Steve’s head.

“This question is for me. How did you know Steve was the one?” The guys all groaned, but they were smiling. “Well, I knew he was the one back in my first senior year. I tripped on the step into the gym and Steve was the only one there. He helped me up and smiled at me, and I was a goner.”

“He’s lying to you all,” Steve said without looking away from the game. “He knew when I made him homemade banana bread. His exact words were, ‘I’m gonna marry you so hard someday, Harrington.’ and then six months later he proposed.”

“Both can be true,” Eddie pouted.

Steve paused the game and turned to him, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Every moment I have with you proves you’re the one for me,” he said before turning back to the game and leaving Eddie silently shocked.

“This is the last time we come on this thing, Steve,” Gareth said.

“Yeah. You broke him,” Jeff agreed.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #request #modern au #gamer steve harrington #rock star eddie munson #established relationship

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bubblyhoney · 4 years ago

Note

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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idk if u know him but i just found out that technoblade has cancer and now im really sad but it did get me a lil curious to see a small corpse x reader scenario or headcanons where reader announces they have cancer in the midst of playing with corpse and their friends on stream?

Sorry for the long wait dear but here is your request finally fulfilled. Because of my long queue I decided to go for headcanons and I hope you don't mind. If you want a full fic of this concept don't hesitate to let me know ~ XOXO, Vy 💕

Streamer gang & Reader (Gender Neutral)

TW: Mentions of suffering from cancer, Mentions of hospital visits and hospital treatment

- You had been running late for the stream you and the crew had arranged a few days prior - Because of certain problems with the system at you hospital, you had to attend your appointment that day instead of the day before, the timing clashing a bit with the timing of the stream - You sent Rae a quick text that you'd be late for the event, hoping she wouldn't ask why - And luckily she didn't - Truth be told, it's not like you were going to extreme lengths to hide your illness, you just didn't want you friends seeing you differently - Still, however, you were planning to tell them sooner or later - You always made up scenarios in your head of how it would go and only in a few were your news accepted lightly - You hated that you had to risk all those other, far less fortunate alternatives, but it was what it was and you had zero control of how they’d react so you were practically helpless in that field - That being said, you just let out a sigh every time your mind started going down that route - “Hey guys, sorry I’m late. The hospital messed up my appointment which was supposed to be YESTERDAY. So shout out to them, you guys suck. Just kidding, y’all keep me alive.” - Your friends chuckled at your comment, paying no mind to it as anything but a joke - “Time you switch hospitals then.” Toast nudges you jokingly - “Oh trust me, bro, that would be hella more complicated than just making appointments in my local one. All my paperwork, records, medical history, everything’s there. I can just about imagine how much of it would be lost if I moved.” - Corpse scoffs, amused, “Damn, you make it sound like you’re in and out of the hospital more than I am.” - You playfully roll your eyes even though he can’t see me, “Yeah, well having cancer does that to a person.” - The call goes quiet for a few moments, making you think back to what you just said, turning pale as a ghost, all you blood running cold - “Fuck-” Corpse is the first one to speak up, “That’s fucking horrible.” - “Why didn’t you tell us?” Rae follows him up, voice equally as concerned as Corpse’s, both of them clearly rattled by your confession - As is the rest of the game lobby - You fidget with your hands, your eyes stinging with sudden hot tears that are threatening to spill but you refuse to let them - The last thing you were expecting when imagining the aforementioned scenarios was crying - You thought you had come to terms with it long ago to the point where you can even joke about it but turns out you were wrong - “I-” You begin to speak but stutter because of the knot in your throat, “I didn’t want you guys to...pity me or see me any differently. I-..I wouldn’t be able to stand even you treating me like I’m fragile and overthinking everything you say in my presence.” - Your response is answered by another moment of silence before your racing mind is put to a slight ease by Corpse’s voice travelling through your headset - “Nothing will change, Y/N.” He says, tone still shaky but at least steadier than before, “You’re still the most badass impostor among us.” He pauses, “Pun was not intended, but I truly mean it.” - “Yeah, you’re still the same and so are we, this changes nothing.” Toast says reassuringly. - “However!” Rae interrupts, causing your heart to drop, “Do you promise to never again keep us in the dark about things going on in your life? We’re your friends and we wanna be there for you, don’t keep our hands tied.” - Your heart rose and dropped yet again but did so under the effect of a completely different emotion than before - joy - The tears prickling your eyes are now happy tears, ones you hadn’t let out in years - “I promise.” You say with a sniffle, “And one more thing...” - “Yeah?” Corpse says - “Thank you.”

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redheadedpineapple · 4 years ago

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Haikyuu bois with a s/o suffering on their period

Haikyuu bois with a menstruating s/o in pains ): Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji, Tendou Satori, Miya Atsumu fluff, slight mentions of blood / vomit, reader has a menstrual cycle GN!R

──────〔Bokuto Koutarou〕──────

ok this poor man is so concerned

he knows about periods and stuff right

but you keel over out of nowhere with your arms wrapped round your stomach

HE PANICS SM get this man a paper bag

rushes to your side and spitfires a hundred questions

you can’t help but smile at his energetic way of trying to help before grimacing again because PAIN

he’ll ask what he can do to help and does exactly as you say (and more)

picks you up to lie you down on the couch with a blanket, water, and a wastebin

goes to a local drug store and picks up some painkillers, a heat wrap, and extra menstrual hygiene products for you

sees the candy at the checkout area and has the brilliant idea of getting your favourite fast food/takeout for you along with your favourite candies (:

when he gets home with everything, you smile so widely

“Okay! It’s cuddle central now!”

Bokuto will bring you onto his lap and cuddle you so close, making sure not to hold you too tightly. When he sees you having bad spikes of pain, he’ll pull you just a bit closer and kiss you and tell you that he loves you in a million different ways to try and distract you from the pain.

He’s probably put on your favourite show or movies so you can watch together, and he’ll put his chin on your shoulder to snuggle you better. When you lean back onto him and let your head roll back against his shoulder, he’ll rub your tummy and soothe you.

The first few times, he’s a bit clumsy, but he gets the hang of it to help you get through the week.

──────〔Akaashi Keiji〕──────

he knows how to take care of you

everyone has to learn somehow anyway

it’s just that he learned through vast research and reading online forums from the very first day he met you

so when you’re finally comfortable enough with him and your relationship to let him be around you while you’re on your period, he already knows what to do

he’s prepared a bunch of your favourite foods and candies

stocked up on products of all sizes and forms in his apartment

when you come over, he’s made a blanket fort for you two and will give you all the love and attention you crave

makes sure you know he’s not annoyed with you

he’ll moderate your binge eating cravings for your own health, but as long as you’re healthy, he complies with nearly every wish of yours

if you’re vomiting and in complete misery, he holds your hair back if he needs to and will rub your back

doesn’t care about the mess, just makes sure you’re feeling nice n clean n comfy

“Kaashi,” you murmur, yawning. “‘Vrything hurts.”

“I know, darling. C’mere.” He pats his lap, and you barely manage to crawl to him.

You push your face into the crook of his neck and wrap your legs around his waist. He’s got a heating pad between the two of you, and you purr at the warmth. He brushes through your hair, still damp from the shower, and softly hums. As you drift to sleep in his arms (his nice, nice arms), he keeps his lips against the top of your head and fingers sifting through your hair.

You’ll wake up in the same position---he won’t move from that spot even if it kills him---all warm and comfy. When you’re reluctant to get up, he’ll carry you to the restroom so you can do your business.

When you’re menstruating, you go from a monarch to a deity, and Akaashi Keiji will treat you as such.

──────〔Tendou Satori〕──────

laughs at you for a good half hour at first

you whine at him to shush

he won’t

not until the particularly bad cramps start

that’s when you’re clutching your stomach and can’t move, and that’s when tendou gets mega confused and concerned

at first, he thinks it’s something unrelated

then he realises

“ah fuck.”

he’ll furrow his eyebrows and try to figure out how to help

when you start barking demands at him, he complies with a smile

he’ll tease you here and there

“oh, pwoor baby needs their snackies”

but he’ll still get you them (and some for himself) regardless

will cuddle you if you wanna

you two will lounge around watching random, poorly rated netflix movies and making fun of them

even while you’re throwing up or in real bad pain, he makes you laugh

“Sto-o-op!” you whine, stuck between gut splitting pain and laughter.

He goes on and on, exaggerating both his words and hand movements, and you can’t stop laughing.

“I’m gonna die! Satori,” you draw out his name, a plea for mercy. He pokes your shoulder and giggles at you and pauses for a moment. You think you’re safe for a moment.

“Hi gonna die, I’m dad.”

“You suck! I can literally feel blood gushing out and squelching, please.”

He just laughs at you as you smack him, scolding his dumb comedy. Being on your period with Tendou Satori means giggles all day long and also just. Pain.

──────〔Miya Atsumu〕──────

this man thinks he’s so smooth and knows everything

he prepares the heating pad and the treats and the food

he does not prepare for the absolute hell it really is

you’re on your knees in front of the toilet

he’s so confused, like doesn’t it just make you moody or whatever?

he carefully kneels next to you and rubs your back and asks if you’re okay

“NO MIYA ATSUMU, THERE IS BLOOD GUSHING OUT OF MY GROIN AND VOMIT GUSHING OUT MY---”

he panics and tries to figure out how to help

if he asks, he probably won’t get much more than

“i’d like my body to be restructured thanks”

when you’re feeling well enough to get away from the toilet, he’ll treat you so well

will binge random youtube series with you and joke about it

when you’re laughing really hard and it starts hurting, he’ll make sure to not giggle at you (even though he really wants to) and hold you close n make it all ok

You’re groaning into his chest and he’s coddling you, mumbling for you to remember to breathe and that he loves you and that it’ll be over soon and he’ll take you to your favourite restaurant or park or anything you’d like.

As you’re regaining your composure (and will to live), you smile at Atsumu and thank him. He’s stuck between a mix of cockiness (of course, he’s the best boyfriend) and confusion (but isn’t that the minimum he could possibly do? He wants to do everything and a half he can for you, but he’s lost as to what else he can do).

Miya Atsumu tries his best and will comfort you so much. The days after are pure bliss, finally feeling better and up for activities with him.

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hxneydreamers · 4 years ago

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Hello, could u share your journey in the law of assumption and how u started and what progress you've made till now, what you had trouble with at first and how you resolved them, and finally what concepts made everything click for you and made manifestinf super easy like being on a roll for you? And thank you for starting this cool blog 😊

Hey! I'd love to!

I'll first point out that I am still learning and whilst I am here to help people manifest, I am learning alongside you! I want you to know that I am very well educated on the law of assumption, and I am also currently manifesting an SP. I have manifested lots of things in the past (like traveling, meeting a celebrity crush, as well as multiple specific people including my current SP), but I never really pushed through because I never properly tried. I was always on and off my game for a number of reasons, so I would receive my manifestations, but not in full, and this was all because of my self-doubt and self-concept.

I first discovered manifesting with the Law Of Attraction a few years ago after watching the documentary 'The Secret'. I had NEVER EVEN HEARD about manifesting before, and I felt like it was a bit far fetched.

For a very long time, I was extremely non-religious, I didn't believe in God or magic, the afterlife, spirits, fate, NOTHING! I was the biggest non-believer out there. When I watched 'The Secret' I tried to simply change my attitude to be positive as much as I could so I would only attract positive things in my life, and I noticed it worked for a little while, but it wasn't anything significant. I pretty much forgot all about manifesting very quickly, because I never took it seriously.

The next year one of my friends was obsessed with the law of attraction and twin flames and all that spiritual stuff, and she was trying to convert me a bit. I was intrigued by the concept, but I didn't really believe in any of it at all. I just liked making vision boards with her for fun. I never took any of it seriously.

My friend made me go to a psychic with her for fun one day and I resisted and said no, but I eventually gave in because I got curious. Seeing this psychic was extremely earthshaking. I won't go into detail about my experience with her, but some things happened that pretty much changed my view of life and way of thinking. I was much more open to the possibility of things like manifesting.

A year ago, 2 people close to me sadly passed away. I felt very lost and I spent many nights awake and I stumbled across 'Sammy Ingram' on youtube and discovered the Law Of Assumption. I began to binge watch her videos and I did sooooooo much research about the law. I was immediately obsessed.

I started manifesting text messages and instant replies and dates so easily because I was so excited about it and felt no doubt that it would work.

I had success manifesting an internship, consistent shifts at work/consistent money flow and other money manifestations, I manifested dating a specific person (but I ended it for natural reasons), I manifested another specific person literally within a night, just to see if I could do it, and I manifested my current specific person as well (we have a past).

After these successes, I ended up having to deal with some personal issues with my grief for a while, as well as finish my studies, AND my internship, which took my mind off manifesting, and as a result, I manifested negative circumstances in many areas of my life, because I let myself spiral.

I won't tell you the old story too much, because I don't want to revisit it, but basically, for years I had been stuck in a cycle of being abandoned. I felt unlovable and my self-esteem was quite low. All of these beliefs were reflected in many ways, and I was constantly worrying about everything. My internship became toxic and I wanted to leave, my relationship also ended temporarily, and my self-concept was very very very bad!

I felt like I was obsessing over everything in my life going wrong and I wanted to manifest my SP because I thought that he would fix everything, but by putting him on the pedestal I was stalling.

