#if youre reading this the chapter title for the next chapter is from six the musical

[dulcesiabits]

i’ve become the villain’s lover!

summary: You have the worst luck in the entire world to be transmigrated into a novel as some faceless side character, where the most notorious villains in the story won’t leave you alone. (ft. Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus).

notes: 12k words, scenario, fluff, mentions of violence, reader gets injured once, heavily based on my love of cheesy isekai/reincarnation/villainess manhwa 

All of your problems started with the book your friend lent you.

You didn’t even want to read it at first, but you took the copy because she wouldn’t stop pestering you and spamming you with texts. The title—I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!—was embossed gold, and the cover picture had seven beautiful men lounging around a woman with brown hair, the woman gazing wistfully into the distance. In short, it was so cheesy it sent chills down your back.

You really weren’t going to read it. But that summer night was hot and humid and you had nothing better to do than stare at the television and stir around your half-melted ice cream. So when you saw the book on the edge of the kitchen counter, you thought, why not? and opened it up.

If it was bad, you would stop after a few pages. But the television kept droning on as you read, and your forgotten ice cream was now melted slush in its bowl, and soon you were halfway through the story.

The premise itself was simple enough: the heroine, Hera Winn, was the treasured daughter of a down on his luck baron. He sent her to the city to make her debut, and after a series of mishaps, she ended up running into the crown prince, Malleus Draconia, who fell in love at first sight. However, the crown prince was feared by his subjects, and rumors swirled around about his fearsome power and his family. To make matters worse, six other men fall in love with Hera. The cherry on top? All seven men were notorious villains, feared by people far and wide for their cruelty.

You were still a few chapters away from the ending when your eyes started drooping; it was impossible to keep them open, even though you were dying to text your friend. It was deliciously bad, in an over-the-top and campy way, and you appreciated how self-indulgent the author was. Seriously, why would seven villains even fall for an ordinary person? It was way too contrived.

Whatever. You could call her tomorrow.

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you found yourself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Oh no. No way. This wasn’t what you thought it was, was it?

Conveniently, there was a hand mirror next to you, and when you stared into the frame, the face of a stranger stared back at you.

Your worst fears had come true. You’d transmigrated into I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!

Shit. You were never going to read another book in your life.

Luckily (or unluckily), you’d become some no-name extra. You didn’t even show up in the story, so as long as you kept your head down and stayed away from the main characters and their messy love affairs, you’d have a nice, happy life. 

Hey, maybe you could even use your knowledge of the story to make some good cash. You might as well make the best of whatever had happened to you.

The extra you’d transmigrated as lived alone, and had a decently nice house. When you had the chance to dig around the items in the house, you found out that they didn’t really have any hobbies other than reading and gardening. They also had a job working at the local bakery, judging from their planner, so you wouldn’t be lacking in money for now. You settled around the house, and spent a week or two getting used to your new life.

One night, you were getting ready to prepare dinner when you heard a thunk against your back door. Picking up one of your pans to use as a weapon, you cautiously opened the door only to be greeted with the sight of a man bleeding out on your back porch, his eyes closed and face pale. Oh no. You had to help him-- and then you promptly slammed the door shut once you realized who it was: Riddle Rosehearts, the grand duke. But more importantly, he was one of the villainous love interests in the story, and you really had no interest in getting involved in any of that. But then again-- you would also get in trouble if you let someone so powerful bleed to death on your back porch. So with a tired sigh, you opened the door to figure out how to save Riddle’s life.

When Riddle woke up, he reacted about as well as you expected him to react to his savior. He demanded to know who you were, asking what happened and what you did to him, and his hand was curled to cast some nasty fire spells at you if he deemed you a threat: in short, it was a warm welcome, considering he didn’t immediately start with burning you to a crisp.

After you managed to convince him that you weren’t a threat, he settled back into bed with a groan, and you spent the next few days nursing him back to health. After all, he showed up with a stab wound in his abdomen, and you were surprised he even made it to your door. The first few times he flinched whenever you touched him, but he gradually grew used to your touch. In fact, you realized he unconsciously nuzzled into your hand when you checked his temperature, but you were saving that revelation for a day he particularly annoyed you.

Riddle was not the best patient in the world-- he kept track of his own symptoms and checked on his wounds without your help, and he made a list of very specific herbs he wanted you to get from the apothecary. You suspected he still had trouble trusting your intentions in the first few days. Still, that didn’t stop you from falling asleep by his bedside keeping a watch on him (hm? You’re sure you didn’t have a blanket covering your shoulders before you fell asleep) and feeding him spoonfuls of porridge (partly because you didn’t want to take any chances with his wounds, and partly because you thought it was cute how embarrassed he got).

