#ANYWAYS lots of new updates this week hope you’ve been enjoying the

[suhnshinehaos]

me vs the urge to start a vlogging channel in an attempt to romanticize my 20s 🥲

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | Chapter Three

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 8.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from oc's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, mentions of unhealthy parental relationships (attempts for arranged marriage), Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and ofc more cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions (I love them 🥹)

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: GUYS, I'm getting better at updating! It only took me a little over a month to get this chapter out vs two months last time. I'm going to keep trying to improve, but TYSM for your patience! I'm really proud of how this series is going so far, and this chapter omg...i just hope you enjoy hehehe. Anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

The past week and a half has been a whirlwind. Meetings, studio sessions, and preparations for “Suchwita” have consumed your days and nights. The tight deadlines and intense work pace have kept you on your toes, but there’s a growing excitement within you for the new venture. Today marks the first day of recording "Suchwita," and you find yourself buzzing with anticipation. Determined to ensure everything goes smoothly, you decide to arrive at the studio early to oversee the final preparations.

As you step into the makeshift studio space, you're greeted by a flurry of activity. Camera operators are setting up angles, lighting technicians are adjusting the brightness, and set designers are putting the final touches on the sleek, intimate set that will serve as the backdrop for the show.

The set has a warm, inviting aura with dark wood paneling, a cozy seating area, and a small bar stocked with various bottles of whiskey and soju.

You're impressed by how quickly everything has come together.

“Yoongi-ssi, good morning,” you call out as you approach Yoongi, who is already surveying the room. You notice him glance at you from the corner of his eye as you walk towards him. You have to admit, he looks great. The crew has styled him in denim blue jeans and a navy blue sweater, a casual yet polished outfit that complements the professional yet relaxed atmosphere of the set. It’s clear he arrived before you.

“Good morning __-ssi,” Yoongi replies, giving you a small smile. “Everything ready?”

“We’re almost there. Just a few final touches, and we should be good to go.”

“Great,” he nods, briefly scanning around the set. “The place looks better than I imagined.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say with a satisfied expression. “We wanted it to reflect your personality and create an atmosphere where you and your guests can have open, honest conversations. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Pretty excited, actually,” he says, folding his arms in a composed manner. “A little nervous, but mostly excited. How are you and the rest of the team holding up with all the new developments?”

“We’re managing,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s been a lot of late nights and early mornings, but everyone’s excited about ‘Suchwita.’ It’s something different and refreshing. I think we’re all equally eager to see it succeed.”

Yoongi nods thoughtfully, taking a moment to soak in the details of the set. “It’s all coming together pretty fast. Do we know for sure who we’ll have on for the next few recordings?”

“We do,” you reply, “We’ve lined up a few other artists for the following episodes, including some from different genres. Your fellow members will also join as soon as their schedules permit. I think it’s going to be a good mix. Also, if there’s anyone in particular you’d like to have as a guest, just let me know. I’m sure we can coordinate it.”

“I’ll consider that,” Yoongi says, genuinely pleased. “I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this by the way. I know the timeline has been tight.”

“Well, it’s been a team effort,” you say, smiling warmly. “But thank you. It’s been fun, even if a bit hectic now and then. I have to say, it’s been nice working closely with you, Yoongi-ssi. You’re very dedicated to your craft and I think more often than not, we tend to see eye to eye.”

Yoongi seems to blush slightly at your compliment but maintains his composure. “Good to know you like me after fifteen days,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “I was starting to think this partnership might be a bit one-sided, especially after our chat during that smoke break a while ago.”

His lighthearted remark brings you back to that brief smoke break behind the building. It was a simple, candid moment, but it left a lasting impression, making you feel like you and Yoongi were finally starting to become good colleagues. The easy rapport that’s developed between you two since then is a welcome change from the often formal interactions with other team members.

“Well, if I recall correctly,” you counter, “You said you only like me ‘enough.’ That’s not quite the same as actually liking someone and wanting to work with them.”

Amused, Yoongi’s smirk grows. “It was implied, wasn’t it? You know I wouldn’t work with you if I didn’t actually like you.”

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow, your tone teasing.

“I have no reason to lie to you, __-ssi.” Yoongi insists, his voice light but his gaze steady. There’s a moment of playful tension in the air, both of you smiling as you challenge each other with your eyes.

“Interesting,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. Though mutually taunting each other, there’s something about Yoongi’s words and tone that still feels reassuring, grounding even.

Before either of you can exchange another word, you hear footsteps nearing behind you. Turning, you see Kim Namjoon entering the studio with a warm smile on his face. He’s dressed casually yet stylishly, exuding the effortless charisma that has made him a beloved figure among fans.

“Morning,” Namjoon greets, his voice carrying a familiar depth. He adjusts the bottom of his shirt, giving the studio a once-over. “I hope I’m not late or anything.”

Approaching Namjoon, you greet him with an inviting smile and extend your hand for a handshake. His response is equally friendly, and there’s a sense of gentle confidence coming from him, as any good leader should have.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, __-nim,” Namjoon responds, shaking your hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Yoongi-hyung.”

Somewhat taken aback by the bit of information, you share a glance with Yoongi, who briefly meets your eyes before averting his gaze back to Namjoon. A faint rosy tint colors his cheeks once again.

“This place looks fantastic. You’ve really outdone yourselves,” Namjoon continues.

“Thank you,” you say, feeling a surge of pride. “We wanted to create a space where our guests feel comfortable and can have open, honest conversations. I think we’ve achieved that.”

Namjoon nods in agreement, taking in the surroundings with a thoughtful expression. “It definitely feels welcoming. I’m looking forward to seeing it all come together in the end.”

“Congratulations on your new album by the way,” you add. “I’m sure Indigo is going to be a success, especially amongst your fans who have been waiting for another solo from you for quite some time.”

“Thanks, it’s been a journey and I’m glad to have such a loyal fanbase who continue to support me for the last nine-plus years. It always lifts my spirits.”

“Absolutely, and you deserve it too,” you reply. “I’ve been a huge supporter of The Last Shadow Puppets for over ten years myself, and I think I’ve officially become their gatekeeper.” As you allow yourself a light chuckle, the two in front of you smile in return. Yoongi looks like he wants to press further but chooses to remain silent.

“Well anyway,” you shift topics due to the minor lull, “we should get started.”

Namjoon nods approvingly. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“We’ve got a brief rundown for you,” you say, motioning towards a table with a few scripts and notes. “We’ll start with a casual chat to set the tone, then delve into some of your recent projects and thoughts on the music industry. We want it to be as natural and spontaneous as possible, so don’t worry about sticking too closely to the script. Also, we know ‘Indigo’ won’t be officially released for two more days, but ‘Suchwita’ is premiering on the 5th. That said, we are filming ahead of time so Yoongi might guide the conversation as if your album’s already been released.”

“Sounds good,” Namjoon says, his relaxed demeanor showing his readiness to go with the flow. “Anything specific you want me to prepare for?”

“No, just be yourself,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “That’s what this show is all about. Authentic conversations, nothing forced. Yoongi-ssi will take the seat on the right of the camera and Namjoon-nim, you’ll be on the left.”

“Got it,” Namjoon says, giving you a thumbs up. He then turns to Yoongi. “Hyung, ready to show off your hosting skills?”

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’ll see how it goes. It’s my first time doing something like this, so I’m just hoping not to embarrass myself.”

“You’ll do great,” Namjoon says confidently, giving Yoongi a supportive pat on the back. “Just be your usual, charming self.”

As the crew finishes their preparations and the cameras start rolling, you stand off to the side, monitoring the setup and ensuring everything runs smoothly. The room falls silent as the red recording light flickers on.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first episode of ‘Suchwita…time to drink with Suga.’ I’m your host, Min Yoongi, and today we have a very special guest. Someone who’s not just a fellow artist but a good friend and our BTS band leader, Kim Namjoon.”

“Happy to be here,” Namjoon says with a grin. “And thanks for the drink.” He picks up his glass of whiskey and raises it in a mock toast.

Yoongi chuckles and lifts his own glass. “Cheers, Namjoon-ah. Let’s dive in. I wanted to start by talking about your new album, Indigo. It’s been out for a few days now, and it’s already making waves. How are you feeling about the responses?”

Namjoon takes a sip before answering, his demeanor relaxed. “It’s been amazing. The fans have been so supportive, and it’s really encouraging to see people connecting with the themes and messages in the album. I wanted it to be something that reflects where I am in my life right now, both musically and personally.”

“That’s something I’ve always admired about your work,” Yoongi says, his tone genuine. “You’re not afraid to be vulnerable and share your thoughts and experiences. I think that’s why so many people resonate with your music.”

“It’s something we all strive for, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies, looking thoughtful. “To create art that’s true to ourselves and that speaks to others. I think it’s all about finding that balance between vulnerability and strength that can make music so relatable. Speaking of which, I’m excited to hear more about your upcoming album, D-Day. What can fans expect?”

Yoongi takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “D-Day is a very personal project for me. It’s a reflection of my journey and everything I’ve been through, especially over the past couple of years. There’s a lot of introspection and a lot of different sounds I’ve experimented with. I wanted it to be an honest portrayal of where I am right now.”

“That sounds incredible,” Namjoon says, leaning forward. “I know the fans are going to love it. You’ve always had a way of capturing emotions in your music that’s really powerful.”

As the conversation continues, you observe Namjoon closely, impressed by his ability to articulate his thoughts with clarity and depth. Yoongi’s previous nervousness has also subsided from the way he easily navigates the conversation, speaking with a similar passion and conviction as Namjoon.

The pair have a natural rapport that is captivating to watch, and their insights into the creative process are both fascinating and inspiring.

After about an hour, when the first taping wraps up, the crew applauds as Yoongi and Namjoon stand and share a brief hug.

“Well we did it,” Yoongi says, looking relieved. “Thanks for being my first guest.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies, grinning. “You did great, Yoongi I think this show is going to be a hit.”

“Great job, both of you.” You approach the two with a smile, earning their attention. “Fans are going to love seeing you two together once this releases. It’ll set the tone for the rest of the episodes. Thanks again, Namjoon, for being here. Your support means a lot.”

“It was my pleasure,” Namjoon replies, returning your smile. “I can’t wait to see how the show turns out.”

Just as you’re about to head off to the production room, Namjoon briefly checks his phone and then looks at Yoongi. “Hey, how do you feel about grabbing some lunch at the cafeteria? It’s been a while since we had a proper meal together.”

Yoongi’s face lifts at the suggestion. “I’m up for it. I’m starving.”

Namjoon then shifts his gaze at you. “What about you __-nim?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling an obvious pang of hunger. You hadn’t eaten much this morning other than a few strawberries. However, you don’t want to intrude on their time together.

As you debate whether to decline the invitation and catch up on Taehyung’s whereabouts or attend to your next work projects, Yoongi speaks up. “The more the merrier,” he says.

“Yeah, if you don’t have anything pressing we’d love to have you join us,” Namjoon adds, the same warm smile on his face.

Your eyes shift between the two men standing in front of you, sincerity evident in their expressions.

“Okay, sure, I could go for something to eat,” you reply, nodding.

With a collective agreement, the three of you make your way to the cafeteria. Once there, Yoongi opts for a heaping plate of bulgogi, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the colorful vegetables and perfectly marinated beef. Namjoon selects a fresh, savory bowl of stir-fried noodles himself, while you choose a hearty bowl of ramen, steam rising from the rich broth.

Despite the bustling lunch hour, you manage to find a table near the large windows. The sunlight streaming through gives you a much-needed boost of energy.

“Here’s to a successful first episode,” Namjoon says, raising his glass of water in a toast.

“Cheers,” you and Yoongi respond in unison, clinking glasses.

As you start to dig into your meals, Namjoon turns to Yoongi. “So, what’s the lineup gonna look like for the next few episodes?”

Yoongi takes a sip of his drink before answering. “We’re planning on bringing in more artists from other groups, a couple of comedians, and maybe some actors. We want to keep it diverse and not just stick to musicians. But I’d also like to get the rest of our members on the show too at some point.”

“That’s smart,” Namjoon agrees, taking a bite of his noodles. “It’ll keep the conversations dynamic and appeal to a broader audience.”

“You know,” you chime in, “I think one of the strengths of ‘Suchwita’ is going to be its versatility. Yoongi, your ability to connect with people from different backgrounds will be a huge asset.”

Yoongi smiles appreciatively. “Thanks. I just hope I can keep up the energy and bring out the best in each guest.”

“You will,” Namjoon says confidently. “Just be yourself. That’s what people are tuning in for—the real Yoongi, having real conversations. Fans like seeing how well you can hold your whiskey too. It’s all part of the charm.”

Yoongi chuckles at the sheer truth of it all. “It’s nice to be able to do something like this, to be honest. Not just for the fans, but also for our colleagues who we can spotlight and bring further appreciation to.”

“I know what you mean, man.” Namjoon swallows another mouthful of noodles and then directs his attention to you. “I don’t imagine you’ll be a guest on the show will you?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’ll be in the background, like a puppet master.”

“Ah, gotta make sure hyung says the right stuff huh? Trust me, I’d be the first to understand that,” Namjoon chuckles before continuing.“I feel like you’d be a natural on the show though. I, for one, would make sure to watch.” There’s a suggestive undertone in his words but you’re quick to waive it off. It’s probably just your imagination anyway.

“I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to enjoy some old-fashioned whiskey at work,” you reply. “It’s been a long-time favorite of mine.”

“Oh, you like it too?” Namjoon’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “No wonder you and Yoongi work well together.”

Intrigued, Yoongi looks at you, and it’s now that you realize he’s chosen to take the seat next to you instead of Namjoon. If you leaned any further towards him, you’re certain you’d catch the scent of smoked wood and citrus. “I always keep a bottle in my producing room these days,” he admits, and like Namjoon there’s a slight implication behind his words.

Before entertaining any further thoughts about it, however, you playfully snort in reply. “Is that what you’re doing up there at 10 pm? Having your whiskey? Here I’ve been thinking you were busy mixing your tracks.”

Yoongi shrugs, meeting your teasing tone. “I can do both. I’m good at multitasking.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you land a gentle, but firm swat on his arm. The unsuspecting action would have taken you all aback if you weren’t already amused by the conversation. “Yoongi-ssi,” you feign a scold, “no one’s actually good at multitasking.”

“So what are you saying? I’m half-assing it?” He’s grinning ear to ear now, his gummy smile undeniably cute. For a split second, it causes a blooming sensation in the pit of your stomach. But no, stop—you fold your arms, determined to maintain composure.

“I’m just saying that I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As if in a challenge, Yoongi narrows his eyes at you while Namjoon continues watching the scene unfold from across the table, eyes darting between the two of you. “You’ll have to come up to my producing room sometime,” Yoongi says. “It’s the only way I can prove it to you.”

“Mhm, right.” You share a knowing look with Yoongi, his dark eyes dancing with what can only be described as mischief. Being that his music equipment is on the 17th floor, which is reserved for Hybe artists only, you haven’t even considered venturing to the upper halls.

“You really should see his producing room __-nim,” Namjoon chimes after being a spectator for longer than he’d like. “He’s got an insane setup up there.”

“We’ll see,” you reply simply, “Maybe.”

From the remainder of your meal, the conversation shifts to lighter topics as Yoongi recounts a funny story about trying to write lyrics late at night and accidentally sending them to his accountant instead of Taehuyng. Namjoon bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his water, while you shake your head in amused disbelief.

“Did they give you any financial advice on your lyrics?” you prob.

“Surprisingly, no.” Yoongi replies with a chuckle. “But I got a very confusing email the next morning.”

“We should do this more often,” Namjoon interjects once he finishes his noodles, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to catch up, and it’s great getting to know you too, __-nim. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say with a smile of gratitude. “It’s been nice.”

After lunch concludes, you part ways with Yoongi and Namjoon. They head off to a meeting with the rest of the members, while you return to your office to tackle a pile of reports. If you hadn’t been so focused on making your way back, you might have noticed Yoongi sneaking a final glance at you over his shoulder.

Later that evening, after a long day of preparations and discussions with your team, you finally head home. The events of the day still linger in your mind, but a sense of accomplishment accompanies your fatigue as the first episode of 'Suchwita' is already being edited for release.

How is it that tomorrow is already the first day of December? Time flies.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s a message from your parents, asking for the second time if you’ll be coming home for the holidays. You recall your mother’s earlier message mentioning someone she wanted to introduce you to—a potential husband. You had seen through her request instantly but had delayed your reply.

A pang of guilt now tugs at your heart as you finally type out your response, carefully explaining that you have a new project to film and won’t have many days off. You promise to try and visit around New Year’s instead, hoping you’ll be better mentally prepared then.

Setting your phone down, you realize you haven’t heard from Taehyung today. Usually, he checks in or shares a quick update about his schedule. You wonder if everything is alright with him but decide not to overthink it, making a mental note to reach out to him tomorrow.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, you settle down on the couch with a cup of tea. The quietness of your apartment is a stark contrast to the lively energy of the production set.

As you sip your tea, you start to relax, but then your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a message from Taehyung. You quickly open it, relieved to see his name.

Tae 💚: Hey, sorry I didn’t check earlier. It’s been a crazy day. How did the first taping go with Yoongi and Namjoon?

Smiling, you type out a reply.

You: It went really well. We should have everything edited and ready for upload by Monday. How about you? Everything okay?

Tae 💚: Good to hear! Yeah, everything’s okay on my end. Just a full day with shoots and meetings with Bang PD. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our usual lunch together 🙁

You: Me too. Maybe tomorrow?

Tae 💚: I should be able to. Let me know when you decide to head down. By the way…look [attached an image]

The second you see the image of farm-fresh strawberries in a vibrant green container, you nearly leap from your seat. You and Taehyung love fruit, especially the ones from the local farmers market where they have the best variety. You like to go every other weekend, at the same time, if you could. The only unfortunate part is that to keep down rumors, Taehyung and you often shopped separately as if strangers, then reconvened in a private location to show each other your purchases. Often, he’d come to your place for a meal afterward.

It wasn’t an ideal system since you’d like to be out with Taehyung more freely, but despite the crowds, the public was always quick to recognize him. This coming Saturday is the next time you both planned to go, but the image looks like he’s already been there.

You: What?! 😭 You went to the farmers market without me??

Tae 💚: Oh, no! I wouldn't dream of it! This is the last container I have at my house, so we need to go soon. Saturday can’t come soon enough!

You: Okay good, because I like going together haha. I need more mangos and oranges! I ate my last orange today and got sad about it.

Tae 💚: 🤣 You sound like Yoongi-hyung. He loves oranges too. The two of you have more similarities in food and drinks than I thought. Has he offered you a drink of his whiskey yet?

The question surprises you. Had Yoongi told him what happened between the two of you at lunch?

You: How did you know that?

Tae 💚: Wait, really? I was just asking because he likes to offer it to me whenever I visit him in his studio. He really asked you to have a drink with him? __?

You: Yes. After we filmed, we all decided to grab lunch. Long story short, Yoongi said he had whiskey in his producing room and said I should come up sometime. I haven’t even been to the 17th floor yet.

Tae 💚: You should take him up on the offer! Go see what he’s got going on up there __. His studio is pretty immaculate.

You: Hmm, I don't know. It was a pretty informal invite, to be honest, and I’m not technically allowed up there.

Tae 💚: Don’t think so much about it. It’s clear that you and Yoongi are work partners now, so no one will think twice about you being on the floor. Also, you can always come up and visit me. I’m down the hall from Yoongi’s room.

You: We’ll see.

Tae 💚: What? You don’t want to come up and see me? I always visit you. 😭

You: Fine, fine. I’ll come up to see you one of these days, but only you. I have no business knocking on Yoongi’s door while he’s busy with his album tracks.

Tired, you shut off your phone. Your thoughts drift back to the moments shared with Yoongi and Namjoon during lunch. It was nice getting to know Namjoon for the first time, as you’ve been curious about him since he’s been the leader of BTS for the past nine years. There’s a similarity you both share; leadership experience.

You feel like you got closer to Yoongi as well, with the way you both easily responded to each other’s quips. But where did that playful swat come from? That’s the kind of behavior you reserve for friends only. Was Yoongi starting to become more than a colleague?

The idea sends an unexpected rush through your veins.

With the first of December being tomorrow, it’s coming up on three weeks of working side by side with Yoongi. You meant it when you said working with him has been enjoyable, as you’ve found that his meticulous nature complements your own. His dry humor is one you’ve particularly come to appreciate too.

Yes, finding common ground on some decisions can be tricky. There have been moments where you’ve both stood firm on your perspectives, each believing in the merit of your ideas. However, even amid disagreement, there is always mutual respect extended toward each other. Yoongi listens intently, considering your points before responding, and you do the same for him.

Given the nature of it all, you have a feeling you’ll become better acquainted not only with Yoongi but also with the rest of his members. After all, you’re already best friends with Taehyung, who’s quite the networker. He’s been your anchor in this new environment since day one, to be honest, always ready with a smile or a word of encouragement.

Taking another sip of your tea, you lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling, lost in thought.

You should truly learn to savor the quiet moments because, for the remainder of the week, you don’t get a second to spare. Lunch with Taehyung was abruptly cut short by an unforeseen team emergency, and Yoongi’s packed schedule left little room for more than fleeting glimpses. By the time Saturday morning rolls around, you consider yourself fortunate to have the weekend mostly free of work demands.

The crisp chill of early December invigorates you as you wake up refreshed, eager for the farmers market trip you’ve been looking forward to all week. After a quick breakfast, you bundle up in a cozy scarf and jacket and head to the familiar meeting spot where you and Taehyung always begin your market visits.

When you arrive, Taehyung is already there, a familiar baseball cap perched on his head to help keep a low profile. He looks up and waves when he sees you, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hey! You made it," Taehyung says as you approach.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss this," you reply, grinning back. "I need my mango and orange fix."

"Well, you're in luck. They have some really good ones today," he says, carefully pointing towards the nearby stalls that overflow with colorful fruits. The market appears to be alive with vibrant colors and enticing scents, and as the crowds grow, vendors enthusiastically call out their specials, adding to the lively atmosphere.

“See you on the other side?” you ask.

He nods, and you both venture into the market, maintaining an appropriate distance but always within sight. You exchange occasional glances and smiles while picking out the ripest mangos, juiciest oranges, and a few baskets of the strawberries he teased you about earlier in the week.

As you weave through the stalls, you soon get lost in the joy of discovering fresh, local products, comforted by the knowledge that Taehyung's just a few stalls away.

After about an hour, you reconvene at a quiet corner of the market, both carrying bags filled with fruits and other goodies.

"Successful haul?" Taehyung asks, eyeing your bags.

"Definitely," you reply, holding up a mango triumphantly. "How about you?"

"Got everything I wanted," he says, showing off his own bags filled with strawberries, grapes, and a few other items. "These will be perfect for a smoothie, or a fruit salad."

"How about we head back to my place and one of those? If you have time."

“Yes, I definitely have time,” he agrees, a genuine excitement in his voice.

Just as you start walking towards your apartment, a sudden movement catches your eye—a rogue orange rolling towards your feet.

Puzzled, you pick it up and look around, thinking it must have come from a nearby vendor or another shopper.

"Looks like you've found your orange," Taehyung remarks with a chuckle.

Just then, you spot a familiar figure sprinting towards you, with another following closely behind.

"Namjoon, seriously? I asked you to hold the bag for not even five seconds!" Yoongi calls out, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You're going to start a fruit-rolling revolution."

“Hey, it got away from me, man!” Namjoon defends his clumsiness, laughing. “Sorry about that," he adds sheepishly, not yet realizing who he's approaching.

“__-nim!” He abruptly stops in his tracks when he recognizes you and Taehyung in front of him. You offer the orange to him instinctively, feeling a bit startled.

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, taking the orange from your hand. He looks you straight in the eye, then at Taehyung before slowly breaking into a full smile. “I thought I saw the two of you back there, but Yoongi didn't believe me. When did you guys get here? Yoongi and I arrived about twenty minutes ago."

"About an hour ago," Taehyung replies casually.

"Man, you should have let us know. We could have come as a group!”

The remark catches you off guard, as this is the first time the four of you have been in such close proximity, let alone on a group outing.

Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly in response. “I had plans with __.”

Namjoon chuckles, glancing between all of you. “Well hey, I understand. I’m just saying, I’d be fun to hang out outside of work sometime.”

“But, this is our thing,” Taehyung counters, a bit possessively, in a platonic sense, of course.

Beside Namjoon, Yoongi stands with a single bag of oranges in his hand and nothing else. His eyes widen slightly at Taehyung's words, glancing at the bag of oranges nestled among the other fruits you're holding.

"You have a thing?" Yoongi asks, his tone a mix of genuine surprise and a hint of amusement.

"Yeah, we come here often," Taehyung answers, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're both fruit fanatics!"

"Right," Yoongi nods slowly, seeming to process this new information. "Well, it makes sense then. This is the best place to get the freshest fruit.”

“Is that a pineapple, Tae?” Namjoon’s eyes instantly light up when they spot the spiky fruit peeking out of one of Taehyung’s grocery bags.

A grin spreads across Taehyung’s face, like oil on water. “Yeah, it is. I found it at a little hidden stall. It’s easier to show you than to explain. I can take you over if you’d like.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon agrees eagerly, then glances over at you and Yoongi. “You guys coming too?” You both exchange a quick look before shaking your head.

"We'll stay here," you say. "The crowd's a bit much."

"Alright, we’ll be back in a few minutes,” Taehyung nods. He and Namjoon begin weaving their way back into the bustling market, leaving you and Yoongi in the quiet corner.

Yoongi leans against a nearby wall and lets out a contented sigh. “This is nice. It’s been a hell of a week.”

You nod, taking a moment to appreciate the calmness as well. “It has. But look,” you gesture casually to each other’s bags, “at least we scored some amazing fruit from it.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “So we did. I’m tempted to have one of my oranges now, but I think I'll save them for later. How’s the rest of the weekend looking for you by the way?”

Just some editing work for 'Suchwita' and maybe a bit of relaxation. What about you?"

“I might grab a few drinks with Namjoon, but I plan on spending most of my time in the studio. I’ve been fine-tuning my album tracks and recently discovered a new artist who’s been a huge source of inspiration.”

“Really?” You’re beyond intrigued, always open to hearing about new music. “Who are they?”

Yoongi gives you a knowing look. “I think you’re already pretty familiar with them.” A sparkle beams in his eyes as he waits for you to connect the dots. It takes you a few seconds before your entire face lights up with a big smile.

“No way,” you exclaim, “The Last Shadow Puppets?!”

He nods, returning your smile. Yoongi’s admission about The Last Shadow Puppets sends a warm thrill through you.

“I’m glad you gave them a listen,” you say with a pleased grin. “I consider Alex Turner to be one of the best, if not the best, lyricists of all time.”

“Well, I might just have to agree with you there. The depth of his lyrics are pretty damn genius. After you mentioned the band the other day, I got curious and decided to dive into their discography. I’ve listened to everything they’ve put out now, all in one sitting.” He pauses, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

It’s as if he’s proud to share this with you.

“I didn’t realize you had such an impressive ear for music, __-ssi,” he adds, teasing lightly.

“Excuse you? I’ve been known to have impeccable taste, for your information,” you fire back, feigning offense. "I might even have better taste than you."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Is that so?”

You nod confidently. "Absolutely. I've got a knack for finding hidden gems."

“Alright then, impress me. Recommend me something else. What's the next masterpiece on your list?”

You lean in closer, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh, I could do that," you begin, "but then you'd owe me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi's eyes widen slightly, a similar competitiveness reflecting in his gaze. "Bold words. Are you sure you can back them up?"

“There’s no doubt I can, Yoongi-ssi. Have you ever listened to 'Candy' by Paolo Nutini? If you haven't, you're seriously missing out."

"Candy? I don't think I know that one."

"You're in for a treat then,” you reply. "'Candy' is one of those songs that hook you from the first listen. Give it a try, and if you don't fall in love with it, I'll cook you kimchi jigae for lunch on Monday. But if you do love it, you're buying me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi chuckles, unable to resist the challenge. "Alright, deal. I can't say no, especially with Taehyung showing off the food you make for him nearly every chance he gets. You’re quite the cook, it seems.”

With a satisfied grin, you pull out your phone. "I'll send you the link to the song so it'll be easier for you to find when you get a chance to listen."

Yoongi nods, already unlocking his phone. “Challenge accepted. But if I end up not loving it, I'm holding you to that bowl of kimchi jigae.”

“Sure thing,” you reply, unfazed. “But I’m already looking forward to those cigarettes, Yoongi-ssi. Make sure you get the good ones, okay?”

Yoongi chuckles in reply, shaking his head in amusement.

“I promise. Only the best ones for you, __-ssi.”

Monday arrives sooner than expected with the highly anticipated release of the first episode of 'Suchwita'. You're certain that the new production will be well received by the audience, but you know better than to prematurely declare its success. Even after approving the final edits over the weekend, you remind yourself to remain mindful of unexpected challenges lurking around the corner—roadblocks and last-minute changes that continually test your team's resolve.

Throughout the day, as the clock ticks towards evening, you monitor the episode's reception with bated breath. The first reviews trickle in within minutes, and initial viewer reactions are positive, gradually easing some of your tension.

By just past 7 pm, 'Suchwita' earns over three million views, its popularity evident as it spreads rapidly across the globe.

Amidst this whirlwind of emotions and the constant rush of notifications, a familiar buzz from your phone interrupts your thoughts.

Yoongi: Looks like I owe you some cigarettes

You smile, immediately recalling the recent wager the two of you made about Paolo Nutini's "Candy”. Truth be told, Yoongi’s reaction to the song has kept you on edge for days.

You: So, do you believe I have a good ear for music now? 🙃 I’m pleased you enjoyed the song, by the way.

Yoongi: It appears I do. The cigarettes are in my production room. Come by if you're up for it.

You blink at the screen, taken aback. Yoongi's producing room was his sanctuary, a place so personal and significant that the thought of being in that space felt almost invasive. You recall his casual remark last Wednesday about coming up to take a look, though it was unclear if it was just banter or a genuine invitation.

You: You sure it's okay for me to come up there? I don't want to disturb your creative zone.

Sending the message, you wait, half-expecting him to retract the invitation or reassure you in some way. Instead, his reply comes almost instantly.

Yoongi: It's quiet here, and I wouldn’t mind some good company.