As soon as all this happened, I was of course upset, HOWEVER, I had suffered so much loss at that point that I was determined to make sure that I turned my life around. So I decided to manifest ending my internship naturally, rather than me leaving or being dismissed.

I started visualizing a conversation with my superior where they told me that something came up and we would have to pause the internship.

Literally, two weeks later, he met up with me and told me this exactly, and he said that the decision was ultimately up to me if I wanted to continue later or not. So I said that the timing would not work with my studies, and I successfully manifested leaving the internship naturally.

Next, my SP.

- I literally went to sleep every single night repeating my affirmations.

- I affirmed every single day, I affirmed through tears and I affirmed with my friends. EVERY CHANCE I GOT!

- I started affirming from a place of peace, indifference, faith, and trust that it would work out

A week later we were back together again.

My struggles with the law were mostly that:

- I KEPT CHANGING MY AFFIRMATIONS

- I was on and off my mental diet

- I kept looking for confirmation in the 3D

- I kept repeating the old story

- I focused too much on my SP and not enough on me

About 2 months ago, I had a breakthrough where I decided I needed to completely change everything in my life to put myself in control.

- I started listening to music that made me feel extremely happy and would watch movies and shows that put me in a great mood

- I decided to pick my affirmations and stick with them NO MATTER WHAT!

- I started having a better mental diet, and I noticed results immediately

- I started being able to say 'I don't care what I see, I'm getting my manifestation, and genuinely feeling relaxed and peaceful about it

Once I shifted the focus onto myself and even took some space from my SP, I felt amazing 24/7 and my mental diet was practically perfect.

He has started implying that we are a couple, I don't feel needy, and don't even text him much anymore, he is the one chasing me and constantly blowing up my phone. He is constantly asking to see me, begging me even. He initiates ALL CONTACT NOW! Finally, the whole tone of our relationship has changed and our interactions have been extremely amazing! I have never felt so confident in myself and I can see it reflected in how he treats me.

I manifested him in steps to build our relationship to this point, and I didn't want to begin manifesting commitment until I felt my self-concept was perfect, as I want a healthy relationship with him. Now I am finally beginning to manifest the final stage: official commitment, and I am certain that I will get it!

My biggest tip based on my own experience is to:

- Persist in the same affirmations.

- Do not affirm from a place of desperation and lack

- Keep yourself busy and prioritize yourself and your life, they must reflect this and prioritize you as well

- Trust that it is done and don't check the 3D for confirmation

- If you started having negative thoughts, PERSIST! Do not be discouraged!

- If you know that you have been doing everything right, but suddenly everything feels wrong and your negative thoughts are coming out all at once and/or the 3D looks like shit, you could be in a transition period. THIS JUST MEANS THAT YOU ARE FINALLY GETTING RID OF THE OLD BELIEFS AND YOUR MANIFESTATION IS REALLY CLOSE! SO PERSIST THROUGH THIS!

So for whoever is reading this, please remember that I am here to help you, AND I am on this journey with you! We are all human and none of us is perfect!

I'll share updates on future manifestations in the future, but this is my story so far and my current manifestation in progress!

I will probably make a post in the future about past manifestations such as celebrity crush and travel etc.

#manifest #manifesting #manifestation #law of assumption #neville goddard #affirm #affirmations #persist #self love #self concept #self worth #healing #spirituality #law of attraction

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hornime · 4 years ago

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hello hello!! happy 500 :D i’m a new follower and i’d like to request a pit stop (i’m pretty sure that’s the alphabet thing) with mr kenma pls and thank u <3

part of my 500 event! [CLOSED]

NSFW ALPHABET | KENMA KOZUME X GN!READER

warnings: 18+, timeskip!kenma, gn!reader, mentions of: filming, exhibitionism, choking, bondage, voyeurism, edging, roleplay

a/n: thank you for requesting!!!! this was super fun to write and i hope u enjoy <3

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

kenma’s competitive with himself, and that’s something that definitely carries into the bedroom. he’s analytical, so he’ll ask you questions that you really cannot take seriously after getting your brains fucked out like how many times did you cum? and on a scale from one to ten how good did that feel? although its not the traditional sort of aftercare, you know that he’s only doing it so he can make the experience better for the next time, and so far he hasn’t failed in doing so.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

himself: his fingers. he’s gotta use them for a lot of things: clicking the mouse while he’s gaming, signing business contracts, making you cream around them, sticking them down your throat, you know, day-to-day things. he looks at his hands with pride with the way they’re able to manipulate anything—especially you.

partner: your wrists. he loves the duality; when he’s holding your forearms above your head and thrusting into you mercilessly, he gets a sort of satisfaction in how limp your wrists go, your clenched fists drooping helplessly in his grasp. but he has reverence for their strength; when you’re choking him, fingers digging into his pulse points, he can’t help but focus on the way your wrist pushes down on his collarbone, the post-sex aches there simply reminders of how he fell to putty in your hands.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

would rather cum on you than inside. let’s face it, he was probably a hentai addict at some point and got hooked on the lewd way they showed backshots, facials, and the like. also a sucker for cumming in your mouth when you give him a blowjob and making you stick your tongue out before swallowing. put on a little show of licking your fingers or your lips and he’ll instantly get hard again.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants to fuck you while streaming. even after graduating high school, he’s not the tallest nor the strongest, and he’s constantly getting comments like how did he bag someone as hot as ‘em? or they’re probably just in it for the money on videos that he films with you. he’s not an idiot, he knows that even if he was the world’s hottest person there’d still be hate comments because that’s just how the internet works, but he really really wants to shut them all up by pausing his game and folding your body across his desk. there’s no way in hell he’d follow through with that though, because his career—and probably both of your lives—would be ruined, but he’s not opposed to making some faceless porn videos if you’re down for that kind of thing.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

kenma kept to himself for most of his life, so while he didn’t really have hands-on experience, he did get a lot of knowledge from hentai and mangas and such (which really is a double-edged sword because no, not everyone’s nipples are that sensitive, but its fine). so he kinda had a lot of unrealistic expectations and not a lot of sexual encounters to disprove them. but when he blew up on twitch and youtube? phew this guy had people THROWING themselves at him. and so he did indulge a bit, ‘gained some xp’ and ‘leveled up’ as he’d say, before stumbling upon you.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

when you ride him and he’s sitting up so your chests are pressed together. kenma’s the type of person to see kissing as super intimate (yes, even more intimate than literally being inside you) so he loves this position because he can make out with you. he lives for those heated makeout sessions when you’re both moaning into each other’s mouths and nipping at each other’s lips. also likes the position where either you’re sitting with your back to his chest or vice versa and getting each other off.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i feel like he’d be pretty serious at first, in the early stages of your relationship, but as you got more comfortable, his dorkiness would shine through. like, this guy plays video games for a living, alright? he’s bound to make a few dumb references while you are ‘doing the dirty’, maybe let loose his killer wario impression when things get steamy.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i feel like kenma definitely dyed his pubes blonde as part of a prank at some point so that it matched his hair LMAO. and hygiene-wise, i mean, he still is a musty gamer boy except now he’s getting paid for it. so he probably didn’t take care of it at all before really settling down with a long-term partner (cough, you). now he keeps it trimmed (and he might dye it again for kicks).

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

i feel like it varies from situation to situation. depending on the mood and whatnot, he might really cling to the romance stuff and kiss you on the neck or forehead or murmur i love you, that kind of thing. other times, it might just be all about physical pleasure. it all chalks up to what kind of sex you guys are having, really.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

likes to be watched when masturbating. this pretty much goes hand-in-hand with his fantasy of railing you while streaming, but he’s a fan of either having you sit in front of him and boss him around while he’s jerking off or recording himself. also he might have posted a couple of the videos he films for you to a brand new account on twitter, accidentally blew up, and caused the hashtag #isthiskodzuken to trend for a couple weeks... oops.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

filming/voyeurism: kenma spends all his time in front of cameras, and that part of his life is just part of his sexual preferences now. would almost always be down to film a sex tape. when you guys are separated because of work or whatever, your messages are just lewd pictures and snippets back and forth. its really fucking with your data plan.

roleplay: he has an active imagination—need i say more? he’s constantly coming up with scenarios in his head and he’s definitely bought you a sexy cosplay costume on multiple occasions. i can’t see him into anything too intense like ddlg but i’m sure there’s some more milder stuff sprinkled within his sex life.

edging + bondage combo: when he’s subbing, kenma’s definitely the type who wants to relinquish all control. he just wants you to do whatever you want to him and tease him until he’s crying and begging to cum. will squirm a lot, which will eventually prompt you to tie his hands behind his back, which he realizes he likes a lot more than he thought he would.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

his office (feeds into his boss/employee fantasy) and in the bedroom, but just not on the bed (on his desk, at his gaming chair). the bed is for the more lovey-dovey sex.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

this is oddly specific, but i feel like he’s the kind of guy that’ll get really hard if you massage his hair, lull him into a false sense of security, and then wrap your hand around his neck. the moment you squeeze, his face’ll go red and the blood goes rushing to his dick.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

threesomes or sex with other people watching. although he might be an exhibitionist, he’s pretty hesitant when it comes to actually being that vulnerable for another person. there’s a fine line between the thrill of possibly doing it with other people and then the reality of actually doing it with other people and its a line that he most likely will not cross. after all, even though he’s more extroverted than he used to be, sex is still something you still had to coax him out of his shell for.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving (50%): he likes the ego boost that comes with making you cum with just his mouth and, since he keeps note of the kinds of things that really get you over the edge, he’s constantly getting better at it. likes fingering even more, though, so he’ll almost always have his fingers in your hole while he does it.

receiving (50%): loves getting blowjobs while he’s gaming and his headset mic is on (exhibitionist, cough cough). his favorite time to get oral is when you’ve got him tied to a chair and are taking your own sweet time, daring him to cum at the frustratingly slow pace you’re going.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

regardless of the scene, he goes relatively slow. likes savoring the moment and likes seeing your reactions to each of his individual movements even more so he wouldn’t like rushing things.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

honestly, not a fan of them. he gets really flustered after sex, like red-face-and-heavy-breathing-and-messy-hair kind of flustered, so he sucks at composing himself. the last thing he wants is for his stakeholders to realize he got the soul sucked out of him from the burning blush on his cheeks, therefore he like sex when he can take his time with it.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

will be down to experiment if you’re clear about it. open communication is a big one for taking steps in sex because he’s not the best at reading people. so as long as you explain what exactly you want to do, sure, he’ll try it.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

not more than a couple rounds, but they will be excruciatingly long. he’ll make you cum multiple times before he takes care of himself just because he loves seeing your expression when you finish. but once he cums, there’s not much going to happen after that. baby burns out fast.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he loves ‘em and uses them at any given opportunity. he’s still a bit lazy, but does it really matter when he can just buy something to make you both feel good with minimal effort? after all, he has the money. kenma always has the latest ‘gadgets’; in fact, there’s an entire box of toys in his closet. his favorite would have to be the app-controlled vibrator—he loves using it on you as much as he loves you using it on him.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

as much as he likes making you cum, he likes seeing your face and hearing your noises more. so yes, he’s a teaser. he just loves how receptive you get when you’re begging him to touch you more, to fuck you faster, that he can’t help but drag things out longer than necessary. it’s really your fault that he does it, at least, that’s what he tells you.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

loud, loud, LOUD. kenma whimpers and his moans usually get higher-pitched the closer he gets to his orgasm. when he’s busy focusing with you, though, all that’s pouring out of his mouth is absolute filth, talking about how sexy you look and how good you’re taking him. might degrade you here and there when he sees how easy it is for you to finish with him just using his fingers—he can’t help it.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he has the money and the inability to take life too seriously, so yeah, he’s ordered a silicone mold of your genitalia, whether its your pussy or your cock. its embarrassingly useful when he goes on business trips and its the one thing he never forgets to pack (he forgot his passport once but you bet he had his custom sex toy tucked safely in his luggage like the crazy bastard he is). got you a dildo in the shape of his dick for your birthday so he wouldn’t feel as weird about it.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

six and a half inches, slight curve to the left, and for lack of a better word, pretty. it sits prettily in your palm, has a pretty pink shade on the tip, and overall always leaves you satisfied. for what he can’t do with his cock, he has plenty of toys to compensate anyway.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he was pretty conservative about it at first, but once you gave him a taste of his desires and some of your own, he was hooked. what started as taking out his frustrations after a particular bad game became compounded with rewards after a particularly good game, and now he thinks of sex as a good luck charm before he even turns on his pc. so yeah, you got a pretty needy guy on your hands.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s out almost immediately. he puts a lot of effort into fucking you well, and i mean, he doesn’t have the best stamina despite years of volleyball. basically the pleasure goes straight into his brain, electrifies his nerves for a solid couple hours, and then the moment he cums it all just shuts down. if you make him drink some monster you’ll probably be able to fix the circuit board and get him started up again.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu! smut #hq smut #kenma smut #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma #inky.500 #inky.responds #kinky.inky

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

331 notes · View notes

notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

Kindness & Kidnapping

A JSE Fanfic

I’ve written something that’s less than 6000 words for the first time in a year, whoo! I was planning to include more plot but after a while I realized there was too much to put into one chapter so I broke it into two. And now, this chapter is short, but it has some important and...interesting developments. Let’s just say, Anti makes his move. I don’t know what to say beyond that, so just read on ;)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

It was a bright morning outside, but Chase didn’t know that. He was inside, sitting at a hastily-done computer setup inside his closet. It was cramped and dark and honestly kind of dusty. But he hadn’t wanted to keep this setup out in the open. Because this was the computer he’d been using to access Anti’s website, and if he kept it out in any other room of the house, he knew he’d keep glancing towards the windows and doors, waiting for something to happen.