When Riddle was well enough to stand up on his own, you expected him to leave and go back to his dukedom, so you could also continue on with your life. But then he announced he was going to use your house as a hideout from the dukedom traitors who tried to literally and figuratively stab him in the back. Oh, no way-- but then Riddle added that he’d reward you generously if you cooperated, and you’d never been more than happy to offer him your spare room (or offer for him to keep using it, in this case). Somehow the two of you settled into a familiar routine. You went out to work in the mornings, bringing home leftovers from the bakery that didn’t manage to get sold during the day. Riddle managed the finances and handled any paperwork you gave him. He insisted he couldn’t just sit around waiting for you at home with nothing to do, and, well, he was extremely adept with boring, complicated matters. The two of you also tried to cook and clean together. He was absolutely hopeless at it though, and you had to hide a laugh when he tried to dump salt instead of sugar in your cookies.

He was surprisingly sweet. Maybe it was because he was reliant on your goodwill, but in the story, Riddle was a strict, arrogant ruler who imposed his rules with an iron fist over his subjects. The slightest hint of disobedience would have him personally visiting the offending person and making an example out of them in public... which was what probably led to people rebelling against him and trying to oust him from power. You could see hints of that imperious man show through; when he ordered you to do something, he expected you to do it without hesitation. Whenever you refused or talked back, you could see a vein in his forehead twitch.

Still, he seemed to respect you enough to back down when you stood firm in your decisions. He was easy to tease and easy to fluster, though you hoped that wouldn’t come to bite you in the ass when Riddle went to take back the dukedom. He jumped when you stood too close to him, blushed when you casually placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was always at the door to welcome you home in the evenings. He’d become a lot more fond of you than you ever expected, and you had to admit you had a soft spot for him, too. His eyes lit up when you brought home new pastries for him to try, and you noticed that he’d sometimes watch you gently when you walked around the house, though he looked away when you tried to catch him in the act.

One time, he came downstairs when you were dozing on the couch, and his footsteps woke you up. You waited to see what Riddle would do as you pretended to be asleep, curious as to what he got up to when you weren’t around. What you didn’t expect was for him to pull a blanket over you, muttering about how careless you were as he smoothed it down. His hand lingered near your own, so close you can feel the heat emanating from it, and you heard the couch creak as he bent closer to you, his hair brushing your face... and then he left abruptly, leaving you to wonder what he had been planning on doing.

Your cohabitation came to an end abruptly when Riddle told you that he planned to go back to the dukedom. You sent him off with some provisions and a tart you sneaked from the bakery, but Riddle lingered at the door, his face puckered up as if he was conflicted on something. You were going to tease him for how wrinkled his forehead was when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, promising that he’d come back for you if everything went well. He ran off before you could give him a response, but you were too open-mouthed to even think of one, anyways.

Several weeks passed, and you were sure Riddle had forgotten you. It was none of your business if things went well for him or not (though you had read in the newspapers that he had miraculously returned and rather brutally dealt with the traitors). You were content to just spend the days peacefully between your house and the bakery. Of course, just when you thought everything was going well, Riddle’s top retainers—Cater, Trey, Ace and Deuce—showed up at your door with a letter from Riddle. They wouldn’t leave until you penned a response, but it took you several minutes to reorient yourself after reading what was basically a confession of love and an invitation to become Riddle’s spouse.

Okay. Okay, you had no idea how on earth this had happened; when had Riddle fallen in love with you? Had all the domestic shenanigans affected him more deeply than you thought? So you failed in your initial plan and had gotten involved with a villain, but you definitely were not going to get involved any farther than this. You liked Riddle more than you expected, but his list of enemies was a mile long, and you were not eager to get involved with any of the political maneuvering he did. Also, marriage seemed like a huge commitment after you had only known him for a few weeks. So you sent him a polite rejection, thinking that would be the end... only for Trey to conveniently be sent to “inspect” your town, or Ace to be waiting for you to walk you home when Riddle was too busy to accompany you himself. Riddle never stepped over any boundaries you set, but it was clear he had not lost an ounce of interest in you.

Still, you enjoyed your peaceful life and you were not in any hurry to change anything, not when you had made friends with a few regular customers and the store owners whose stores you frequented. Everything was seemingly going well until you ventured to the market one day to buy groceries. Unfortunately, just after you finished bargaining for some carrots, you heard some commotion from behind you. A hooded man was being chased by town guards, and passerby were either running out of their way or being mowed down if they were too slow, shopkeepers grumbling as they rearranged their broken wares. Well, that was unfortunate, but it was none of your business! At least it was none of your business until the hooded man ran straight at you and grabbed your arm, pulling you in front of him. He snarled at the guards to back off, or you were going to suffer the consequences. All you could think of were two things: one, your basket of food was now rolling across the cobblestones and you were pissed, and two, you had caught a flash of the man under the hood, and you knew who it was. Leona Kingscholar, the infamous second prince of the neighboring kingdom, and another villainous love interest.

Leona didn’t let you go until you were both far away from the guards, who were reluctant to let an innocent civilian get caught in the mix. When you were far from town, he unceremoniously tossed you aside and told you to scram. Maybe you should have just done what he said and let that be the last of your involvement with him, but god, you were starving and he just sent your dinner rolling across the market roads. So, because you were insane, you decided your best course of action would be to threaten him.