Your mind wrestles with curiosity and caution as you reread the text. After a moment's deliberation, you type your response.

You: Okay, I can come up for a few minutes

Once in front of the 17th floor where Yoongi’s production room is located, you pull out your phone to send him a text, notifying him of your arrival and the need to be let in. Just as you're about to send the message, however, the door suddenly swings open.

Standing before you is a man with soft eyes, gently pushing the door open. It's Park Jimin, looking visibly surprised to find you standing just inches away from the entrance. Behind him, Jungkook nearly bumps into him from the abrupt halt.

"Hey there," Jimin says, his surprise quickly transforming into a welcoming smile. "You must be __-nim, Yoongi's marketing manager, right?"

You nod, slightly unprepared for how quickly they've identified you. "Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you, Jimin, Jungkook," you reply warmly, extending your hand in greeting. Meeting them was inevitable, but you didn’t expect it to happen tonight.

Jungkook grins and nods in acknowledgment. "Nice to meet you too, __-nim. I’m guessing you’re here to see Yoongi-hyung?”

“For a little bit, yes.”

"Come on in then.” Jimin steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. “If Yoongi's expecting you, you're more than welcome. We'd take you straight to him if we weren't rushing off to a last-minute photoshoot. His room's just down the hall on the left. You can’t miss it."

“I completely understand,” you assure them gratefully. “Thank you both. It was nice meeting you.”

With a final smile, the pair exits the floor, leaving you to continue down the hallway.

It doesn't take long before you spot a slightly ajar door on the far left, casting a warm glow into the corridor—undeniably Yoongi’s production room. Without hesitation, you approach and knock gently on the dark oak, but there's no response. Trying again yields the same silence, leaving you uncertain if he can hear you. Deciding it may be better to push the door open, you do so with caution.

Inside Yoongi's production room, the atmosphere is cozy, filled with an array of musical instruments, a decent-sized couch, scattered music sheets, and a softly glowing computer screen displaying complex audio tracks. Taehyung and Namjoon were absolutely right when they said his space is immaculate because as you take in the details around you, you too conclude that it’s one of a kind.

Yoongi himself is at his desk, leaning over with an expression of intense focus. You're prepared to make a playful remark to capture his attention, but as Yoongi looks up, his bloodshot eyes stop you short. They are reddened and slightly glazed, with dark circles underneath—a stark contrast to the usual sharpness and clarity in his gaze. Even his posture seems weighed down by exhaustion, indicating just how hard he's been pushing himself, perhaps too hard.

“I see you found the place alright," he smiles weakly, though he does his best to keep his tone uplifted. "I’m glad you could come."

“Yoongi-ssi, are you okay?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, concern only tightening in your chest as you realize the extent of the strain he must be under.

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the fatigue etched into his face. “I might have overdone it this weekend,” he confesses, his voice heavy with weariness. “I’ve been working on this track nonstop, trying to get it just right. I just don’t think it’s good enough yet, and the minute I think I’ve finally made a break though, I’m back to square one.” Seeing him so drained and filled with self-doubt stirs something protective within you.

“Your work is incredible, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “You pour so much of yourself into it, constantly striving for perfection, and that dedication is admirable. But sometimes, it’s important to take a step back, breathe, and allow yourself to be proud of your work. I believe in your talent as both an artist and a producer, and I'm confident that your music will be exactly what it needs to be.”

Yoongi looks at you for a moment, his tired eyes searching yours as if assessing your sincerity. Slowly, a small, appreciative smile forms on his lips. "Thanks," he murmurs, the weariness in his voice tempered by a hint of gratitude. "I think I needed to hear some of that tonight.”

Without another word, he leans back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. His shoulders visibly relax, and for a brief moment, the weight of exhaustion seems to ease.

"Do you want to talk about what you've been working on?” you ask. “Sometimes bouncing ideas around helps."

Yoongi nods slowly, looking thoughtful. "Maybe that's exactly what I need right now," he admits, his tone more relaxed than before. He gestures to the leather couch near his desk, inviting you to sit.

As you settle into the comfortable leather couch, Yoongi begins to share his thoughts. He speaks about the challenges he's encountered with the track, detailing moments of doubt and frustration.

"I've been wrestling with this melody for weeks," he admits, leaning forward slightly. "It's like I can hear it in my head, but every time I try to put it down, it slips away."

He describes how he struggled to find the right melody, the perfect rhythm, and the lyrics that would convey exactly what he wanted to express.

"I want this track to resonate with people on a deeper level," he says earnestly, his eyes reflecting his determination. “But it's been tough trying to balance the beat with the lyrics."

As he delves deeper into his creative process, you notice a shift in his demeanor. His voice becomes more animated, his gestures more expressive as he shares anecdotes about late-night studio sessions, where ideas flowed freely, and moments of clarity when everything seemed to click into place.

"It's moments like those," he reflects with a smile, "that remind me why I love what I do."

Throughout the conversation, you offer supportive nods and occasional insights, encouraging Yoongi to explore different angles or suggesting ideas that might complement his vision. It becomes clear that bouncing ideas around, as you suggested earlier, is indeed helping him to clarify his thoughts and reignite his creative spark.

"You know," he muses after a thoughtful pause, "it's rare to find someone who gets it—understands the drive, the struggle. Most people just see the end result, not what it takes to get there."

You nod again, silently acknowledging the depth of what he shares. "I'm glad I can be here for you," you reply sincerely. "It means a lot that you trust me with this."

"Would you like a drink? Some whiskey, maybe?" Yoongi pops the question out of nowhere, catching you off guard, yet you don’t decline the offer.

"Sure, but only if you promise to get some rest after," you counter, half-joking, half-serious. He chuckles in response.

Rising from his seat, Yoongi walks to a small cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. As he pours the amber liquid, the room seems to exhale with him, the earlier tension melting away.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asks, handing you a glass of whiskey and gesturing to the space beside you on the couch.

You nod in acceptance and take a sip of your drink, feeling the warmth of the whiskey spread through you.

"Thanks for coming up here," Yoongi says, his voice noticeably more relaxed than before. ”I didn't realize how much I needed a break until tonight.”

You nod, understanding the weight of creative pressures and the relentless pursuit of perfection. "It's important to recharge," you reply gently, raising your glass. "To moments like this—where we can step back and just be."

Yoongi clinks his glass against yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "To moments like this," he echoes, taking a sip.

As the conversation flows, the evening unfolds into a rhythm of shared stories, musings about life, and occasional quiet moments where the only sound is the soft hum of the room.

“__-ssi,” he starts, swirling the whiskey in his glass, "I should really get you up here more often. This could be a thing. Whiskey breaks in my producing room."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Count me in," you reply, raising your glass once more.

"And before I forget," Yoongi chuckles, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, "I owe you for introducing me to some new, kick-ass music."

"Why, thank you," you reply with a smile. "Much appreciated. You got the good kind too. You spoil me, Yoongi-ssi."

“You’re welcome. Can I be honest for a second though?”

“Sure.”

“Part of me was actually hoping I’d dislike ‘Candy’ because I had a feeling you make a mean kimchi jigae. But the song was too good; I had to pay it respect.”

“I told you you’d fall in love with it, Yoongi-ssi” you say, perhaps a bit cheekier than intended. “Let's start a new wager: I'll make my special homemade kimchi jigae for you.”

"Really?" His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas day.

"Yes, I will," you giggle, "as long as you keep taking my music recommendations."

"Deal," he says firmly, setting down his glass. He extends his hand for you to shake, and you both laugh at his sudden goofiness. “Thanks again for tonight, __-ssi, for everything.”

“Of course,” you reply. “I told you we’re teammates now, didn’t I?”

“After tonight, I think we could be friends too.”

As you both linger in the moment, the studio's door swings open, and a voice calls out, "Hey, Yoongi, are you still here?"

Yoongi glances towards the door and then back at you with a playful smirk. "Looks like I've got more company," he says, nodding towards the doorway.

I’ll let you get back to work," you say, gesturing towards his mixing board. "Can't wait to hear more of these tracks."

"Thanks," he says warmly, appreciating your encouragement. "And about that kimchi jigae…"

"You haven't forgotten?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Never,” he replies with a grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

With a final wave, you leave Yoongi to his work, wondering if perhaps being friends wasn't so far-fetched after all. Only time would tell.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[tiedyeflannels]

Stay Where You Are

Kim Namjoon x f!reader

Chapter 1 | Masterlist

A/N: Hi and welcome to my new series!! I've been dying to start writing this, but I told myself that I needed to finish Adventure of a Lifetime first and now that it's done... Anyway, just like before, there won't be a set updating schedule, so I'll post whenever I'm done with a chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Beep… Beep… Beep…

You slowly start to open your eyes at the sound of beeping next to where you were laying. Looking around the dark room, you squint at the heart monitor as your blurry vision started to clear. Realizing where you are, you quickly sat up which made your head spin and a sharp pain run through your ribs. 

You instinctively grab your side as you cough and wince at the pain. While trying to remember what had gotten you to the hospital, an attending nurse opened the door and walked into the room for a routine check-up just to notice that you’re up.

Her eyes widen slightly in disbelief, “Oh, you’re up! How are you feeling?”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The nurse gave a small smile.

“Don’t force yourself, sweetheart. You’ve been through a lot.”

You nodded as you watched her look at the monitor and write some things down on the clipboard before turning to you.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you since you just woke up, but do you remember anything from your accident?”

You racked your brain to see if you could recall anything that happened that would end you up in the hospital, but all there was were flashes of memories.

Closing your eyes to try and pinpoint what exactly happened, all you got was incoherent yelling, the sound of rain hitting the pavement, and a car horn with a bright flash before pain shot through your head, making you hold it with a pained groan.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, “I’ll call your emergency contacts to let them know you’re up. They should arrive shortly. Until then, get some rest.”

You nodded as you watched her walk out of the room and into the hallway before you laid back down and let out a sigh.

~

“Y/n! How are you feeling,” Ha-rin all but ran into the room and over to me.

She grabbed my hand and held it to her chest as she waited for me to answer. I cleared my throat before letting out a raspy, “Fine.”

She sighed a breath of relief, “You scared us. Everyone was so worried about you.” 

I gave her a sad smile, “I’m sorry I made you worry. I don’t think I had ‘end up in the hospital’ on my list last night.”

She furrowed her brows as she gave me confused look. “Y/n… your accident happened two weeks ago.”

Your eyes widened in shock.

Two weeks!? I’ve been unconscious for two weeks?

You slowly nodded at the realization of everything you must’ve missed while you were unknowingly in the hospital.

There was a knock on the door that pulled you from the impending downward spiral you were about to go down at the thought of what you had missed. Looking over to the door, the doctor walked in with a smile of his face.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Y/n?”

“I’m okay.”

He looked at some papers on his clipboard before looking back at you. 

“It looks like all of vitals are stable. You do seem to have some amnesia, but that’s pretty common when you suffer this kind of trauma. Other than that, your wounds seem to be healing fine so if you don’t have any concerns, you should be discharged soon.”

Sighing in relief, you nodded at the doctor’s words as he rounded the hospital bed to look at the monitor while you went back to talking with Ha-rin. 

The sound of faint, but hurried footsteps could be heard from the hallway as Namjoon ran up to the receptionist desk.

“Hi,” he said as he tried his best to catch his breath, “I’m here to see Y/n L/n.”

The secretary looked up and immediately recognized him from the amount of times he’s come through to visit you. 

She smiled, “Okay. I’ll just have you fill this out.”

She placed a clipboard and pen on top of the counter in from of him. He quickly took the pen and skimmed the paper he had filled out so many times. Once he was done, he slid it back to the receptionist before walking to your room with haste.

Passing by the other rooms, he took note of the names and numbers by the doors just in case they had moved you. Looking at the plaque by the familiar door, he read “Room 613, Y/n L/n”.

Peeking into the room, Namjoon felt relief wash over him as he saw that you were standing up and talking with the nurse.

Having his feet take him to you, he was overjoyed that you were seemingly okay.

“Y/n/n, I’m so glad that you’re alright, “ he said before pulling you into a warm and careful embrace.

Your eyes widened in slight surprise at the hug. Namjoon pulled away, but still made sure to keep his hands on you because he was afraid that something would happen if he let go.

“I was so scared that I had lost you. Are you okay,” he asked while eyeing you up and down, checking for anything that the doctors might have missed, but everything seemed to be taken care of.

You smiled.

“I’m alright. Thank you for your concern…” you drawed out as your smile slowly faded into a slightly confused expression.

“I’m sorry, but… do I know you?”

Taglist:

@maple-leaves-in-the-wind

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

III. peters, peters, peters.

parts: previously / next plot: what’s in a name, anyway? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: angst, fluff, lots of feelings, lots of unresolved feelings, protective!peter, a whole lot of overthinking on your part, two steps forward one step back, j jonah jameson jumpscare. words: 4.5k.

a/n: don’t look at me,,, it has been almost THREE years since I updated this series. a lot has changed for peter in the mcu since then....... anyway hope you enjoy ^^

It’s such an ordinary name, “Peter”. There were probably a million Peters in the state of New York alone. Peters of all colors, shapes, sizes. Peters in high school. Peters who were fathers. Peters in punk bands. Peters working bodegas. Peters in retirement. Peters in your house.

Your hand is slack in his grip. His smile wobbles as you stare through your lashes, struggling to comprehend what you’ve just heard. Of course he would spring this on you when you’re least prepared to hear it.

When it becomes evident that you’re just going to sit there gaping like a fish out of water, Spidey releases your hand and backs away. Unconsciously, you follow.

Your knees dig into the arm of the couch, then your feet touch the floor one by one, all the while keeping eye contact with the Spider. Afraid he’ll slip away. He has a wall up all of a sudden. Every time you step too close he puts a little distance between you again.

“That was…  not the best time to do that, huh?” Spidey- Peter is all over the place now. Your living room is as familiar to him as the name “Spidey” is to you, yet now both of you were out of your depth with either. “You know when you have a really good idea in your head, and then you say it out loud and it doesn’t sound as good as you planned? But you’ve already said it, so you’ve gotta stick by it-”

“Peter.” He stumbles at the name. So it definitely belonged to him. You feel strange calling him anything other than Spidey, “Why’d you tell me your name?”

“Peter”. Peter worries his bottom lip. You wondered if he did that all the time, discreetly, beneath the mask he’d chosen to leave up this time. “Because... I’m not good at stuff like this. You know? I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Trusted the wrong people, made stupid decisions. One thing they don’t prepare you for in superhero school is how to keep a secret identity. I mean, Iron Man had one for all of two seconds and I- well, I’ve never known life without one. So when I met you, and you never asked or bargained... I knew. You know? Not like when I was a stupid kid and didn’t really know. I knew. Even when you had the chance to unmask me, you never took it. It’s... my name. And it’s a lot. But I trust you.”

He stops worrying his lip. He’s still now, watching you through those prodding white eyes.

It’s weird. A week ago, you only knew the figure that was Spider-Man. Now, in your living room, half his face exposed and his name (such an ordinary name, and still so much) feeling full in your mouth, a boundary had been crossed.

No, not a boundary. A threshold. Your threshold. The threshold of this living room that was so familiar to him as Spider-Man, now being crossed for the first time. As “Peter”.

If Jameson was a fly on the wall, he’d have you tracking down every Peter within an eighty mile radius right about now.

You fall back against the arm of your couch and Peter reaches out to you, fingers outstretched but never confident enough to make contact. You look winded, you’re sure.

The only thing that snaps you out of it is when he pulls down his mask, “It’s late. You really should get some sleep. You’ve got work in the morning, right?”

He’s bouncing backwards, sliding your window up and gracefully climbing out onto your fire escape before you can call out with a weak “Peter!”

But your voice barely echoes after him into the night. He leaps off your fire escape and out of sight by the time you reach your window on shaky legs. His red and blue is nowhere to be seen, as if he’d never been there at all. Your stomach is doing flip after flip and you brace yourself against the window sill for some kind of support.

You’d known him for so long as Spidey—just Spidey—and yet this new name was finding a home on your tongue all the same.

As much as you would have liked to heed Peter’s warning, you, in fact, did not get any sleep.

You’d stayed in a weird, shocked daze from the moment he left, barely having the wits about you to crawl into bed. Even then, you continued to stare off into the dark wondering if, by some magic or cosmic design, you had made all this up in your head. Some mad blogger pretending to know Spider-Man. Know him so well that he kept record of your favorite snacks, had baked with you in your kitchen, had a favorite mug of yours, gave you his name. His real name.

But maybe it wasn’t real? Maybe he’d grown tired of being called Spidey, maybe he wanted to give you an alias that felt more natural? Perhaps he wasn’t a Peter. Maybe he was a Preston or a Pedro...

...but then he said he trusted you. And if Peter was a lie, then that too was a lie. And as much as your frenzied mind would have liked to entertain the idea, the reality was that there was no one else like you to him. What he had started with you had never been done before. Unless he was lying about that too, and Spider-Man never gave the impression he had that kind of time on his hands.

You felt like a little kid, sitting on your hands or busying yourself with menial tasks to distract yourself. He’d been wicked, that Peter, for giving you so much. His voice, his name, his trust. He’d given it all to you willingly. He trusted you. You could slap rhinestones on your forehead and start spinning from the ceiling like a disco ball right now. 

Your jitters don’t go unnoticed by your boss, unfortunately, because your name is barked at you the minute you head for your third cup of coffee that afternoon. Nearly spilling it all over yourself, you brace for the inevitable, “Yes, sir?”

Jameson was an irritable man of average stature, but he carried himself like a blimp, inflating the space with his temper and bellow suffocating you all up the walls. He rarely spoke in an octave below a shout, and when he did, he was often working up to it. Your favorite day on the job thus far was when he’d come down with a serious case of strep throat, “Your last article was trash,” he delivers the news as a greeting, giving you no room to argue, “I need you to cover the Stark Charity Ball this Friday.”

You blink, “Me?”

“Am I talking to the coffee machine? Yes, you!” 

The Stark Charity Ball had become an annual tradition over the years, an effort on behalf of the late Tony Stark and the surviving Pepper Potts to keep the dream of science alive. The ball was like any other rich person event: full of Forbes’ 30 under 30, the 0.001% of the 1%, and more PhDs in one room than you’d ever reasonably come across in your lifetime. It also wasn’t your scene. You make that clear, “It’s not really my scene.” 

Exasperated, Jameson begins walking to his office. You know better than to not follow. “I don’t care if it’s not your scene,” he mocks you, “Jillian’s still out on maternity leave and I don’t trust any other bozos to get me the scoop I need. You, on the other hand, could pass for half-decent. That’s why I need you to make it your scene.”

“But sir, I do crime journalism. I’m not a… ‘stand around and ask billionaires what they think about the stock market’ type of journalist.”

“You won’t be asking about the stock market. You’ll be asking about Wilson Fisk.”

That catches your attention. You pass the threshold of his office, “Fisk? What for?”

Jameson takes a harsh swig of his coffee and starts ruffling one-handed through some files on his desk, “I have a few sources claiming he’ll be at the ball.”

“How’d he even get invited?” By no means was Fisk so socially controversial that being invited to an event like this was unthinkable, but his involvement in the city’s less-than-savory underbelly was more than just rumor. The Pepper Potts wouldn’t entertain that. Tony Stark sure hadn’t.

“He wasn’t, but I trust my sources just like I trust that fat wallet of his to get him through the door. I need you to be there when he is. I’ve got a hunch you’ll get something good. Besides, you won’t be going it alone.” Jameson eyes you excitedly nibbling your thumb nail, his gaze judging, “Still wanna put up a fight about it?”

Damn him, he knew you too well.

“Who’s coming with me?”

Jameson rolls his eyes, “Parker, of course. Despite all his whining. He won’t be on the floor with you all night but he will be there.”

Your interest, already piqued, intensifies. “Parker? You mean the Spidey Stalker?”

As owner of the Web-Blog, the early days of Spider-Man had largely been photographed through citizens on fuzzy phones or street cameras and the news. It wasn’t until someone new had come onto the scene, getting the best pictures of Spidey to date: a (mostly) anonymous freelancer who Jameson exclusively referred to as Parker. You never saw him, even when you tried to.

He sent his photos by email, rarely came by the office, and those of your coworkers that had caught a glimpse had only ever insisted that you weren’t “missing out on anything”. His credit in every article on the web-slinger was simply “P. B. Parker”.

His photos were fucking amazing, and nobody knew anything else about him.

You feel a tingle of curiosity that hadn’t been there before. It would be all too easy, too convenient, if... 

“If I’m right—and I always am—Fisk is gonna make a scene and Spider-Man’s gonna have a hand in the pie. He’ll probably swing in and destroy a few million dollars worth of charitable contributions to the needy before ‘saving the day’. Orchestrating the whole thing for good publicity, no doubt...”

You keep your lips sealed on that matter. You’d fought the good fight plenty of times and always managed to come out the loser, somehow. Instead, you think about Parker. How funny would it be if you became friends with the only other person at the Daily Bugle whose contributions in the Spidey community rivaled yours? Maybe you could get him to release some never before seen shots of Spidey for the blog. Or for yourself. But mainly for the blog.

At the very least, meeting him could put that silly thought out of your mind. Among other things. “Is there a budget for my outfit?”

You hear her before she approaches.

In all your time working at the Daily Bugle, you had never seen a hair on Jillian Reyes’ head out of place. She commanded awe whenever she entered a room, taking Jameson’s verbal beatings and spitting them right back at him. She was a powerhouse of a woman with the charm to make her perfect for the culture beat of NYC.

Even now, as her wife struggled to put their newborn to rest, she had a smile about a mile wide waiting for you at the front door. She’s crushing you in a hug before you even get the chance to say hello, “It’s so good to see you! I feel like I haven’t been to the office in forever,” she shoves you back an inch just to look you in the eyes, “tell me: how’s JJ treating you?”

“Like I’ve just handed him a parking ticket.”

Jillian replies with a pitying smile and lets you in. “You know, when JJ told me you’d be taking the charity ball feature, I had a feeling he muscled you into it.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your time off,” Jillian leads you to her office, your hands wringing each other for something to do, “I just... I’m not exactly built for this kind of thing.”

“Nonsense! You’ve covered plenty of brouhahas in your time. What’s the difference between covering a robbery and a charity ball?”

“A lot, actually. A lot.”

Jillian immediately sits in the nearest chair, looking winded just from the walk here. You take the seat across from her, minding a burp cloth. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few Richie Riches. They’ll only bite if you tell them you’re for the taking. All you’ve gotta do is channel that fearlessness you have when you’re covering the crime beat and you’ll be fine.”

“But, Jill, I’m not you. You’re... exciting, and personable, and funny. You can fit in places like that. I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention that Jameson wants me to keep tabs on Wilson Fisk while I’m there.”

Jillian suddenly lurches forward, her scent of baby powder circling around you, “Wilson Fisk is gonna be there? Maternity leave be damned. I’ll take the article off your hands.”

“Ah, no you will not,” you press your hands to her shoulders as she makes a move to get up, no doubt intent on berating Jameson to let her back early, “you just had a baby. The last place you need to be is in the same room as Kingpin.”

She sinks back into her seat with a pout that could rival her newborn’s. “So... JJ thinks Fisk’s got something planned?” When you nod, her brows draw together in thought, “And he’s making you go all alone?”

“No. Not alone. With... Parker.”

Jillian doesn’t always wear her emotions on her face. With the types of people she interviews, she has to have something of a poker face, but you can see everything when you say Parker’s name.

Her eyes light up like two jades hit by the sun. She scoops your hands up in hers and you try not to focus on the vague stickiness of them. You didn’t want or need to know what part of the baby played a part in it, “The Spidey Stalker? Do you... do you think Spider-Man is gonna show up?”

You swallow much harder than necessary.

The truth was that you had yet to even mention any of this to him. Part of you hoped that Jameson’s sources were wrong and that come Thursday (if the web-slinger found it in him to grace your fire escape once more), he’d fact check the news and that would be that.

But first, you’d have to talk to him. Talk to Peter.

Your paths had crossed a few times in the line of duty but this was Kingpin, the man behind the attack that had started this whole mess with Spidey. His lackeys had done a number on him, you hated to imagine what Fisk could pull in person.

You feel Jillian squeeze your hands and that brings you back to reality. “Maybe. He’s the only one who could stop him if he plans to do something... the only one around to do something.”

Your co-worker’s face has morphed from wonder into worry. For a moment, the way she’s looking at you is almost maternal, ��You should really be careful. I love a good story as much as you but JJ sounds sure this’ll get ugly. I don’t care if Parker wants to stick around for Spider-Man, you hightail it outta there as soon as shit hits the fan, okay?”

You know she’s right to warn you. You’d do the same if it was the other way around. “Yeah, of course, Jill.”

But if shit were to hit the fan... did you really want to be anywhere else?

You tell yourself you’re not avoiding the inevitable. You fuss over tomorrow’s outfit and scrub at your nicest shoes, not because you need something to busy your hands or your mind, but because you’ve got to be ready. You keep your back to the window while you iron, not because you’d probably lose hours just staring out into the dark waiting for him to swing by, but because you... well, you would think of a better excuse later.

Time began to tick away as you consumed yourself in tasks. Sometimes, when your skin prickled in that telltale way, you’d look to the windows, but it was hard to see anything but your reflection and the speckles of city light swallowing the last rays of sunset.

At some point, when your eyes began to imagine his shape on the dark of your fire escape, you forced yourself to the kitchen for tea.

Tea (and hot cocoa and coffee) had become a staple of your evenings together, the method kneaded into your hands until eventually, frustratingly, you found yourself staring at a Hulkitty cup with no idea if you should bother filling it up. He liked cream and honey in his, it’d suck to leave it out for too long.

Just as you’re debating putting it out of your line of sight, the lighting in your apartment dims.

It’s silent, other than the kettle bubbling and the ever-present drone of the city. You look past the kitchen and into the living room where the overhead light’s been shut off and the window left open a crack. All that you can see is all that the lamp light touches.

Then there’s a knock. It’s timid, so quiet you probably wouldn’t have heard it if you were still stuck in your own thoughts. For some reason, you’re glued to your spot.

The shape your brain had been imagining was there again.

When you continue to stand still, the window opens, revealing one leg after the other until he’s standing in your living room. Mask down. You think that the awkwardness is on behalf of your last encounter at first, until... “Don’t go.”

Something is off. Spidey—the hero you met first—had never sounded so severe. Even when the city beat him down, he managed to crack a joke. Put a little humor in his voice. Keep the tone light, make you think that even the things that hurt him couldn’t keep him down for long.

Peter—the hero before you now—didn’t bother. Perhaps he’d unmasked more than just his name that night.

You leave the kitchen, kettle abandoned, tip-toeing around the last time you’d seen each other to get to the heart of his words, “What are you talking about?”

“The ball. Don’t go.” He shifts in place. Something else you’d learned about Spidey was that he couldn’t stay still for long. There’s still a whole room of space between the two of you and you see him rock forward onto the balls of his feet like a runner preparing to take off at the sound of a whistle.

The longer you stand there, confused, the more he fidgets. “How... did you know I was going?”

He stops moving. His hands (that he’d been clenching at his sides) splayed out on his thighs. Whatever he’s thinking, his brain can’t be moving faster than yours right now.

Your first thought would be a betrayal if he knew. There’s a small voice in your head (your reporter voice, the one that makes you push where your common sense tells you not to) that tells you there are camera lenses somewhere, his doing. A fail-safe, perhaps. He had the technological repertoire of one of the world’s greatest minds at his disposal. He could bug an apartment. He had plenty of time to do it, and how else would he know something that only Jameson, Jillian, and Parker should know?

Your second thought hits you like a ton of bricks, more fantastical and breathtaking. There were probably a million Peters in the state of New York alone, but how many-

“Someone told me.”

You blink, “Who?”

“...Parker.”

“Parker. P. B. Parker.”

“Uh-huh.”

“At the Daily Bugle?”

“Yup.”

“The Spidey Stalker?”

He makes something of a choked noise, “He’s not a stalker. I... let him take pictures of me. I give him the exclusive and he makes me look pretty damn good. That’s it.”

A disbelieving breath slips past your lips. You think back to every photo that you’d seen of his, some you’d even lifted and used on the Web-Blog, and how unbelievably... photogenic they were. Staged, some could argue.

“I thought I was your source at the Daily Bugle.”

“You are!”

“Your only source. How long have you and Parker been... working together?”

“Couple months, maybe? Not as long as you and me. I promise.” Peter surges forward, unable to keep himself still any longer. He takes your shoulders in his hands and the warmth from his palms are welcome against the bitter breeze. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just short of apologizing, “I know it’s a little weird. It feels weird.”

But you think about it, about how weird it should feel, and how it’s really more funny than weird, “All the reporters in the city, and you choose the paper that hates you. You’re more of a masochist than I first thought.”

Peter’s hand loosens, slips down your bicep a hair. “I didn’t choose the Daily Bugle. I chose you.”

You look away. “And Parker?”

He releases you. Bounces back on his toes, starts admiring the cracks in the wall. “What can I say? The guy needs the money. It was like looking in the mirror.”

“Peter,” you whisper, and his head whips to you before you’ve even drawn the breath to say his name, “you know if you... if you need anything...” I will help you, I will always help you, “there’s a whole city out there that wants to help you.”

The eyes of his suit softens.

You’d been tossing his name around in your head ever since he’d told you, wondering how long it’d take you to get used to using it, and yet repeatedly, consistently, it fell from your lips so easily.

It was funny. You’d been so worried about the conversation you’d have to have about all this, and you’d broken the ice without even thinking about it. “I’m sorry about freezing up last time. I just wasn’t expecting that... I mean, it’s not like I think you don’t trust me, it’s just... it’s your name.”

Peter shrugs, “And it’s you.”

Your throat closes up at that. The simplicity of it, the certainty of it. Your breath shudders, “It’s that easy?”

Peter laughs, muffled by the mask, but he might as well have been right beside you, it sounded so clear and light, “I meant what I said. I trust you with it. And I’d like to maybe one day trust you with more. But this whole, uh, superhero thing? It’s dangerous. I know they say that all the time in comic books but I don’t want to lose this. Lose you.” You hope his super-hearing can’t pick up how your heart stutters, clenches in your chest. “So don’t go.”

You swear that you have nothing close to Spidey senses of your own, but even without seeing his face, you can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves, “I have to. If Kingpin is gonna be there, I should be too. And I know what you’re thinking-”

“Oh, you have no idea-”

“-but this is a big deal, Peter. You mentioned before that Kingpin might be planning something big. This... this might be it.”