Though...nothing had happened in the past week or so since he’d first found the website. He’d told the police about it, contacting that detective, Nix, who was in charge of the search for Jackie and JJ. Nix had been really appreciative, saying that this was a helpful clue and the police would be right on it, but he’d warned Chase to not go looking at any websites like this again. “These are dangerous,” he’d said. “And many of them use trackers to gather information or worse.”

Yet here he was. First thing in the morning. Staring at a creepy hitman website while sitting in his closet.

Part of his mind was yelling at him to stop. That even though he’d waited a few days before accessing the site again, that didn’t mean anything. This was dangerous. But...he couldn’t help it. This was the first time he felt like he was doing something, like he was actually helping the search for his friends. So, he stayed there.

His study of the website mostly consisted of scrolling through the anonymous reviews and trying to find ways to look at the source code. Chase...wasn’t that good with computers. Despite the fact that recording videos and putting them on the Internet was his job. He’d basically absorbed all his knowledge from Jack and his editor and only knew how to do things like editing because of that. Anything beyond what was required for YouTube was a mystery to him. But he was trying.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he gasped, then felt silly. It was just a text notification. Sighing at his own jumpiness, he took out his phone and looked at the message on the screen. It was from Marvin. Hey do you know any quick ways to get food? Other than ordering.

Oh? Chase responded. Are you out of bed this early? Thats a 1st. And he didn’t just mean because Marvin was having trouble getting out of bed recently. Marvin never woke up before ten, even before JJ disappeared, so this was strange.

Luna was yelling at me because i forgot to fill her bowl last night and i couldnt deal with it anymore so i got up and thought i might as well get breakfast.

Thats great bro. As for food I bought you some microwave mac n cheese and noodles.

Marvin instantly replied, I’m not eating fucking noodles for breakfast. That’s weird.

Chase laughed a bit. Sorry, Marv. I know your sense of order is a big thing for you, but sometimes you need exceptions.

This time, the reply was slow. The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared a couple times before finally: i just cant. maybe another time.

Ah. Of course, even if he was out of bed, Marvin was still struggling. Chase thought for a moment, then said, Alright, Marvin. No problem. How bout toast and butter? It takes five to ten minutes depending on how much you want it burnt. That was a frequent go-to for him. I know u have bread and butter, too.

Alright. Thanks.

No problem. Chase paused, then added, Hey I was gonna go visit Jack again later today. Do u think youd be up for coming with?

Another long pause. I dunno. Ask me again when it’s closer to time.

Got it. And with that, Chase set his phone down and returned his attention to the website.

About an hour later, he gave up. He couldn’t find any clues at all, and reading this was really starting to get to him. Carefully standing up, so as to not knock over the computer setup in the tiny closet, he turned off the monitor and CPU, then edged around to the closet door. He hesitated, feeling uneasy anxiety rolling in his stomach, then slowly opened the door.

Nobody was outside. Well, of course not. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hallway. It was time to get ready for the day.

But still, that anxiety followed him. And he couldn’t help but remember the notice that Anti had put at the top of the website. Something about business being closed until something was “taken care of.” That just...sounded very bad. And Chase couldn’t help but think about what might be happening to Jameson and Jackie.

——————

Nearly a month had passed since Anti had taken JJ. For nearly a month, Jameson had been stuck in this room with Jackie. And with no means of escape that he could see. He’d looked, of course. But even with Jackie’s help, they couldn’t find a way out of the room. The closest thing he could think of was somehow unscrewing the door hinges, and he’d actually spent about a week trying to do that, but without any tools, there was no way those hinges would budge.

The only opportunity that he could see was when Anti visited, which he did often. But even that would be difficult to pull off. Jameson and Jackie might have numbers on their side, but Jackie was pretty weak after almost a year of captivity, and JJ had never been that athletic. Still, he was starting to consider it. Maybe Anti wouldn’t be expecting it, if he could just convince Jackie that they could do it, and if they could find an opportunity...

But even if they were going to try, today would not be the day. Anti had come into the room for one of his visits, which were becoming worryingly frequent, and Jackie had decided to hide in the attached bathroom. Jameson refused to look at Anti, in the vain hope that he’d go away if he didn’t engage.

“Jamie.” Anti pulled a chair away from the table, and then indicated the one across from him. “Come s...sit down.”

Jameson shook his head. He folded his arms, and stayed where he was, standing next to the bunk bed.

Anti stared at him for a while, then sat down. It didn’t ease the tension at all. For some reason, Jameson still felt like he was looming over him. “Alright. F-fine.” He paused. Waiting. Watching him with his mismatched eyes. Today, the fake one was brown, not green. Odd, but it didn’t lessen the intensity of his gaze.

After a few silent moments, Jameson couldn’t take it anymore. He slowly walked over to the table and sat down. God damn it. Why was just the silence enough to get him to respond?

“Ah, there we are.” Anti smiled. “About time. You’re always so...so tense, Jamie, when you really shouldn’t be. I won’t h-hurt you.”

What do you want this time? Jameson signed stiffly.

“Why do you keep asking that? I don’t want...anything, I just want to...talk.” Anti leaned back in the chair. “I don’t understand th-this. You’re so...different. And I’m trying, you know. Know. You know—I know, by now, that this wasn’t the best starting point. But I’m trying to...to get everything back to the way it was. You want that, don’t you?” His voice was soft, like he was talking to an easily startled animal. Or a child.

No, I don’t. Jameson said firmly. I don’t want everything to go back to how it was, because back then, you were making me help you throw bodies in the river.

“That was a mistake, okay? Oka-ay?” Anti sighed. “I shouldn’t...should never have gotten you involved in all this. So, I’m not going to, ever again.”

Jameson laughed. You’re a bit late for that! Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kidnapped me!

“That was another mistake, and I’m sorry that you f-f-feel I was out of line. I can see what you...what you mean. But you’d never talk to me otherwise, let alone go anywhere with me.” Anti’s fingers tapped an irregular rhythm on the table. “But I can pr-promise you, no more dead bodies. Ever. Ever again. You’ll be safe.”

He sounded genuine, and JJ had to admit that at least there was still a part of him that cared about—no! Jameson stiffened and pushed away that softening feeling. It didn’t change any of this. Anti still abducted him, and he was willing to bet that ‘safe’ to Anti wasn’t the same as ‘safe’ to him. It would be more of this, most likely. Trapped inside, unable to go anywhere, always under Anti’s watchful eye. Why was he even continuing this conversation? Jameson balled up his hands and shoved them under his arms, physically preventing him from saying anything more.

Anti’s expression shifted slightly. “You’re being so difficult, my god. We’ve been doing this for a-a-a month and gotten nowhere. If you would just li-listen, we could go—past—move past this.” The tapping rhythm increased slightly, nails on wood. “But alright—okay. Fine. Yes. I-I-I have a pro—” And then the tapping stopped. Anti’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh. That’s it.”

Jameson leaned back a bit, waiting for something. Those last words sounded like a threat. But—

Out of nowhere, Anti slumped forward onto the table. JJ gasped and stood up. In an instant, he was moving automatically, rolling Anti’s head to the side and looking for anything dangerous nearby. There was nothing. Could he breathe? Was this a good position, or should he move him? He should’ve recognized it, Anti was having difficulty with his words, he knew that was a sign—Wait, the watch. The watch he was wearing around his neck, the chain it was on had tightened a bit. JJ grabbed the chain and adjusted it so it was more loose.

A few seconds later, Anti gasped, and pushed JJ away. He stepped back.

“I...fuck.” Anti blinked, eyes glancing around the room. For a moment, he was confused. JJ could see the recognition slowly fade back into his expression. “Thwshnnbad.”

JJ watched anxiously. For a moment, he glanced over towards the door. But...he just couldn’t. Not now. Maybe he was too nice, but it just felt cruel to try and leave after that.

Anti took a few deep breaths, then looked over at JJ. “You helped.”

Jameson hesitated, then nodded.

“Hmm.” Anti didn’t say anything, but there was a look on his face that made Jameson squirm a bit. Almost smug. Almost. There was a fair share of gratitude that prevented it from being fully self-satisfied. Anti reached for his pocket, and after a few tries, pulled out his phone. “That was...not that long?”

Just a few seconds. Maybe fifteen or so, JJ said. No twitching or jerking.

Nodding, Anti tapped on his phone for a bit. “It’s...been a while,” he said quietly. “They’re not that bad anymore, you know.”

Unsure what to say, Jameson just nodded again.

A few moments later, Anti took a deep breath, and returned his phone to his pocket. “Anyway. As...I was saying. I have a proposal.”

Immediately, all Jameson’s sympathy was gone, replaced by cold fear. What is it? he asked warily.

Anti didn’t answer for a bit. Instead, he reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a small keycard. “Do you know what this is?”

A card? Like...for a hotel?

“No, not for a hotel.” Anti smiled a bit. “Though I guess...it’s sort of like it.” His eyes darted towards the bathroom door, slightly ajar. “He’s been telling you about what happened. With him and the doctor.” It wasn’t a question. So Jameson didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. “Did you ever meet that doctor?”

Jameson started to shake his head, then reconsidered. Once, he said. He thought I was you.

“We do look similar. Even more so than all these...these doppelgangers do to each other.” Anti tried to twirl the keycard around his fingers, but failed. It fell to the table, and he quickly picked it up again. “So, you only met him once. Hmm...I expected you to interact with him more. You’re part of this...this friend group now. I thought, surely, they’d introduce you to each other. Well, I guess they tried. I’m assuming it didn’t go well.” He paused. “But still. You’re a good person, Jamie.”

What are you saying? Jameson almost didn’t want to ask.

“You wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, right?”

Anti fell silent, but Jameson didn’t dare to answer. He couldn’t.

“This keycard happens to give me...access to the hospital where he’s staying,” Anti continued. “I’ve already been there. I know how to get him out.”

Don’t hurt him, Jameson said, all color gone from his face. Please.

“That depends on you. Well, and our friend in there.” Anti indicated the bathroom door again. “Originally, I was going to use him, but then I thought, that didn’t stop that doctor woman from leaving. But he might try to leave himself, especially with the two of you...here. Together. So I thought I’d use something that’ll affect both of you.”

He hasn’t done anything to you. Leave him alone.

“That doesn’t mean he’ll never do anything,” Anti suddenly snapped. “The cops know I exist now. It’s only a matter of time before they start to ask him questions.” The anger drained away. Now his face was still, unreadable. “Besides, that didn’t stop me before.”

Why did you even take him in the first place? Jameson asked. Why? It wasn't for your...work. All of this could’ve been avoided.

“I was...curious. He thought I was his friend Jack, you know. When I ran into him that night. And I thought to myself, this man is clearly delusional. But I figured it would be easier to play along. After he realized what happened, he explained his whole condition to me, and I wondered. I wondered how I could use that.” Anti’s smile was sharp. “It’s not every day an opportunity like that runs into you on the street.”

Jameson backed away, horrified. Too late, Anti noticed his reaction. And for a moment, he looked hurt. Then angry. Sad. And finally, determined. “Think about what I said.” He stood up, and headed towards the door. For a moment, Jameson considered following him. But he hesitated for a second too long, and Anti was gone, the door locked behind him.

The room was silent. Jameson stood there for what felt like forever. Then he moved, walking towards the bathroom. He slowly pushed open the door, peering inside. “Hmm?” he hummed.

“Down here.” Jackie was sitting on the tile floor, up against the shower in the corner of the room. The bathroom was sparse and small, containing only the necessities of a toilet, sink, and shower, along with a bonus medicine cabinet that was empty. There was nowhere to sit except the floor.

JJ stepped inside. Did you hear all of that?

Jackie nodded silently. His hands were covering his head, fingers digging into his scalp. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, and judging by the tracks, a few already had. “H-he can’t—Schneep is going to—he won’t be able to—”

It’s going to be fine, JJ said, kneeling next to him. We won’t let anything happen to him.

“The—the only way to make sure of that is—but you can’t—you could get away if you—but not if he’s—”

It’s going to be fine, Jameson repeated uncertainly. I’ll make sure that it’ll work out. Maybe I can get Anti to listen to me. We can find a way. The police would notice Henrik disappearing, they’ll find us.

Jackie choked on a sob. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. “They haven’t,” he said quietly. “They’re...not going to.” And he buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking.

Jameson didn’t have anything to say to that. All he could do was stay close, and hold Jackie tight as he cried.

——————

It was a lovely day outside. For late-November-near-December, that is. Though the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill to the air that forced people to wear jackets, or even coats. But Schneep didn’t mind. He hadn’t been outside in so long that anything would feel refreshing.