His voice quirks up an octave, cracking in exasperation, “And you want to be there? Where the big thing is supposed to happen?”

“I mean, don’t you think I oughta?”

“And risk getting hurt in the crossfire? Hell no. No job is worth your life.”

“Peter-” the name gets easier and easier to say the more you say it, “...you and I both know there’s no way in hell I can turn this down. Jameson would have my head.”

“Then let him have it. I’ll web you up a new one. Early Christmas gift.”

A shocked laugh leaves you at that, melting some of the tension in the room. Even Peter’s shoulders sag at the sound. “I really appreciate it... but no deal. I’m going.”

You watch the way Peter’s eyes narrow in thought. You can practically hear the gears whirring and turning behind that mask of his, unable to accept the situation for what it is. You’d only known him for so long, but his stubbornness truly knew no bounds. He had to have the solution to everything. He always had to save the day. “Why can’t you just be a friendly, neighborhood blogger and do your crime-fighting at home?”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, “Did you give Parker this much of a hard time, too?”

In the same moment, the long-forgotten kettle starts singing on the stovetop. Peter glances past you into the kitchen and latches onto the kettle handle with a sharp thwip!, dragging it to another eye until the hissing stops. He then beats you to the kitchen and grabs cups out of the cupboard, your cups (he even searches for the one you happen to favor, moves the other mugs out of the way until he spots it), and starts mixing the tea. You notice he memorized how you like yours.

You watch him, silently for a time, letting him feel his way around the kitchen having seen you do it a million times before. It doesn’t really hit you until this moment that perhaps Peter knows you better than you’d ever realized.

“You should come.” You decide, suddenly.

“Hm?” Peter hums, barely looking up from the fridge as he forages around your top shelf for the milk.

“To the ball. If you’re worried about things going wrong. Maybe you should come.”

Peter finds his treasure and returns to his Hulkitty mug, “What, in a Spidey-themed suit and tie?”

“I mean, maybe not at first... maybe you could come as yourself.”

You get the feeling he’s side-eyeing you even with his head turned to the backsplash. “With what invitation?”

“You’re telling me Spider-Man is afraid of a little breaking and entering?”

“Afraid of Pepper Potts? Absolutely.” He turns and hands you your mug, careful to hold the handle to you so you don’t burn yourself.

“But didn’t you know Iron Man? Didn’t he know you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind extending an invitation to you, especially if there’s an emergency. And, and! If Kingpin doesn’t show, that means you get to let loose for a night.” You try not to startle too much when he flips up the bottom of his mask to drink.

“I think I’d have a better vantage point from outside anyway.”

“Maybe, but still...” You frown, realizing that Peter’s shoulders start to tense again, “No. You’re right. And you’ll still be there. Maybe me and Parker can sneak you a glass of champagne on the rooftop or something.”

Peter’s lip twitches up into a smile, holding his mug to his lips, “No drinking and swinging, sorry.”

[infinitegalahad]

AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Identifying! Reader Summary: In the fall of 1939, You are an incoming freshman at Berkeley. Despite your love for literature and the pressure of your parents, you begrudgingly enroll in a Physics course. There you meet J. Robert Oppenheimer; your professor turned into your best friend and most importantly, your lover. Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Nothing major, minus the huge age gap. The reader is 18, and Oppenheimer is at least thirty. Everything is legal and consensual. If this bothers you, please do not read it; thank you! Notes: gonna be a long note, so strap in folks. so i have this tendency to get hyperfocused on a piece of media, get my little gremlin hands on any piece of media about it, devour said piece of media, and then poop out 5k+ words in under 24 hours due to my obsession. this happened two years ago with safin from no time to die, and let me just say that it goes to show that history is a sick cycle. not sick, I'm just literally insane. lol, anyways! here's some lore. last Sunday i saw oppenheimer and thought it was a masterpiece! i also love cillain murphy too, so that's a massive bonus. the next day, i bought american prometheus. i started reading it on tuesday, and finished it on Friday. if you haven't read it, please go read it. the book is impossible to put down, and a lot of characterization of robert and other characters come from the movie, but mainly the novel. this fic is heavily researched. this fic is also very dark too, and the content is...yeah. the age gap is very massive and while legal, very taboo, so please keep this in mind. there will be dark content in this story so be warned. trigger warnings will be in the beginning of every chapter. this is on my tumblr and ao3 as well. here is a playlist i made while writing this , if that does anything. my masterlist is also at work too; the new and updated version will be out next chapter. <a href="url">add yourself to the taglist if you are interested</a>. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy.

There are people talking, and while they are close, their voices are nothing but mindless mutters.

Despite how much they had to drink, the buzz managed to slow their thoughts yet made them somewhat aware of their surroundings. If you tried, not like they really wanted to, you could point out every little detail around them–all small things, meaningless and unimportant, in the vast growing universe. 

The uneven vintage ski portrait on Hatomi’s side of the room, the dim light covered by the French literature nights on the window sill, the light of the moon in boxy shapes across the aged wooden door, your feet sticking out underneath the blanket and the cool air bringing goosebump to your toes, the heat of your flashlight against your cheek; it’s all so small. 

You’ve known Hatomi, your roommate at Berkeley, for the last week. A Japanese American from Davis, she’s a lover of literature like you, albeit you’re more into Russian and American literature than French. Both of you have concluded that you are different but are different enough to put those said differences aside to be friends. Hatomi, unlike you, is smiley and bright, the type to make a conversation not as awkward. She’s made many friends, some of whom are yours, and you’re thankful for her. In your orientation week at Berkeley, she’s helped you break out of your shell, and you’ve gone around campus and to parties to get out and meet people.

As thankful as you are for Haotmi, you are not very thankful about her bringing in some guy into the room without making it clear and having full-blow sex. Hatomi tries to keep her moans contained, but the slapping and grunts from the man beneath are not in any way contained or quiet. He’s as loud as possible, and you can identify him from one of the many parties you’ve been to, but all of them in your state become a gradual blur. 

There’s a visible outline of the two through your quilt. Hatomi’s on top, and said the man is on the bottom with messy hair. He’s got a hand on her hip, and she nudges forward, her body moving forward. It makes you feel even lonelier than you already feel, but it's not intentional, but it’s certainly a jab. Hatomi cries his name, an emphasis on the end of his name. 

You haphazardly try to catch his name, but end up forgetting it, the alcohol from earlier helping sing you to sleep. 

–

It soon became a cycle—the whole lot of it. 

You’d wake up at seven for your eight in the morning English class. Then you’d head to your philosophy class from nine-thirty to ten-thirty before heading to lunch at eleven. After that break, then comes your Greek class from twelve to one. Then it’s physics. 

It’s not that you don’t like physics. Actually, you love it—the concept is fascinating. The movement, gravity, and being a small thing in the grand scheme of the infinite universe is a topic you could dive into for hours on end. And not to mention, you have a burning hatred for the mathematics of it. You know you can do introductory algebra, but that’s where you draw the line. Calculus and all of that is too advanced. You can do it; at the bare minimum. 

Your class is not that big. It’s your smallest class with ten students, all intrigued by a fascinating professor. 

The first time you met him, he stood by the chalkboard with a huff of smoke following behind him. He wore a dark gray tweed suit and had thick, coarse hair which was wild, maintained with gel. He was tall but not towering and rather slender. With the bluest eyes you had ever seen, you knew that this man was a character; not to mention, he also looked intelligent. 

And that he was. 

Dr.Oppenheimer was the reason you started actually to love physics. Not like, love. He was not an easy teacher; he was complex but rewarding. He took the concept of physics and made it more interesting than it already was, adding another dimension to it that you didn’t think was possible. 

Instead of the class being a lecture, Oppenheimer discussed the fundamental forces and philosophy. He, like you, enjoyed how physics interacted with the classical world. With a cigarette in one hand and a piece of chalk in another, and in his velvety voice, Oppenheimer taught something along the lines of the cosmic universe or the quantum tunnel and would look to his students for their input, arguments, questions, or their voice to the topic. 

You know, or thought he knew, that you weren’t the best at physics, but could always add a philosophical or insight on how physics affects both in the modern and classical world. Sometimes in class, the two of you would dive into a conversation. Oppenheimer would give you a serious loo, staring directly at you with his bright blue eyes. You could have sworn they were the bluest eyes you had ever seen, in which you were. As you challenge you, Oppenehiemr would stare, blowing the occasional puff of smoke. You could see him smile, but maybe that was a part of your imagination. 

Physics was complicated, but not only did you enjoy the class for Oppenheimer, but you also look at Oppenheimer. You would not have said it initially, but he did come and was attractive to you. He looked serious, older, and cold; which all remained true, but he was also intelligent, and that was the most attractive thing to you. His intelligence made him overall even more handsome than he already was. With this new found elevation, you soon began to find everything he did attractive. It became a slight distraction, but it was enough to make you leave class with pink cheeks and smile to yourself all giddy. The fantastical thoughts of “what if” played in your mind, making going to sleep a little easier than it usually it. 

–

On Monday, Oppenheimer deemed that your class was heading into the “most brutal” and “nightmare-causing”  fundamental force of Physics; Quantum Mechanics. 

He also declared it was one of his favorite micro topics in Physics and, in his mind, “not too difficult if you truly look into it.”

 Everyone got a horrible gut feeling in their stomachs. 

Oppenheimer was blunt and did not sugarcoat, which was a fair warning to his class. Quantum Mechanics took everything that was horrible about Physics and made it increasingly worse. Wavefunctions, Eigenstates, Quantum Measurement, and all the new equations hit you like a frictional force. And it began to show on your assignments. 

Your normal average in the class was an A- (with Oppenheimer giving you an E for “exceptional effort”) hanging off the side of a cliff, but this new topic dragged your average down with massive magnetic force. Soon, your average became a B-. Homework assignments and reading responses leaned towards a B, while your test and quizzes averaged at failing or border failing. You felt relieved that one of your quizzes on Bra-Ket Notation came back as a C+. 

Oppenheimer was writing on the board, finishing a Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle equation on the board. He looked at the clock, knowing that class was going to end soon. Putting his chalk down and burning the small amount of his cigarette on the ashtray, he reached for a large stack of his papers. Most had red handwriting with circles, arrows, and question marks. A heavy wave of anxiety hit the class as a perpetual sigh raised. 

You could have sworn Oppenheimer stared directly at you. The vast blue eye started to haunt you, but you convinced yourself it was your mind playing tricks. You turned to one of your neighborhoods and sighed, shaking your head. 

“I understand you are all eager to receive back the recent test on the basic equations of Quantum Mechanics. I have taken my time grading each one and you will see why it looks like a long time,” Oppenheimer noted, with a tinge of dark comedy and sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t look up at the class as he walked around, gently putting each paper on the desk. Each paper he put down made a student who was having a good day a very not good day.

Between the heavy sighs and whispers between the students, you gulped as Oppenheimer passed your desk. He looked down for a split second and put your paper down. He pointed to the red writing right where you had written your name before moving on. Gathering yourself, you grabbed the test, and not your shock, was disappointed. 

Out of forty-five points, you had only gotten nine. It was a new low you had hit in the class. It seemed like it would keep getting lower. Everything was far from right, and he gave those points only because you tried by writing a passage by each equation explaining what you had tried to replicate, knowing it was very wrong. 

You skimmed the front, noticing the red writing on top. He wrote your name in cursive, and you would hear him say it, asking you to “please” meet him. 

And then the bell rang. People talked amongst themselves and gathered their things as they headed out of the classroom. You sat there and sighed, visibly upset. You weren’t going to cry, but you felt like it. You tried not to show it as you began to gather your books, covering the physics test, preparing to get up. 

“Y/n.”

You freeze and look up. Oppenheimer has been leaning on his desk, looking at you like a dashing Spectre. He puts his hands in his pockets and slowly begins to walk towards you. 

“Is this a good time to talk?”

Hearing the word talk made your stomach turn. You look up at him and clasp your hands together, nodding. You feel your left leg begin to shake. 

“Yes, Dr.Oppenheimer.”

Oppenheimer made his way over and stood beside you, leaning on the side of a desk, looking down at you. He took a quick glance at your shaking leg before looking back at you.

“You’re not in trouble.” 

You didn’t verbally acknowledge him, but you took a contained sigh and stopped shaking your thigh, paying full attention to the attractive older man. 

“I want to preface this conversation that you, Y/n, are one of this class’s most active and enjoyable students. Your participation and observation add onto the lesson, helping others around you, and even myself, learn more about Physics,” Oppenheimer said with high praise. He had a regalness to his soft voice. You felt your cheeks burn, containing your smile as you quietly thanked him. You watched his hands fidget inside of his pants pocket. 

“As talented and educated as you are in Academia, especially Physics, I notice you don’t do well on tests and exams. Everything else is excellent, and your effort is always there. However, with tests,” Oppenheimer moved his hand downwards, “It’s all negative. When I got your first test, I found it hard to believe it was your work. But then it all made sense.” 

“Now understand, Y/n, I am not mad or upset. I am worried. I can see there is an act of force, which is your anxiety. I do believe this is something we can work on–” Oppenheimer clearly explained. He saw your shoulders lower, relieve your tension had disappeared, “--Together, outside of the academic setting.”

“Like one-on-one?” You questioned. 

Oppenheimer nodded, “Yes, just the two of us. It would be an hour and a half to an hour, nothing more and nothing less.”

Hearing “just the two of us” made your mind go to wild places. You bit your tongue and squeezed your clasped hands together. You smiled, “Yes, of course. I think this would help a lot.”

“Now tell me, what is your availability? I understand you are busy.”

You shrugged your shoulders. You were busy but also could make time for a lot of spare time. 

“I can do any time work, preferably if you are okay with Friday afternoons,” You brainstormed, thinking about your schedule, “I know you teach a graduate class in the morning, and I have Greek at the same time.”

Oppenheimer furrowed his eyebrows, intensely studying your appearance.

“Friday afternoons?” He questioned, “Don’t you want to be with your friends and not have to worry about work? I understand your drive, Y/n, but I don’t want it to mix with your limited downtime. I hear you are an excellent student, and this is a very fixable grade. I rather you create a balance than an offset. 

While an average first-year would rather skip meeting with a Professor on Friday Afternoons, it didn’t bother you. Getting your grade up in Physis was very important. Education in your family was everything and meant a lot to you. Seeing a C with A’s and A-’s made you feel incomplete. You needed to feel complete. 

“Dr.Oppenheimer, thank you for your concern. I insist that Fridays work as well. Mondays through Tuesdays, I’m either studying or leading other study groups for my other classes. If you are worried about my social life, I can assure you that I do get out of the dorm and library with my friends,” You reassured the older man, “Besides, the whole party scene is really not my scene. I’ve seen enough parties at Berkeley to be okay with missing them. If Fridays don’t work, I will work with your time.”

“Fridays work well for me as they work well for you,” Dr.Oppenheimer concluded. He looked at the clock above his desk before looking at you, “How do Fridays at 5 pm sound?”

“Perfect timing, Dr.Oppenheimer. Shall we meet here?”

Oppenheimer rubbed his index and middle finger on the temple of his head, “Well if you are comfortable, I’d rather congregate at my house rather than the classroom since we will be out of the Academic Day.”

Taken aback by the bold move, your lips made a subtle “o” shape. You squeezed your hands together, contemplating. His house, where he slept, ate, and did other things that were not fit for the academic setting? This made your imagination run wild—the idea of being in his house, just you and him, fed into your fantasy. 

“My house is on Shasta Road. It’s right off the campus. It’s a short walk. However, if you are not comfortable, especially late at night walking home alone, then I can–” 

“Dr.Oppenheimer,” You insisted. He stopped speaking and looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

You stuttered, feeling the heat up your throat to your face, “It is okay. Friday at 5 pm at your house is perfect. The walk will help me clear my mind before tackling the equations.”

Oppenheimer studied your features for a second before coughing and putting his hands together, “So, it’s settled. We will meet tomorrow then. Thank you for your time, y/n.”

As Oppenheimer began to head back to his desk, you stood and gathered your books, ready to head to your Greek class. You could feel how hot your face was, but you couldn’t imagine how red and embarrassing you looked. 

“Thank you, Dr.Oppenheimer. 

Scurrying to leave the classroom in a flustered state, one of your books falls over. It makes a loud slamming noise into the ground. You’ve got a solid amount of books in your hand, varying in topic and weight. Turning around, you are about to awkwardly bend down to pick up the book, but Oppenheimer has beaten you to it. His presence scared you at first. He’s holding the ivory, aged book, examining the cover and back. You stand two inches away from him as you cradle your books, not wanting to say something to disrupt him. 

“Sentimental Education. Is this for class or pleasure?” Oppenheimer inquired. He looked back at you as he placed it on top of your books. He saw the one below, your Greek textbook, was sticking out and about to fall. He made sure to push it in to balance the books and make sure you didn't fall over. 

Not that you were complaining about falling over since he would have to catch you. You cursed at your wild imagination. 

You let out a long uhm before declaring it was for class. More specifically, your English class of The French Adventure: Word, Sound, and Image taught by Mr.Chevalier. But it was unimportant. It was a good book, albeit obscure. Oppenheimer probably thought you were some idiot for both failing a test and reading some silly book. He probably wondered why you were even in a physics class to begin with. 

“Do you like it?” He questioned. 

“Yes, a lot,” You expressed, “It’s the second book we’ve read, but so far my favorite. It was ahead of its time,” You go red, “And even for this time. I don’t know what I’m saying even, my parents made me read it in high school.”

Oppenheimer made a noise of approval, placing his hands on his hips, “Well, it shows that your parents wanted you to be well-rounded, and here you stand at one of the best public universities in the world. So I would say you do know what you are saying since I fully agree.” 

The compliment made you want to make some happy noise, but you bite your lip. You nodded your head and naked it, knowing it came out as a mumble. Everything you said felt super embarrassing. 

“Y/n, I understand you have class,” Oppenheimer cut to the point, “But if you ever want a book recommendation, come to me. I’ve been looking for someone who understands.”

“Understand?” You asked, dumbfounded. 

“Someone who both understands and enjoys art.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. You smile and hold your books closer, “Well, I should-”

“You should-” Oppenheimer highlighted, hands on his hips, “I shouldn’t keep you.”

You wanted to protest that he should, but you didn’t. As you made your way to the door, you looked back. There he stood in his slender and regal form, hands on his hips. For a cold man who never looked happy, he did. You could have sworn his eyes had a spark to them that made them brighter. You felt brighter too. 

On your way out, he froze and looked at you again, and gave a small smile. 

You smiled back. 

–

It’s 4:50pm.

Your mother always said it was better to be very early than to be very late. Those words guided you through life, following you from home to high school to Berkeley. 

After class, you spent the hour getting ready. Taking a shower, you made sure to look your best with low effort. You didn’t want it to appear that you were trying to look good, even though you wore it. Putting on something very casual, you made sure to wear yourself nicely and even added a sweet touch of Chanel Coco perfume that your father had gotten for you in France for your high school Graduation. 

You walk up the hill and spot the house, recognizing the numbers on the mall box. The house is well sized and has the architecture of a craftsman. It’s hidden by numerous large plants and bushes, which you take a second to admire as you walk to the door. Eventually, you reach the door and hesitate to knock. Check your watch, it’s 5:52pm. If he’s busy, you can wait. 

There’s no point in knocking since you can hear the lock on the door unlock. As you put your hands behind your back, the door opens and it reveals Oppenheimer. He looks weirdly normal and this comforts you. He swaps his flannel suit jacket for a white oxford button up with dark slacks. The top button of the shirt is unbuttoned, and in one hand he has a cigarette, in which he is trying to successfully hide. 

“Dr.Oppenheimer,” You greeted with a small smile, squeezing your hands behind your back. 

You could swear you saw a small quirk at the side of Oppenheimer’s mouth. He stands to the side. 

“Y/n, welcome,” He greets. You quietly thank in as you walk in, standing to the side as you clutch onto your brown leather alligator bag with your textbook and notebook. 

“How was the walk?”

“Not bad. It’s nice outside. I’m sorry if I’m early, it’s a bad habit-”

“No need to apologize. It is a good habit. It will serve you well,” Oppenheimer praised once again as he led you into the kitchen. You hadn't been alone with him, let alone in his own house, but he was different. Around others, he was cold and calculated to a tee. But around you, something felt warm and strangely comforting. 

When walking to the kitchen, you catch a glimpse of his house. It feels rather empty, and in a way, very melancholic. 

The kitchen is simple and small. For a California one story however, the kitchen can fit more than two, maybe three. 

“Sit,” Oppenheimer subtly commands. It’s not an intentional command, but upon hearing this, you immediately sit down on the nearest chair. As you pull out your textbook and notebook with some pens and pencils, you can see Oppenheimer rummaging through the fridge and grabbing two glasses. 

“Do you drink?”

You're in the middle of opening your notebook. You look down and lick your lips. 

“Yes.”

He doesn’t respond and proceeds to make whatever drink he is making. You sit there and swing your legs back and forth, waiting in silence minus the shaking and pouring. 

“Speak to me,” Oppenheimer announces. You look at his back as he makes the drink. Once again, he’s slender, but yet strong and vibrant in his appearance, “Go to the first page of your test. Read the equation.” 

You feel lucky Oppenheimer’s turned since your cheeks, like yesterday, have gone to a light pink. 

Obeying his words that feel like a command that you are more than happy to accept, you grab your test and open to the first page to read the first question. 

“Consider a particle in a one-dimensional potential well of width of L and infinite potential barriers at its edges. The potential inside the well is given by V(x)=0 for 0<x<L0<x<L and V(x)=∞V(x)=∞ for x < 0 x<0 and x>Lx>L,” You read out, “The Hamiltonian operator for this system is H; where x is the mass of the particle. Find the allowed energy eigenvalues and corresponding eigenfunctions for this system.”

“A fundamental. Now, tell me your answer.” 

You get your pen and calculator out, placing it at your side. “I started with the Time-Independent Schrödinger Equation and substituted v(x) for the kinetic energy term. Then I tried to solve and it, uhm-”

Not only were the calculations for your test both difficult to answer and hard to process, but having Oppenheimer stand right behind you further proved to be a brain block. He was only an inch away from you as he had leaned to look at your paper, a hand on the back of your sheet which scraped your warm back. You had been so caught on the equation that you hadn't noticed he was an inch behind you, breathing down your neck. Thank god there had been a table since your legs began to shake; a combination of raw anxiety and pure adrenaline. 

You started to write the equation into your calculator, pressing down on each button. Scribbling away at your notebook, you felt his warm breath down your throat. Just as you wrote the solution, you felt him smell behind your ear and into your hair. You had sprayed some perfume there, which was a habit of yours. He leaned into, gentle and careful not to touch you, taking in the airy and smooth feminine scent. Not protesting, you finished your solution and let him bask, all while basking his cold yet comforting presence.

 “The corresponding eigenfunctions are: ∣ψn⟩= Asin⁡(nπxL)∣ψ n ⟩ =Asin( Lnπx ),” You gulped. You felt his warm presence move back, yet his hand remained on the chair. You pushed a piece of hair back, “I guess it’s not too different from my old answer. It’s right, it’s just-”

“The math piece of it,” Oppie pointed out, “Well, there was no issue here. With your calculator of course.”

“Yes,” You chuckled to yourself and looked at the big device. It really did help.

“Use it more,” Oppenheimer said, “Don’t be scared too. Math is not everyone’s strong suit; including mine.”

You smiled at him as he sat in the chair next to you. 

“I don’t know if you drank from our conversation earlier, but I made you a martini,” Oppenheimer said. You looked at it and picked up the drinking, examining the liquid. 

“Oh, thank you. I do, just the…better stuff,” You thanked with a small confession. You took a sip and let the strong liquid ooze down your throat. It was excellent, in which you proceeded to drink more. 

Oppenheimer leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. He wanted to make sure you didn’t see that, but you did. 

For the next hour, the two of you talked about your test. Each question you read out, and he helped you with the math, but overall you were able to solve most of it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. He seemed pleased, and you were as well.

Once you had finished going over the test, you sighed and leaned back leisurely from both Oppenheimer's presence Martini. 

“Well, thank you, Dr.Oppenheimer. This has been short, yet helpful.”

He crossed his arms as he also leaned back, “Of course, I’m pleased to hear.”

There was a silence before you looked at your watch and grabbed your books. 

“It’s 6pm. I’m sure you’ve got things to do, I should go-”

“I’ve only got dinner to make. Chicken, peas, and potatoes,” Oppenheimer said. He smoked another cigarette, which made you wonder how many he smoked a day. You focused on his chapped lips and the way they lightly held the cigarette, sucking in and dragging out ashen smoke. 

“Say, would you like to stay for dinner? There's plenty for two.”

The task made you blink a few times to make sure this wasn’t one of your fantastical thoughts late at night as a way to soothe you to bed. You opened your lips in an attempt to create a coherent response. 

“I can make you another Martini, even show you.”

You knew you were red, but it clearly to him did not matter. 

“Yes, I’d love-would be happy to stay for dinner, Dr.Oppenheimer.” You said, very flattered.

A slow exhale released a veil of smoky allure, as if the very air itself surrendered to Oppenheimer’s fiery elegance.

“If you are staying over for dinner from now on, please, call me Robert.” 

[newcaptainofsquad9]

The Lady’s Man~Becky Lynch x fem! reader

Pairing: Becky Lynch x reader

Genre: Romance, fluff

  Summary: After spending close time with Becky during your time as tag team duos, she starts to dress differently, something not only the fans pick up on but you along with Becky’s competition for the Smackdown Women’s championship too.

Writer’s Note: First and foremost, I’m sorry about not updating a certain fic yet (The Astrid, Crazy Rich Asians one. I’m still working on it!) or just writing a lot on here in general. Depression has its hooks sunk deep and work has been draining me more than usual but here I am. One of the things that has helped me lots is wrestling, haven’t watched it since I was a young teen and wow, it’s like interacting with an old friend again. One thing that I’ve also noticed is how much the women on the roster are hot and why I liked them so much. The gay awakening was real. Anyway, hope you enjoy my first wrestling fic!

Word Count: 1, 978

You were classy. If you were to partake in feuds or clap-backs, you kept it high-brow and let your skills in the ring do most of the talking. That was part of your character: Lady Y/N, here to bring back beauty and class to the WWE, an exhausting effort to get through with your in ring abilities instead of full on trash talking. That being said, you did have your moments where you popped off on the mic, especially when Damage Ctrl was involved. 

You came face to face with Bayley, Dakota Kai and Iyo Sky tonight; the people of the crowd roaring and chanting, “My Lady” once your music hit and you came strutting toward the ring.

“Aw, here she comes!” Bayley yelled. She pointed off around the crowd and continued to mouth off“Shut up! We’re the top ladies here you heathens.”

“Bayley, all this crying isn’t gonna get you anywhere,” you said. You entered the ring, smiling at the audience, waved and aimed a few kisses at the people, swooning them in the process. “Didn’t Becky and I beat Iyo and Dakota last week and didn’t you lose your championship to Charlotte at the Rumble last week?”

Bayley nodded eagerly, smile plastered on her face. 

“Yeah! Lady yeah! I did y/n! But who’s been a champion at all? Me! Not you! Some lady you are!” Bayley exclaimed while laughing and nodding to her Damage Ctrl sidekicks. “Maybe, if you’re nice to us tonight, I can bring you in the spotlight on my Ding Dong Hello show next week. Well, just you and not your man.”

You cocked up an eyebrow at the mention of “your man”, right when the WWE universe all “oooooed” all at once. It was some sort of joke you weren’t in on, yet you caught yourself with a sly grin and went back in on Bayley. 

“My man? You making up delusions now, huh, Ms. Role-model?” you said. 

Bayley scoffed then let out a snort while turning to Dakota and Iyo. The crowd seemed to react as well, chanting “The Man” over and over. 

Oh. Becky, that was who Bayley was referring to. She called herself the man, didn’t mean she was your “man.” Right? And Bayley is totally wrong, the WWE Universe did have their bright moments but they didn’t dictate who did or didn’t belong to you. Especially Becky Lynch. She was your friend and tag team partner. Period. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Please, you might be able to fool these idiots!” Bayley yelled. She gestured to the audience before continuing. “But you can’t fool me and the heart eyes she gives you! Have you even seen her new merch?”

Now you knew Bayley made up insults and material on the fly but you really had no idea what she was talking about. Before you could wrap your head around it or throw your own comment back at her, Becky’s music hit, sending the arena along with Damage Ctrl into a frenzy.

“Aww, now look who you’ve spawned!” Bayley groaned. “How dare you idiots speak of The Man!”

The combination of the loud music, the crowd and Bayley’s irritating yells swirled into a cacophony of noise that left you frozen while you watched your fiery headed partner (tag of course) rush out, all smiles and cockiness under her black shades. It’s like what Bayley alluded too, her outfit and merch was different: instead of wearing her flashy, “Bex” shirt underneath her leather jacket, Becky sported a new shirt with blocky letters reading “The Lady’s Man.” 

Your heart skipped a bit at the display; being around Becky was already complex, she just made it twenty times harder. She trotted down to you on your frozen spot in front of the ring, eyes obscured by her shades until she lifted them. 

“You called?” Becky asked. She aimed her words at Bayley and the entire WWE Universe, but it felt as if she was just talking to you. 

Becky stepped closer toward you, rearranged your hair a little before placing the shades on your head. 

“This Ok?” she asked. “Don’t want to mess up your hair, but I just couldn’t resist.” 

Her Irish accent always had an effect on you but how low it was when she whispered, with her gesture of the shades left you flabbergasted longer.

“Hey! Flirt on your own time!” Bayley said. She pointed at Becky, who chuckled. “This is between me and your Lady!”

“Woah, woah, woah! You know Y/N and I are a team, like you and your Ctrl clique,” Becky explained. She brought an arm around your shoulder, patting the spot in an attempt to bring you back from your stump. “The Man always defends her lady. Dare I say, she’s got a better chance at Charlotte for the Smackdown women’s championship than you!” 

Becky’s words got your chest to flare; you nodded along however, smiling a bit too big as words of your own bubbled up from your throat. 

“The Man’s got a valid point though, what do you say, Role-model?” you said. 

Bayley guffawed. 

“Sure! Yeah right, like she would--” Bayley said. She was cut off by the crowd chanting your name over and over, angering her yet again. “Shut up! You idiots don’t know anything! Y/N can’t even compete with Dakota or Iyo, let alone me!”

Becky cocked her head back, as if her fellow horsewoman’s words struck her face on. She turned toward you, mouthing a “can you believe this?” You just rolled your eyes and shook your head. 

“Bayley, keep spouting this nonsense and maybe I’ll have to kick your ass again,” Becky said. She brought you closer, close enough to hook her arm around your waist. “Or! We could take care of Kai and Iyo and they can defend those tag titles for once! Jeez! Those things have been collecting dust!” 

You found yourself smiling more as the heat built up your chest. Becky and you only teamed up due to being a great match against Fire and Desire, along with other amazing women in the division but to suggest you both challenge Damage Ctrl? It was a commitment to what you two could do together, although, it wasn’t as grand as Becky proclaiming herself “your man”, was it the direction Triple H wanted or was it something more?

“No way!” Bayley growled. “I mean, they’re the greatest bunch of the womens division they don’t need to prove a thing!”

Iyo Sky and Dakota nodded, a little too swiftly with conflicting emotions pouring through; you picked up on them immediately.

“You sure Bayley? They seem scared. Let’s ask them, folks! Iyo? Dakota?  Are you afraid to take on Becks and I? Maybe to even put the titles on the line too?”

The WWE Universe erupted in another fit of chants: you made it out to be them calling Damage Ctrl cowards over and over again. Becky chuckled and pulled you close while Iyo and Dakota went over what was going on with Bayley off mic. It looked as if Iyo and Dakota were trying to talk their leader out of it, you felt quite terrible for them and how the crowd began to drown them out with the noise.

“All right! Quiet you idiots!” Bayley shouted. She gestured for the WWE universe to calm down more, leaving mummers among the crowd and stands. “They’ll accept the challenge, next week!”

You didn’t expect them to accept so quick, believing them to think it over throughout the week or maybe go back and forth with Becky on Twitter(usually ending up with you mediating). 

“Yes!” Becky cheered. “We got this, lass.”

You could only nod, lost in the feeling of opportunity: white noise of the crowd and a tingling feeling that warped down your chest toward your belly. A title shot for the first time in your career, with Becky. Becky freaking Lynch. 

The thought kept up its constant ringing in your head, even after you escaped the effervescent noise the WWE universe were known to cause. You managed to reach your personal locker room before a hand grabbed your wrist--the action forced you to tense up, thinking it was Bayley or Damage Ctrl. 

“Whoa, lass, you all right?” Becky said. Concern clean on her face. “Is it OK if we talk?”

You nodded. Becky shut the door behind you, then proceeded to pace the space, back and forth like a blur of orange flame that flicked from one end of a candle to the next. 

“It wasn’t your idea, was it?” you said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

Becky froze, attention immediately on you. 

“What?”

You let out a humorless laugh and motioned to her new T-shirt. 

“The Lady’s Man? It was just a new way of introducing our tag team? Making it official, yeah? Or is it a new storyline that I’m not caught up with yet?” you asked. You pressed your fingers together and fidgeting them while continuing. “I-I just want to understand what all that was.”

“Lass--”

“Rebecca, please be honest with me,” you said. The emotion in your voice was sharp and firm.

Becky rushed over to you, taking your face in your hands. 

“Breathe, y/n, I’ll explain, let me just sit you down, OK?” she said. 

She led you to the folded chair you had set up by your cubby, helping you sit prior to her kneeling in front of you. 

“It was my idea, and yeah Triple H and the people wanted to market it, thought it’d be a great thing to lead up to something amazing to do with the Tag titles,” Becky explained. She took your hand as she spoke, rubbing the knuckles and the underside of a few veins. “But under all of the bravado and what The Man means to me, there’s some truth to it. I really want to try and be your lady too. I-I like you, Y/N, I really do.”

The way Becky looked up at you almost made the emotions break from you, tears flooded your eyes, some spilling over to your dismay. 

“Y/N, no, hun, don’t cry I--”

You cut Becky off with a kiss, meeting her halfway as your arms wrapped around her neck. Becky returned the kiss instantly, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you flush against her. A mini makeout session just about occurred. You pulled back (a little self conscious that you both were still in the arena aka work) but Becky lifted your chin up tenderly, planting a short yet passionate kiss to your lips once again. 

“I love that desire, lass,” Becky whispered. “Does this mean we’re to be more than tag team champions in the future?”

You nodded. “That and we’ll have a lot more moments outside of Wrestlemania.” 

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch 11

Now we're getting into the fun part! 😋 The metaphorical shit is about to hit the fan as Frankie and our reader get ready for their one year anniversary on September 26, 2013. I had a lot of "fun" writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it even though I'm now taking a seriously hard left turn with this series, away from the fluffy little bubble I've wrapped us in. The warnings will contain spoilers so I've put them in a separate post and will update them as I go: Warnings

Word count: 6.2 k

Chapter 12

Chapter 1, if you want to catch up from the beginning

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories

“Cariño! I’ve got to go now, come kiss me!” Frankie calls through the apartment as he pulls on his boots, hastily tying them up before he tugs on his jacket. “Carinooooooo!” he wails, “come kiss me goodbye, I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me!” 

You spit out the toothpaste and rush to rinse your mouth, before opening the bathroom door, looking over at your baby of a boyfriend who’s currently standing by the door, bag in hand, making puppy eyes at you. “Cariñoooooo!" he wails impatiently while you pad over to him on bare feet, shaking your head. 

“You’re such a baby, Francisco Morales,” you wrap your arms around his neck as he bends down and gives you a wet kiss on your lips before trailing more wet kisses down your throat. 

“I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me,” he gives you a fake pout as he stands up. “You’re sure you’re ok to pack everything up on your own? I’ll be back as soon as possible so we can just load into the truck and go.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll do some laundry and pack the last of the food. Just ring me when you leave work and I’ll be ready to go when you’re back.” 

“Ok, hermosa, mi amor, my gorgeous cariño, happy anniversary, my love,” Frankie captures your chin between his thumb and fingers and you smile up at him as he gives you another long kiss. 

“Happy anniversary, Frankie, my love,” you mumble against his lips, giggling as he tries to push you up against the door, groping at your ass, “I thought you had to leave.” 

“I do, fuck, but I don’t want to,” Frankie sighs, and plants a final kiss on your mouth before he opens the door and heads out, “I’ll see you this afternoon, hermosa,” he smiles, “te amo.” 

“Love you too, Frankie.” 

You lock up behind him and continue to get ready. The plan is to head out of the city and up to Denny’s cabin as soon as Frankie’s back from work. You’re working from home today to save some time, you’ve set aside manuscripts to read and that’s best done from home anyway. 

Frankie had surprised you a couple of weeks ago by telling you he’d asked Denny if you two could borrow the cabin for your anniversary, have a little holiday together. Today was exactly one year since you met at The Outback Bar and it had been the best year of your life thanks to Frankie. A weekend escape, just the two of you at the cabin, sounded like the perfect way to celebrate. To make matters even better you’d closed on a house just a few days ago, all the paperwork signed, you didn’t even have the keys yet, but you’d still spent the past three days mentally decorating the whole place. Frankie had sent Lucía pictures of the house and her room and she’d been over the moon to see the pictures of the pool outside. Now you were planning on throwing your very first Thanksgiving dinner at your new house together with Frankie and Lucía. 

You allowed yourself to get lost in daydreams for a while as you finished your breakfast and cleared the kitchen, throwing a load of clothes in the washing machine. While it ran its cycle you sat down at your small home office and went over the manuscript. 

Frankie called you just after lunch with bad news. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I think I’ll probably be later than I thought, things are fucking crazy today,” he sighed over the phone. “One of our choppers crashed, we can’t get hold of the pilot, I’m just fucking praying he’s ok, Denny’s on his way out there now.” You can hear him rub his hand over his face, rough against his scruffy beard, “And I’ve got to fly three doctors to different locations, apparently they’re swamped, all kinds of crazy shit happening, it’s like it’s a full moon night but it’s midday.” 

“It’s fine, Frankie, just fly safe, you’ll get here when you get here and if it’s too late we’ll drive up tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to be with you all weekend,” he huffs, “Fuck, I’ve got to go, Denny’s on the radio. Talk soon, cariño.” He hangs up before you have a chance to say goodbye. 

By the time seven pm rolls around you have everything packed up for the trip to the cabin, you’ve been checking your phone for Frankie’s phone call for the past hour. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said things were crazy today, you’d gone down to the corner store for some snacks for the road and found it closed, shutters down even though it was only five pm, the streets empty. And on your way back to the apartment you’d seen a police car crash into a small car. You’d started running over to the crash to see if you could help but a police man had stumbled from the cruiser and yelled at you to get back inside, to stay away. Something in his voice had scared you and you’d turned back straight away, running back to your building and up the stairs. 

Once back in the apartment you’d locked the door and tried calling Frankie, but he didn’t pick up. That wasn’t unusual, he usually couldn’t answer when he was flying, if you really needed to get hold of him you’d call Denny and he’d patch you through on the radio. But you tried Denny too and there was no reply there either, not on his cell or the landline to the airfield. 

So now it’s seven pm and you’re getting antsy. There are an extraordinary amount of police sirens outside, the news are talking about riots in the streets downtown, but the footage makes it look more like a warzone and the local news cuts the broadcast when someone attacks the camera man. 

At nine you’re pacing the apartment, back and forth between the big window facing the street and the small window in the kitchen overlooking the parking lot. When your phone rings you jump, and relief floods your chest when you see that it’s Frankie. “Frankie, where are you? Did you see the news?” you ask when you pick up, but you’re interrupted by him straight away. 

“Cariño, where are you? Still at home?” He sounds stressed and he’s breathing hard. 

“Yeah, I’m at home, waiting for you, of course. What’s going on, are you running?” You press your phone to your ear, trying to hear what’s going on around him, you can hear people shouting in the background. 

“I was, I’m trying to get away from Washington Park, I…I got into some trouble,” he stutters, “some guy was beating up another guy and I pulled over to stop him, I had to pull him off the other guy but he was fucking crazy, like high on salts or something, never seen anything like it. He came after me and I had to…I’m sorry cariño, I had to…take him out.” 

You hear the shame in his voice, you’ve only talked a couple of times about the guy in the bar Frankie beat up because he thought he’d hit you. He knew his skill at violence scared you and he’d done his utmost to prove to you that he wasn’t a violent person. But now he’d had to take this guy out, in self defence, and he was trying to explain it to you. 

“Just get home, Frankie,” you say, “we can talk when you get here, just get home.” 

“I’m trying, hermosa, but the police turned up and…fuck…hang on.” 

You hear his heavy boots shuffling over broken glass and hard ground, he grunts as he seems to move through or over a structure, nearly dropping the phone. 

“Ok, I have to keep moving, hermosa,” he pants, “the police turned up and…they thought I’d killed the guy, the didn’t see him beating up the other guy an-” 

“You killed him!?” your eyes are wide, you’ve stopped dead in your tracks in front of the big window. 

“I don’t know, cariño, the police came, they pulled their guns on me, I had to run and-”

“Frankie, why the fuck did you run from the police? You’re gonna get into so much more trouble now!” 

“I couldn’t stay, something isn’t right, some weird shit is happening all over town.” 

“And fucking running from the police after beating someone to death is the way to make it less weird, Frankie?” you spit out, you’ve been worried about him for hours but now your nervous energy shifts into anger at his stupidity. “Just get the fuck home and we’ll deal with this mess in the morning, or just maybe just turn yourself in, it’s gonna look so bad with you running from the scene.” You sigh, pushing your fingers through your hair, “Frankie, why’d you have to be so reckless?”  

Frankie bristles, you can hear his anger, “You don’t understa-” he begins but suddenly your phone goes dead, cutting him off. You look down at the screen and curse, you have no reception, there are no bars, it looks like the service has overloaded or gone down.

“Fuck,” you say out loud, and turn it off, maybe a restart will help, but no luck. Your phone is still dead and when you try calling Frankie on your landline phone it goes straight to voicemail. You leave a message, telling him to just come home as soon as possible. 

After that there’s not much to do except wait, you resume your path between the kitchen window and the living room window, stopping every now and then to flick through the news, all hell seems to be breaking out across the state, even the country. You try calling Frankie a few more times but it still goes straight to voicemail. The knot in your stomach is growing, making you feel nauseous with nerves. 

You call Pope but there’s no reply so you call Will’s landline. Hannah picks up and she’s frantic with worry about Will, he’s not back from work and she can’t get hold of him either. Benny was meant to have dinner with them and he’s taken the car to try and go pick up Will at work but with the cell phone services down she can’t reach him either.  

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” she almost cries, “I saw people running down the street just now and I don’t know if I should leave or what?” 

“No, just stay put, Will or Benny will come back there so just lock up and wait,” you say, you can’t stop yourself from biting your nails, you feel panic rising in your throat.

You promise to keep in touch and update each other, when you hang up you feel sick to your stomach. You desperately want Frankie to come back, you need to see him and feel his arms around you, tell you it’ll be alright, but no matter how many times you call, you only get his voicemail. You ring a few extra times just to hear his voice repeat the same message. 

“Hi, this is Francisco Morales, I can’t pick up right now, please leave a message.” 

“Please, please, please, Frankie, come home, come home, baby,” you whisper into the phone as you listen to his voice again. 

Night has fallen outside and it’s even worse, around the city fires have broken out and from your apartment you can see a couple of them burn out of control. Just after midnight the news channel stops broadcasting, suddenly, in the middle of an update. You flick through the channels but there’s only static on all of them. 

You call Will’s place again but there’s no reply, you hope that means Benny has brought back Will to Hannah, and they can’t pick up right now, maybe they’re on their way here. 

Just as you’ve put the phone down it rings again and you snatch it up. 

“Frankie?” you almost cry down the receiver but instead you hear Pope’s worried voice. 

“Is Frankie there?” he asks, you can hear the stress in his voice. 

“No, he called at nine, he…he was in some trouble but I don’t know…he was on his way home, but he’s not here yet,” your words rush out, “Pope, what’s  happening? I can’t get hold of Will or Benny either and I’m freaking out!” 

“I don’t know, it’s a shit show, people are…listen, I’m not too far from you, I’ll try and make it over there. I’m on a military frequency so my phone’s still up, I’ll call you if anything. Just stay put inside, keep the door locked.”

“Yes, yeah, of course, I’m waiting for Frankie, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, double checking the lock and deadbolt on the front door. 

“Do you have a weapon, a gun, baseball bat, knife, anything?” he asks, you can hear him jogging, his shoes drumming along whatever hard surface he is on. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think we have a gun, we have a baseball bat, and the kitchen knives,” you frown, looking out the window again, “Pope, why do I need to arm myself, are people looting?” 

“Yeah, they’re looting and it’s getting violent, so stay inside, and don’t open to anyone except me or Frankie. And don’t talk to anyone but me or Frankie, ok?” 

“Ok, I’ll dig out the baseball bat straight away but…but just get here, please, Pope, I’m really scared.” You leave the window and go to the closet in the guest room where Frankie keeps his old bat. 

“I know, I know, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

“Hurry, please, and stay safe, Santi,” you say, you can feel tears gathering on your lashes as your voice starts to wobble. 

“I need you to be strong, ok,” Pope’s voice is firm, as if he’s giving a soldier orders, “I need you to handle yourself, if someone tries to come through that door, you need to defend yourself, do you understand? Even kill them if it comes to that, do not let anyone attack you.”

“Santi…” you stumble, “I can’t..”

“I know, but you have to. This is serious, Frankie’s not around so I need to make sure you’re safe, and for you to be safe, you need to be ruthless now, do you understand?” His voice has a sharp edge, he’s breathing hard, moving fast trying to get to you, and the reality of what he’s saying hits you. 

“I promise, Pope,” you whisper, “I’ll…I’ll try my best to defend myself, I’ll try.” 

“Good, I’m about an hour away on foot, but it’s slow going. Give me two to three hours and I should be there.” 

“Stay safe, Santi, please,” you beg, pressing the receiver of the phone to your ear, as if hearing the voice of your friend will keep him and you safe. 

“I’ll try my best, and stay strong for me, and for Frankie, ok?” 

“I will,” you promise. 

… 

When his phone dies, Frankie hears the click and then nothing. He had a feeling this would happen, it’s mayhem in the city and the system is bound to be overloaded, so the lack of reception is no surprise, but he still curses under his breath. 

He was moving down narrow back alleys, jogging fast, staying off the main streets, avoiding people, especially any police, as he tried to get away from Washington Park. When he’d put some distance between himself and the park, he’d stopped to call home. He’d crouched down just behind a dumpster, keeping out of sight, while he talked to her. Now he stands up carefully, looking up and down the alley and considers his next move. The keys to his truck are in his pocket, it’s still where he left it by the park, he could maybe try to get back to it but the police are sure to be there. 

But something, at the back of his head, tells him he needs to keep moving and get home as fast as possible. Things are not normal, the whole day has been a shit show, but now, now it’s getting out of control. The man he’d tried stopping beating up the other guy had been raging, he’d turned and attacked Frankie so fast he’d barely had time to react. Only his instincts from the army, slower now but still just under the surface, had saved him from getting bit, fucking bit! 

The guy had actually tried biting him when Frankie sidestepped, and tripped him up, making him fall to the ground. He’d been on his feet in a flash and Frankie knew the guy was high on something when he saw his eyes, so he’d sidestepped again and swung an elbow to the guy’s head, hitting him in the temple. It had been harder than he’d intended but the sudden attack had his adrenaline running high, and the man had dropped to the ground and remained motionless. 

As he started running, when the police pulled up, his only thought was to get away as fast as possible. But as he ran, as he put a couple of blocks between him and the park, he saw others starting to act strange. When a city bus crashed into a taxi he dodged into an alley, the passengers on the bus flailing about inside as if they were locked in battle with each other. Frankie’s gut was yelling at him that something was very wrong, this was not just a weird day, this was something else, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what was going on. So he’d stopped to call her, to hear her voice and make sure she was safe, and let her know he was trying to get home. 

The way the call ended, when the phone network died, left a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the unfolding mayhem in the city. This weekend was meant to be about them, he wanted everything to be perfect, and now the last words between them had been anger. The small box in his jacket pocket represented everything he wanted for their future, and more than anything he needed to get back to her, to explain what had happened and get them out of the city for their anniversary. Whatever the fuck was going with everyone else, he needed to be with her, at the cabin, and ask her to be his wife. Everything else was secondary. 

Frankie drew a deep breath and started moving back towards Washington Park. He needs his truck, it’s their best chance at getting out of the city. Hopefully the police had been called away on something else, letting paramedics deal with the guy he’d taken down, maybe he hadn’t actually killed him. 

He stays on side streets and alleys, keeping low, staying out of sight. When he sees the door to a gun shop wide open, he pauses, considering the risk. A gun would make him feel safer, but looting one now, is pretty shitty behaviour. The thought stays with him for only a second, before he cautiously moves into the shop. The back of the shop is dark but quiet, broken glass crunches under his boots as he moves towards one of the display cases. There’s rifles on the wall but they’re too hard to hide, instead he quickly finds a Glock among the wreckage, the familiar gun feels solid in his hand. 

There’s ammo behind the counter but when he steps around it, he sees the woman, splayed on the floor, face down. He stops in his tracks, staring down at her still form for a beat. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt and he can see the blood where it’s been ripped open over her shoulder. It doesn’t look like a significant amount of blood but he can’t see her face, can’t tell if she’s alive or not. 

There’s a box of ammo near him and he quickly loads the gun, sliding a full magazine into the Glock. He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the day has been, but he keeps his gun trained on the woman, safety off, while he carefully moves towards her. There’s more ammo behind her and he wants to pick it up, but he also doesn’t want to leave her injured or dead without checking on her. 

Gently he nudges the toe of his boot against her hand, shifting it slightly, and he hears a deep growl, inhuman. The sound makes him take a quick step back, more glass breaking under his feet with a loud crackle. The woman lifts her head and turns to look at him for a beat. All Frankie has time to think is that her eyes have the same rage as the man at the park, she scrambles to her feet and launches herself at him. He fires his gun on instinct, the bullet hitting her cheek, the close range making it explode out the back of her head. 

She drops instantly as Frankie holds the gun trained at her. It takes a split second for his training to kick in, but then he moves. Stepping over her, he grabs two more boxes of ammo, stuffing them in his pockets, before he quickly throws himself over the counter and heads out the back door he came through, checking the street before he leaves. Walking fast, but not running, he puts the safety back on the gun and shoves into the back of his trousers, out of sight under his jacket. His breathing is normal but he can feel adrenaline pumping through his system, muscle memory makes him move through the city as if it’s hostile enemy territory. 

What the fuck is going on? What was that? Bad batch of some drug on the streets? 

As he moves back towards the truck he checks his phone, there’s still no reception. There are more people on the streets now, more cars too, all heading for the freeway. He sees a family hastily throw bags into a car, a cat in a travel cage stuffed into the back. Other cars speed past, full of stuff, people are packing up and leaving. The sight makes him anxious, he needs to do the same, get back home, get to her, and get the fuck out. 

Screw the weekend, we need to get the fuck out of the city fast, whatever this is, it’s not gonna be over by Monday.

He finally spots his truck, parked where he left it, the man he’d knocked out nowhere in sight, and no police. Quickly scanning the area for signs of trouble, Frankie crosses the street and gets into the truck. He breathes a sigh of relief when he can lock the door and the engine rumbles to life. He can see traffic lining up on the other side of the park so he takes a side street, mapping the best route back home in his head as he tries to drive as fast as he can, people are running along the streets, cars speeding past and it gets worse the closer to downtown he gets. He tries to skirt around it but as he turns down a side street he finds it blocked by a truck that’s crashed into a building. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under his breath, there’s fire under the truck and he can see people on the other side. Quickly he reverses back onto the main street and turns left, heading a few more blocks down. The traffic’s getting heavy and it’s getting harder to avoid getting stuck, up ahead he sees cars grinding to a halt and in a last second decision he pulls a hard right and turns down a narrow alley, he knows it connects to another big road after a couple of blocks but it will get him closer to home at least, almost all the way there if it’s clear. He barrels through the alley, slowing down only to take the sharp turn onto the main road, and speeding up as he sees the way ahead of him clear. The harsh headlights flooding the cabin of his truck is the only warning he has when the bus slams into the passenger side of the truck. The screech of metal and tyres is the last thing Frankie hears as the world outside the shattered windscreen goes spinning and turns to black. 

…

Your body is telling you to sleep but you can’t, it’s almost three am and you’re on the couch, with a painful knot in your stomach. There’s sirens wailing outside, close by, and you’ve heard screams of terror and pain throughout the night. Frankie’s baseball bat is next to you on the couch, your hand shoots out to grab it whenever you hear a sound, your nerves on edge, the big kitchen knife on the coffee table. You’ve cried yourself dry with worry, Frankie’s not home, Pope hasn’t arrived either, you feel like you’re all alone in the world and every minute you’re fighting to keep the panic down. Pope’s words, keep strong for me and for Frankie, roll through your brain, it’s all you’ve got to keep you from falling over the edge. 

A loud crack rings out somewhere in your building and you shoot up to your feet, it sounded close and it sounded like a gunshot. Straining your ears you try to hear more, but the wailing sirens from outside make it hard to make out anything. Slowly moving closer to the front door, you grip the bat in your hand. You stop in the hall, holding your breath and listen intently in the silence. Suddenly you hear a shoe scuffle against the floor outside your door and you bite down hard on your lip, your heart is thumping so loudly it’s deafening. 

A soft tap on the door startles you enough to make you jump back into Frankie’s sneakers on the shoe rack. 

“It’s me, Pope, open the door,” Santi’s familiar voice filters low through the front door and you almost cry with relief, stumbling forward to unlock it. He comes through it as soon as it’s open enough to let him in and he immediately closes it behind him, locking and sliding the deadbolt in place. When he turns to you, you throw your arms around him, and you feel him grab hold of you, squeezing you tight as he pulls you into the living room. 

“Santi, I’m so scared,” you sob, fighting back tears, as he sets you down on the couch, “what’s happening?” 

“I don’t know yet, Frankie isn’t back?” he asks, looking around the living room. 

“N-No, I haven’t heard from him since the cell network went down,” tears well up in your eyes, “h-he said, he was coming back here. But that was six hours ago, Santi!” The tears spill over as fear overcomes you and he sits down next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently shushing you. 

“Deep breaths, hermana, you need to focus,” he turns you around, putting both hands on your shoulders, squeezing them as his eyes lock onto yours. “Listen, I need you to stay with me now, ok?” 

You nod weakly as Pope wipes your cheek with the back of his hand, “We need to pack essentials and get out of here, there’s a couple of dirt bikes in the garage under your building, I’ve got the keys and-” 

“I’m not leaving without Frankie,” you say immediately, leaning back from Pope instinctively. “I have to stay here until he comes back.” 

“You can’t, it’s not safe, I have to keep you safe while Frankie’s not around,” Pope grabs your shoulders again, as if to press it into you but you baulk. 

“If I leave, with the phones down, he won’t find me. He said he was coming back here and I said I’d stay until he came back,” you pull away from Pope and stand up, moving to the window to look down on the street again. 

“Hermana, you haven’t seen the city, it’s chaos,” he’s stands up and comes after you, grabbing hold of your arm, “I don’t know what’s going on but people are unhinged, losing control and attacking each other,” his grip on your arm loosens a little but he’s turning you to look at him, “I don’t want to scare you more, but it’s bad out there, people are dying.” He falters, hesitating for a few seconds, “I’m sorry, this isn’t going away anytime soon, and Frankie might not make it back.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that!” You feel panic rising in your chest and you push him away.

“I saw a woman…she was…she killed a child, it’s that bad out there,” Santi grabs you again, a pained look on his face, pleading, “I’m sorry, Frankie is a very capable soldier, one of the best, but it took all I had to make it here.” 

You pull your arm from his hand, “He’s coming back here, I’m not leaving without him,” you spit out and step back into the living room, crossing your arms as you turn back to Pope, he’s looking at you from the window. 

“I can’t leave you here, Frankie’s my best friend, my brother, and you’re the love of his life, I’ve got to keep you safe. For him, hermana.” He’s pleading with you but you shake your head even as tears well up in your eyes again. 

“If you want to help Frankie, get to Lucía. Take one of the dirt bikes, get her and we’ll meet you at Denny’s cabin.” You’re staring at him, your jaw set, you know Pope can’t argue with that and he has no choice. As he drops his chin to his chest you know you’ve got your way. 

“Ok,” he sighs, “I’ll go and get Lucía, but you have to promise me that if Frankie’s not back by Sunday morning, you take the other bike and come up to the cabin too,” he’s walked over to you again, looking down at you with dark eyes, “if he’s not back by Sunday morning, he’s not coming back. Take the bike, get to the cabin.” 

“He’s coming back, Santi.” 

“I really want you to be right, hermana,” he sighs as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You slump against him, you can feel your body shaking with the onslaught of nerves and adrenaline. 

“He has to come back,” you whisper into his chest, “he has to, he has to, he has to,” you repeat as a mantra as Pope gently strokes your back. 

You don’t notice when Pope carefully lays you down in your bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your exhausted body and mind shuts down for a few hours and lets you sleep without dreams. When you wake with a start, daylight is starting to creep through your window, and for a second it feels like a normal morning, until you see Frankie’s side of the bed, empty. 

You push back the blanket and make your way out to the living room to find Santi on the couch, two guns and a rifle laid out in front of him. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up at you. “I hope you managed to sleep some.” 

You sit down next to him on the couch, watching his methodical movements with the weapons, “Did you sleep at all?” 

“No, I kept watch, but it’s fine,” he adds as he sees your concerned look, “I’m still running on adrenaline and I’m used to it. Pulled plenty of all nighters in the army.” 

“Did anything happen while I slept?” You move to the kitchen and open the fridge to pull out some breakfast, the inside of the fridge is dark. 

“The electricity and the military phone network cut out about an hour ago,” Pope nods at the fridge. “Eat whatever might go bad first.” He stands up and grabs a backpack, you recognise it as Frankie’s spare one. “I’ve packed enough to keep me going for a few days, and I’ve done the same for you and Frankie,” he points to a bigger backpack, Frankie’s hiking pack. “I’m gonna try to get to Lucía now, you and Frankie head to the cabin as soon as possible. Get out of the city, that’ll be Frankie’s plan too.”

He comes over to you where you’re standing by the kitchen counter, frozen in your movements. “Remember what I said last night, hermana, I’m sorry, but if he’s not back by Sunday morning…” he pauses and grabs hold of your hand, squeezing it tight, “if he’s not back, you have to leave by yourself and get to the cabin. Promise me,” his dark eyes are bearing into you as his fingers wrap around your own. 

“I promise, I’ll leave if he’s not back by Sunday morning,” you say, your voice barely over a whisper. 

“Ok,” he gives your hand another squeeze and goes back to Frankie’s backpack. “I’m leaving a gun with you, and some ammo, it’s in the pack,” he shows you the boxes in an outside pocket. “This is your gun,” he picks up one of the handguns on the coffee table, “it’s easy enough to handle, I’ll show you.”

“Where did you get them?” you ask, “did you just happen to have two guns and a rifle on you yesterday?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Santi looks at you, “I broke into a gunshop and took them.” He sees the way your eyes widen and holds up his hand, “Look out of the window, the world is falling apart, I don’t know what is happening, but looting three guns to protect myself and you, is the least of our worries right now.” He picks up the gun and motions you over and shows you how to hold it, “Grab it like this, both hands, keep it steady.” 

The gun is heavy and cold in your hands, “You really think the world is falling apart?” Your voice is quiet as you adjust your grip as Pope moves your fingers. 

“The first thing I heard yesterday was that something was going on in Indonesia, then Rotterdam. Here, put your thumb like this.” He moves your thumb to cross over your hand, “then there were news reports from all over the US. And if things are as bad there as they are here, then yeah, I think the world is falling apart.” 

He steps back and looks at your grip on the gun, “That’s it, hold it like that and squeeze the trigger when you’re ready.” 

You pull back on the trigger and the gun clicks. “So we get to the cabin and then what?” you ask, looking down the barrel of the gun, feeling the weight. 