Silver Hills had itself a back garden where some patients could spend time. It was fenced in, for safety, but it was still quite large. Dr. Laurens had told him the news at the end of yesterday’s session: she’d gotten approval for some supervised time outside. Schneep had been hesitant at first. Some of his old paranoia and fear resurfacing. When he’d been with Anti, he hadn’t been allowed out without permission. And even when he had permission, Anti always found a way to keep an eye on him, either via cameras and GPS or by accompanying him himself. What if—what if this was another trick? A test? And if he failed the test—

No, of course not. Everything was alright here. There were other patients out and about, going on walks along the paths and stopping to look at flowers nearby. Schneep watched them from where he was sitting on one of the garden’s benches. He twirled his medical bracelet around his wrist. They’d also finally decided that he could wear clothes—besides the standard issue white shirt and pants—again. As long as they didn’t have any hard fastenings or dangly bits like strings, but that was understandable. So now the bracelet was the only sign that he was a patient here. Which was the same as everyone else. That...helped, actually. Somehow.

“Schneep? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm?” Schneep blinked, realizing he’d been gone for a while there. Oliver was nearby, as always. In this case, sitting at another bench nearby, far enough away to give Schneep his own space but close enough in case of an emergency. “Yes, I am fine. It is just a bit chilly.”

“Well...you’re not wrong there,” Oliver muttered. The orderly uniform was short-sleeved, and evidently, they weren’t allowed to wear anything over it. His arms were covered in raised goosebumps. “Anything else?”

“No, I was just thinking.” Schneep looked down at his lap. Laurens had given him one of her notebooks and a box of markers. He’d said that he wanted to try drawing, like they’d done in one of their sessions, and she’d been encouraging. So now he was trying to draw the gardens. It was hard. He wasn’t particularly artistic, and he was pretty sure a twelve-year-old could do better than him. But it was...nice. Focusing. Grounding.

Oliver nodded, and went silent. Schneep returned to his paper. The markers were a bit annoying, since they couldn’t be erased. But it was fine. He worked around the mistakes.

Quite a bit of time passed before he was ready to go inside. A few clouds had appeared in the clear sky. Schneep stood up, closing the notebook. Oliver looked over at him again. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, I’m going back to my room.”

“Alright, then.” Oliver stood up as well. “Let’s go.”

They made their way inside, winding through the halls and then up the stairs. It was so good to have his old room back, from before that tiny, featureless room on the first floor. Apparently those rooms weren’t supposed to be lived in for that long, a fact that the lovely Dr. Newson had neglected to mention. But that was in the past. Now he had a window! And some battery-powered lamps, and a bathroom joined to the room, and more furniture than a bed and a single table. It was amazing.

“Alright, here we are.” They stopped outside Room 309 and Oliver unlocked it with a swipe of the key card. It was only ever unlocked when nobody was inside; another difference between this one and the tiny first-floor room. “You remember to push the button if you need anything?”

“Yes, yes.” There was a call button on the wall inside. Pressing it would bring an orderly to the room, hopefully within minutes. “I remember.”

“Great. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you.” Schneep opened the door, adjusting his grip on the notebook and box of markers before heading inside. “I will be seeing you, then.”

Oliver smiled a bit. “Of course. See you.” He waved a bit, then walked off, disappearing down the hallway. Schneep waved after him, pulling the room door closed shortly before he started to turn the corner.

By now, it was solidly in the afternoon, and the sun was shining its beams directly into the window. Schneep blinked in the sudden brightness, then once his eyes adjusted, he walked over to the table and put down the notebook and markers. He opened up to the page with the garden drawing and considered it. Not bad, really. For someone who wasn’t an artist. Jackie and Marvin would’ve done much better. Maybe they could have given him advice, if they were here.

It would be some time before dinner. A little over an hour, judging by the numbers on the digital clock on the table. In the meantime, he could get some reading done. The room had a shelf, and Laurens had been providing him with some books for it. He was just barely starting a new novel, but it had already sucked him in. Yes, that was a good idea. Get through a few chapters of that.

Schneep headed over to the shelf, running his fingers over the spines of the books until he reached the one he was looking for. He was just about to pull it off the shelf when there was a movement in his peripheral vision.

He stiffened instinctually. Even though he’d been seeing strange movement in his vision for years now, he’d only been uneasy about it ever since his time with Anti. But he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge it. It was better that way. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore—

There were footsteps behind him. And he couldn’t help but turn around. The first thing he saw as he turned was the door to the adjoining bathroom. It was open. Hadn’t he left it closed? Could he have not closed it all the way? Then some sort of shift in the air could’ve opened it, causing the movement he saw?

No, that theory was disproved when he saw the second thing of note in the room: a man. Who hadn’t been there before. He was wearing the orderly uniform, but Schneep didn’t recognize him.

No.

No, he did recognize him.

His eyes were a different color, and his face wasn’t scarred, but there could be no mistaking him. Anti.

Schneep froze. No. No, it wasn’t real. He was just hallucinating. He’d done the same a few days ago, thought he’d seen Anti in the rec room. That couldn’t have been real. So this couldn’t be real. So it wasn’t. If he just ignored the hallucination, it couldn’t do anything to him. Slowly, he turned back around. He reached with trembling hands to take the book off the shelf.

More footstep sounds. He saw in the corner of his vision the image of Anti again. Anti was circling around him to his left, staring, watching, staring, watching—why is everyone always watching him?!—No, no, don’t let it get to him. It wasn’t real. He pulled the book off the shelf, and knocked down its two neighbors in the process, grabbing those as they fell. It was fine. Everything was fine.

He took a few deep breaths and turned away, taking the three books to an armchair near the window of the room. The image of Anti watched him, watched him with interest, curiosity. He always did that. He’d done it in the beginning, when he’d trapped Schneep in that house with him, always curious about how far he could push his limits.

“Es ist nicht real,” Schneep said to himself. Just a reminder. It couldn’t be real. How’d he get into the room? The front door hadn’t opened, and it was impossible for him to be inside beforehand. The room had been locked. Nobody could get in without unlocking it with a keycard. “Es ist nicht real. Es ist nicht real.” It was impossible.

Footstep sounds. Schneep could see the image of Anti approaching out of the corner of his vision. He didn’t turn his head, and focused on stacking the three books on the window sill. “Es ist nicht real, ist nicht real, ist nicht real, nicht real, nicht real,” he continued to whisper under his breath. “Nicht real, nicht real, nicht real.”

The image reached out and—

It grabbed his arm.

He felt a sharp pain.

Panic flooded his system. Schneep screamed and spun around, picking up one of the books and throwing it at the man. The book connected solidly, hitting with enough force to snap the man’s head back and cause him to let go. He yelled out in pain.

No, someone was here. It wasn’t a hallucination. Someone was here and they weren’t supposed to be. Schneep ran across the room, heading for the door.

“You—!” The man recovered quickly, and ran to the door as well. He was faster, and Schneep skidded to a halt as the strange man who looked like Anti blocked the door.

Okay, no door then. Schneep’s eyes scanned the room, and—the call button! Of course! He lunged to the side. The man saw where he was going, and pounced.

Schneep’s hand landed on the button for a split second before the man grabbed his wrist. He started to yell for help, but the man covered his mouth. “Shush,” his voice hissed as he wrapped his other arm around Schneep’s torso.

No! Schneep immediately started struggling, kicking his legs and trying to wriggle free. For a moment, his right arm pulled away, and he hit the strange man in the face. But the man was quick, and recaptured the escaped hand before it could do any damage. “Calm down, you’re going to be asleep in a few moments anyway,” the man said. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

That voice—it was—but it couldn’t be. It was impossible—how would he get inside? That—no. Schneep’s thoughts swirled in broken fragments, unable or unwilling to finish and come to the natural conclusion. He shook his head and continued to struggle. The man’s grip was firm. Unbreakable. It was...a familiar feeling.

There was something on his hand. Something powdery, chalky. Like...some sort of makeup. Like...something that could be used to hide blemishes. Or scars. It was on his right hand, the one he’d used to hit the man’s face.

Where Anti’s scars would be.

No...it wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening! It wouldn’t be—was it all a trick? All of it? Was he always planning to come back? Or maybe it was all in his head—no. He refused to believe that one.

Strangely, the longer he struggled, the slower his movement became. Sluggish...weak. And Schneep recognized these effects immediately. A sedative? But when...oh. Oh, that sharp pain he’d felt when he had grabbed him...that was a needle, wasn’t it? It was too late, wasn’t it?

Too late...yes, his vision was starting to waver. Schneep gave up on the weak escape attempts. They weren’t doing any good, anyway. Maybe he’d managed to hit the call button, and someone would be coming. Maybe...maybe they could...stop this...help him...please...please...

He looked up into the eyes of his captor and the world faded away.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #dr schneeplestein #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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calypsoff2 · 4 years ago

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Seven. Part 2

Watching TJ walk off to go on my jet, oh that wasn’t what I thought was going to happen. I am stood with my mouth hung open in shock, TJ did a u-turn and jogged back over as I am still stood here in utter shock to my core, am I allowing this asshole to be this way. I am only remaining calm for my man; I don’t think he understands that part. I am literally going to go crazy on this man, I am just going crazy “look, I am sorry. I don’t want this beef with you, you’re a sister to me Robyn. I have said things that I don’t mean but I feel attacked, you’re a big persona and I understand you feel like I have done bad by Chris, but I haven’t, I ride for your husband to the end. I love him so much; he has done so much for me, and I am blessed by that. I don’t want this between us because I know you have a lot of power over things” crossing my arms across my chest “what did you come back? To just say that to me?” I am confused “because I feel bad, but I feel like you got beef with me. I have always supported Chris, even with Barry. It’s me that was there for Chris, always. I know how much he loves you, from jump” I need to show him how a real bitch is “didn’t you call me forehead in school? Or was I dreaming that? Didn’t you want me to not be around, you always made jokes about me. You went out of your way to make Chris not see it for me in school. I remember it but I let it go, you were nasty to me. Now you’re the same niggas lusting over me, I suggest you apologise. And you do it in front of Chris. While on the jet I am paying for, got it?” Looking down at him, I am like squaring up to him, but he has angered me a lot. I did like TJ but now he’s being a dick for no reason, he didn’t need to be like this “your husband just came out of hospital and you’re stressing him out? Your lifestyle ruined Barry, and Chris lost him. Still, Chris misses him and you making him do that again? It always makes me think that my friend has any balls, but he just leaves them in your hands, maybe I was right about you then. I am here trying to apologise, and you can’t even accept that. Mel is such a good person to live in your shadow, I know your vibe. Pretty girls are the worst, light skinned ones actually. I don’t really see how you both worked, I don’t get it because my friend, my Chris. He was the boss, and his ego would have overpowered yours, you broke that down. You sat there looking at me like shit; you had no right when I did nothing wrong Chris chose to give me that, we have that bond. We boys, he can speak to me about a lot, I don’t know about you miss busy” oh I want to punch him “can we just get on, sorry” balling my fist up “what is going on here” Jen said, I want to kill him, I really do.

I just felt like I was in school there, I had a major flashback to when I was at school. I didn’t have a good time at school in general, the only time I did have a good time was when Chris was there for me, just honestly it was Chris that made my school life bearable, but it was short lived, and he honestly is a good guy with shit people around him. He was always kind of talked out of being with me, friend wise and he always said it’s because you’re pretty that is why “earth calling Robyn?” Jen said, bringing me back to the fact I am stood in the middle of the hanger, and everyone is on the jet “what happened?” She said again, looking at the jet “just, I.” I paused saying “I don’t know what to do” I openly admitted “about what?” Jen is confused, she doesn’t know what has happened and I don’t blame her “I think we should go on the jet, we can talk then” Jen’ face softened “hey, oh my god. Why are you sad” waving her off “don’t” I said, I don’t need to be crying right at this moment. Suck it up Robyn, Jen held my hand as we made our way to the jet. I don’t want to hold the jet back now, but TJ and I really don’t speak like that anyways. I keep him there and I am here, I don’t agree with Chris paying for him all the time so I just stayed away from the situation and stuck to what I need to do but it’s too much and this really hit home, Camron is not my son and I feel like he’s making jibes at me thinking Camron is owed a life and owed to be in my family because I can’t give Chris that, I am sick “sorry girls” I held the jet up, Rylee looks unimpressed “mommy I want to sit next to daddy, or you are?” Rylee asked, shaking my head “I need to speak to auntie Jen, I’ll be in the back ok. You can sit there” making my way to the back “but Camron is there” I let out a deep sigh, of course he is there “then sit with Tianna, she is watching YouTube” I don’t have the patience to say anything right at this moment, I am just going to snap if I speak on it.

Jen turned to me “speak, what was that all about? All I heard was about having balls and the conversation seemed really deep into it?” I am of course going to tell Jen, that is my best friend, and I will always confide in her “we have the time, so Chris and TJ are friends, you know the whole background on that. They came up together that whole story thing, Chris gave TJ his clothing line to handle which I have no issues with, then move on a few years. Seiko, now this is Chris’ ex that loved him a lot, maybe still does love Chris but she actually got pregnant by TJ to piss Chris off now that shit popped off bad, I remember when it happened. Chris was hurt by it, it’s a bro code thing but it was over with, all forgiven so like we moved on. Seiko was neglecting Camron, I felt bad to hear that. She was using the child maintenance on not so good things but come to think of it, TJ never put them in a nice home. He paid and that’s it, Chris came to me and said I am upset, that is nephew. He comes here and has a good time but goes back to shit, school has been saying he doesn’t go and stuff. So I gave my lawyer, they won the case. Me, I did that, but Chris was happy. Don’t forget Chris has given the business to him, keep that in mind. Now we did this case, my lawyer, my bill. I didn’t get a thanks, no. It was Chris, he said a thanks, but I have other shit going on anyways so it’s whatever. Then Chris tells me oh TJ is living in the apartment complex just down the road, ten minutes away. Oh right ok, oh I erm just helped him to get it. He needs the help; Black Pyramid is behind. I said right, then help him silent partner. So TJ started to sell tees where it had Chris’ face and designs on, they sold out quick and he promoted it, I go Chris is he paying you back, oh yeah yeah. He didn’t, then Chris comes and says Camron is amazing at Basketball, you know people” Jen gasped pointing “you called me to say about the academy, it was for him?” Jen said, nodding my head “mommy I want juice” I was so deep in the conversation “Imani, please go to daddy. Ask him” I want to finish this conversation off.

Nodding my head “it was for him, I helped him. Got him into it, Chris thanked me. And this situation happened because Chris went to the Fenty Christmas party with TJ and Camron, Mel was there. He gave the SUV to them to go home, Mel was unwell apparently. I say that because Mel didn’t say that to me, she said they went out for some food. They went out in that SUV all around New York, knowing Chris needed that SUV, it was his. He got in the Uber because of them, Mel was literally is being shady as fuck about this. But anyways, so deep inside I am fucking angry. I am giving sly looks, TJ caught on. Because why is my husband putting himself out there for a child not his? So TJ pulled me to the side and said you been looking at me crazy, it’s not nice. I said it to him what it is, you are using my man, that is your child. He started speaking on me, he said maybe if you gave him that son” my voice broke “maybe if you give him what he wants maybe he won’t do that, he just started poking at it knowing I lost the baby. Then out there he mentioned it, like sorry I said what I said but me and Chris are close we speak on things. If you give him that, like pressurising me for this” Jen shushed me because my voice is now becoming even more strained “say something?” Jen said “he mentioned I broke their relationship, then leave my husband with no friends. He adores him Jen” her face softened “but you’re his wife” she retorted “and maybe I should have stayed in my place, I shouldn’t have gave him looks, you know” I sniffled “I get it but he has no right to speak on your body, you have lost two babies. That is some nasty ass shit to say, I want to knock his fucking block off” I laughed a little “he wasn’t always a fan of us to be honest, I kind of got in the way in school. It’s just like the same vibe, I kept out of the way, I have been too busy for this shit. Now I am home and here, I see it. I just left it alone, I did” wiping my tears, Jen’ eyes widened looking behind me. Looking to the side of me Chris is just hovering over me. I feel like I got caught “what is happening here?” wiping my tears “we are just having lady talk now Chris, come on” Chris frowned “my wife is crying, why? Robyn why are you crying” now I am panicking because I just don’t want to do this, I am here trying to open up to Jen “Robyn, hey. Talk to me” I can’t, getting up from the seat. He is making me want to cry more “What happened Jen? Robyn” making my way to the toilet, I am not really wanting to speak to Chris.

Chris is stubborn, he won’t leave me until he knows I am ok and he will keep asking and asking and he will wait outside this door until I come out. Taking in a deep breath opening the door “seriously?” Chris stared at me unimpressed with how long I took “what is it? I am ok, Jen and I was just speaking on things. I cried happy tears, you know how it is when I speak on my dad” Chris is searching my eyes, he is wanting to know the truth “yeah but you been like that at the hospital, also what was you speaking about to TJ? You been really odd since then actually” clearing my throat “we just spoke on things, that is all. Look I am just having a talk with Jen ok? It’s fine” he is not believing me, but he will have too “ok” he touched my shoulder and then placing his hand on my cheek “I got you” he breathed out, he is annoyed like he lowkey doesn’t believe me either “I will sit down then, I got an eye on you though Robyn” Chris turned walking off “on god” he said, Jen smiled at me awkwardly, I didn’t think Chris was watching me like that actually. Making my way back to the seat “Chris kept asking what I said, what happened. Why is she crying, what did I say. Anyways back to the part where I murder him” I breathed out laughing “not that now, I just think I don’t want Chris to lose another friend in this. I feel like Chris is saying something to him for him to be saying this, Chris must be speaking on this a lot, you know?” Jen nodded her head “they all talk, these men do. But he has no right to repeat it, he has no right to speak on your fertility. Same with Chris, it’s tiring for you Robyn. You are working so hard, I have two boys and dealing with this. You have three girls and dealing with being the face of the company, my ass can skype a meeting, you are literally the face of it, here and there. You both still have time, things will calm down, but he has no right. I want to hit him” Jen will do that for me, I love her.

I have caught Chris twice look over at me to check if I am ok, I adore him a lot “am I weak Jen? Be truthful with me?” looking over at her “erm, pre mommy Robyn I think you would be ripping his ass, but I think you are more thinking of the bigger picture, you see that this weasel is close friends with Chris. School years too, you’re stuck between telling Chris or just keeping it to yourself, but I would mention to Chris that you want that boy to not be paid for, he has nothing to do with you. That has to stop, that is your empire, your money. That ends, he may dislike it but then you take it from there. You will see his true colours, meaning TJ. If he kicks off then it will be about the money” nodding my head “he keeps throwing that Chris pushes to have it, but as a man he can say no too” I added “exactly but always remember this, you have the power to destroy that friendship and I think he hates it. He is envious of that; I think he is. I understand what you are doing but don’t ever let that weasel think he has one over you, because he doesn’t. You will pounce when it’s good and ready, but I would reign it in. Say to him that stops, then we will see TJ’ true intentions, let’s see. If he doesn’t kick off and he does it then maybe he was right in a way but do that” nodding my head, he is a bastard and I will expose him, or shall I say he will expose himself.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction #Fanfiction

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ubemango · 5 years ago

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commission 4: slow burn/best friends/college au w/ jin

(+or: we’re best friends and you’re literally So Great and i suck at knowing what i want but anyway i’m starting to think i like you ??????? au)

note 1: For my very very sweet and understanding friend @yeuj who helped me out when I needed it most .... I hope you enjoy 🥺🥺💕!!!!!! And thank you to Micah + Clove for helping me with my questions—thank you for your thoughtfulness, insight, and love!!!!! 🌷🌷🌷

note 2: I tried to make ramen-making as unboring as possible but it really is just....water and spice. If you’re confused about eating ramen at convenience stores please search that up on Youtube, I’ve exhausted my link resource skills (except for when I want you to listen to songs.) Also, the songs I mention are titanic/the end by cehryl and Subside by Eloise. I actually listened to Sweet Night on repeat while writing this so if u wanna listen to that... ;_;

note 3: everything about this story is in medias res. I realized I had no proper beginning or conclusion and I didn’t wanna change the flow of the story by concretely adding one or the other... so if the story feels incomplete/fragmented then please understand that this was a conscious and intentional decision done on my part :,) It’s slow burn!!!! I Love you ha ha!!

(i)

The library is open twenty four hours. The convenience store in the student centre is not.

“Please use your car,” you assert.

Seokjin huffs. “Then pay for my gas.”

It’s an empty threat. He’s got no business driving hard bargains when he has capital in the form of a rich CEO dad. He ignores your glaring, calmly closing his laptop, shoving it into his bag. Closing up shop after a derivative crisis you’d called him up for because he lives on campus, plus he never sleeps early. You appreciate that he gives into you so easily.

“Fine.”

So you go, searching for a convenience store that has those instant noodles you suddenly came up with a craving for this late at night. Seokjin’s used to it by now. You get things done when you want to, even if it means making a home of the pillowy chairs in the library you’d claimed for studying purposes.

The mathematical theory of chaos. You don’t want to think about it, and you click your seatbelt with a yell, throw your bag in the backseat with as much strength your anger allows for. “I hate school!”

“Please don’t scream in the car.”

“I hate it!”

Seokjin slots the key in. “Can you look up where the convenience store is?”

He tosses you his phone to unlock. You jab at the screen with more grumbling and colourful cursing, pulling up whatever Google Maps says is the nearest store open.

“Plug in the AUX cord,” Seokjin urges next. He merges into traffic, which is really only one car and the late night bus. A quiet night for your suffering.

“Can I play my—“

“Nope.” You sneer. Tapping open his playlists, you pass under orange lamp post after orange lamp post and scroll in silence before Seokjin groans. “I made a new playlist, pick that one.”

“What’s it called?”

You can see that he’s stiffened up. You don’t comment. “The one with the three heart emojis.”

Simple enough. You don’t care to sift through the songs, and the first one plays with one more indulgent tap of the screen.

Why don’t you tell her? I think you should. You know how you’re feeling, you can’t fight the truth…

Google interrupts the soft voice with the indication of the next right. Seokjin eases on the gas pedal. You watch him nod his head to the softness of the stereo. “I can’t pay for your gas.”

“I know you can’t.”

“I can pay for your ramen,” you suggest. Seokjin makes a quiet noise, like he’s amused by your generosity, or maybe he just thinks you’re dumb. You think it’s the latter.

“I don’t want you to pay for my ramen.”

“Then what do you want?”

The lamp post light striking Seokjin’s face gives way to the harsh red of the stoplight. In the stillness, he sends you a hard look. It makes you feel weirdly vulnerable, like he’s stripped you bare.

To make things worse, Seokjin says:

“Nothing you don’t want to give me.”

He doesn’t heed your confusion because he presses on the gas, looks straight ahead. You do too, and you try not to contemplate the cool brevity of his attention you suddenly want back. You push your uncertainty aside.

(He has a handsome face, you think.)

Seokjin interrupts, “So why’d you wait till now to study?”

“You know me.” Procrastination. The complete and utter mistake of underestimating the allotted time needed to get a successful grasp of concepts for your midterm. In not so convoluted terms, this class sucks ass.

“Yeah but that was—a lot of notes.”

It was. You probably pushed five weeks of material in the span of three hours. You can feel the very tips of your nervous system frying up as you pass through gas station-lit intersections. But there’s a real answer to his question, and you have the intense need to curl in on yourself in this leather seat.

“Well I would have started yesterday, but I was busy,” you counter.

“With what?”

“So you know Hyukjae from Psych?”

Seokjin pauses to listen to Google’s instructions, and immediately makes a left onto another main intersection. “Sure.”

“We went out yesterday,” you admit.

He hums a tight sound, tapping on the wheel. “Hm. How’d it go?”

It wasn’t bad. You shared butter tarts and laughed at his anecdotes and Hyukjae-from-Psych paid for your Uber home. He gave you a very weak hug before you slipped into the car. It was in that seat you’d decided you wouldn’t be sending him an I had fun! text that night.

“It was okay. Like, nice to me and stuff. But nothing…”

“…Worth revisiting.”

“Sure,” you mimic, and you wonder why he’s right.

“The guy’s okay,” he says. Almost like it’s with relief. “It’s—not to sound rude, but. Uh. I think it’s, uh—good. That you weren’t… interested.”

You think he’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. “Why?”

“Can’t trust guys with bad handshakes.” Seokjin chances a glance at you, and laughs at the confused scrunch of your eyebrows. “I met him during that networking conference in third year. Limp-wristed me. Like a chump.”

“Ew.” You can’t say he’s wrong. That hug Hyukjae gave you really was weak. The dude has noodles for arms. “But yeah, I guess you’re right. Wasn’t really my type.”

“Hm,” is all Seokjin comes up with. You watch him pass right through the turn Google tells him to take. “Oh shit. Sorry. I’m just. Thinking. About… limp… men.”

You snort. “What?”

“Like a man. A limp man. Hyukjae. Not me,” he clarifies fast—proudly— “just. Anyway! Back to you saying what your type was.”

“I wasn’t,” you accuse.

“Yeah well now I’m asking because I don’t wanna think about limp men. Your type, please.”

He sounds weirdly inquisitive. Demanding, almost. You chalk it up to the near-delirium of being awake past 1AM.

“I—don’t know,” you start. Somehow you feel like you’re messing something up. “He was kind, I like… kind. And soft. Sweet. You know Kim Taehyung? From Neuro? Like, almost big shoulders but not really. I like big shoulders. Yeah. Guys like Kim Taehyung-ish.”

Seokjin just hums again. There’s another song playing, and you don’t know how many you’ve rotated through in this playlist. You didn’t think it’d take this long to get to the store.

Google says it’s just two minutes away now. Seokjin says, “Cool,” and then sings along to the stereo.

You got me losing sleep over you… I usually sit still but now I can’t help but move… When I see you, I don’t know what to do…

(ii)

“Spicy or not spicy?”

“Whatever keeps my stomach lining intact,” Seokjin says.

You don’t say anything more and grab two of whatever ramen packaging isn’t scarily red. The convenience store is void of any customers, and the cashier rings you up with a very sour face for interrupting the show he’s got playing on his phone. His face shrivels up even more because all you can pay with is coins. Seokjin laughs behind you when you apologize for clattering the dimes too harshly on the counter.

“Enjoy,” the cashier announces, and he doesn’t mean it one bit.

The hot water machine at the back is a very intimidating thing next to the tiny display of cookies. Too many buttons and knobs you don’t understand, so Seokjin takes on the chivalric role and prepares everything for you. He rips the plastic open with gentle hands. Dumps the powder with too much conviction.

You both watch the water stream hot into the noodles. “Do you like macadamia nuts in your cookies?”