“We hold down the fort, wait it out, until it’s under control again.” Pope gently takes the gun from your hands and shows you how to load it, making you go through the motions several times. When he decides you’ve got a hang of it, he takes the gun and gives it to you, “Safety on, keep it within easy reach. I should’ve gotten you a holster but stick it in the back of your pants for now, keep it on you at all times, ok?” 

“Ok,” you nod, doing as he says before looking up at him. “Do you think the others, Will and Benny, will come up to the cabin too?”

“If they can, yeah, it’s the most logical choice.” 

He turns and grabs the smaller backpack and his jacket, “I’m leaving, I’ll get to Lucía, get her and her mom, if I can, back to the cabin. Sunday morning, ok?” 

“Sunday morning I leave if he’s not back, yes, Santi.” You nod, your jaw tight. 

“Ok. And listen, when you do leave, with or without Frankie, don’t trust anyone. People are attacking without warning, like animals.” Pope’s eyes are on you, imploring you to understand, “Anyone moves towards you, shoot them, aim for the torso to bring them down, then head shot, to kill. I know it’s not going to be easy, but if you want to survive, you have to. Get to the cabin, I’ll be there.” He pulls you in for a big hug, squeezing you tight and you hold on to him for as long as you can before he pulls away. 

“Stay safe, Santi.” 

“You too, hermana.”  

You walk him to the front door and watch him as he listens through it for a couple a minute, the landing outside is silent. Carefully he opens the door, gun drawn, and peeks outside. Daylight is filtering through the windows, shining some light into the stairwell. With a final look at you he steps through the door and you close it behind him, locking it securely again. 

Walking back to the living room, you sit down on the couch. Twenty four hours until Sunday morning.

All you can do now is wait.

Chapter 12

[psychovigilantewrites]

It's Been Awhile

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word Count: 5,500

Rating: Explicit, there is sex, R18

Summary: Reader visits Jason after some time.

Masterlist | Ao3

A/N: Hey guys! It's been awhile, hasn't it. Sorry it's not a Red Who update, but I promise I have not abandoned it yet.

I am extremely rusty, because I haven't been reading nor writing much lately. I have a full time job now, and I'm on my way to paving my career. I still think of you guys a lot, though. So thank you so much for sticking with me till now. To the new followers, you won't see much activity here, but I will return from time to time to post or scroll or check up on things.

I'm so rusty that a 5000 word count felt so long to me. I remember when I was churning like, 12k word count within a week. Lol, I would love to try that out again. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you all enjoy! This is the most I've written in a while.

You kicked an empty beer can aside and heard its metallic clink against the brick wall as you walked down the narrow alley.

From all the years you spent in alleyways, you got used to the smell and the suspicious puddles. It was dimly lit, the only light source coming from the apartment windows above you. You stopped below the fire escape and jumped, hands grasping the end of the metal ladder to pull it down so you could climb up.

You counted the floors. Four, seven… twelfth. You stopped a floor below your target so you could carefully creep up to the thirteenth. You peeked through your target’s opened window carefully. His apartment was brightly lit and clean. You noticed all the surfaces like the coffee table at the centre of the living room, and the small dining table at the far side of the apartment near the main entrance, were clear of any clutter or stains. The light grey sofa near the window where you were at looked new, with fluffed cushions arranged on the seats along with a beige throw blanket.

Your target had his bare back facing you, standing at the kitchen where he was putting away the dishes in the overhead cabinet. He was shirtless, so you could see the muscles of his back ripple and flex when he reached above his head. You climbed through the window silently and entered his apartment.

“Hello there-” you started, but immediately ducked to avoid the flying mug aimed at you but missing and crashed into pieces behind you. “Wow, rude.”

“Christ,” Jason swore when he realised who you were. “What the fuck? You scared the shit outta me.”

You grinned at him. “Not my fault you’re losing your touch. You really didn’t hear me?”

“I was never able to hear you, you know that,” he scowled and crossed his arms while walking towards you. “Take off your shoes, you’re dragging dirt all over my house.”

“Not until you clean up the glass.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing a broom to sweep away the shards.

You sat down on his sofa. An awkward silence passed.

“So,” you looked around his apartment. It was familiar because you’ve been there so many times before, but he had obviously done some rearranging and bought new furniture. There were definitely more books on his shelf now. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

“Around… six months?”

“Without any messages or phone calls,” he frowned, looking at the floor that was now clean and clear.

“Jason,” you groaned, “You know I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, putting aside the dustpan. “It’s just- it was hard not knowing whether you were safe or not.”

“You think undercover has been easy for me too?” you demanded.

“I know it hasn’t- look, I don’t want to argue,” he admitted. He sat down on the sofa next to you. You felt the sofa dip at his weight. “I’ve been undercover too. I know how hard it is. I was just worried.”

You looked at him. His thick eyebrows were pulled down in a frown, his icy blue eyes staring at you intensely. He had a bruise that was healing on the upper corner of his left cheekbone, and a fresh new cut on his lower lip.

“You’re my best friend. You’re the only one I’ve known the longest. Not knowing whether you were dead or alive does things to a person,” he stressed.

“Well, I’m here now. Alive. And demanding you get me some liquor,” you winked.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but complied. “Since when did you start drinking casually?”

You hesitated. “Since Elisa.”

“I have whiskey, bourbon, gin, tequila and beer,” he listed the contents of his liquor cabinet.

“Gin, soda and lime, please,” you ordered. Jason immediately got to work, making you your cocktail. “Bring the bottle here as well. I might want a top up.”

He raised an eyebrow as he served you and put the bottle of gin down on the coffee table.

“Aww, you even put a little lime wedge. Cute,” you teased and sipped. “Yep, I was right. Did you always used to make your drinks this weak?”

“You never complained before,” he replied, watching you pour a little more gin in your glass. “The drinks in Cuba must be strong.”

You paused, lips still on the rim of the cup. Silence fell again, before you shrugged. “I’ve taken quite a liking to rum.”

You dug through the sling bag pouch you had across your body and took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jason protested.

“Uh, I’m lightshing a shigarette,” you answered with the cigarette already on your lips.

“One, no smoking in my house,” he snatched the cigarette from you and threw it on the table, “ Two, did Elisa smoke too?”

“She didn’t and then she did,” you scowled, “How long have you quit?”

“Four months,” he said, “I use these now. It’s helped a lot. I suggest you do the same.”

He took out a bright pink cylindrical metal tube with a straw-like tip from the pocket of his sweatpants and sucked the end. He exhaled a thick cloud of white mist that smelled of-

You burst into laughter.

“What?” he huffed.

“I’m sorry, but right now I’m just imagining bumping into you in a dark alleyway, all big and muscly, with your leather jacket and combat boots, and suddenly you smell like- what’s that, watermelon?”

“Yeah, so what?” he pouted, “I don’t even have the urge to smoke anymore.”

“You’re right, that’s good,” you smiled, “I’m proud of you.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, “So, what are you doing here? You back for good?”

“Officially, my role in the mission has ended,” you explained, “But I might have to go back from time to time… And…”

“You’re leaving again?” he guessed solemnly.

You pursed his lips and looked at him. “How much do you know about what I was doing?”

“Not much,” he began, “Just that you were undercover in Cuba, leading some sort of coup?”

“Not exactly leading a coup,” you corrected, “I was hired by a private organisation to infiltrate and, uh, get rid of corrupted leaders internally, and replace them with clean people so that the citizens can have a chance at improving the country.”

“So… American intervention to reestablish democracy and change regimes?” Jason smirked, “Like Cuba in the sixties? Bolivia, Ghana, Angola, and my personal favourite, Iraq?”

“It’s not like that,” you defended, “And not American. Not CIA. Not United Nations. Jason, these people are real. They have no other agenda but to give people freedom. We’re made of many countries and nationalities- mostly third world whose countries have been ravished by colonialism and intervention. Think Che Guevara, but bigger. Richer. Way richer. More organized. They’ve been recruiting ex-agents and spies, people who can’t be blackmailed or bribed with money. People who care about change.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” he realised, “Been playing Spy Kids with communists.”

“We’re not calling ourselves that,” you argued, “And we’re not going for the communist revolution. We want to go for a more organic change.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” he sighed in defeat.

“Because… I want you to come with me next,” you positioned your body to fully face him, crossing your legs on the sofa.

“What?” he asked incredulously, “And what, abandon Gotham?”

“Gotham doesn’t need people like you and me, Jay,” you whispered, “It needs Batman, and Nightwing, and Robin, and all of them. Gotham needs hope. People like us don’t belong here.”

“People like us?”

“You know what I mean,” you said sternly, “Our skills are needed and appreciated elsewhere.”

Another moment of silence of you and Jason just glaring at each other. You saw the way Jason’s eyes examined your expression, your body language. He knew you were completely serious about this.

You broke eye contact and took a few sips of your drink, feeling the contradictory refreshment and burn.

“Just think about it. You have time. I’m on a decently long break before going to the next mission,” you leaned back against the cushion and closed your eyes, “Mmm, I want to go to a nice spa. Get some new clothes. Watch movies. Source for some cool gadgets from Bruce. Spend some time with the family.”

“For how long?”

“A couple of months.”

You heard Jason sigh again. That’s how it was with Jason. Just constant sighing.

“Fine, I’ll think about it.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. “Really?”

He was looking down into his own cocktail. “I don’t think I can go another six months not knowing what the fuck you’re doing, where you are, whether you’re dead or alive. So, yes. I’ll fuckin’ think about it.”

You felt bad. From the moment you told him you were leaving to go undercover, from the moment you went silent, you felt immensely guilty for leaving him. It was your first time without contact with him, and hell, it was difficult for you too. He was your first friend, your first family. Your life would not have been your life without Jason Todd.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching out to his face to make him look at you. “I missed you.”

He simply stared. He looked like he was struggling to say something, or struggling to stop himself from saying something.

Then, he looked away. “So, how was it?”

“Pretty fucking cool,” you admitted, relaxing back into your usual self. “I felt like I was in a movie. Being undercover without anyone knowing sucks ass, though. Couldn’t be myself. Couldn’t do whatever I wanted to do, say whatever I wanted to say. Fuck, it was so hard. That’s when the drinking started.”

He chuckled. “Liar.”

“Excuse me?” you turned to him.

“Liar,” he stated, “That’s not how the drinking started. Something happened.”

“A lot of things happen when you’re undercover, Jason,” you snapped.

“I’m just saying,” he smirked, “You may have gotten used to lying to everyone around you. But you can’t lie to me.”

You hated how right he was.

“Put on some tunes,” you demanded, “Like I said, I couldn’t be myself. So tonight, I am going to drink and I am going to do whatever I want, and say whatever I want.”

“And as always, I’m the victim,” he groaned.

“Hush, you love it,” you giggled.

Jason stood up, grumbling. “Just take off your damn shoes.”

You complied, kicking off your boots and placed them away against a wall. Jason had always been so neat and tidy, so you respected that whenever you were in his space. He was extremely particular about hygiene as well. You were used to having your shoes off in his house, to him sanitizing his hands whenever he took off his gloves, to him always wiping surfaces with isopropyl alcohol.

He was always so well groomed too, and you never needed to worry about toiletries whenever you stayed at his. Whatever you needed, or hell, didn’t need, he had them. You remembered when you were teens and you were complaining about acne. He taught you all about skincare, haircare. About shaving versus waxing. About scrubbing between your toes and behind your ears when you shower.

And Jason showered every single day, since he was always engaged in physical activities.

And because of that, Jason always smelled so fucking good.

You caught a whiff of the scent you were so familiar with when he sat back down next to you after turning on the speakers and grabbing two bags of chips. He smelled like the cologne he wore, which was a deep pine scent with undertones of chocolate and sage. It mixed well with the refreshing raspberry of his shampoo.

“You met Grayson yet?” he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm?” you mumbled, still lost in his scent. “No. You’re the first.”

“Good,” he grumbled back.

“Didn’t want to make you jealous or anything,” you giggled, poking his cheek.

He swatted away your hand, but a small smile played on his lips. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

You wanted to retort, but let it go and took another big gulp from your glass. You topped the ice with some more gin and squeezed the lime in. Talking about Jason’s weird competitive streak with Dick would always end up with Jason sulking. You felt a little tipsy already.

“Hmm,” you hummed. And then, you had a brilliant idea. You stood up and you took your tight black t-shirt off, leaving you in your black bra.

“Why are you stripping?” Jason raised his voice.

“It’s summer, and it’s hot,” you shrugged, sitting back down closer to him. He was also shirtless, and you felt the heat radiating off his skin. “And it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“It’s different when you’re bleeding from a stab wound and I’m pouring vodka on it,” he retorted.

“Whatever,” you scoffed, “ And you know what? This place was a smoking area before I left. And I told you that tonight, I’m going to be doing whatever I want. So.”

You reached forward to your pack of cigarettes Jason threw on the coffee table, but he grabbed your hand.

“Nuh-uh. No.”

You glanced at his grip on your wrist and back up at him. “You really want to do this, Todd?”

His expression changed to some sort of smug look that he always had when presented with a challenge. “Let’s see whether Cuba made you rusty, then.”

You smirked at him. And then, you swung your other fist towards his face, but he blocked your punch with the palm of his free hand.

You lifted yourself off the couch and used your body weight and momentum to catch him off his balance. It worked, he was on the floor, but he was so strong and it was difficult to free your arms from his grip.

So, you played dirty.

You carefully kneed his groin. Gently. You didn’t want to actually hurt him. Just to discombobulate him.

Jason swore, and his grip on you loosened just a teeny tiny bit. But that was all you needed to release yourself by twisting his arm to an angle that forced him to turn his body face down to the floor.

You continued twisting.

“Ow, ow, ow!” He complained.

“Do you yield?” You breathed.

“Yes! I yield, holy shit,” he whined.

You released him and greeted him with a shit eating grin when he propped himself back up. You had always been the better fighter. Even though Jason was bigger and stronger, you were more lithe, fast, and flexible. You used momentum, anatomical range of motion, and precise techniques in your martial art. That’s why you were always silent and could sneak up on him. That’s why you used to be the stealthy assassin, while Jason favoured loud guns and explosives.

“You know you will lose, yet you always challenge me,” you pointed out, “That’s why I think you’re a brat.”

“Like a spoiled kid?” he said, “Since when?”

“Not in that context,” you rolled your eyes. “Like, in bed.”

“Huh?” Jason sat down and looked up at you with genuine confusion. You joined him on the sofa again. This time, he didn’t stop you from lighting your cigarette. You inhaled. You exhaled.

“You know, like you have the dominant and the submissive,” you started to explain, “A brat is under the submissive category.”

“The hell?” he protested, “I am not submissive.”

“Maybe at first,” you smirked slyly, slowly closing the gap between you and him. “That’s what a brat is. You like to fight. You’re stubborn. You like to say no. But ultimately, you want to betamed.”

To make a point, you crawled towards him and boldly straddled his waist.

“Wh-what- what the fuck are you doing?” Jason sputtered, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“That’s why you like to fight me, right?” you continued, resting one palm flat on his bare chest, your other on his shoulder while you held your cigarette. “You want me to make you submit.”

You blew smoke onto his face.

“Stop that,” he gripped the side of your arms, “Did Cuba make you flirty too?”

“I always flirt with you.”

“Not like this,” he shook his head. “What, did Elisa have to seduce men? Women?”

“Unfortunately, no,” you pouted, “Elisa had to keep things strictly professional between all her assets.”

The truth was you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“So, it’s been a while,” he stated.

“It’s been a while,” you agreed. “How about you? Any women? Men?”

“Please,” he scoffed, “Just Grayson being an ass.”

“So, it’s been a while for you, too,” you teased.

“But I’m not a perv like you,” he huffed.

“We can change that,” you leaned in closer, watching the way he had subtly wet his lips, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

“Stop,” he repeated, “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to make you yield.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re going to regret in the morning,” he pressed.

“Why would you think I’m going to regret anything?” You asked.

“Because you’ve never done this before,” he frowned, “This is coming out of nowhere.”

You’ve been pining for him ever since you hit puberty.

“Do you think you’re going to regret it in the morning?”

He looked away from your intense, questioning gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

That was the reason you gave yourself for so long. You didn’t want to tell Jason how you felt because you were scared he wouldn’t see you the same anymore. Or that he would feel self-conscious around you. That he would reject you. That because of your selfish feelings, your relationship would be ruined.

You put out the cigarette in your glass.

“When I was Elisa Martinez,” you began slowly, “I couldn’t be myself, obviously. I couldn’t drink my favourite drink, or watch my favourite shows. You know how deep undercover is like, right? The complete erasure of your identity. Your history. I know some people who actually started to believe their cover story, to the point where they forgot who they really were.”

You paused to make sure you wouldn’t regret whatever you were going to say next.

“Elisa Martinez didn’t know Jason Todd. She never grew up with him. She never… fell in love with him…”

You noticed Jason’s eyes widened, and his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“And it was horrible, Jason,” you expressed, “I felt so lonely. So one day when I was alone in my apartment in Havana, I told myself that I wouldn’t be one of those people who gets lost in their cover identities. Unsure and confused about who they were. I vowed that when I got back here, I would truly be myself. No more hiding my feelings or my beliefs. No more stopping myself from getting what I wanted. Because I didn’t realise how having your own identity was a privilege that people took for granted.”

His eyes softened, but he still looked unsure of how to respond.

“So no,” you stated firmly, “I won’t regret it in the morning. Even if you don’t feel the same way, and you don’t want anything to do with me after this, I will not regret telling you how I feel. Because six months of struggling with identities was enough.”

Still straddling him, you crossed your arms to make a point.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. He let go of his grip on you and ran his hand through his hair again. A habit that you noticed he did when he was either stressed or nervous. “Wow. I mean. I didn’t expect that at all.”

“I know it seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but I’ve felt like this for years,” you confessed.

And that Jason did what you didn’t expect him to do. He reached out to cup your face, and then smiled at you.

You learned that Jason had many types of smiles. The smile that was really more threatening than it was comforting. The smile that meant he had a devious idea in his head. The smile that didn’t reach his eyes, when he was shaking hands with someone he didn’t like. The smile when he found something funny. The smile when he was thinking of the past.

And the smile that he only reserved for you.

It wasn’t just the upturned corner of his lips that made the smile. It was also the softness of his eyes, the relaxing of his brows. And the actual smile was just a brief moment, followed by his gaze into your eyes. He smiled like that at you during the first time you successfully threw a punch. And that time when you won first place at the science fair. Sometimes he would smile like that when you went on about history, and geopolitics, and the latest episode of your favourite show.

“Me too,” he simply said.

And there it was. The last time you felt this happy was when Lady Shiva told you she had nothing left to teach you.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” Jason broke you out of your bliss.

“Huh?”

Suddenly he grabbed your hips tightly and threw you off of him, onto the empty space of the sofa. You gasped in surprise at the sudden movement, and before you knew it, he was on top of you, holding you down. He put his face above yours, lips only inches away that you could feel his hot breath.

“I am not a brat.”

And then he kissed you.

His cut lip grazed yours softly at first before sucking in your bottom lip with force. He broke off the kiss and grinned at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

And before he knew it, you had flipped him over, causing him to land on his back onto the floor with a loud thud.

Your knee was at his crotch again, a silent threat for him to stay still.

But you knew what had Jason blushing was your hand around his throat.

“Tsk, tsk, Jay,” you whispered in his ear, making a point to softly brush your lips on his lobe. “Don’t be naughty. You know you can’t take me.”

“I- wha-” he sputtered, and then tried to move.

“Nuh uh,” you warned, putting more pressure on his crotch with your knee, “Stay still.”

He continued to look at you in surprise, or confusion, or wonder. You weren’t sure.

What you were sure about was that you felt his cock begin to harden against you.

You chuckled softly to yourself. The truth was, you made it all up just to antagonize him. You didn’t really think he was a brat at first. In fact, all of your previous fantasies were of him dominating you, choking you, pounding into you while your hands were tied to the bed posts. Now that you knew he was into this, though, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“I’m going to get up. But you,” you squeezed his neck a little tighter, “You stay like this and do what I say, okay?”

You felt him gulp under your grip and then he nodded.

You stood up and put your hands on your hips. Looking down at him, you appreciated the view.

His hard chest was going up and down fast as he was panting. You saw a flush grow from his neck to his cheeks. Your gaze went down his abs, to his crotch, where you saw the outline of his hard cock and a small dark spot at the tip.

“Take off your pants for me,” you commanded.

He just stared at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to threaten you?”

You gently stepped on his cock with your toes.

“Okay, okay!” he hurriedly slid off his sweatpants, revealing his hard on.

You never saw his cock before. You sort of knew it would be large based on the outlines whenever he wore sweatpants or boxers. But, wow.

He was perfectly long, and perfectly thick, and perfectly uncut. Though, his foreskin was now stretched back, revealing his head that was red and pulsating, desperate to be touched.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he grinned, his confidence and smug attitude back.

You sat back down on the couch and crossed your legs, making him confused.

“Well?” you prompted, “Start stroking.”

“What?” he asked, “Down here?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “Go on.”

He slowly reached for his cock and gave it a squeeze, eliciting a small moan from his lips. You bit your lips at the sound and the sight.

Fuck, he was so hot. You had dreamed of watching him jerk himself off for so long, and now there he was, sprawled on the floor at your feet.

He started to really stroke himself now, his eyes fluttered close and his mouth parted in heavy breaths.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

You saw that his cock was now slick and wet with his precum. You wanted to taste it so bad. You wanted him to shove his cock down your throat and mercilessly fuck your face until you gagged and cried.

Not today. He will have his turn some other time.

“Okay, stop,” you said in a sing-song voice.

“Wh-what? No,” he refused, still fucking his fist.

“Baby,” you stood up, “I said stop.”

He groaned and opened his eyes, his arm stilling around his dick.

You proceeded to take off your jeans, and your bra, causing your breasts to fall. Exposed to him for the first time, Jason was actually smacking his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I want to touch you,” he whined and moved to get up.

“No,” you denied, “Stay down there for me.”

You walked over to his head, placed your feet on either side, and then dropped to your knees so you were hovering your pussy right above his lips.

“This is fine too,” he mumbled, hands going straight to your ass, kneading them. Then, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal.

“Mmm, you smell divine,” he whined.

That did it. You just knew that you were drenched.

He started to mouth you through the fabric, kissing your folds, nibbling on them.

“Please, take them off,” he begged.

You complied, only because you couldn’t stand not being touched. The moment you returned to your position, Jason attacked you with his mouth.

“Fuck!” you gasped.

It was as if he was making out with your pussy. Wet lips on wet lips, he licked you everywhere, from between your folds, to your opening, to your clit. It was like he was starved for you. Hungry for you. All the while, the sound of wetness and his muffled moans filled the room.

“Jason,” you sighed. You felt the familiar warmth spread at the base of your core.

He knew what you wanted. You felt him focus on your clit with his tongue, and then a finger entering you slowly.

You let out a high pitch whine when he started finger fucking you while ravishing your clit at the same time.

A second finger.

He was hitting the right spot, so deep inside you. You had thought about this as well. Whenever you saw his fingers on a trigger, or that time when he was making pizza dough and kneading. You imagined his thick, calloused fingers inside you, fucking you the way he was right now.

He quickened his pace and added more pressure to your clit.

You knew he knew you were close. You could feel it. Your body was tense, and you knew you were tightening around his fingers. You gripped his hair with both your hands, because you just needed to hold onto something.

And then you were coming.

You didn’t know you were screaming until you felt a gush of wetness between your legs, splashing everywhere.

Jason fucking Todd made you squirt.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you apologised. You stood up too quickly and didn’t realise your legs were jelly, so you ended up tripping onto the wet floor next to him.

“That was so hot, don’t be sorry,” he looked at you incredulously. His face was glistening with your juices.

And fuck, was that a sight to behold.

You couldn’t help but grab him by the neck and pull him in for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him.

He crawled on top of you, sucking your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. One hand roamed your body while the other propped him up above you. He squeezed your breasts and your nipples, and went down to your waist, between your legs. He gripped your thigh from below and pushed it up so you were spread open.

He hooked your leg on his shoulder.

And without warning, he pushed his cock into your wet, sensitive pussy.

“Fuck!” you screamed as he bottomed inside you.

He filled you up so perfectly, that you never wanted to be empty ever again. He stretched you out so beautifully, that you thought your walls would just be molded into shape specifically for his cock.

“Hnngh,” he groaned, “You feel so fucking good. So fucking tight.”

You felt him thrust deep inside you, reaching all the spots that made you writhe in pleasure. He began pounding you hard, wet slaps made even wetter as you leaked all over his cock.

You weren’t gasping for air. It was so intense that you couldn’t breathe. Your mouth was opened in a silent scream until you actually had to remind yourself to inhale.

There were no words that you could form in that moment. Just absolutely filthy, vulgar sounds that rang through his apartment.

Through teary eyes, you watched him above you.

He was panting, breathing hard. You weren’t sure whether the moisture on his face was from sweat or your juices earlier. His dark hair had fallen down to poke his eyes, his brows pulled down in a frown. His chest had beads of sweat dripping, trickling down to his abs.

He moved his hips with precise and sharp movements. Every thrust into you was accompanied by gasps and whispers of words you couldn’t hear.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he praised breathily, “I want to watch you come again.”

It wouldn’t take too long.

You were already feeling like you were going to unravel. The heat pooling again, even more intense than your previous orgasm.

Jason increased his pace, and then reached down to your pussy to thumb your clit.

You screamed.

It was like a wave that pulled you down and released you. You felt your body tighten and your walls clench and unclench. You felt hot liquid release from your core, just like waves crashing.

Before you knew it, you felt empty. Jason had pulled out and jerked himself off over you.

He came long and hard in a loud groan. White ribbons of cum shot out of his pulsating cock, reaching all the way to your face.

He collapsed next to you on the floor, huffing and panting.

You felt drowsy all of a sudden, but so fucking relaxed.

“Wow,” you breathed.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, “Can’t move. Can’t think. Shhh.”

You giggled and scooted closer to him, pressing yourself onto his sweaty, sticky skin and rested your head on his chest.

You felt his heartbeat drum against his ribcage.

He rested his arm on your head and played with your hair.

“I can’t believe our first time was on the floor,” he complained.

“I think it describes us perfectly,” you closed your eyes and smiled.

He kissed the top of your head. After a beat, he asked, “Will you tell me what happened in Cuba?”

“One day,” you told him, “I need time to process it as well.”

“Fair enough,” he responded, “So, uh. Are we like, official then?”

“If you want to be.”

“Do you want to be?”

“I do,” you admitted, “I’ve been pining for you for a long time.”

“Me too,” he confessed, “We should have done this sooner.”

“I don’t think so,” you thought, “I think right now is the perfect time. We figured ourselves first, we explored what we wanted to do. We found our reason. Well, I did, at least.”

“So you’re really serious about this then?” he asked, “Fully committed?”

“One hundred percent,” you stated, “I think that we can make real change. Slow change. But change nonetheless.”

“Okay, then,” he sighed.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’m in,” he said, “I can’t promise you that I will stay for the cause. I can’t promise you that I will even believe in it. But I can’t do the silence again. You have no idea how difficult it was for me, these past six months.”

You frowned. You wondered what happened. You will ask another time.

“But I can promise you that you will always have me,” he continued, “I don’t know what this is, and what these missions need you-or us- to do, but you will always have my support.”

You felt deeply moved. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You didn’t have to worry about your identity anymore. About being confused, about being corrupted by the roles you had to play.

Because as long as Jason was there, you were you.

[tracybirds]

Where Parallel Lines Meet (5/?)

Wow these past two weeks have flown by! I’m about to go back to work full time so although I hope to keep to my loose fortnightly updates, I can’t guarantee that :( Lots to do in the year ahead!!

Big thanks to @gumnut-logic as always for being my sounding board and very patient with my slightly obsessive focus as I wrote :D And thanks also to the various people who gave me encouragement along the way and how you did so without hesitation bc that do be a confidence boost :D

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!!

Title is adapted from a line in Sarah Howes’ poem ‘Relativity’ (scroll to the bottom of the article)

A fight between John and Alan is followed by an interstellar storm with unexpected consequences.

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 7]

---

“You know, I haven’t spent much time down here,” said John, staring around them.

“I thought Scott showed you the hangar already,” replied Alan.

“Pointed at the door, more like. He hauled me away pretty quick and told me not to bother Brains.”

Alan thought if his brother rolled his eyes any harder they were liable to roll right out of their sockets.

“So you haven’t seen the ‘birds up close yet?”

“Well,” said John, hesitating over the word. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. I’ve seen them.”

Alan caught his meaning at once and groaned.

“Please tell me you didn’t sneak into the hangar in the middle of the night.”

“Okay,” said John, deadpan. “I didn’t sneak into the hangar in the middle of the night.”

He grinned.

“It’s not sneaking if the door’s left unlocked and I turned on all the lights. Besides he said I could have a closer look later. But when he’s here he’s always busy, so I helped myself.”

“Scott’s gonna kill me,” muttered Alan. “He’s actually going to kill me.”

“What’s his deal anyway?” said John. “I don’t remember him being so… you know.”

He waved his hand vaguely. “Like a giant pain in the ass.”

Alan stopped short and scowled at him.

“Scott’s not a pain in the ass.”

“Okay fine. Stick in the mud, whatever.”

“Scott’s given up everything for us.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me. He’s just bossing all of us around, making up dumb rules that don’t make any sense.”

“That’s not what he’s doing, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t even remember, he used to sneak out and stuff all the time.”

“You’re the one that doesn’t remember anything,” snapped Alan. “You’re the one who can’t do anything and I don’t care if you think you’re smart, you’ve got to be stupider than a pair of rocks if you think your say-so is worth more than Scott’s.”

John stopped short, glaring at Alan with the fury and focus of a high energy laser.

He wrenched his mouth open and despite himself Alan flinched, remembering the sharply barbed words that could fall so easily from his brother’s tongue when he was in the right mood.

Or the wrong mood as the case may be.

It seemed that John was always in the wrong mood nowadays.

“B-boys?”

The commotion died down in an instant, both brothers turning towards Brains who stood staring at them with an expression of mild alarm. The door that led deeper into the volcanic cavern, towards his workshop wing, stood ajar behind him and he still held a tablet in his hand, the holo-blueprint he had been editing swinging wildly in time with the arm that hung loose by his side.

“Hey Brains,” said Alan. “Uh… sorry. We didn’t…”

He searched for the best word to describe the argument.

“…interrupt, did we?”