“I guess,” you say.

“Wanna split a cookie?” He hands you chopsticks to stir the ramen with, gestures at the cookie display with a jut of his chin.

“Are you paying?”

“Can you imagine if I made you pay after I asked to split,” Seokjin spits at you. “Yes I’m paying.”

“Then I want chocolate chip.”

He freezes, then jabs smartly at his noodles for a tense ten seconds.

“You make me mad,” he finally answers. “Should we eat in the car?”

“The bowl is too hot to hold.”

The counter at the window it is. You’re sad that you didn’t buy pickled radish, but your coin purse has weeped all its coinage out. Seokjin leaves you as Noodle Guard, going off to pay for that bonus cookie with a crumpled five. In the next second you contemplate the evaporation of ramen soup, the cookie is duly dumped right next to you, and Seokjin takes a huge bite of what still appears to be extremely hot noodles.

He promptly chokes, and makes sputtering noises.

“Holy shit,” Seokjin cries.

You take a much, much slower bite. “You’ll be fine.”

“I thought I could be cool for you,” he cries some more.

“You don’t need to be cool for me. Who eats ramen in a cool way?”

Seokjin nods his approval, that tear of theatrics sliding down his cheekbone. He eats carefully. A noisy car roils on outside, and passes quickly outside your periphery.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you remember to say.

“I love standing at counters and eating things hot,” Seokjin retorts. He dodges the fist you aim at his abdomen with swift ease. “It’s no problem.”

“I—“ You don’t really know why but you need to talk. “You know—you’re really, um, kind.”

Foolery. Absolute foolery that sentence was, and the cashier probably heard that foolery, and Seokjin definitely heard that absolute foolery, and he’s laughing. Like really laughing, caught with the noodles dangling from in-between his teeth. That’s all you had to say? The guy drove you out to get cup noodles out of his own volition. That’s kindness maxed out, and he deserves better than you fumbling between your teeth. Your nerves have fried up so bad, you guess.

Seokjin’s giggles dwindle down. “Thanks,” he says, smiling small.

You blame the heat of your cheeks from the heat of your soup.

Neither of you are desperate to get to that last quarter of noodles to broth ratio. The knots of your shoulders loosen with the sound of your slurping combined, and silently you are reminded of Seokjin’s warmth, standing so close to you.

The easiest path to a nice ending involves a happy belly and Seokjin driving you home with nothing more than a goodbye and a thank-you as you slam the car door shut. This is not unknown to you, because you and Hyukjae-from-Psych took that easy path yesterday.

You just don’t do this often, contemplating all the routes of romance. When is it appropriate to laugh at a joke, to wipe your mouth on the napkin? To smile and peel at your heart and grant that person access to all your inner workings? You belatedly notice that Seokjin did not bring napkins.

(The moment in the car—nothing you don’t want to give me—you want to laugh at his jokes, and smile, peel and peel and peel at your heart, but slowly. Slowly, you put your chopsticks down.)

How funny it is to come to very sound conclusions within a split second, because all you know is that it feels good, being with him like this.

Seokjin, in your quiet realization, takes it upon himself to decide the cookie-eating rights.

“Want the first bite?” He asks, propping the chopsticks horizontally on his bowl.

You nod. Desperately you try not to look at him because you might make more realizations, and you don’t think you’re ready for any more unleashed and unknown emotions. “Please.”

He gives it to you. The right side decidedly has more chocolate chips, and it’s a very nice explosion on your tongue. So nice you groan into it. “Oh that’s really good.”

He snatches the cookie away before you can take another bite. “I get bigger bites because I paid for it.”

“That—? Uh, that’s not how sharing works.”

“Yes it does,” Seokjin argues. But he just takes as normal a bite as ever. You can’t say you don’t focus on his mouth for too long, though—

—And you immediately seize up at the thought. Horrified, you shriek: “Actually just—have the rest of it!”

He looks alarmed. “O…kay?”

“You’ve got a nice mouth,” you blurt out next.

An absolutely awful feeling settles heavy in your stomach. Because almost immediately you realize that this is a kind and soft boy with nice anecdotes that have yet to be uncovered this night (he likes telling you stories) and he’s got wider shoulders than Kim Taehyung and you’re not sharing butter tarts but you’re sharing a cookie with him.

Another realization: does Seokjin have limp arms?

He puts the cookie down. (His arm looks very strong, doing that.) “I—thanks?”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” you note.

He watches you slump over the counter. Purposefully burying your face in your elbows to muffle your betraying mouth. “It’s late,” is all he says.

“Did that make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” You don’t think you’re breathing. Your lungs have evaporated, like those steamy ramen noodles you just ate. Seokjin probably notices you’ve stopped moving, so he says, “Really.”

“Okay.”

“Did it—did it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” you say.

“Cool. Do you wanna go—“

You stand up straight, grab all your garbage before he finishes. You don’t look at him. “Yep, yep, please.”

(iii)

He puts the key in the ignition, and doesn’t budge.

“Somehow I feel like you wanna say something else,” Seokjin says.

You curl your hands into fists. “It’s late.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” You are acutely aware of how garbled you must sound. It’s starting to get on your nerves, how flimsy you’re being. “I’m not… thinking.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re being pretty articulate for someone with an empty brain.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Seokjin sighs.

The seat squeaks where you tense up. “I don’t want to think about your mouth.”

“Do you wanna know what I think?” You nod. Jesus. You’ll just let him do the talking from now on because your tongue can’t be trusted this early in delirium, late in the hour. “I—I…”

Seokjin struggles some more, then deflates. He starts laughing.

“I… don’t drive just anyone out to convenience stores at two in the morning for ramen. You have to know that.” He clears his throat. His eyes are shiny with the harsh glare of neon signs. “I guess I just—wanna know… what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking…” Your lips part. Searching for words feels like a physical thing—your stomach is swimming with what feels like a billion thoughts but nothing comes up for air. “I’m thinking I—don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

Seokjin turns to look at you. “I won’t make fun,” he whispers.

“I think. I think, you look—um—really… Good. Um. R-Really… good, right now.”

“Thanks.” He looks up like he wants to say something but his eyes harden where he gazes, locking in on the dust motes of the windshield. Your lungs swell small in the quietude. “I think you really look good, too.”

If baser compliments already have you burning then you don’t know what you’d do if he tried anything more romantically complex. Some people are meant for loud love stories and grand gestures and you—all you can do is think too much and you want to say more but Seokjin understands. He understands your silence, your ineptitude.

In a fit of controlled passion, you reach over the console, grasping at his knuckles till he flips his palm right into yours.

“Feels… ”

You wait for something to come to mind. A phrase, a proper thought to give utterance to, all the failures and successes of the night. Faithfully, nothing comes.

It just feels.

And Seokjin seems to agree. He holds tight between the grooves of your fingers.

“You’re very pretty and it hurts,” he says, and he doesn’t try to meet your gaze, and one feeling comes resolute: it feels right.

#bts scenarios #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bts #jin #seokjin #ubemango fic #f: commissions

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

Text

mouth full of white lies {Machine Gun Kelly} 2

2. i been fronting that it’s just for the summer

Summary: So you’re together, sort of, and it’s great! Everyone seems to be convinced, that’s not the issue. The issue comes when you fly to LA for filming, and you decide to stay with Colson, but the room only has one bed. And the paparazzi crash your first “date”. And he kisses you and your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, which is not supposed to happen because this isn’t a real relationship! But it’s fine. Probably.

A/N: So bare with me, it’s a very long chapter. Also, pretend the Tunnel of Love remix by haroinfather came out before 2018 and not in 2019. Enjoy.

the brainstrust: @sataninsatin @silvertonguedserpent @juliarose21 @kellysimagines @estxxbritt @machine-gun-casie @harringtonstudios @misscharlottelee @narcvissa @hiworlditishumbleme @angelwarner28 @nevilles-insinuations @rumoured-whispers @mgkobsessed @edwardtriggerhandzz @suckerforbarnes @wastelcve @bakerkells @local-troubled-writer @freddiessmallnipples @oopsiedoopsie23

----

It feels like you’re braced for impact when you walk into rehearsals the day after you release the video. Douglas has already seen it, of course he has, he messages you minutes after it’s posted.

[Dig Doug: Not gonna say I Told You So, but im glad you’re happy. 🦆🦆]

It gets you to smile, despite your anxiety surrounding the whole situation.

“Now what?” Colson asked after the video was posted, sitting next to you on his bed. The duvet is so soft, and somehow the whole situation is so inherently soft. Maybe it’s that you’re both in hoodies and sweat pants. Maybe it’s that you’d just told the world that you’re dating. His eyes are so blue.

You phone goes off.

His phone goes off.

Both of you have Twitter muted, but even so, it needed to let you both know that you were getting a lot of mentions.

“Now we’re dating,” you say, flipping your phone over, while Colson picks his up, opening Twitter and beginning to scroll through his mentions. Where in the Hell were you meant to go from here.

“Alright, cool; you wanna get pizza or something?” He asks, simple as that, and it’s now you seem to realise that you’ve been so stressed from everything that had been happening that you hadn’t been remembering to feed yourself.

“Honestly, I’d love to.”

The next day, however, it’s the elephant in the room; the others don’t say anything, but everyone, even Douglas to some extent, was wondering how in the hell they had missed your apparent relationship. But it’s not awkward; you and Colson act the same as always, you take notes for Josy, and get coffee, and type away on your laptop.

They break for lunch, and you look up from your work only to see Josy making a beeline for you, an intimidating look of determination written all over her face. Ah, here’s where the interrogation begins. Glancing over your shoulder you see Colson shoot you an amused, if concerned look, glancing to Josy. In response, you shrug; it can’t be helped.

“We need to talk,” Josy tells you, steers you from the room, across the parking lot, into a whole new building, where she paces for about three minutes, unable to look at you, hands basically pulling out her hair, all of which amuses you greatly. When she comes to a stop in front of you, it’s as if you can see the cogs of her brain turning, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth as she tries to order her thoughts.

“You know you’re my favourite assistant in the world and I treasure our friendship, right?” She asks, and you fix her with a fondly exasperated stare.

“Of course, you see fit to remind me every time I bring you coffee -”

“Then why, my little duck, my little goose, apple of my eye, enchilada of my bosom,” she says with an almost poisonous sweetness, looking you directly in the eye, “would you date one of my actors?” And you have to hold back your laughter in the face of her sincere and rather angry confusion.

“Josy, please,” you start, and she already looks like she wants to interrupt, “I like him is all, okay? I won’t be a distraction -” you can already see her trying to protest, but you hold up your hand to stop her, “and he won’t distract me; if anything, it means there’ll be no outside distractions, hopefully.”

“[Y/N] you test me,” Josy sighs deeply, scrubbing at her face, “how long?”

This gives you cause for hesitation, because neither you nor Colson had thought to get your whole story straight the night before. He had ordered room service and you’d just talked about music until you finally went back to your own room. An oversight, sure, but you had been glad to have a plan, and were happy to figure out the details later.

“A few weeks -” when you say this, Josy makes a choked, wheezing noise, and you pause, “since... uh, since he took us around the city at the end of the first week.”

“Does Douglas know?”

“He’s not my handler,” you fire off reflexively, and Josy winces, a little sheepish, “but yes.” You paused. “Now.”

Josy lets the whole conversation slide with some reluctance, and she asks you to get her lunch from the deli a few blocks away. You agree, partially because it’s your job, but mostly because you’re just glad to get out of the building and away from her exasperated, judgmental stares.

He’s corrupting you. It’s what the media thinks. It’s what Josy thinks. And something about the assumption is already starting to get under your skin. But right as you start to get truly annoyed by the subtext she had been blasting you with, you hear your phone chime.

[Colson: am i gonna get The Talk from my AD later on? Ducky: wot Colson: like u no... if you hurt my daughter im gonna hurt you Ducky: Josys not my mom??? shes like 3 years older than me???? Colson: its a joke. chill ducky. everything alright tho? Ducky: told her wed been dating since that night i filmed a few weeks ago Colson: smart. everyone thinks weve been together since then nyways Ducky: you want anything from the deli? Colson: what Ducky: im at the deli. u want a sandwich? Colson: yeh sure. surprise me. maybe chicken idk. webber wants a chocolate milk Ducky: milks bad for vocal cords Colson: he doesnt care 😈]

It makes you laugh. He makes you laugh. It’s as easy as that; you’re still friends, it’s just that you spend more time together, are closer, when you go out for dinner with the cast, he’s invariably beside you. You’re both always on time to rehearsals, and he keeps sending you selfies from costume and makeup tests, and it’s going fine, great even, despite all the nasty DMs you were still receiving. Of course the supportive ones always outweighed the negative, and even the negative didn’t really bother you, because it’s not as if there was a real relationship in jeopardy, so it actually took a lot of weight off your shoulders.

Filming is set to start on location in LA after about a month and a half of rehearsals, and while the first month had primarily been working on scenes, the extra fortnight you’d been there had been almost consistently rehearsing as a band for eight hours a day, six days a week. The day before you’re due to fly off, the whole cast looks exhausted at brunch.

“Pass me the salt,” Colson yawns, half asleep with his head against the window of the cafe.

“It’s right in front of you,” you counter, knocking his knee with yours beneath the table.