Brains pushed his glasses up his nose and gave them a small smile.

“I f-fancied a walk,” he said, tactfully ignoring the tension in the air that was slowly dissipating. “I assume you’re coming to see m..me?”

“Yeah. If you’re not too busy.”

“Come along then. I’ve b-been working on a new locking mm..mechanism for the space pods that you m-might like to look at. You as well, John.”

“We actually need…” began Alan, but John cut him off.

“Yes,” he said loudly. “Yes, please. I want to see that. How’d you solve the pressure differential issues? Being equipped for so many different environments must have been a challenge.”

He rushed forward and Brains followed him, chatting lightly together as they began to walk towards the workshop.

Alan let them go ahead for a moment and tried to collect his thoughts. He was starting to get used to the sharp whiplash that came with John’s moods but they seemed to race through him like a storm rising out of a blue sky. It disturbed him more than any other change, being totally foreign in comparison to John’s normal even temper and cool head.

He'd heard stories of John as a teenager, mostly through Gordon’s good-natured teasing, stories of a slightly awkward and gawky boy who froze when Fiona Carr asked him out and who spent more time in the computer lab than at social events.

None of those stories featured a moody kid with a temper that shifted as easily as the wind and tossed and turned and shoved and left Alan sprawling as he tripped over on the backfoot once more.

It wasn’t that his John didn’t get angry –Alan remembered their final conversation in excruciating detail after all– but he never seemed to let himself grow out of control. Always his fury was released with the same careful deliberation as every other part of his life, and tidily packed away once it was no longer required.

This John was a wild card and Alan couldn’t figure out how to deal with him.

“Alan,” called Brains, pausing in the doorway. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah… yeah, sorry Brains.”

He hurried to catch up and quickly fell into step beside him. John was nowhere to be seen.

“I let him g-go on ahead,” said Brains quietly. “He knows the way and he can’t do any harm.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” muttered Alan ungraciously, but he knew the likelihood of John deliberately damaging anything was next to none. He might have been a pain, and exhausting to keep an eye on, but Alan knew his brother was more bored and frustrated than vindictive.

The workshop would probably do him good.

“Did you want to discuss your argument?”

“No,” said Alan, unable to prevent a slight frown from falling over his expression.

Brains nodded, seeming unsurprised. They walked in silence for a few minutes, long enough for the air to lose its cavernous chill as they entered the cramped cave network that housed Brains’ engineering experiments and prototypes.

“How are you coping anyway?” he asked suddenly.

Alan snorted.

“I’m fine. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.”

“And that m-makes you f-fine?”

“It means I have to be fine. Scott’s got enough to worry about – him and the others are swamped as it is. Gordon hasn’t used the pool in weeks and I can’t remember the last time Virgil played his piano.”

“Yes,” said Brains sadly. “I’d noticed that too.”

“And Kayo doesn’t have time to talk anymore, she’s too busy on Five and Grandma’s off trying to figure out what’s going on with John and…”

The words spilled out of him, all his worries and fears, all the petty resentment he’d stored up over the last few weeks, all his failures that he’d tallied up and all the frustrations with John, with having to stay on the island, feeling helpless and useless and wishing he could take it all back, the arguments, the ionisation storm, skipping the stupid assignments, everything.

He just wanted to rewind the clock and tell his younger self to not be such a short-sighted idiot.

He didn’t know when they stopped walking, but Brains made no motion to continue their path and so Alan ranted and paced in front of his friend. All the while he said nothing, only stood quiet and listened.

The words slowed to short bursts as they petered out and Alan huffed.

“B-better?” asked Brains with one of his small smiles.

Alan found he couldn’t answer, didn’t know for sure if he did feel better. He might even feel worse, the cool embarrassment of being caught out and unable to work through his own feelings creeping over him.

He settled for a half-shrug and looked away as the expression on Brains’ face morphed into a distinct look of sympathy.

“Talking about it doesn’t make you weak.”

“It’s not that,” snapped Alan. “I shouldn’t need it, I should be able to figure it out myself. I’m not a child anymore.”

Brains looked at him and suddenly Alan realised they were the same height, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye.

“Don’t be f-foolish, Alan. We all need our f-family and friends to talk things through, you know that.”

And he did. Alan knew that his brothers didn’t leave things festering, knew that they talked things out with one another.

But not with him.

For a long time, he knew they’d have never let him see their own anxieties and he’d always been too absorbed in his own problem to notice anyway. But things were beginning to change, or possibly slipping into a new and untested rhythm where he could reach out and check on them just as they’d always done for him.

And maybe that meant it would be okay if things weren’t wholly fine.

“It’s been hard,” he admitted. “But mostly because I’ve been worrying about everyone else.”

“Well, you can worry with me whenever you like,” said Brains. “Shall we go see your brother? I imagine by now he’s f-found a thousand questions to ask and will be wondering where we are.”

“He’ll be having too good a time for that,” said Alan with a smile. “He won’t have even noticed we were gone.”

They were both right.

John had hoisted himself up onto the workbench, and was scrolling through old plans on a tablet he’d hacked into, talking a mile a minute as he leapt through the schematics of Thunderbird Three.

Spinning around him, chattering just as quickly with her high voice was EOS, delighted by the opportunity to reconnect with her best friend.

“I see you’ve m-met EOS,” said Brains smiling. “Has she scared off MAX again?”

“I would never,” came EOS’s indignant voice, swivelling the camera array around. “He’s just rude, always running away when all I do is say ‘hello’. Not like John. I’ve missed speaking with you, you know.”

“Why didn’t you speak to me before?” asked John.

She tilted her camera upwards, reminiscent of a pout.

“Scott wouldn’t let me. He said you ‘needed space’.” She looked over at him. “You’ve told me about needing space before, you know. Scott said he’d tell you when the time was right and you’d come find me when you were ready. And I’m so glad the time’s right now.”

John laughed.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you too,” he said sincerely, looking lighter than he had done in weeks.

“But Scott didn’t say the time was right,” blurted Alan.

John rolled his eyes and Brains lay a gentle hand on Alan’s shoulder.

“I doubt he’s had the time to let John know EOS existed. I’ll take responsibility if he’s upset, but given how open we’ve b-been about International Rescue, this won’t be an issue.”

He smiled at EOS.

“And she’s done a great job assisting m-me with work in the mm..meantime.”

“I only came down today because I was bored,” said EOS, lights flashing a deep, moody blue. “Kayo’s better than Gordon, but she gets all sharp and snaps when I try to help.”

“Try to help or try to ‘help’?” asked Alan, grinning a little as he remembered how EOS ‘helped’ last time he and Gordon had taken a turn upstairs.

“Real help,” said EOS indignantly. “John told me I needed a better baseline than Gordon and I wasn’t to equate help with annoyance.”

“I can’t believe I made a real AI,” said John, still watching her in frank admiration. “I remember reading about how they were meant to be impossible only a few years ago.”

“You didn’t make me,” said EOS, playing an audio clip that sounded suspiciously like the old John hmphing. “You only wrote my code; I made myself from there and finished the job off.”

“Team effort then?”

EOS beamed, the ring of green glowing ever bright.

“Always, John. You and I are always a team.”

He beamed back at her then turned to the others.

“So, training? I saw that room with the giant mats, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“We’re here to get you stuff for lessons,” said Alan, and John pounced on him at once.

“Yeah, but ‘lessons’ includes training. Scott said so, I have to do both side by side.”

“What curriculum did you f-follow at high school, John?” asked Brains, speaking over Alan’s response and gently steering the conversation away from another argument.

John shrugged.

“Whatever they gave me mostly. I’ve done all my science, math and language credits but I was doing extras. I got to leave to attend the community college in the next town over in the afternoons, nothing complicated. In the mornings I had English, history and whatever arts elective was available.”

“You were doing college stuff already?” asked Alan, looking startled.

John shrugged again and looked down at hands. It didn’t seem he wanted to talk about it.

“Yeah, Scott would drive me over. They let us take a math class together.”

“Wow,” said Alan enviously. “I wish I had that kind of flexibility; it was hard enough convincing the distance learning committee to let me skip a year.”

“Yeah, well,” said John, swinging his legs. “The school didn’t really have a lot of choice, it’s not like they knew what to do with me. Or any of us really. Dad said we might move to New York or something soon, get to a better school and stuff. I guess he’s doing alright.”

He paused.

“Or was. Did.”

His legs stopped swinging and he drew one knee into his chest.

“Whatever.”

The air condensed around them, a sudden prickly tension emanating from John that seemed to cut through any words that Alan might have otherwise said.

He looked over at Brains in a panic, wanting to rush forward but held back by the memory of Scott hovering helpless over him all those weeks ago on that first awful morning.

It struck Alan that he’d not once heard John mention their father in all that time.

“John,” Brains began, but John only gripped his knee tighter, refusing to look up at him.

Brains stopped, bewildered and unsure in a way Alan had never seen him before. He was used to Brains having the answer to every problem, or at least always knowing how to proceed.

“John,” said EOS, bolder than Brains and less reverent of emotion. “You know your father is dead. You can’t avoid mentioning him forever.”

“Says you,” snapped John. “What would you know anyway, you’re only a machine.”

EOS’s lights flashed a dangerous red.

“You are being illogical, John, you know I am not a machine.”

“You’re a machine,” snarled John. “And you can’t help me. Go away.”

“Go, EOS,” said Alan, hollowly. “I know John taught you about giving people space, I think it would be best if you…”

He trailed off as both EOS and John turned their glares towards him.

“Fine,” said EOS loftily. “If you need space, I’ll just go then. The POD computers need to be recalibrated to respond to gravitational strength anomalies anyway.”

“I’ll join you,” said Brains, quickly.

Alan shot a panicked glance in his direction, having no desire to be left alone with a volatile John who didn’t want anyone’s help or platitudes. Brains only gave him a pointed look and shut the door.

If there had been a gap between them before, there was now a chasm whose vast width and depth threatened to engulf Alan, standing on its edge. He still couldn’t think of anything to say, the years of comfort sought from his own brothers ringing hollow in his ears.

John didn’t need to hear recycled reassurances that had comforted Alan ever since he was eight.

But Alan didn’t know what else to offer.

Slowly he crossed the room, hoisting himself up onto the workbench, and sat cross-legged facing his brother.

“If you’re going to tell me some trite crap about how it’s okay to be upset, I promise I will hit you.”

Alan shrugged.

“Fine. Then you’re being a big baby and you should have gotten over it by now. Is that better?”

There was a short silence.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He didn’t reply and Alan hardly expected him to. He was content to wait while the net of thorns around John began to loosen.

The minutes ticked by, the only sounds their breathing and the odd friendly beeps of machinery scattered around the room.

The health and safety posters and math jokes pinned to the wall behind them suddenly became very interesting when dark patches suddenly appeared on John’s trousers, stained by salted tears.

“I hate him.”

Alan nodded.

“I did too for a while. Hated him for leaving, hated him for going, hated him because he should have known.”

“Not Dad. Me. The other me.”

John swiped at his face angrily.

“He stole my time. I should have gotten more time, that was mine but he messed up and now I’m stuck here and it’s just not fair.”

Alan hummed softly in agreement, wondering what his brothers would say.

Wondering what John would say to himself if he could.

“No, it’s not,” he said at last.

John’s fingers twitched, the tension in his body ramping up yet again and Alan resisted the temptation to rest an arm across his shoulders and pull him close.

“What do you remember about him?” he asked instead, hearing the echoes of his brothers’ gentle encouragement in his voice.

John glanced at him.

“Dad?”

“Yeah,” said Alan. “I mean, you still have six more years on me.”

There was an appraising look in John’s eyes, suspicious of the distraction.

“Don’t you want to talk about him?”

“I think I need to talk about him,” said John hollowly. “But not yet. And not to you.”

He turned away.

The sting of rejection was sharper than any barb he’d traded with John before yet Alan couldn’t bring himself to be hurt. His own precious memories were few and it had taken a long time before he’d been able to wrangle more from his family. He knew too well how silent grief could be, how easily it could isolate.

Be patient, his instincts whispered to him, sounding a lot like the John he was missing. Stay with him.

Alan stayed, inching closer and closer until he sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder with his brother.

Quickly, before he could second-guess himself, he wrapped an arm around his brother and pulled him close. It was no different to when he was small, John’s startled body soon relaxing into his touch. He smiled wearily, soft and familiar as though nothing had changed as he reached up to hold Alan’s arms tighter around him.

“Time will carry us forward,” Alan whispered, the echo of John’s own voice speaking alongside him in his memory.

John huffed a wet sounding laugh.

“That’s what I always said to you. You know, when you were little.”

“I know. I remember. You don’t stop saying it by the way.”

John’s face fell and he pulled away.

Alan dropped his arms and moved back.

“It’s not just time with Dad he stole,” said John. “It was you too. I hate that he got to know you and that he gets to be your hero. I’ll never get that chance. You just keep humouring me because you think one day, I’ll disappear and he’ll come back.”

He scowled a split second too slow to cover his dejection.

Alan winced.

“I do hope that he’ll come back. But not because I want to get rid of you. Because I know he is you. And you’re still him. You can’t know, but you really are just like each other.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“You are,” insisted Alan. “You both like computers. And space.”

“Lots of people like computers and space.”

Alan laughed.

“That might be true, but trust me no-one likes them the same way you do. Except well… you.”

“But it’s not just that, you’re both stubborn and have the same single-mindedness when it comes to solving problems. You both work hard, both never stop trying to understand things just that little bit more. He hated having to explain himself twice or ask for the same information more than once.”

“And believe me, Scott and Virgil didn’t have a choice, they had to tell you about iR because if they hadn’t, you’d have figured it out in about eight seconds flat – there was no chance they’d escape you; you’re too good at observing people and putting together missing pieces. And just like him you’d never have been able to let that go once you knew about it. You aren’t able to let that go.”

“And that’s because you – both of you – would do anything to help someone who needs it. There’s no way he wouldn’t have done everything he could to help once he’d found out he could do something to help. That’s the kind of person John is. That’s the kind of person you are.”

“Huh,” said John, narrowing his eyes as he thought it over. “When you put it like that it doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Yeah,” said Alan. “Not so bad at all.”

He reached out to ruffle John’s hair, nearly crowing in delight when he succeeded before his brother retaliated with a hard shove and a reluctant smile.

Alan grinned.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“You’re a jerk,” said John, sighing in an overly dramatic fashion. “I suppose this is my lot in life as the youngest now.”

“Unless you grow up, yes,” teased Alan.

He nudged John lightly.

“Now, I think there was something we needed to do down here? Something about lessons.”

John rolled his eyes but he couldn’t hide his eagerness.

“Those simulators. Scott showed me the room but I barely got a proper peek at them.”

“Same single-mindedness,” Alan said again, but he laughed as he jumped down from the counter. “Let’s go see them.”

[Part 6]

[mysticalnightenthusiast]

S.N.A.F.U CH72 ‘Curtains 2021’

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A/N1:  Sorry for the delay in updating peoples!  I had exams at uni then the motivation to write just got up and left.  Hope you enjoy this installment.  I have other chapters ready to do so for the next week or two updates will be more regular!

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Daniel had a less than perfect (by his standards) qualification for the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix but still managed to get into Q3 from where he would qualify tenth on the grid.  In between garage commitments he had engineering and strategy meetings, media commitments and sponsor meetings so as a result Eadaoin hardly got to see him unless it was five minutes here or five minutes there, eventually though race day arrived and it was with an air of optimism and relief the end of the season was finally here that Daniel, Eadaoin, Blake and Michael piled into the Jeep and made their way to the Yas Marina circuit just as the sun began to set.

“Final race for the year then holiday time huh?” Cahir said to Daniel as they joined the queue lining up to get into the track.

“Well not straight away, got tyre testing for next year on Tuesday,” Daniel replied “after that then its holiday time, going to spend the winter break sitting on my arse and getting fat.”

“Sorry what are you going to do?” Michael piped up from the front seat.

“I’m going to work out every day and follow a nutritious, healthy eating plan,” Daniel said with a grin “I’ll keep alcohol and junk food consumption to a minimum and won’t do anything that contradicts my wellness plan.”

“Good lad.”

“Except New Year’s Eve,” Daniel continued as Eadaoin, Cahir and Blake laughed “I plan on getting absolutely smashed and finishing the night with a kebab from that Greek place across the road from Jimmy’z.”

“Yeah well I’ll cut you a bit of slack for New Year’s” Michael said in amusement “because I’ll be a hypocrite telling you not to whilst I go out and do the absolute opposite.”

“I think we all deserve to get smashed and end the night with a kebab,” Cahir said as the line crawled forward “I worked myself to the point of burnout, Danny and Eadie had that shit with Jemma and you and Blake have been following Danny around the F1 circuit all year and been as busy as he has been.  We all need some rest.”

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 After arriving on track and seeing Daniel, Blake and Michael off to Daniel’s driver’s room Eadaoin and Cahir made their downstairs to the hospitality hub.

“There are worse ways to end the year,” Cahir declared as they grabbed a coffee each and sat at a table in the corner “nothing beats being trackside at an F1 race, especially one where the driver’s championship is down to the wire.”

“I don’t disagree,” Eadaoin replied cheerfully “but I’m also looking forward to the break too, to be able to spend some more time with Danny without him or me having to go to work hanging over our heads, to sleeping in to holidaying somewhere tropical where absolutely no one is going to bother us. We need time to be a couple ya know?”

“Hey I totally get ya,” Cahir said sympathetically “especially after the year you two have had to endure. Well the latter half anyway.  Well you’ve got a lot to look forward to in the New Year, you’re trucking along at your new job and there’s new tech coming for F1 so there’s scope for improvement for Danny.”

“Yeah there’s a lot to look forward to,” Eadaoin agreed “what about you? What does twenty twenty two hold for you?”

“I don’t know,” Cahir confessed “and y’know I’m totally okay with that. I have a new job and I’m renovating a new house the world is my oyster.  I’m just going to pootle along and see where life takes me for once, it’s about time I stopped being an anal retentive gobshite.”

Eadaoin laughed.

“You’re not an anal retentive gobshite,” she said in amusement “just a gobshite.”

Cahir rolled his eyes.

“Har har,” he said dryly as he sipped his cappuccino “what are you and Danny doing after the race tonight? Hitting the town?”

“Nah, I don’t have the motivation and Danny will be too tired,” Eadaoin replied “it’ll be nearing midnight and unless Danny wins which is highly unlikely we’ll stay in, maybe share a coffee in that little bistro we had lunch in today before hitting the hay early.  Danny is just so tired and he needs to relax.”

“Yeah I can see that,” Cahir observed “you two going to do much whilst you’re in L.A?”

“We don’t have anything planned,” Eadaoin replied “just hanging around Danny’s house, maybe go up to his US manager’s cabin in Big Sur for a couple of days, go out to dinner a couple of times.  If it involves relaxing we’ll do it.”

************************************************************************

Two hours later after the driver’s parade and final engineering and strategy meetings the cars set out on their formation lap. Michael came jogging back from the track Daniel’s kit bag in hand.

“How’s he feeling?” Eadaoin asked taking the curly haired driver’s headphones from the trainer and putting them around her neck a habit that had become tradition with the last few races she had attended.

“Determined,” Michael replied “you know our guy, determined to finish clean, determined to finish in the points, he’s not saying much but I think he’s just keen to go on holiday, relax, and do something that isn’t connected to racing you know?”

“I definitely know,” Eadaoin replied turning her gaze toward the huge LCD screen at the back of the garage that was broadcasting the Sky F1 broadcast “well here it goes one last toss of the dice for the year!”

Once the last car on the grid took their place on the grid an excited silence fell in the McLaren garage as everyone waited for the race to get underway.  Charlotte Sefton the team’s media and PR officer arrived out of breath.  She grinned at Eadaoin and pulled on her team branded headphones.

“We’ve been waiting for this all season long, the finale, the title decider, under the lights here in Abu Dhabi. Its lights out and away we go! And Hamilton gets a decent start and he’s already ahead of Max Verstappen there’s a bit of jockeying going on between Tsunoda and Ricciardo Hamilton leads into the first corner , Norris goes wide Sergio Perez slips through into third place then comes Carlos Sainz but its Hamilton out in front!  The medium tyres working well for him as his team mate Valtteri Bottas challenges the Ferrari, into the hairpin we go now Hamilton leads Bottas, leads Perez, then leads Norris then the two Ferraris of Sainz and Leclerc, it is a dream start for Lewis Hamilton!”

Eadaoin immediately cringed as shortly after the start of the race Danny was forced off the straight line, but she let out a sigh of relief when moment later her easily slid back onto the racing line and continued on.  Meanwhile Lando was forced wider off the track and a collective groan of despair rose from all the personnel in the garage.  Charlotte who had a soft spot for the curly haired Englishman made a face and swore.

“Fuck!” she cussed her profanity muffled by the roar of the cars zooming past the pit lane.

The race was relatively uneventful for the first few laps then in the late teens the first pit stops began occurring.  Of the McLaren boys Lando was the first to pit on lap seventeen when he switched from the soft to hard compound tyres then Daniel pitted a lap later for the same tyres in the same time of two and a half seconds.  Both men rejoined the race mid-field and raced on intent on climbing the placings.

The first big drama of the race occurred on lap twenty six when Kimi crashed his car into the barriers at turn six which required a safety car.  A collective groan rose from the grandstand as the Finn got out of his car and waved to indicate he was alright.

“Aw man that’s gotta suck crashing in your last ever race,” Cahir commented to no one in particular “poor bloke.”

“Eh Kimi wouldn’t give a shit, he can now crack a tinny and sit on the beach for the rest of his life getting fat and enjoying life,” Eadaoin replied with a grin, keeping her eyes trained on the huge screen in front of them “or he can now do what he did in Monaco a few years ago when he crashed, leap over the fence get on a yacht and sink a few on the marina, I’d do-”

Eadaoin’s next words were cut off when another groan rose from the crowds as George Russell’s car slowed to a stop on the side of the track.

“We no one can say this race is boring,” Cahir quipped.

“This game is never boring,” Charlotte replied “something always happens, either on the track or behind the scenes.”

A short time later the race got back underway and was relatively uneventful until lap 35 when Antonio Giovanazzi crawled to a stop on the side of the track which triggered a virtual safety car.

“Its going to be sunrise before this race finishes!” Eadaoin exclaimed keeping her eyes trained on Daniel’s car which was pootling around the track slightly worse then mid-field.

“Nah we’ll all be wasted in an Abu Dhabi nightclub by then,” Cahir said with a grin.

“Speak for yourself I’ll be halfway home to Oz by then,” Michael said amused by the other man’s enthusiasm.

“Pity, if you were sticking about town I’d invite you out for a few drinks,” Cahir said cheerfully “Danny and Eadie are hardly going to want to hit the town"

Michael chuckled.

“Maybe in the new year when I get back to London,” he said in amusement “I’m not adverse to a night on the turps.”

“If you’re looking to hit the Abu Dhabi clubs you ought to head out with the mechanics,” Charlotte said “those boys will try and drink you under the table.”

“Oh don’t say that Cally sees that as a challenge,” Eadaoin said dryly “last time someone said ‘I’ll drink you under the table’ to him they ended up in hospital with literal alcohol poisoning.”

“Really?” Charlotte and Michael chorused.

“Weeeeell not the last time but yeah that happened,” Cahir confessed his face burning a magnificent shade of scarlet “I was pretty crook myself, took three days not to feel like hammered shit.”

“And he got absolutely zero sympathy from Mum and me,” Eadaoin said with a giggle as the race resumed “self inflicted injury that was.”

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Lando was the first of the McLaren lads to pit twenty two laps later when he switched from hard to medium compound tyres, Daniel pitted four laps later and the race for a points finishing position was on in earnest.

“Aw geez should I opt out?” Cahir asked Eadaoin showing her his phone upon which a betting app was open “if I opt out now I get my two grand back but if Max wins I get ten times that.”

“Aw take a chance Max might get this you know” Eadaoin replied.

“If Verstappen wins this it’ll be a miracle,” Charlotte commented “something big is going to have to happen for him to cross the line first.”

And something big did in fact happen.  On lap 53 Nicholas Latifi who had been battling for position with Mick Schumacher crashed at turn 14 absolutely destroying the front of his car.  An audible oooooohhhhhhh rose from the stands and the safety car was immediately dispatched.  Max pitted and the rest of the field slowed as per regulations.  Cahir dropped his phone on the table and let out a groan of frustration.

“Race hasn’t ended yet Cally don’t despair yet,” Eadaoin told her brother.

“Edie there’s two laps to go,” Cahir groaned “Max is going to have to be the second coming of Senna to win this thing.”

“Stranger things have happened!”

Nicky’s car was cleared from the track and the directive for the overlapped cars (of which included Daniel) was given.  The cars began the maneuver then “Safety car in at the end of this lap” flashed up on the screen.  This caused a roar of disapproval from the McLaren garage staff.

“What the fuck?  Danny hasn’t overtaken the safety car yet!” Eadaoin exclaimed as from the other end of the garage Tom his engineer swore “This is fuckin’ bullshit!”

“Aw no way man this is bullshit!” Michael exclaimed “No way is this fair, what the hell is happening?”

The rest of the race went by in a daze for those in the McLaren garage as the battle royale between Max and Lewis went down to the wire. The last lap began and the two men were basically wheel to wheel as they battled for the right to be World Driver Champion.

“This race that started with controversy has ended with controversy, here comes Lewis Hamilton though down the back straight, he’s got a slipstream he almost touches Verstappen they almost made contact!  Into turn nine Verstappen stays ahead of Lewis Hamilton of all the drama of all the controversy of all the magic moments in formula one in twenty twenty one it comes down to this!  And at this moment it looks like its going to go the way of Max Verstappen.  Mercedes not happy Red Bull will be delighted, they have shared a brilliant championship battle but the championship can only be won by one and it’s going Dutch in twenty twenty one Max Verstappen for the first time ever is champion of the world!  Lewis Hamilton finishes in second place after leading for so so long....”

“What in the name of Jesus H. Christ on a bike was all that?” Cahir wondered out loud as Max drove under the chequered flag and booming fireworks, the new world champion “has Masi been drinking?”

“I dunno,” Eadaoin replied “but something smells in Denmark for sure....”

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A couple of hours later after all the hubbub from the race had died down and Daniel had completed all his post race media and team commitments Eadaoin met him back at his driver’s room right after he had had a post race shower.

“Hey, how you feeling?” she asked watching the curly haired driver scrub his face dry.

“Tired,” Daniel admitted as he began dressing “mentally and physically.  I just want to get back to my own space and relax.”

“Well in twenty four hours we’ll be in L.A and we can do that,” Eadaoin said holding out on of his well work merch shirts “I ran into George on the way here and he’s keen to catch up before you leave the track if you’re keen.”

“Yeah I’ll check in with him before we leave,” Daniel replied tying up the drawstring on his shorts and pulling on the shirt she held out to him “is everyone else still here?”

“Yeah Michael, Blake and Cally are loading all your gear into the car,” Eadaoin replied “Bake said they would wait back down in hospitality for us when you’re ready to go.” 

Before he pulled on his Vans Daniel strode over to Eadaoin and embraced the redhead in a rib cracking hug.  She gave a little squeak of surprise and returned the act of affection.

“What’s up?” she asked her voice muffled by his muscular neck.

“Just needed a cuddle,” he replied.

“Babe are you alright?” Eadaoin asked in concern “you seem a bit flat.”

“I am a bit,” Daniel admitted as he pulled back and dropped a kiss on her forehead “It’s just been a long and disappointing year, even after Monza. I expected this year to be so much better than it has been, so has the team, Zak even said next year is going to have to be markedly better than this year for our partnership to continue....and I suppose I’m just glad it’s over y’know?  Now I can rest and recharge and look forward to Christmas.”

“Zak said what?” Eadaoin exclaimed in anger “that fat bastard said wha-”

“Babe- Babe- he’s right,” Daniel said flatly “even though I won a race this year the team and I expected more. I should have done at least as well as Lando has.  He’s averaging better in points gathering than I am and has been on the podium more than I have been....”

“Yeah but you don’t say that at the end of a long and difficult year right before the holidays!” Eadaoin exclaimed indignantly “why couldn’t he have waited til pre-season testing next year?  You won McLaren’s first race in nine years Danny!”

“I know,” Daniel replied “I suppose that’s just how he does things.  He’s right though I have to improve or I’ll have to start looking elsewhere for a drive in twenty twenty three, I know it sounds brutal but F1 is a brutal game....”

“Yeah....well I s’pose.”

“But for now I have the holidays to look forward to and once I get over jetlag you can bet all my attention is going to be on you.”

“Oh yeah?  And what’s that going to involve?”

“That would be telling Darling, that would be telling.”

************************************************************************

[allylikethecat]

hi ally!! how was your day??? today at work i went down to get my lunch plate and it was A PASTA BAR with a warm rolls on the side and cookies, my day was fucking made. i do thipnk it’s quite ironic that our drug reps are giving us nothing but carbs and sugar but hey you only live once haha

ok now for tuesdays update: if i’m being honest i haven’t really been keeping up to date w ducklings cause im usually not the target audience for mpreg but when i saw the update i read the last chapter and todays and omg i’m living for the drama and i can’t believe george finally found out!! it was def not the reaction i was expecting i feel like we never really get to see an angry george but he is righfully angry with matty for keeping that secret. i liked seeing that side of fictional! george. i can’t wait to see how this unfolds and if reconciliation will happen sooner or later in the story

ok last thing and thanks for reading all the way through 😭 for talk shop tuesday what’s a fic you’ve been reading or thinking about lately from another writer (1975 related or not) also—is it weird that i had a dream the other night and infection!verse matty was just chilling in my dream??? it wasn’t even a dream ABOUT an ally fic, fictional! matty was just a character in my dream😭😭

-🥤

HELLO MY DEAR SMOOTHIE ANON!! THANK YOU FOR SENDING SUCH A WONDERFUL DETAILED ASK! I apologize for the novel I have written you in response.

I can't complain about my day, it was extremely hot out but work was good and I had a nice ride with Pop after! He wasn't impressed by the heat but we took lots of walk breaks and he got a nice cold shower after. OMG a PASTA BAR?! That is amazing even if the fact that it came from a drug rep is hilarious. I'm happy to hear you had a good day!