“My arms don’t work,” he groaned, but he was smiling now, just a little. You look to the other cast members all enjoying their own respective breakfasts. Daniel’s on voice rest, despite the fact that they’re going to be using recordings of Motley Crue themselves for the actual film, they still want him able to perform covers for when they’re filming; currently he’s nursing a lemon and ginger tea with enough honey to drown a bee. Actually, Colson was the only one out of the four of them not to be drinking tea; both Iwan and Douglas both having ordered a cup with their breakfasts. Iwan was the only one who looked ready for the day, with the rest of them all slumped over in various states of exhaustion.

“Ducky, come on, please?” Colson actually whined, and you rolled your eyes, passing him the salt.

“You’re so needy,” you tell him, but your smile is enough to let him know that you’re joking.

“Why’re you called Duck, if I may ask?” Iwan asks, and you heave a sigh, knowing Douglas was already smiling before you even turn to look at him.

“Because when our parents first brought her home, all she did was follow me around like a duckling,” his tone is all fond, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a side hug despite your indignant noise of protest.

“Adorable,” Iwan grins over the lip of his cup. You just groan, and steal a bite of Douglas’ pancakes, though he doesn’t seem to mind, “have you worked much in the industry?” Iwan’s accent sounds like home, and despite how quiet and bitter he is in character, he’s rather bright and talkative as a person.

“Here and there; I actually spent quite a few of my teenage years as Doug’s assistant when he would be filming in London,” you say with a half-smile, “still a bit of a duck I suppose, but it looks good on my CV. I do odd-jobs on sets here and there back home, have been a runner for a few TV shows, but I don’t really go out of my way to be on camera, you know,” you shrug, before hearing your mistake. Both Colson and Douglas are already laughing, while Daniel and Iwan just seem confused. “Apart from, like, my actual job, you know? Like I’m on camera for YouTube, but not for a real movie or anything.”

“Well you seem very good at your job, we’re glad to have you onboard,” Iwan nods with a surprisingly sincere smile. Beneath the table, Colson’s hand is on your knee, and he gives you a small squeeze.

“I thought your hands didn’t work?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and Douglas almost spits his drink all over Daniel at the implication.

“Excuse me?” His eyes are wide as saucers and Colson’s quickly turning red.

“I said my arms don’t work but damn, call me out why don’t you?” He splutters, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender, with only mild wincing. It’s about now that you realise the assumption that your brother had jumped to.

“His hand was on my knee, Doug, I was trying to make a joke,” you explain, flustered, though Daniel and Iwan on the other side of the booth have collapsed on top of each other with laughter. You, Douglas, and Colson, however, are all equally mortified, and make a point to move so neither of you are touching as you finish your breakfast quickly.

“I just appreciate,” Daniel was still chuckling as you all left the cafe, as was Iwan, “that Doug genuinely thought Colson was getting busy with his sister at brunch, like, right next to him under the table.

“Nah,” Iwan actually laughs, his smile sharp, “they’re just really in character.”

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! Today we’re flying all the way to sunny L.A, which honestly isn’t that far from Portland, but the production company was nice enough to not make us road trip it.”

The video starts in your hotel room, and follows you as you pack your things, and cuts to a montage set to some royalty-free music, of you heading to the airport, of the cast yawning. Your brother buys you breakfast at a fast-food restaurant in the airport, and you check your bags; a panning shot in the waiting area, of every single member of the cast and crew that are taking this flight on their phones.

“You look cute,” you mutter very quietly to Colson, who’s sitting next to you, scrolling through Twitter with a travel pillow squished up around his neck. He gives you a toothy smile, leans his cheek against the pillow, and winks at the camera.

The hotel you’re staying at is beautiful, all marble pillars in the foyer and beige and cream counters, and it feels like it might be too much. This is where the stars stay, and you? You know you’re absolutely not a star.

“Duck?” And there’s Josy’s voice, hesitant, about to tell you the jig is up, hand you keys to a water stained motel room a few blocks away. When you turn to her, she’s got two separate key cards in her hands.

“Yes, Josy?” You ask sweetly; it’s not her fault, after all, that you’re not a top-billed star.

“So corporate wanted to put you with some of the other crew, they’re staying in a place down the road - it’s really lovely, trust me, and if you want it we can still get you a room - but,” Josy glanced to the cards in her hand, before holding them out, one in each hand, “if you’d like to stay here, both your brother and Colson are happy to share with you.” And at this, your brain stalls, looking at the key cards being offered to you.

“Why didn’t they tell me this?”

“Because they’re already heading up, but they wanted me to let you know that the offer’s there.”

So it seems that in the three minutes that you were mooning over the architecture, and giving the guys their space, since you’d assumed you’d be staying elsewhere, both your brother and your fake boyfriend happened to mention that you’re able to stay with them if you want. Douglas is not a surprise; Colson is.

“How big are the rooms, I don’t want to -” you start, but Josy’s quick to cut you off.

“The size isn’t the matter; they’re big enough rooms, got really comfortable sofas from what I could see, but...”

“But?” You prompt, and Josy gives a smile.

“Of course, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with; you know Doug’s more than happy to take the sofa, I just know you and Colson haven’t been together that long -” And here it all starts to make sense, and you hope the smile you give isn’t nervous as you ask which key is which. You take Colson’s.

The elevator ride up to the cast’s floor has you wracked with nerves, which you think is ridiculous; you can sleep on the sofa, it’s no trouble, and he wouldn’t have offered the room if he hadn’t meant it. So why does the idea of staying in a room with him, with only one bed, have your heart beating so fast? You’d been teasing each other, flirting and being cute together, in front of other people, that was easy, but since the night you’d released the video, you hadn’t really been alone together. You hadn’t needed to be. It seems like all you can think about as you walk down the beige hallway to your room, on auto-pilot as you scan your key card and enter the room.

It’s quiet.

There’s the gentle whistling of wind that comes from the balcony, the overhead sun beating down on the pristine, Hollywood beaches. He sits on the balcony, plush armchair, smoking a joint with his shirt off. Inside, it’s all white walls and gold accents, his suitcase on the bed, already open the contents inside surprisingly neatly folded. There’s a door beside you that you’re pretty sure leads to the bathroom, and the room itself is spacious, with a gorgeous, gray sofa sitting off to one side, and a wall-mounted television on the other. Just for the moment, all the fears and anxieties in your mind vanish at the sight of this pristine serenity.

Quietly, you wheel your own suitcase to the sofa, and pull out your phone.

He’s stunning, like that, his feet up on the coffee table on the balcony, free hand tapping a lazy beat on the arm of his chair. You take a candid photo of him as he exhales smoke, and it catches the sunlight beautifully, with the water out of focus in the background.

“Can I post this?” You ask, and he jumps a little, not having heard you come in, before his concerned expression morphs to a genuine smile when he realises that it’s you. Turning the phone to him, you show him the photo you took, and he lowers his sunglasses to get a proper look at it. After a beat, his gaze flicks to yours.

“’course, it’s a nice photo.”

“You’re very photogenic,” you brush of his compliment with a smile, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose, looking out from the balcony.

“You crashing here?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you respond, and he actually laughs, though the sound is kind.

“Wouldn’t have offered if it was.”

Easy. Like everything else about him, it seemed, this was easy.

You caption the photo ‘the view from my balcony 😍’ and post it on both Twitter, and your Instagram story, tagging him in both, and you set about checking out the room’s facilities. It’s a normal, if fancy hotel room. Little bottles of soaps and shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom, TV with a bunch of standard channels, and a whole ton more that you could pay for if you wanted, it even had a set of cables so you could charge your phone, either side of the bed. The singular bed. Which Colson has clearly already claimed.

Maybe it had been a mistake to not board with your brother.

“I’m getting lunch, you want anything?” You call, needing to get out of your own head for a bit, wanting to explore the city a little. He’s quiet for a moment, then you hear a strained ‘yeah’.

“Gimme a moment, let me put on a shirt and I’ll come with you,” he tells you through a lung full of smoke, putting the joint out in the ash tray provided, tucking the other half in his pocket for later.

“You not gonna vlog this?” He asks, half smiling in the elevator, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Oh, shit, knew I forgot something,” you mutter, and you go to punch in the number of your floor again, but his hand catches yours.

“We’re coming back after, don’t worry about it.”

And, well, you don’t.

It’s easy to talk to him, you swap stories about life in the entertainment industry from two wildly different perspectives, and you find a cute and overpriced restaurant to have lunch in. All the while, you’re so aware of where you are, how there could be any number of people snapping photos of the pair of you. It’s not like you’re being overtly couple-y, you’d only been putting on this ruse for three weeks at this point, but he pays for your lunch.

“Oh, I didn’t realise this was a date,” you admit, a little surprised, a little flustered. He shrugs, eats the last bite of his burger, and smiles.

“Why not? We haven’t had the chance to go on one yet, let’s take it for a test drive. Do they- are boardwalks still a thing? Is a boardwalk carnival still a thing or was that just the nineties?” You’re actually rather taken aback by his suggestion, and can’t help but grin, picking up your mostly empty glass to swirl the ice at the bottom.

“Pretty sure boardwalks are a thing, not sure about carnivals on them, but we can check it out.”

You each finish your drinks and leave, setting off for the waterfront. Feeling bold, you tuck your arm in his, and enjoy the Spring-time sunshine. The boardwalk, as it turns out, is still definitely a thing, as are the kitschy carnival rides along it.

“I feel like a fuckin’ teenager,” Colson mutters under his breath, knowing you’ll hear it, “if we see a couple where they’re both wearing braces, looking like they just got out of school, I’m throwing myself straight into the ocean.” He informs quietly, and you snort at that.

“Not a fan of traditional cute date shit?” You ask, as the pair of you approach the ticket booth.

“Not in the slightest,” Colson admits through his teeth while trying to smile at the attendant. The attendant, who obviously recognizes at least one of you, is doing her best not to look like she’s staring. You each buy a ride pass and head in, and the girl tells you to have a good afternoon, with a nervous sort of excitement.

“This feels like somewhere I’d go with my daughter,” Colson looks doubtfully up at the ferris wheel that sat ahead of you at the end of the pier, looking more than a little perturbed, but his words struck you in a way that you hadn’t expected.

“Have you told her about us?” You asked, and he casts an unreadable glance at you.

“Listen, if we’re going to talk about... stuff like this, let’s at least do it somewhere a little more private?” It seems he, just like you, is acutely aware of how busy the little set of attractions is, and having already been recognized once, it’s almost certainly not going to be the last time today.

The gangly-limbed teenager working the ferris-wheel doesn’t even hide that he’s staring at Colson with hero-worship in his eyes, and he gives you a look over, followed by an approving, rather smug nod, before closing the door of the carriage. It makes your skin crawl.

“Why does everyone get to decide if I’m good enough for you based on my looks?” You hear yourself mutter, but Colson’s slinging his arm around your shoulders as the pair of you are raised steadily into the air.

“Who gives a shit? They’re jealous, and it doesn’t matter because we’re not really together anyways,” he’s got a point, but your expression is still downcast, and there’s a strange sadness settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I suppose.”

Once you’re high enough in the air that no-one from the ground should be able to hear either of you even a little bit, Colson sits back, lets his gaze drift across the horizon.

“I told Cassie about us, told her the truth.” He doesn’t sugar coat it, doesn’t try and explain his way out of it, when instead he looks tense, like he’s read to defend himself. You, however, nod, giving him an understanding smile.

“Of course, she’s your daughter,” you pause, and he finally looks back at you, and you think you see some hint of relief in his eyes, “I never expected for you to lie to her.”

“She’s a good kid,” he assures softly, “got a good head on her shoulders.” And now he’s turning fond, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “fuckin’ who knows where she got it, ‘cos it ain’t me.” Laughing a little, he’s surprised when you answer, voice soft and sincere.

“You’ve gotta give yourself more credit,” you tell him matter-of-factly, “you wouldn’t be half as successful as you are if you didn’t have a good bit of sense.”

“I knew there was a reason I was dating you,” he teases, pulling you in close, but you play along.

“Yeah, it’s that good sense of yours,” you returned, and he gave you a gentle shove. “Am I going to meet her at all?” You ask finally, and Colson gives another shrug.

“Yeah, I mean sure, she wants to come to set, so if you’re around you’re welcome to meet her,” his fingers are drumming lightly against your shoulder, “I should warn you though, she tends to vet any girls I’m getting serious about pretty hard, fake or not.” And yeah, you’re laughter’s a bit disbelieving, and though he sees the humour in it, he doesn’t seem to be joking, “she’s a good judge of character, and I’ll tell you now, I’m mad protective of her, but she’s mad protective of me too.” The thought of it is actually endearing, and you lean into him, letting yourself heave a sigh of contentment, glad to have talked this through.

“This would have been real nice to film,” he muttered, a teasing edge to his voice as the two of you stared out at the glittering ocean.

“Don’t even start,” you gave his ribs a shove, which only made him laugh, the sound warm and easy in the afternoon air, the sun moving slowly to the horizon.

Slowly but surely Colson was warming to the little boardwalk carnival. The two of you play obviously rigged games, and ride the rollercoaster that creaks ominously, and he even convinces you to share some fairy floss. He snaps a picture of you grinning wide and genuine as you offer him the treat, and posts it to Twitter with the caption ‘sweet’.

There’s a Tunnel of Love ride that Colson had adamantly refused to go on at first, but as sunset was drawing closer, he relented.