AHH thank you so much for reading the new chapter even though mpreg isn't usually your thing (which very valid I know it is not a thing for a lot people and I like am a huge fan of the whole 'not for me, don't read' thing ) but like thank you for checking it out anyway! But yes!! It was the big one! Fictional!George now knows Fictional!Matty's secret and him finding out did NOT go well. Not going to lie, I think some of the nastiness of ATKH Fictional!George seeped into Ducklings!George a little bit there 😬 But at the same time, I feel like most of my Fictional!George's have a little bit of an angry edge to them? He's kind of an asshole in ATKH and in the Infection Verse he and Fictional!Matty really went through it and were at each other's throats for a while there after they broke up? Idk but I guess for the most part I do usually write him as pretty sweet and patient and understanding.I also will say, his anger and reaction was based on a lot of self doubt and self hatred that he then projected onto fictional!Matty. I am excited to continue unraveling their story - Fictional!Matty is going to make it much worse before it gets better lol

OOooo Talk Shop Tuesday! Recently I've really enjoyed @sundrownsthehouse's new chapter of Take This Pain and Give it A Name I am SO EXCITED to see where it goes! As always, I am also continually obsessed with @vinylandcoffeecollection's Poses Series, the newest installment You and Me Together Song is absolutely brilliant and I cannot wait to see how it continues to unfold!

I also love that Infection Verse Fictional!Matty has invaded your thoughts so much that he's now an extra background character in your dreams lol welcome to my life he is always looming on the edges shouting "PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEE" lol

Thank you for sending this ask and for reading and being just generally so lovely! I hope your Tuesday was fantastic and that you have a wonderful rest of your week!

❤️Ally

[firstsprinces]

These are just some goals off the top of my head that I’d like to see if I’ll be able to accomplish any of them this year. I have, what I personally call, bad habits as a writer that I’d like to have better control over.

I’m hoping I’ll be able to, at the very least, figure out what works best for me. I want to look back on and say, “look how you’ve grown”!

Anyway, here’s my list!

Writing Goals: These are goals I’ve picked based on how chaotic I’ve been in 2023 - there are a lot of ones I don’t want to keep beating myself up over for continuing to do.

- Write a minimum of 2-3K words a day.

- Keep WIPs/new ideas to myself until I’m closer to publishing them. We all know I’m terrible at this one.

- Only have one ongoing work posted to AO3 at a time. I always let my excitement of wanting to share new ideas that I post things ASAP, which has lead to other ongoing works that others wait for updates for to get lost. I also hope to have at least two chapters always written in full before posting/updating new chapters. In my dream writing world, I’d only have one work focused on at a time and not let anything new creep in until I finished the one I already have ongoing.

- Posting oneshots sporadically when having an ongoing multi-chapters fic, and if they become excessively long still write out the entire work before deciding on whether or not to post it into split parts. For one of my ongoing works (that has all of my bad habits going for it), I thought it was just going to be a 20K one shot. It’s turning into something much longer than that. I still feel like it reads more as a oneshot than a multi-chapter work, and I already planned on posting a part of it before finishing the rest. This is the last time this will occur.

- Do not share posting dates ahead of time. AKA don’t make promises you can’t keep. So far, I’ve broken every single one I’ve made. I don’t like keeping others waiting on things they’re excited for and then not receive them. Another thing in my writing dream world would be to have one set day and time during the week as a posting day.

- Separate Outlines into colored sections to make writing and editing less of a stressor. In the past I’ve always waited until I’ve written a work in full before editing, which has usually been late in the night where I’m exhausted. That leads to skim editing. I want to write in sections and edit those sections before moving forward.

- Do not feel like I have to sign up for every exchange or challenge I come across. I signed up for a couple for the end of this year because I felt like having more fun in this fandom and wanted to introduce my writing by joining in! I just don’t want to overwhelm myself by signing up for too many, or feel like I can’t meet deadlines. Again, for me, this goes back to not following the through with promises.

- Don’t be afraid to write the ideas you think other people won’t enjoy, write for your own enjoyment. This partially comes from something I wrote as a gift for someone else. I had so much more fun writing it than I thought I was going to and never thought I’d ever write this genre in the RWRB fandom. I thought I should stick to purely realistic writing, BUT this is fanfiction and it’s a creative and fun space! I hold myself back due to letting others peoples’ interest levels and low numbers speak louder than my own words. And, you never know, there’s most likely someone out there secretly wishing more unique ideas existed!

- Do not discard ideas you’re excited about just because there’s already one like it posted, or if a more well-known writer has written it. I am extremely guilt of this. This entire post could have been shorter if I just wrote “stop being so hard on yourself”. Your base ideas may be similar but that doesn’t mean your mind won’t take it to different places. Writing isn’t a race. If there’s a trope that’s enjoyed, I promise as a reader we want them all!

AO3 Goals: These goals aren’t about the stat numbers, just personal ones I hope to accomplish by the end of the year.

- A new pen name. Yes, I’ve said goodbye to the firstsprinces name for my writing accounts. This one probably seems silly but I think all of you have really amazing names and I look at mine, feeling meh. If the user shadesinbetween has been someone else in the past I apologize if this name has once been you/or a friend of yours. I saw that it was available and changed it without the knowledge of it as a once existing account.

I created a new blog shadesinbetween (yes, it’s Little Women themed because it’s one of all time favorite films) that you do not have to follow! I made it for myself to have a cleaner/more organized space that’s just for my works. This post is also featured there as a cleaned up version. Again, if the user was once yours or a friend of yours, I wasn’t aware and just saw the open user.

- Have at least 8 works posted and completed by the end of the year. This number may seem like nothing to the veterans out there, but since my ideas never stay in a small contained space, this is a number I feel like I can reach. Let’s get through these WIPs that are backlogged!

- Go through every work that’s already posted and save works to “Mark for Later”. I think I stopped on page 19, but I’ll have to start again with all the brand new works that have been shared since my last run through.

- Check for new works daily to add to “Mark for Later”. This way I can follow ongoing works and I won’t have to go through every page of the works.

- Engage with other works and authors. At the end of the day, we’re a community. A community of devoted fans, readers, and writers. Put the numbers to the side and spread love and kindness wherever you can! You never know how much a simple engaging gesture will make someone’s day! And what friendships may unexpectedly bloom!

Final Thoughts: I’m already looking forward to seeing what progress I’ll make this year. And have this post saved in a document in hopes of remembering to make a comparison post to see exactly how I did by the end of the year. I always get brain bursts of excitement when it comes to these and have never followed through. Let 2024 be the year!

[gavinsmg24]

I knew a last post would come some day. And like I said. Even just likes is so much to me. And even if that stops I’d understand. I’m so happy your safe princess. And like I said I’ll be giving full updates prolly once family is gone at the end of the week. But rn I’m just enjoying the new life I’m in. So I understand. And even tho I’m not technically “holding” on to you. In a way I still enjoy the small connection. For the very small. What if. But then again. We said our goodbyes for real. So. Whether you post again or not. Thank you for keeping with me more than you had too

Of course my selfishness wants more. I want more posts. And pics. And love and updates. But also I’m not gonna ask you or beg you to keep staying. You said maybe but I’ll take this as a last post. And once again. If you ever give me more. Than I’ll take it as a blessing. You’ve meant so much to me and always will

A part of me is still connected with you and always will. Which is partially why I like our connections. For the “what if” stage. Who knows where will be. And even if you don’t post I hope you know that you can still reach me here. I dont plan to stop posting soon. But also my relationships and responsibilities aren’t as tied down as yours

Even if things changed for us soon. It would still be a long time before the small chance of seeing you would even pop up. But. I hope you know. That if and when the time comes. You won’t hesitate. To come to your J. Bcuz like I said. There will always be a place in my heart. Ready to see you and love you again (still love. You know what I mean hehe) anyways. I’m getting long bcuz who knows what will happen on your end soon.

Your post made me happy. The update. The love. The 💎. The big meaning behind such silly emojis

I will post more again. You don’t have to like. Or post. But. Just know. I promise. I’ll always be here. Not waiting. But. Available. And wanting my princess. I’ll be growing and learning for myself. As you are for you

I still want your smiles and laugh and personality .. and body 🙈. But so much more. You will always be my H. And I truly hope. That you won’t stop yourself from coming to me. No matter what the reason. Whether your scared or happy. Alone or taken. If you need. Or want me. I will be here. Ready to hold you in my arms. Physically or spiritually. H. I love you so much. I never thought I’d still be connected to you at all. So thank you. And if this is goodbye on your end. Good luck to you. But. Your selfish loving J. Isn’t saying goodbye. Bcuz truly you’ll always be my princess. And don’t forget that. When! The time comes 😝. Come and take me. And I’ll protect my wifey. As your hubby

I’ve been sappy enough now. I know I’m being a lot. But. Just. I’ll always want you. But I’m finishing my ramble for now. Posts or likes or nothing. Your J. Will always be here. For you and for myself 💜🧡 I love you

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you write about a reader who used to work at Circus Baby’s Pizza & Rentals as a mechanic, and got really close to the animatronics? After the Baby and the others disappeared though (the Ennard situation) the place shut down and reader had to move on, not knowing what happened to their friends. Flash-forward and now reader works as one of the few ‘human’ janitors at the Pizzaplex when they stumble across the Blob. Soft hurt/comfort moments ensue.

Circus Baby.

That’s a name you haven’t heard in a long time. Yet it was a name you were once well-acquainted with. 

You’ve seen her plushies being sold in the Pizzaplex’s gift shops, and you bought one for nostalgia reasons, keeping her in your bag wherever you went.

It’s nice that the company tried keeping her memory alive, though you wondered about the others.

Back in the 80s, you worked at Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rentals as a mechanic, fixing stuff around the facility and being good to the animatronics there. They liked you because you never gave them controlled shocks or deactivated them for “misbehaving”. You understood their loneliness and sadness, especially since their pizzeria never truly got to see the light of day, and tried to keep them company as often as you could.

Then one day it all changed when you were told that some new technicians would be taking over your shift for the entire week. You were urged not to go in and “enjoy your complimentary gift basket”.

That seemed unusually suspicious--to train underqualified techs on dangerous tasks that only you should be doing. Hell, you should’ve been paid to train them instead of that broken HandUnit AI.

Sadly you were only made aware of this after the fact, so you didn’t get to tell the Funtimes you won’t be there for a whole week; you just hoped the new technicians would if they asked.

Then, on Saturday, you turn on the news and learn of CBEAR’s shutdown, as the animatronics have reportedly gone missing. The police only found their casings left behind in the scooping room, along with blood on the broken scooper.

Since then, you never knew what happened to them.

Yet you had to move on. 

Nobody at Faz Ent could explain what really happened as the facility’s camera footage had mysteriously been erased by an unknown party. So they weren’t intentionally hiding things from you. 

They genuinely didn’t have answers.

Your heart still ached for your friends, even to this very day. You tried keeping the good memories of them alive through a video game that came out several years ago: FNAF VR: Help Wanted. 

You’d see Funtime Freddy, Foxy, and Baby in the various minigames, but no Ballora. They were just models with aggressive AIs slapped onto them, lacking the personalities you knew their true-selves to have.

It hurt a lot. So you didn’t bother finishing that game.

Then you soon landed a job at the Mega Pizzaplex...as one of the only human janitors left. All the mechanic positions were filled up, and most of the maintenance work was automated anyway, only needing an employee to press a few buttons and attach wires in correct sequences to successfully repair an animatronic.

You don’t mean to look down on advancing technology, but you missed the old ways of fixing them. You got to have chats with them, actually get to know them beyond being entertainment robots.

You really should’ve moved on by now. But you still clung to the hope of finding answers as to what happened to the Funtimes.

If the company wouldn’t, you certainly will.

...........

“You hear about the team that went underneath the raceway?”

“Yeah? What about them?”

“Oh nothing..I mean..isn’t it weird they haven’t come back yet? It’s been five days and we haven’t gotten any updates on where that elevator leads to.” You furrowed your eyebrows as you talked with your coworker, who seemed very disinterested in the subject.

Said subject being the old maintenance elevator discovered beneath the Pizzaplex. Apparently there was something deep underground drawing a lot of power from Roxy’s Raceway, leading to a lot of brown-outs that interfered with your work. 

On top of that was a sinkhole that the company decided to build over rather than fix, so improvements to the track ended up being useless as they would just fall apart.

“Maybe they can’t say.” Your coworker shrugged. “Don’t want anyone else getting nosy.”

“I just find it odd how management’s being all hush-hush about it. It’s affecting all of our work here so I think we should at least know-”

“Look, if you wanna take that up to the boss, fine.” They hauled a broken STAFF bot head onto the cart. “But I gotta get this to Fazcade...’cause for some reason we can’t afford to put a second repair station where all our bots are breaking down. But suuuuure, pay a whole team to go under the mall! Why the hell not?”

They were always the sarcastic type...and quite the complainer. But you just waved to them as they wheeled the cart away from you, exiting the raceway.

Yeah, it’s obvious the company tends to put its money in the wrong places.

And it’s even more obvious they were hiding something.

A whole maintenance team just doesn’t disappear out of nowhere. You’ve been around long enough to know that “missing” typically means “dead”, no matter what bullshit cover story is given to the public.

Any sane person would’ve called it quits by now.

The only reason you’re still here was to get some kind of closure on what happened to the Funtimes. And hearing about this mysterious elevator had you curious.

What was it hiding beneath this mall? Would find your answers there or end up with a missing person report, too? 

There was only one way to find out.

Luckily, today you were in charge of closing up the raceway. So once that’s done you’ll do a little bit of investigating yourself.

........

Disguising yourself as a maintenance worker, with a hard hat and construction vest, you entered the old elevator and began the descent below the Plex. 

No cheery music played on the speakers. All was silent except for the creaking gears and groaning metal, which made you wonder how old this shaft truly was. It practically screamed danger, but you were determined and pushed away any hesitancy you might’ve had when taking on this mission.

You took deep breaths and clutched the wrench in your hands tightly, in case you had to defend yourself. Hopefully not, though.

When you arrived, you stepped out into what looked like a huge cavern, with a few generators and some stationary Endos up ahead. You switched them on and shined your headlamp on the robots in case they started moving, keeping a close eye on them.

There was a lot of dust, making it hard to see ahead of you the further you went, but as most of it cleared you stumbled across the entrance to an old restaurant, seeing a giant red sign displaying Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place.

‘Huh..I heard about this one..’ You mused as you carefully snuck past the old Security STAFF bot. ‘I remember it barely lasted a week..and there was a huge fire. Did we..really build the mall over this whole place?’

When you pushed the doors open, you saw it was a huge open space, with a stage sporting red curtains and checkered floors. Just like the pizzeria you once worked at.

It’s like you’ve taken a trip back in time.

You would’ve explored more had you not heard a strange breathing noise nearby. It sounded mechanical, coming from the depths of a ruined scaffolding structure, so you followed it, watching your step.

Near the bottom, you froze as you saw something truly and utterly bizarre sleeping there. It was like something that crawled straight out of a sci-fi horror movie:

A giant blob of entangled, slimy, dirty endoskeleton wiring.

In the mass, you recognized parts of animatronic suits, such as the 90s-era Chica and....

The head of Funtime Freddy, seemingly attached to the creature’s “neck”, and Circus Baby’s head on its back.

‘My god. Is this...where they’ve been all along?’ Your heart sunk, while simultaneously swelling with joy.

Your friends were right here. You couldn’t believe it! 

You had to get a closer look, though in doing so a piece of plywood accidentally snapped under your foot, nearly sending you plummeting to the concrete. But you grabbed onto one of the metal poles, steadying yourself back onto the platform.

"Shit-”

Hearing a growl, you looked up and saw Funtime Freddy’s head raised up now, allowing you to see how burnt and charred his face was. He looked like a toasted marshmallow. And instead of his usual blue eyes, there were red lights glowing within the sockets. Every other animatronic head on his body “woke up” with the same colored lights in their eyes, the Baby one shifting to look at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, shakily switching off your headlamp. “F-Freddy? Baby?”

The blob’s head lurched towards you very suddenly, his faceplates popping open as he screeched.

“Wait!! Wait!!” You threw off your hat, letting it fall down below, and he stopped just inches away from your face. He reeked of burnt metal and sewage, but that wasn’t the only reason your eyes were watering.

Finally..finally you’ve gotten the closure that’s eaten away at you for so many years. If you had to die now, you’d at least die knowing the truth, and you would be alright with that.

As luck would have it, though, he didn’t immediately try to bite your face off.

“Y-You remember me, don’t you?”

Although he was reduced to an animalistic state, he blinked with recognition, slowly shifting back as his faceplates closed. He could hear the others screaming for him to kill. But...Baby was whispering for them to spare you.

No, he couldn’t hurt this human! It was you! His old friend!

“[Y/n]...?” Funtime Freddy managed to rasp. When you nodded, he grinned and laughed in that choppy robotic tone you always adored. “Friend-d-d!!! You’re...a-all grown up!!”

“Yes I am. Thank god...I’ve missed you all so much.” You slowly reached your hand out, and for a moment he seemed willing to lean in.

But then he slightly recoiled, frowning. “Why..l-leave...? We....waited for you-u-u...”

“Oh..that’s right.” You sighed, feeling that guilt creeping back up. In your excitement you nearly forgot..they still believed you abandoned them. “I didn’t mean to leave you guys. They replaced me with technicians. They wouldn’t allow me to say goodbye.”

Well, at least this confirms those idiots never bothered to tell the Funtimes you’d only be out for that week.

Though you shook it off and looked into his eyes confidently. “I didn’t have a choice back then, but I do now. And I chose to come down here because in my heart...I knew this place was hiding something. And wow..what a surprise this was, huh?” You brushed away the tears in your eyes, smiling once more.

This was like a breath of fresh air, figuratively speaking, as you briefly covered you mouth to cough a little. 

You forgot how dusty it was down here, but your smile was still ever present. Although sad about their circumstances, you were just relieved to see them again.

That’s all you ever wanted.

The blob nodded, giggling. “Are you happy-y-y?”

“Yes, happier than I have been in a long time.”

[honeyabyss]

Phone calls after Mc returned to the human realm

Lucifer:

this man is stubborn, calling you would be like admitting he's gone soft and his pride does not allow that!

so he refuses to call for the first few weeks, keeping himself busy with work of which he has enough anyway

due to all his student council work, a few other tasks of Diavolo and on top of that the usual shenanigans of his brothers, he quickly becomes very stressed

he's at his breaking point and needs someone to talk to so he can release some of his stress before he takes it out on someone else

so he goes to your old room and starts talking as soon as he enters it, only to stop confused when he doesn't see you in the room, remembering only now you left for the human realm

disappointed he sits down onto the bed and curls the blanket around himself

"Their scent is almost gone...Soon it'll be as if they were never here"

he closes his eyes, sighs softly and makes his decision

"Mc? I hope I didn't wake you. I simply thought a conversation would be nice, it's been a while..."

Lucifer's call is pretty casual, he talks about his day, work and his troublemaker brothers, it almost feels like any other day before just this time it is over phone

he does not want to admit he misses you, a) because he'd seem weak and b) he fears what admitting it will do to him, he might just miss you even more

BUT while saying goodbye he accidentally lets a "I miss you" slip, his breathing stops shortly realizing his mistake, he is about to apologize when you say it back

he smiles softly, genuinely relieved about your shared sentiment and whispers "I'll call you again soon then" before hanging up

from then on he calls you every evening and you better jump right away and pick up at the first ringing, because this man is lonely without you

Mammon:

"Congratulations! You're one of our lucky winners of our monthly Devil-Lottery. We'll have to confirm your bank account number with the one given to us when you agreed to participating in the lottery. Would you be so kind to slowly repeat the number-"

this greedy demon will quite literally try to scam you, only to absolutely panic when you hang up on him

he will instantly call you back, constantly adjusting his glasses, a nervous habit he acquired over the years

"H-hey...Mc...uhm, it's me your favourite demon!"

he is relieved you picked up, as it means you didn't block him right away, he stumbles over his words trying to find an excuse why he just tried to scam you

"Ah you know I only did that to test you, you've passed nobody scams my human! You're my amazing human after all! That's why I love you...u-uh I-i mean...nothing...that was a static you must have misheard..."

when you tell him you knew it was him as you recognized his voice, he'll be outraged, screaming into his D.D.D (and probably later getting punched by Lucifer for being so loud)

"What do you mean you already knew?! You dared to hang up on The Great Mammon?

He gets a bit sulky by your reaction, so how about playing into his obvious lie of testing you to make him feel better again

besides trying to scam you Mammon also called to (not so sneakily) check on your wellbeing

now that you're gone he constantly worries about you and he can't do much to help, but if you were actually in need of help due to whatever, trust me he'd fight Lucifer himself for permission to go to you

he'll call you as often as he can, sometimes with a few days of a break in between, asking you about your life and also letting you in on his upcoming money making schemes...please don't tell Lucifer about them

Mammon has learned his lesson though, he'll never try to scam you again, he couldn't bare it if you were to block or ignore his calls

Leviathan:

phone calls? Why? You two can just talk about the in-game talk function of this new online game you play, but no real world talk while playing that ruins the immersion!

Levi will rarely call you as he just doesn't feel comfortable enough to talk with you about normie stuff for too long

he normally just spam writes you, ding, ding, ding, one message after another coming in without you being able to respond quick enough

so if gets too much and you decide to just call him so you can have an actual chance of responding, Levi just panics and almost drops his D.D.D

"Mc? D-did you accidentally hit the c-call button? N-no? I-i see no I love you too!!....AAAAAAAh I-i meant I l-l-love t-talking to you too...hehehe w-why would a yucky o-otaku like me say something like that"

poor boy is so nervous he'll say something stupid and will stutter a lot the first few times you call him, he is just not used to talking on the phone

he will laugh nervously over everything and sometimes there'll be a phase of awkward silence, but please don't point it out, Levi is already stressed enough as it is

once he gets used to calls, he'll surprisingly suggests to have a phone call while both of you are watching the new episode of an anime, so he'll be able to talk to you as if you're right next to him, which works out mediocre at first, you have to tell him to be a bit quieter a few times but besides that it's quiet nice

"Ooooooowhooooooah!!! Did you see that? That was amazing, I wish I had these superpowers, I'd save you of every danger like a real hero! W-what do you mean I'm already your hero?"

Yes, you saw and heard it, and your neighbours probably heard Levi...

on the rare occasions Levi calls you he'll often asks you for favours like to buy him this exclusively in the human realm sold limited edition game, of course he isn't like his scummy brother Mammon who'll constantly asks for things and he'll also make it up by sending you stuff you can only get on Akuzon

so calls don't happen very often, but neither if you really mind, you'll still be in contact through messages and games

Satan:

Satan will be very proper about calling you, he'll check through messages if you're fine with him calling you, so he can be sure you have time and he doesn't bother you

Satan never jumps into a conversation right away (unless he is angry), he makes sure to show interest in you and hold a bit small talk, asking about your day, how you're doing and so on

you talk about many different things with him mostly about your shared interests, but Satan is willing to listen to you ramble about hobbies he doesn't have as well

one thing you two quickly come to do was have book club sessions over phone

"I wish you were still here Mc. I miss my book discussion partner, nobody here has as interesting opinions and views as you..."

back in Devildom you two would both read a book and afterwards discuss your thoughts, and you found a way too keep doing just that

you both write about books, decide on one to read for the week and would than have a phone call where you just talk for hours about the piece of literature you've read

now that you're back in the human realm, the book choices are even bigger as you can read human books as well, you just have to send a copy to Satan, sometimes Barbatos will be nice and pick a book up and deliver it to Satan, or to you if it's the other way around with a demon book

"Oh? No, you're right. I haven't thought about it like that yet...your thoughts are so fascinating!"

Satan will shower you in praise for every little detail that you noticed yet he missed. he genuinely enjoys your phone calls, and though he wouldn't admit it, sometimes he anticipates your call more than the actual book

even though there now is a bigger distance between you two he still feels as close to you as before, not much has changed for him and he knows he'll be able to see you again soon, he'll just have to be patient

"Next week, same time? I'm looking forward to talking to you again. Take care until then!"

Asmodeus:

"Oh my Lord! You won't believe what just happened!!!"

no greeting or alike, just straight into the discussion

whenever something gossip worthy happens, Asmo is already dialling your number to spill the tea and keep you updated on any Devildom related gossip, even if it won't help you much, it's a nice thought of him keep you in the loop

those are only the spontaneous call though, obviously you can't take these all the time...you still have a life of your own...

you two actually call each other every day at the same time, plus/minus a couple minutes, the water in the tub has to be filled first...yeah Asmo likes to talk you while he is taking his afternoon bath

"Hahh it's so relaxing, warm water caressing my beautiful skin, and the bath bomb today smells so good! I wish you could smell it, or even better I wish we could bathe together!"

*water sloshing noises intensified*

Asmo...no....yes...maybe...just stop, you'll fluster Mc!

"No really! I miss having you here, I'll pamper you all day the next time I'll get to see you. You must already be starved of my beauty, but don't worry my dear, I'm just as starved of seeing your lovely face!"

what to talk about while he is bathing? Anything really if it's about your day, any complains or whatever, just expect a few innuendos of him...that's nothing new though

seriously though Asmo is the guy to talk to about any of your problems, he will listen and try to come up with a solution for you, even if he seems a bit narcissistic sometimes he really cares about you, so use your phone calls as therapy from time to time

"Oh darling, don't worry it'll be okay! I'm here to help...now tell me every detail so I can come up with a plan! I'll always be there for you, no matter what!"

Beelzebub:

"*munch munch* This one is really good! Mc you should try some...oh"

now that you're back in the human realm, Beels snack times are very lonely, he has just gotten so used to your presence, even sharing his food is normal by now

and let's be honest Beels snack time is 24/7 so he misses you a lot

he feels the urge to call you every five minutes and sometimes even forgets to eat while phone is ringing and he is waiting for you to pick up

but you can't constantly talk with him over phone so the calls often end up on your voicemail where Beel tells you about all the different kind of foods he ate that day

when Belphie catches wind of his twin constantly pestering you, he hides Beels D.D.D so he can't call you all the time

when you're actually able to pick up on his call, Beel will be so happy you can quite literally hear his huge grin while he's excitedly talking about his current snack

"Have you ever tried spicy bat-wings? There opened a new restaurant in town and it's really good!! Next time you're here I'll invite you there. Oh but what if it closes before you're back...ah you'll just have to visit soon!"

though Beel is often disappointed when you don't pick up, he would never hold it against you, he knows he calls quite a lot, but he just misses you and tipping a message while he eats is harder than putting his D.D.D on speaker and talking to you

of course he doesn't only talk about food, he also tells you about how his brothers are doing and how his workout was, or what things he has planned to do at the weekend, all in all Beel is just super happy to share everything of his life with you

on rare occasions he'll call you and be untypically quiet, that happens when he had a fight with his twin, it's not often but sometimes it happens and his first instinct is to call you, because he feels like he can tell you everything so he is very comfortable and trusting with you

"I miss you a lot, you know...but I also know that you think about me daily, every time your stomach rumbles you'll be reminded of me and that makes me happy, I also think about you every time I'm hungry! Hm? But I'm always hungry? That's right! You're always on my mind!"

Belphegor:

Listen, his sleeping schedule is very tight, you can't just expect him to call you!

he will call you so rarely and if you call him it might just happen that he is sleeping and has phone on silent...or he's just to lazy to walk to his phone, or he is just not in the mood to talk... he takes any excuse to not be on the phone

Belphie does like talking to you, but he is not the greatest at long conversations so he like messages more

sometimes when he can't seem to fall asleep, he will be the one to call you...in the middle of the night...and you better pick up or he gets annoyed

"What took you so long? I thought you wanted to talk more often and then you leave me hanging for a whole minute? Doesn't matter I would have waited longer with you...."

he is mostly silent through a phone call, his main reason to call you is because he like to listen to you talk, it's calming to him and if he calmer then he might be able to fall asleep again

so don't expect an amazingly deep conversation...

"Mhmmm...hm? Yeah I'm still there. I'm listening keep talking, I love your voice..."

he'll bring up a topic from time to time so you have an inspiration about what to talk about, but most of the times he just lazily hum or making acknowledging noises so you know he is still listening

"Zzz..."

he will to 100% fall asleep while being on the phone with you, that doesn't mean you're boring, but that he trusts you so much that he is comfortable enough to let his guard down

Diavolo:

"Good afternoon! How was the week of my favourite human?...ah don't tell Solomon I said that hahaha"

as the future king of hell, he is a busy man, but he still manages to give you a call once a week, to the same time you two would have normally had your weekly afternoon tea meeting in the castle

with the exchange year over there is not much about your classes to talk about left, but Dia is just as excited about any other topic you decide to talk about, be it the most mundane thing he loves it!

"Oh so you went grocery shopping? That must be fun! Barbatos does it all the time, though I suppose you buy less things...I'd like to see a human market at some point, I wonder if they're very different from ours...oh but I wouldn't really able to tell I suppose, Barbatos and you would need to point out the differences!"

this man can talk without taking a break for hours...you think Asmo is bad? Prepare for Diavolo...

but seriously it never gets boring with him, because he somehow finds good and fun stuff in every activity, I swear give him a vacuum and watch him clean you're whole flat with the enthusiasm of a child getting presents on Christmas

the work of a future king consists of so much paperwork, Dia will have only few events of his week to tell you about, if there is something to talk about there is a high chance it has to do with the brothers

so he'd much rather just sip his tea and listen to you, he'll ask you loads of questions though about anything he doesn't know

sometimes you two forget the time and Barb sadly has to remind you to come to a stop for now

"Mc? Did I wake you? If so I'm terribly sorry...would you be up to talk for a little bit more? I'm not feeling too tired yet"

surprise night time calls from Dia where you'll have to speak silently or Barbatos might reprimand Diavolo for staying up all night and being tired the next day, Dia doesn't regret it ever though, he likes to talk you a lot!

Barbatos:

Barbatos is always busy and his schedule can often suddenly change with a new whim of his master, so he can't exactly have a scheduled call with you

so you might not get to hear of him very often

BUT he made it a habit to call you when he is on duty to do the dishes, the chore is somewhat boring to him with no one to distract him

so he calls you and if you pick up, he'll put you on speaker and talk to you about whatever comes to mind while his hands wash one after another of the expensive porcelain of the royal household

"I've bought this new tea which is said to be really nice, it can even be enjoyed cold apparently. It seems to have to just the right amount of sweetness to not get bitter when drank cold...you can still add sugar for extra sweetness, though I believe you're already sweet enough as it is"

no matter what you decide to talk about Barbatos always has at least some knowledge about it, so it's beneficial for both of you, he can tell you the things he knows and you tell him your stuff

"I hope I'm not bothering you too much? There is quite a lot to do today... so it might take some more time..."

you will never get to know that Barb has actually already finished the dished a few minutes ago, but just isn't ready to say goodbye yet

the rest of the employees will be able handle the castle for a bit longer without him, meanwhile he can take a well deserved tea break and listen to you

he very much enjoys the fact he found a way to have some time with you while theoretically having to be at work, as long as he is able to finish all the tasks of his daily schedule, he doesn't feel too bad about his not so legal break

"I fear I'll have to get back to work now, but I loved talking to you today! I hope you enjoyed it as well. I'll talk to you again soon!"

Solomon:

Though Solomon returned to the human realm with you, you haven't heard much of him, being a wise old man sorcerer must be very time consuming

so calls of Solomon might be rare but that doesn't mean you don't write messages every now and then, when he calls you though it's always about something interesting or important to share, he talks about those things rather verbally, the best option for him would be in person, but that doesn't always work so a phone call is the second best option

"My lovely apprentice, how is your studying going? I've found the tome we were talking about last time you were interested in...it took some research to find which sorcerer had it but I brought it back for you. How about I'll drop by you next week? I can help you with your studying then, the tome is written in an older version of the language it might be easier if we do it together!"

Solomon can simply not sit still, so while you're on the phone, he is always tinkering at something and the background noises are sometimes quite peculiar...

Was that a pig squeaking? Are you sure you should be brewing a potion while being on the phone? Isn't it distracting?

Oh Lord was that an explosion?!

"Hmm? Oh yeah...I`m cooking dinner right now! It was just a small explosion though, you know the ones that are regularly happen in the kitchen. Why? Was my cute student worried about me?~ heheh alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you...for now!"

no matter how chaotic, teasing or busy Solomon is though, if you call him and are in need of help, he'll drop everything and run to you

he knows how hard it can be when studying magic, not to mention that the studies are difficult, the constant hiding of any magic in front of other humans is also very nerve wrecking, sometimes you feel like giving up and going back to your normal life, back to your non-magical very human friends that are blissfully unaware of everything happening around them, but you know you could never forget and act as if nothing happened, you'd also miss your new not so normal friends, so when times get hard Solomon will rush to you and comfort you in person or at least calm you down on phone until he is able to go to you

if that happens he is more likely to call you every two to three days just to check in on you

"Hey how is my strong and beautiful fellow human doing? Feeling better yet? Need a shoulder to lean on? I'm at your flat in 10 minutes..."

Simeon:

Simeon is a daily caller as well, he's gotten so used to seeing you every day that he feels quite restless if he doesn't get to hear your voice at least once a day

he asked you to recommend at what time he should call, he doesn't want to restrict you in your daily life, so you both came to the conclusion after dinner would be perfect, as both of you are free for the rest of the day then

He will often write a bit on his TSL scripts, just some notes and inspirations he comes up while talking to you

"How was your day my little lamb? You haven't overworked yourself right? Tell me if you ever need help!"

though Simeon would definitely have things to complain about with how Michael is working him to the bone, he'd rather not worry you so instead he tells you about how Luke is doing and evasively answers you questions about himself

"Oh me? Ah yes, I'm doing fine, just doing the usual archangel stuff you know...Ah please do not worry Mc, my dear! Nothing dangerous!"

over the time his TSL notes turn into random scribbles, rhymes and poems and every now and then something that looks suspiciously like your name

Sometimes Luke crashes the call and wants to speak with you as well so Simeon tries to put the phone on speaker only to end up ending the call and Luke getting frustrated with Simeon and doing it himself

then again Simeon also just accidentally hangs up on you mid conversation, because his fingers hit the button without him noticing, he'll get so confused when you cut off in the middle of your sentence and thinks something has happened to you, only to be relieved when you call back a few seconds later

Simeon is very interested in your day and how you doing, asking you many questions and encouraging you to keep talking

"Oh no please keep talking! You're not overwhelming me at all, in fact I like listening to your voice, it puts even the most melodic voice of an angel into the shadows...hahaha did I make you embarrassed? I apologize, I didn't mean to, I was only telling you my honest opinion!"

Simeon is quite the flatterer, but he often does not notice it, he simply tries to be nice, so a call with him leaves you flustered and stuttering ever now and then, but he is just as quick to blush at a honest and heartfelt compliment

Luke:

Luke might be an angel, but he is still low ranking and therefore has less assignments, besides studying to become a great angel and doing some minor tasks for Michael, he is relatively free

he often spends his free time in the kitchen constantly trying to improve his baking, now after the exchange year not only to impress Michael and Simeon but also Barbatos, maybe a bit Beel and definitely you!

but as Simeon is still working at these times, he gets somewhat lonely so he'll try calling you to keep him some company

Luke has this habit of speaking the recipes out loud to remember the steps better and be able to able to make them from memory, he got that tip from Barbatos, but he still has his moments where he gets stuck and forgets what to do next, you can notice that when he gets silent and concentrates on trying to remember

"Ah right that was it! I almost forgot about the eggs! Good thing you were here...or well on the phone hehe! You always remember this stuff, you're so amazing!"

when you tell him you simply looked it up in the internet for him, he'll get a bit sulky that he now basically cheated, but with your reassurance that he is already great and can remember so many other steps, he is quickly back to his happy little angel self

"Michael let me help with his conference today I was assistant record keeper today, one day I'll be able to do it alone, bit they're talking so much and so fast...I think I still need a couple centuries until I'm fully ready, but I'm working on improving! You should also try to improve your skills daily! Even a small bit of practice is good! Though I think you're perfect already!"

Luke most definitely learned his flattering from Simeon... he talks about many different things on the phone but repeating topic is Michael...just talking to you makes his day and later he'll tell everything Simeon and he smiles so brightly while he reports to him, please keep talking to him a lot!

[scuttling]

I said I love you, that's forever

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,619 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Reader gets drunk, Brief mention of canon-typical violence Summary: This one is sexy, sweet, and fluffy and features Aaron getting used to his new, healthier body. Inspired by @sleepyreaderreads and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 1 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! Being home when Aaron gets home is the best part of having a flexible work arrangement, you have to admit. You’ve been together for five years, but only living together for four months—for one reason or another, mainly his job, it took you a while to reach the cohabitation phase, but neither of you had minded much. You were always spending time together when he was free, and you enjoyed having your own space, so the arrangement worked out for the both of you.

Now, though, as he walks into your home office looking so handsome in a white shirt, black slacks, and burgundy tie, a soft smile on his face, you know without a doubt that you made the right choice by moving in with him. You wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Hi. How was your day?” he asks, leaning over you for a kiss. He intends to make it quick, but you put your hands on his body, lengthen the kiss, hum against his lips.

“Hmm. It was good. Better now, though.” You hit the keys necessary to lock your desktop and stand, stretch to wrap your arms around his neck. “How was yours?”

“Not bad.” He says it casually, but you can see the stress in the lines around his eyes, his mouth, and you raise a brow in question. “The unit’s being audited. A percentage of our consultations need to be reviewed, updated psychological evaluations completed—on top of everything else, it’s a lot,” he admits with a sigh, and you nod your understanding, brush your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll call Elena and cancel dinner.” You’d planned weeks ago to go out with one of your friends for Indian food, to meet her new boyfriend, but Aaron is clearly having a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. A quiet night in may be just what he needs. “We’ll stay home, I’ll order takeout. We can relax.”

“No, no. I know you’ve been looking forward to this; it’s really alright.” You tilt your head, something of a frown, and he takes your face in his hands, kisses you twice on the mouth. “It’s alright. I want to go out. I want to take you out,” he says, voice low, pulling you in for a slower kiss, and you melt against him, slide your arms around his back instead, pull him closer.

“I want to keep you in,” you murmur when the kiss breaks, and he raises the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile, presses his lips to your nose.

“And miss meeting the one?” You both laugh lightly, because Elena finds the one every couple of months, but she’s a hopeless romantic, always means it at first. It’s endearing, especially when you and Aaron feel a little like an old married couple. “Let’s go out, have a good time. If we stay home, I’ll be tempted to work.” He takes a step back, lets you head out the door and down the hall to your bedroom, so you can get changed; he follows behind, sits down on the bed while you go through your closet.

“I’m sure I could find ways to tempt you not to work,” you say, pushing dresses down the rack until you find one you like: it’s an emerald green mid-length dress, with cap sleeves and a slit up the front, not too formal and not too sexy, perfect for the restaurant where you will be eating.

You pull your t-shirt over your head, bend to slide your leggings off, and Aaron makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Consider me tempted.” You turn around, roll your eyes playfully, and put on the dress, sit down next to him to slip your feet into a pair of nude sandals; you lean in for a kiss, palm pressed to his chest, and it quickly becomes something deep, passionate. Aaron brings a hand to rest against your throat, and you have half a mind to take the dress back off and cancel those plans after all, but you know he wouldn’t let you do that anyway.

You pull back, bite your lip, and give him a very pointed once-over, then stand to finish getting ready. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time. “I’m just saying, he should be on the side of a tub of protein powder or something,” Aaron says later as he unlocks the front door, letting you step in before him. “His arms are bigger than his head.”

“He’s a personal trainer, baby. It’s his job to work out and look buff—he’s like a walking billboard for his business.” You slip your shoes off, hook the straps around your finger, and stroll toward the bedroom. “Elena really seemed to like him.”

“I give them three months.” He’s just a few feet behind you when you turn to shoot him a slightly admonishing look, even if he is probably right. “She seemed more focused on his twelve pack than anything else.”

You toss your phone onto the bed, remove your dress with a soft laugh. “Their relationship is still new; it’s all about the physical. You remember when we were like that, don’t you?” You aren’t exactly surprised when he comes up behind you and glides his hand across your bare stomach, when he brushes your hair away from your neck and kisses you there.

“We were never like that. It was never just physical for me,” he breathes into your ear, and you close your eyes, sink back against him, tilt your neck for more kisses. “I loved you before I loved you. I always just knew.”

“Fuck, Aaron,” you sigh, and you lay your arm along the one on your stomach, reach back with the other to press him closer to you. You lick your lips, turn your head so your face is near his, and he leans in to kiss you and slides his hand into your panties, rubs his fingers over your pussy.

You’re already a little wet from his hands on you, his mouth, but as always, he turns you on effortlessly; your face heats, your heart races, your breath quickens. Your pussy becomes almost unbearably slick, your moans against his lips gentle and pleading, and he removes his hand and slides your underwear down, guides you onto the bed.

You watch, panting, as he removes his tie, then takes off his belt, his pants; you can’t go without touching him for long, and you move to sit up so you can reach for him, pull him closer. You work at the buttons of his shirt from the bottom while he starts at the top, and you take it off together, then slip your hands into his boxers and push them down.

You immediately want to take him into your mouth, thick and hard as he is, and you slide your hands up his stomach, beneath his undershirt, in anticipation of that; you don’t get very far before he lays you back on the bed again, on your side this time. His forcefulness makes you ache to have him inside you, and he crowds in behind you, slides an arm beneath you and wraps his hand around you, over your breast, holding you tightly. You tip your head back, whimper, because he’s going to be so good to you as always and the waiting is almost too much to bear.

“You know I’ve got you,” he whispers, squeezing you, and you nod in response; he lifts your leg and hooks it back over his thigh, then pushes inside you, sinks fully into your wet heat. You exhale, a sigh of pleasure, and he mouths at your jaw, nibbles at your ear while he thrusts slowly but completely. “Hmm. This may not be new, but you’re always perfect for me. Doesn’t that feel so good?”

“So good, so good.” It’s difficult for you to really move in this position, though you rock your hips almost involuntarily into his thrusts, but he takes care of you, nips at the back of your neck, pounds inside you, brings you so close so quickly you almost forget to breathe. Your hands are on him anywhere you can reach, desperate for contact. “Aaron, mmm, god.”

“I know, baby.”

He puts his free hand behind your knee, bends your leg, folds it up by your chest so he can pump his cock faster, harder, and you feel surrounded by him—his hands on your body, his hot grunts of effort in your ear, the faint smell of cologne that lingers after a long day familiar to your nose. You're a little overwhelmed by it all, but pleasantly so, and when he comes you come, clenching tightly around him as he spills deep.

“Perfect,” he whispers tensely, nuzzling against your throat, and he slides out, brings your leg down, runs his hands tenderly over your body like you’re something delicate. “I love you.” You turn your head toward him, say it back, and he presses his palm to your cheek, treats you to a deep, wet kiss, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Every time I kiss you, it feels like the first time.”

“For me too,” you say with a tired smile, running your fingers through his hair, and he kisses you again before patting your hip and telling you to go get cleaned up, that he’ll take care of the bedding. When you come back, he’s in his boxers and t-shirt, legs tucked under a fresh comforter, and you slide in next to him and curl up beneath his arm. It’s a couple weeks later when you decide to bring Aaron lunch at the office; things seem much calmer lately, but the team’s cases have been back to back, and he’s been out of town a lot. You have to take the opportunity when you can, and that means showing up with a bag of Mexican food and a smile and hoping he’s not too busy to eat with you.

You get checked into the building and head for the BAU bullpen, stopping to chat with the team for a few minutes. You loosely plan for dinner or drinks in the future, make a promise to pop in and see Penelope before you leave, and then head up to Aaron’s office, knock lightly on the doorframe.

“Hungry, handsome?” Aaron looks up from his stack of paperwork with a smile, then slowly runs his eyes over you—you’re wearing a sweater, jeans, boots, nothing revealing in the slightest, but he makes you feel very warm and very naked nonetheless.

“Yes. For lunch, too,” he says, and you roll your eyes, a little bashful, and enter his office, setting down the bag of food you brought after he clears space on the desk. He stands, pulls you close for a hug and kiss, and then you unpack lunch, spread containers out over the desk. “Burritos? Are you trying to beef me up?” he asks, and you look up at him, lift your brow.

“Were you expecting salads? I’m feeding a super special FBI agent here, you need your strength.”

“We’ve only been living together for five months and it’s already getting hard to button my pants,” he grumbles, but he peels back the foil on the one labeled pollo asado without further complaint, takes the hot sauce when you hand it to him.

“So we’ll go up a size. It’s a good thing you’re not living off of coffee and vending machine protein bars anymore. You’ve been needing someone to feed you up for a while—and besides, I don’t mind if your pants are unbuttoned,” you say, licking sauce off of your thumb. “Nothing hotter than a well-fed Fed.” He rolls his eyes, and you sit down to eat.

When the hour is up, you pack up the leftovers, give him a longer, slower kiss goodbye, and pat his stomach, which makes him groan. “Any harder and the button might pop,” he jokes, and you laugh, shake your head.

“Don’t be dramatic. I love this tummy. Might even grab onto it later, you know?” You slowly wet your lips, then smile, and take a step back, take the paper bag and head out the door. “See you tonight, love you.”

“Devil woman,” he calls after you, and you grin the whole way to Penelope’s office.

“Light in the darkness,” she says when she opens the door to find you on the other side. “How did god know I needed to see an angel today?”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that, but I have some extra chips and guac from lunch if you need a pick me up.” She eagerly accepts your offering, and you take a seat next to her, dip a couple of chips half-heartedly, still full from your burrito. “So how have you been? Busy supporting the cutest group of crime fighters since Scooby Doo?” She laughs, nods her head.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it. When it rains creepy crimes, it pours, apparently. I think we’re all in desperate need of a vacation at this point—and a puppy.” She hits a few keys, pulls up a screensaver that is just a compilation of fluffy puppy photos, and you both sigh.

“Aw, a puppy would be nice. I don’t even dream about vacations anymore; I’ve come to terms with the fact that Aaron will never be the vacationing type.”

“Not even the honeymoon type?” she asks, looking at you over her glasses, and you crunch on a chip, shake your head.

“I doubt it, and we’re not there yet, anyway. I’d consider myself lucky if he took more than two days off in a row.”

“He’s always been like that—working himself too hard,” she says sadly, as if to let you know it has nothing to do with you. You know that, but can’t deny it would be nice to have more than the weekend with him. “As long as I’ve known him, at least.”

“And I get it: what you guys do is important, and I wouldn’t want him to change himself for me. I guess we all just have our things.” You smile, and she does too, reaches out to pat you on the arm.

“Could be worse, honey. Could always be worse.” She hits a few keys on the keyboard again, and up pops a man’s mugshot. “This guy’s girlfriend had to find out he’s been killing women and chopping them up in an industrial food processor.”

You’re glad you already had lunch, because the imagery is enough to make you lose your appetite for several hours.

Your stomach eventually comes around, and you and Aaron have a quiet dinner—chicken, potatoes, and “a salad, since you’re watching your figure now” you tease—and then you ask if he’d be okay with calling it a night a little early. He agrees, and you take him to bed and undress, then slowly pull off all his clothes, running your hands over his body as you go.

“So big and strong,” you murmur as you brush your palms over his shoulders, press your lips to his bare chest. “Unbearably sexy.”

“Used to be stronger,” he sighs as you trail your mouth lower, sink to your knees, smooth your hands down his thighs.

“I used to be perkier; still want me, don’t you?” You look up at him, wink, and he reaches down to cup your cheek with a big hand; you nuzzle into it, happy, content, just like always.

“I’ll always want you.”

“Good. And I’ll always want you.” Just in case the words aren’t enough, you bring your hands to his stomach, massage it a little, run your tongue slowly over the length of his cock. “Mmm. Lay down for me?”

He does, and you climb on top of him, lean in to kiss him slowly, deeply, skimming neatly trimmed nails over his chest. You kiss along his throat, down to his stomach, and then wrap a hand around the base of his dick and put your mouth on him, the other hand pressed lightly against his stomach while you suck him off.

Your pace is easy, your hand moving in time with your tight lips and hollow cheeks, and you squeeze his tummy, moan your pleasure, and flick your eyes up to his face. His lips are soft around a sigh, but his brows are tensely knit, and he brings a hand to your chin, caresses you lightly when he floods your mouth, when you swallow for him and lick him clean.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, and you crawl up his body, kiss his cheeks and his lips and then whimper when he presses your back against the bed.

His fingers find you soft and wet and open, and he pushes two of them inside, leans over you to mouth wetly at your throat, your breasts. You weave your fingers into his hair, grip his shoulder, moan his name, and he makes you come quickly, expertly, in that practice makes perfect kind of way. He kisses your lips as you sigh, sink against the bed, then rubs his hand over your chest and hums.

“Perky,” he says in your ear, and then you both laugh, and you pull him down on top of you for a quick cuddle before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A couple of Fridays later, it’s your turn to host girls night, so you’re in the kitchen putting together a charcuterie board and mixing up cocktails when Aaron walks in, looking casual and cuddly in jeans and a quarter-zip fleece sweatshirt. You know he plans to set up camp in his office, but you kind of wish he wouldn’t just so you’d get to look at him some more.

“Gorgeous man,” you say, peering up at him as you wrap your arm around his waist. “Can I interest you in a paloma?” You lift up a pink cocktail and he laughs lightly, guides your hand back toward the counter.

“You can’t, but I will take a beer for the road.” You shrug your shoulders, let him go so he can walk over to the fridge; you take a sip of the drink you offered him, wince a little—it’s a bit strong for a girls night in, but it won’t kill anyone—and Aaron caches the expression, holds back a smile. “Are you going to end up drunk tonight? Should I prepare for the worst?”

“Ha ha. I don’t plan on it, but if I do, just throw me over your shoulder and put me to bed.”

“It’s cute that you think that works,” he says, bending to kiss you on the cheek, and then the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it, baby. Keep… rearranging your cheese.” He smiles, you smile back, a little exasperated, and he goes to answer the door.

A short time later, you and your friends are gathered in the living room, sprawled across the sectional sofa with drinks and snacks. You’re maybe a little tipsy, and when the topic turns to Elena’s now ex-boyfriend, the personal trainer, you’re just uninhibited enough to weigh in.

“I don’t know what you saw in him anyway. He spent so much time in front of the mirror, I would have been insecure that he was going to leave me for himself.” Your friend Jada laughs, and you preen, take another sip of your drink.

“She just misses his dick; the new guy isn’t working with much. What’s his name? Chester? Charlie?”

“Clifford,” Elena says, pulling out her phone, “and no, he’s not working with much, but he’s really cute. Look at him.” She shows you a photo from her camera roll, and Clifford looks just like the personal trainer, but with brown hair instead of blond.

“Not my type,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, “but clearly he’s yours, so congrats, really. You can work around the small dick thing.”

“What is your type?” your other friend Michelle asks. “I’ve never been able to pin it down.” You open your mouth to answer but frown after a moment.

“I’ve never really had one, I guess. I know what I don’t find attractive, but what I do find attractive?” You think on it for a minute, and all you can imagine is what you already have. You can’t help smiling wide. “I mean, if I had to say, I guess just Aaron.” Your friends chime in with a chorus of aww, and you shush them. “I just think he’s perfect, you know? He’s smart and sweet and secretly funny; tall, and strong, but not in a ‘spends all day at the gym’ way—no offense. He’s a little softer, I can wrap myself up in his arms. It’s nice.”

“I’m with you,” Jada says. “A hard body might be nice to look at, but I need something to grab onto in the middle of the night.”

“Yes! Something to grab onto, and Aaron is perfect for that. He’s such a good cuddler, and he’s heavy, in a sexy way, like when he’s on top of me.” Okay, so you’re definitely a little drunk, never this loose-lipped about your sex life, but it’s all true regardless. “And he’s nice to look at—so nice to look at. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

You could go on talking about Aaron for the rest of the night, but topics change and you have enough sense not to ramble any further; you don’t have the sense to stop drinking, though, so by the time your friends leave, you’re puttering around trying to clean up the kitchen, and not doing a very good job of it. Aaron finds you, makes a soft sound and puts his arms around you from behind, effectively stilling your motions.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, and you sink back against his body, sigh happily.

“I want to go to bed—I want to go to bed with you. I always want to go to bed with you, because I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I love you, and we’re going to go to bed right now. We can clean up tomorrow.” You let him lead you down the hall, but you only make it halfway to the bedroom before you turn around in his arms, try to pull him down to your level. He’s so tall it can sometimes be annoying.

“I love you. I want you, always. You’re my type.” He laughs, bends to kiss you softly and tries to walk you backward toward the bedroom.

“Thank you. You’re my type, too, and I want you always.” You nod, because that’s good. You should be his type, since he loves you. That just makes sense.

“I want a puppy—a fluffy baby puppy with you. I’ll be the puppy mom and you’ll be the puppy dad.”

“A puppy,” he repeats, and you make it to the bedroom: you can tell because he sits you gently on the bed, helps get you out of your jeans. “We could get a puppy, if that’s something you want. I can walk it in the mornings before work, you can walk it on your lunch.”

You make a happy sound, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. You figure asking for one more thing can’t hurt, while you’re on a roll.

“I want a vacation, too, please. A beach vacation—I want to see you in swim trunks, your hair all wet, and I want to feel your skin warm from the sun.” He pulls your top over your head and walks away from you; when you make a sound of protest, he assures you he’ll be right back, and he returns with one of his t-shirts, helps you put it on.

“You want a beach vacation?” He turns down the bed, maneuvers you under the covers, then starts undressing himself. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. Just want to go away with you,” you say, and you can feel yourself drifting now that you’re cozy in bed, wearing Aaron’s clothes, soft pillows all around you. “A vacation, or a—a honeymoon.”

Aaron says something in response to that, but you can’t make it out, too busy falling asleep and imagining the scent of sunscreen and the feel of thick fingers rubbing it into your shoulders. You wake with a bit of a headache, and a dry mouth, and a warm body at your back, an arm loosely slung around your waist. You groan and press back against Aaron, and he leans forward to brush his lips over your ear and chuckle lightly against it.

“I think you went a little overboard,” he says, and he smooths your unruly bedhead back away from your face. “There’s water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. If you’re feeling up to it, I think a shower would do you some good. I’ll make breakfast.” He presses several soft kisses to your cheek and chin, and you close your eyes, hum your contentment.

“I love you, do you know that?”

“I do know that,” he breathes, and he runs his hand over your hip in a way that makes you wish you had more energy and less aching in your temples. “You said it a lot last night—I also couldn’t help overhearing you say I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”

“Well that’s true. Incredibly handsome,” you agree tiredly, and he presses his lips to your neck in the form of soft, smacking kisses.

“You also said you wanted a honeymoon,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes comically wide, slide up to a seat, look down at his face to try to read his expression.

“I did?” He nods, clearly trying not to smile at your surprise.

“Yes, you did. I’m not clear on the details, though—would that include a wedding, or were you planning on skipping over that part?” You lean over him, hide your face against his shoulder, and he laughs softly, rubs his hand up and down your back. “We’ve never talked about it, but it seems that’s something I should have at least brought up. We just took our time moving in together, and I didn’t want to rush that if you weren’t ready. Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and you pull back to look at him—his open expression, soft features, curious eyes.

“In theory, or in practice?” You have to ask, because this is Aaron, and he’s amazing, but he’s not a grand gestures type of man—if he’s asking you to marry him, you want to be very clearly on the same page to avoid miscommunication. He smiles, runs his hand down your arm.

“In theory.” You think of what it would mean, how it would feel, being married to the best man you’ve ever met, the kindest, most open-hearted (if occasionally grumpy) person, and the answer comes easily.

“Yes, I’m ready in theory.” His smile grows, and you match it, leaning down for a kiss. Then, he moves out from under you, reaches behind himself, into his nightstand, and rummages around for a moment before returning with a blue velvet box that he just holds, so casually, in his hand.

“How about in practice?” Your heart sinks to your stomach in the best way, and you can’t find the words even though you know exactly what you want to say. You bite your lip, and your eyes water a little; Aaron presses his palm to your cheek, and you meet in the middle for a slow, sweet kiss, exhaling softly when you pull apart.

You nod your head.

“Yes, I’m ready in practice.” You kiss again, a bit less sweet, weaving your fingers into his hair, and he pulls you down, makes you laugh, covers you with his body and kisses your face until you’re both out of breath.

“That’s good, because I want to make an honest woman out of you if we’re going to have a baby.” You freeze beneath him—did you talk about children last night, too, in your drunken haze?—and he chuckles, leans back so you can better see his face. “A fluffy baby puppy, remember? I’ll be the puppy dad and you’ll be the puppy mom.” You smack his chest, which he finds hilarious, and then you put your hands on his arms and sigh.

“Let me see that ring, please.” He props himself up on his elbows, opens the box for you: it’s sparkling, beautiful, exactly what you would have chosen for yourself, and you pluck it out, hold it up, and then hand it back so he can slide it onto your finger. “How long has this been in that drawer?”

“Since you moved in,” he says, and he takes your hand, kisses it, and admires your new accessory. “It was in my sock drawer before that, and I’m honestly not sure how long it was there. Two years, at least.” You frown just so you won’t cry, and he leans in to press his lips to the downturned curve of yours. “I told you, I always just knew.”

You deepen the kiss, run your hands over his sides beneath the soft t-shirt he slept in; his fingers move to the hem of the t-shirt you slept in as if to remove it, and you pause, pull back.

“No, wait, I’m gross. How are you even kissing me right now?” Aaron rolls his eyes, presses his mouth to yours repeatedly despite your half-hearted protests.

“Because I don’t care about morning breath, I’m marrying you.” He puts his hands in your hair, continues kissing, and you know resistance is futile; he wants you regardless, just as you are, and you would feel the same if roles were reversed—you do, every day.

“Mmh, okay but. At least let me. Shower first,” you mumble against his lips, and he rolls his eyes, leans back so he’s on his knees hovering over you, hands on his thighs.

“Would that make you feel better?” You nod happily, and he climbs off the bed, pulls you to your feet. “In that case, you go shower, and I’ll make breakfast as planned. And then, if your conditions are met, princess,” you wrinkle your nose, and then you both laugh, “I think I would like to make love to my fiancée, if that’s something that would interest you.”

“I’m very interested in that,” you agree, winding your arms around his neck, and you allow him one more kiss before you shuffle toward the shower, standing under the spray long enough to feel fully human again.

You drink the water, take the ibuprofen, and throw on his quarter-zip sweatshirt from the night before, and then meet him for eggs, toast, fruit, and kisses. He’s cleaned up the mess from last night, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and you fall a little bit in love all over again.

After breakfast, you make it as far as the couch, flat on your back with the sweatshirt hiked up around your stomach and Aaron’s head between your thighs; you moan, tug on his hair as he drags his tongue repeatedly through the wetness that clings to your pussy, and when he makes you come you close your legs around his shoulders, squeezing tightly, back arching off of the couch.

“Mmm. Should have locked you down a lot sooner,” you pant, encouraging him to climb on top of you. He licks his lips and leans in for a warm, soft kiss.

“I’ve been locked down since our first date. You wore a blue dress and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You pull his shirt over his head, and he pushes his boxers off, guides his cock inside you and plants his hands, noses along your cheek. “And now you’re mine.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex in broad daylight—or the living room, for that matter—so each roll of his body, heavy and smooth against yours, is that much hotter as the sun shines in through the window, as birds chirp from the tree just outside. Your moans feel louder, more indecent, and you hold onto his ass, run a hand up his back, while he groans in your ear, whispers things like fuck and baby and mine.

“Aaron, please,” you sigh, digging your fingertips into his hips, and he kisses you, thrusts harder, knows what you need without having to hear it. He’s getting close too, huffs hot breath against your cheek, and you squeeze him tighter, press up against him. “Yes, hmm. I’ve got you, baby.” You move a hand to his hair, carding fingers through it, and he rests one gently over your throat, kisses you deep and wet, passionate, pounds against you until he comes.

He slides his hand down your body, rubs his fingertips over your clit, and this time your orgasm is softer, and you bite at his shoulder just to feel more connected, even though he is still inside you, heavy above you. You cling to him, catch your breath, and then you kiss a little before hurrying to get cleaned up and hoping you don’t make a mess of the couch.

When you reconvene in the living room, windows open, curtains blowing softly in the breeze, Aaron is on the couch with his laptop on his thighs. You plop down next to him, peer over his shoulder, and he raises his eyebrow and smiles.

“What do you think of Golden Retrievers?” You rest your head against him, look at the screen full of fuzzy yellow puppies, and sigh, content.

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