“I’m not a cliche! I’m not a fucking cliche!” He huffs, sitting beside you with his arms crossed, his legs so long that his knees came up almost comically. You’re filming on your phone for your Instagram story, and will later add at least two heart gifs, but for now you’re just obnoxiously singing the Tunnel of Love remix, thankful that you’re the only two on the ride at the moment.

“You so fucking cute, when I see you, I uwu, can you be my fucking boo? Can you be my sailor moon?” Hearing the smile in your voice, he turns to you, something about his expression softening as he sees the joy written all over your face that the camera can’t see, “and I don't wanna fight, I just wanna treat you right; I was aiming at your heart and I don't wanna say goodbye.”

He just laughs, and shakes his head as the ride takes off, fond adoration written all over his face.

The sun’s setting by the time you’ve ridden all the rides you wanted to, eaten all the candy you could possibly stomach, and failed at enough rigged games that you were about ready to call it quits.

“Hey I didn’t just wanna come here for the carnival shit,” he said, and you’ve got your arm tucked into his again as he steers you both to the edge of the boardwalk, where there was a set of steps down to the beach.

“Under the boardwalk,” you nod knowingly, which he parrots back with a smile. Beneath the boardwalk there was a gaggle of youth, looking slightly older than teenagers, some still in uniforms from boardwalk rides, some smoking, most looking intimidating, but when Colson asks them for a light, they seem to get much less hostile.

“Hey are you MGK?” One asks, and when Colson lights the half a joint he had from earlier, he nods. “Sick.” The kid nods sagely, before his gaze turns on you. “And you’re that Booth chick, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on Twitter.” It’s not hostile, it’s genuinely curious.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Eddie, that’s [Y/N], do you live under a rock?” One of the girls pipes up, decked out in black, with a thick piercing through her septum, and an intimidating amount of eyeliner. The boy, Eddie, flushes scarlet, and snaps that not everyone watches the same shit as her. “I’m Samara,” the girl offers with a grin, offering her hand to you, which you shake, more than a little pleased with their various reactions.

“I heard yous was boinking -” a third girl interrupts, wearing a boardwalk uniform and hitting a vape pen pretty hard.

“Emma!” More than one of them shout, though Samara is the loudest.

“Is boinking still the term?” Colson snorts, taking it all in stride, though he’s got an arm around you now, “Jesus fuck I feel ancient.”

“You are -” Emma interrupts, much to the rest of the group’s chagrin, but Colson just laughs.

“I’m twenty-seven you fucker!” He crows, and Emma cracks a smile, and takes another hit off of her vape pen. “Whatever,” he shrugs, “just tryin’ to show my girl everything LA has to offer.”

“So you come under the boardwalk?” Eddie asks, with a skepticism that made you all flustered at his insinuations.

“Can you blame us for wanting a bit of privacy?” Colson smirks, to which the group of youths all collectively ‘ooh’ at, and he gives your hip a squeeze.

“Try the one a quarter of a mile that way,” Samara points further down the beach, “less carnival, less people.” She winks, before adding, surprisingly hopefully, “but could we get like, a photo or something first?”

Of course you both agree, and among the group photos, you learn that they’re all working around town during winter break for college. Samara specifically asks for a photo with you, where she plants a kiss on your cheek, looking a little flustered herself, muttering a quiet thanks. You follow her back on Instagram, and she gives you this starry-eyed look.

“She’s got a crush on you,” Colson snickers as the two of you head down the beach, well and truly out of earshot of the others, and you smile, finally looking up from your phone, a little endeared at the young woman’s antics.

“Jealous?” You ask, loftily, and you expect him to laugh, but he goes quiet. When you turn to him, he’s regarding you with amusement, and something else you can’t quite identify. “Colson?” And you slow, now near enough to the next section of the boardwalk. As promised, it was rather secluded.

After a beat, he leans in and kisses you, soft and unexpected, but his lips fit against yours like you were made for each other. Leaning into him, you wrap your arms around him, letting him pull you close. Not exactly sure what triggered this, you’re just happy to lean into it, enjoying the moment. And then he’s pulling back, forehead resting against yours.

“You see the guy to our left who’s just left the group of kids under the boardwalk? Hawaiian shirt and expensive camera?” He asks quietly, and you glance out of the corner of eye, only to spot the exact person he’s talking about, you make a quiet noise of confirmation, and you keep up the ruse, hand coming up to cup his jaw, butterflies going ballistic in your stomach despite now knowing that it was obviously for show, “been following us for the past hour.”

“Fucking paps,” you hiss, but before your expression can sour, he kisses you again, gives you a squeeze, as if to remind you to put on a show of not noticing him. Much to your surprise, he bites gently at your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet but pleased noise that neither of you had expected, and when he leans back, he looks both surprised and kind of into it, what’s more unexpected is that the exact same expression is written all over your face too.

“Back to the boardwalk, uber back to the hotel?” You ask, resolutely not talking about what had happened, but still smiling and all up in his personal space.

“Love it, let’s get out of here,” and he takes your hand, and leads you back to the safety of the street. It’s the first time the two of you had kissed, not that you’d realised it in the morning, but it was good, you reflect, it felt like it made sense. If you’re a little more giddy than you probably should be on the way back, Colson doesn’t seem to notice, in fact, he’s grinning too, humming to himself.

There’s two posts, one right after the other on Samara’s Instagram story when you check it that night, after having briefly seen it in the uber on the way back to the hotel.

The first is a video captioned [gross thats my mom and dad] The video was pixelated as hell, and she hadn’t tagged either you or Colson, but you knew it was the two of you, wrapped up in each other, half a mile down the beach. In the background, her friends are arguing about something much closer, though one voice cuts through louder than the rest.

“Hey, Hawaiian shirt hipster paparazzi fuck! Yeah you! Give ‘em some fucking privacy!” And as the voice, who you think is Emma, shouts, Samara turns to focus the camera on the paparazzi Colson had spotted earlier, still incredibly zoomed in, capturing his sheepish, angry expression in all it’s rather pixelated glory.

“Fuck you kids!” He shouts back. Someone throws a can at him.

“Piss off!” Samara shouts, “we know you’re not taking photos of seagulls, cunt!” He goes to respond, but the group just starts chucking things at him. In the background, you can see yourself and Colson heading back up to street level, oblivious to what was going on.

The second post is a screenshot of a set of DMs between yourself and Samara.

@yourinstagramhandle mentioned you in their story

6:28pm

@yourinstagramhandle responded 😍 to your story @yourinstagramhandle: god i fucking love you guys, it was so great to meet you @unholy-samara-tin: 😅😅😅 it was the right thing to do lmao no stress he was a creepy fucker

It’s captioned [HOLY SHIT I’VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN].

You get dinner with Douglas and tell him about your day, and he gives you this sweet, if a little smug smile.

“You seem very happy.” He says, knowingly.

“I am, it was a good day!” You tell him, and he hums, but won’t say anything else on the matter. The conversation is taken up mostly by excitement regarding the makeup and costume fittings that they have over the next week and a half before filming starts, and then it’s back to your own rooms. At your door, Douglas calls out to you, three rooms away.

“It’s strange to see you so grown up, duckling,” he hasn’t called you that in so long, not since you were children, even your mother had abandoned that nickname for the mildly less embarrassing ‘Duck’ in the past few years, and while it warmed your heart, you couldn’t help but tense in anticipation for some sort of gentle, sibling embarrassment, probably to do with you sharing a room with your ‘boyfriend’.

“And?”

“And nothing,” he shrugged, “never thought you’d become cool is all, a star in your own right, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m cool, would you like me to give you some pointers?” You asked sweetly, and Douglas couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I? Anyways, have a good rest of your night, Colson and Dan have gone out drinking.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, and the two of you finally go into your separate bedrooms. He’s right, of course, there’s clothes strewn all over the bed, and the shower’s been recently used, and the whole little place has a warm, clean smell, like the last mist of some spiced cologne was still lingering in the air. The only light on is one of the bedside lights, and the lights of the city outside twinkle brightly, though you can’t see many stars for the light pollution. You crack the screen door to the balcony open, and shiver a little, though you tell yourself it’s from the cold, and not because the rather comforting and clean smells were quickly dissipating.

You are alone when you try to fall asleep on the plush but desperately uncomfortable sofa, alone and struggling to pass out with the bedside light still on, not wanting Colson to have to stumble around in the dark when he gets back. You spend almost a full hour on your phone blocking people who send you nasty DMs, and responding to a few kind ones, and you post a photo of the roof just captioned ‘cant sleep’.

It’s just gone one when the door clicks open, and Colson steps in, pretty well coordinated, and trying to keep quiet. But then there’s you, staring back at him in the lamp light.

“Hey.”

Awkward silence.

“Why are you on the sofa?” He asks, hauling his bag from the bed, shoving his loose clothes in haphazardly, before patting down his pockets. “Sorry if I woke you,” it’s almost an afterthought, and he pulls out a box of cigarettes.

“You didn’t,” you tell him with a yawn that says otherwise, but you power through it, “and I didn’t want to intrude.”

He casts a dubious glance at how you’re angled on the sofa, but doesn’t say anything, and opens the sliding door wider to sit on the porch and have his cigarette. Without even hesitating, you join him, and your spine thanks you the moment you stand.

“Nice night?” You ask, sitting out on the balcony with him.

“Nice night,” he agrees, adding, “nice day all around.” And something about it makes your heart flutter. “You know you can take the bed; I’d rather sleep on the floor than have you get scoliosis.”

“I don’t think that’s how scoliosis works,” you say with a huff of laughter, but he just hums, “and you don’t need to do that, I’m fine,” you try to insist.

“You know you’re welcome to just share the bed, it’s fucking massive, I feel like I’ll get lost in it,” he actually yawns, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“So you want me to, what, ground you somehow?”

“I just wanna know that if I roll over in the night and there’s something solid there, that it’s your arm and not like, the lightpost in fuckin’ Narnia,” he tells you, and breathes out a lung full of smoke. You watch it hang in the air, pale and silver in the light of the moon.

“We’re gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow,” you tell him quietly.

“No-one reads tabloids anymore, we’re gonna be on like, those snapchat news things,” he says, and laughs but it doesn’t sound very amused. “Have you been getting less shit?”

“Actually,” you consider, “yeah, most of your fans are mad supportive when you ask them to be. What about you?”

“Your fans are cute, you know that? I was scrolling through twitter and I saw a whole bunch of photos of us like, photoshopped together,” he paused to chuckle, “some had flower crowns.” You can hear the smile in his words, and he seems quite enamored by the phenomenon. It’s a nice moment; he’s drunk and a little high and you’re exhausted, and you fall into bed like it’s a sitcom.

“Tell your spine I said ‘you’re fucking welcome’,” he tells you, and it’s so absurd that you laugh, even as you pull the covers up over you and snuggle in, comfortable as all hell, before turning the light off.

Then, there’s movement, and a loud ‘thwap’ as Colson’s hand comes to knock your shoulder, landing on top of the duvet.

“Narnia?” He asks, and you give a small smile in the dark.

“Just me.”

You wake in the morning to the sound of Colson’s alarm, or more accurately, his groaning at his alarm. And swearing. And muttered ‘fucking makeup tests’.

He’s dragging himself into the shower while you relish your days off, nose and eyes peaking out from the covers when he comes out of the shower wrapped in a towel. The two of you make direct eye contact before you mutter a flustered apology and flip away from him, though he doesn’t seem to know how to react, just quietly getting dressed. The rest of his morning routine passes mostly in silence, before you hear him open the door.

“If you wanna get like, lunch or dinner or something, lemme know, or I’ll let you know if the boys are organising something,” he tells you, and you call out a sleepy thanks in response. The door closes. Silence. You could go back to sleep, but you’re curious about the turn around time for paparazzi media, and you were not disappointed.

MTV’s snapchat story posted “MGK and New Boo [Y/N] Booth Caught Getting Steamy Under the Boardwalk” the headline.

The self-proclaimed ‘Rap Devil’ Machine Gun Kelly, best known for his album bloom, has managed to find himself locking lips with YouTube’s darling [Y/N] Booth, though you may know her best as the vlogger, and entertainment industry insider, DuckDuckBooth.

It seems new media’s hottest couple have finally landed in LA after their surprising hookup in Louisiana, set to continue working on some mysterious project that they keep hinting at, and they seem to still be going strong!

The pair were caught after a cute date along the Hollywood seaside -

[And here they’d entered your Instagram story, from the Tunnel of Love, as well as Colson’s Twitter picture of you with the fairy floss.]

- after meeting a group of fans, they found somewhere a little more private to get a little bit romantic in a way that 90s kids truly will appreciate; making out under a boardwalk. It feels like it should be ripped straight from a John Hughes movie set in Hollywood.

However unlikely this pair may be, you can’t deny that they’re cute together.

[And here’s those traitorous, and almost painfully HD photos of yourself and Colson, wrapped up in each other, that the paparazzi had taken the day before, though with the legs of the boardwalk, as well as the ocean and the sunset as your backdrop, the photos themselves are surprisingly stunning.]

“Fucking paps,” you mutter under your breath, and screenshot the photo anyways. If it’s your lock screen, well, it’s what any real girlfriend would do, right?

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #douglas booth #douglas booth & reader #The Dirt #the dirt imagine #the dirt cast #the angry lizard writes #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader

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