Out of all the love interests, Leona wasn’t the worst to deal with, he was just the most temperamental. Despite his strength and cunning, his indolent nature hindered him from being an asset to his kingdom... or so he led everyone to believe. Due to your knowledge of the story, you knew Leona actually desired the throne and had made numerous schemes and backhand deals in order to get the chance to steal it. No crime was off the table if it meant he got his hands on the one thing he’d always been denied. Well, well, wouldn’t it be a shame if someone who knew all the details of his plans were to leak it to someone, like, say, the local guards? You knew just where to find the evidence to back up your claims, too.

Reluctantly, Leona bought you dinner, and because he’s a prince, you milked his wallet for all it was worth. You didn’t doubt he’d send someone to watch you or potentially assassinate you if he deemed you a big enough risk, but that was okay, because you could count on your new buddy Duke Rosehearts to keep you safe. And you were sure to let Leona know that, too, because who wanted to mess with one of the most influential men in the kingdom? Could Leona really afford to start a diplomatic mess at this point?

That should be that, but of course your life wasn’t that easy. You had no one to blame but yourself for deciding to get involved with Leona. The very next day, you found Leona in your kitchen, casually demanding you make him some breakfast because he was hungry. Since you were such an unprecedented variable in his plans, he was going to be keeping a close eye on you before deciding whether he was going to let you live. Well, if Leona was going to be mooching off of you, the least he could do was pay rent and help with some of the chores.

It wasn’t easy living with him. He was worse than Riddle, because at least Riddle tried to help you once he warmed up to you. Leona expected you to do everything by yourself. Occasionally he would do the dishes once you made enough pointed comments about turning him in, or sweep the floors when you started waving the broom around like it was a deadly weapon. More often than not, he was passed out on the couch when you left for work and still passed out when you came home. He would wake up when you finished making dinner, getting up just in time to eat, which made you suspect he wasn’t as defenseless as he presented himself (and that meant you should probably toss your idea of drawing on his face out the window).

The two of you did not get along whatsoever. Neither of you could go several hours without making some sort of snide remark at each other, and every conversation felt like a battle of its own. Leona often commented that he wasn’t sure whether you were bold or stupid, but it wasn’t often someone tried to challenge him like this. He almost sounded like he enjoyed that fact. Maybe he found you entertaining, but it wasn’t like he was scary to you; you knew too much about the story for that.

Sometimes, he was gone for several days at a time, or came home at odd hours. Somehow, your house had turned into his unofficial hideout. You didn’t know what he was up to, and you didn’t care to find out. At the very least, he started walking you to places when your schedules coincided (something about being careful, because his enemies might have figured out his location? You were not going to ask about that). He would then watch as you bartered for groceries (you tended to get better discounts when he was around, because people were intimidated by his glare), or helped you pick up heavy ingredients for the bakery. Sometimes he would even hold your bags... only after you annoyed him with your loud, dramatic complaints over the weight of them.

After a while, the banter between the two of you turned from biting to something almost affectionate. You couldn’t pinpoint when things started to change, but perhaps living together for so long had softened the both of you up. You didn’t expect him to be nice, but he started to make things a bit easier for you. He gave you nice jewelry to either sell or keep for your personal use. And he started napping on your bed, pulling you in to cuddle him when you complained you needed to sleep for the night and he was in your way. He was a clingy sleeper and kept you in his arms until the morning. When the two of you went out together, he had a habit of reaching for your hand, because Leona claimed you looked like you’d get lost or tricked by some shady salesman otherwise.

And, well, when someone tried to threaten you on an evening walk with Leona, he pounced on them before they could so much as finish raising their knife at you. After Leona had finished, ah, dealing with that person, he turned to you tensely, looking you up and down and raising one hand to touch your cheek so gently you didn’t know what to do other than nod when he asked if you were okay. For the rest of the evening, Leona didn’t let you out of his sight and held you tighter than usual in bed that night.

One day, Ruggie and Jack, his trusted right-hand men, came to take him back to his kingdom for some scheme or another. Much like the first time Leona came over, they were standing in your kitchen when you woke up in the morning (maybe you should teach them how to knock on a door, or invest in stronger locks). Ruggie asked Leona what he planned to do with you, and Leona simply gave you a smirk, one arm possessively pulling you by the waist so you almost fell into his lap. Well, he was much too fond of you to let you go now, so he’d just have to take you back with him to his kingdom.

Your only question was: why? Sure, the two of you had been getting along recently, but you didn’t expect his feelings to take on a more romantic turn. And, sure, you were fond of him, too, but Leona had big plans, and you didn’t want to paint a target on your back. Besides, you weren’t ready to be a part of royalty and deal with all the responsibility that entailed. Leona listened to your reasoning with more grace than you expected... and then, on the spot, decided to conveniently create a hideout in town. He wouldn’t be living in your house anymore, but you were still going to be seeing a lot more of him than you did before. Leona never got rid of his habit of sneaking into your house, either, and sometimes you’d come home and find him napping on your bed. Also, you swore he sent Jack or Ruggie to shadow you whenever you’re out, though they were too smart to let you catch them.

Okay, whatever. So what if you had two villains who wouldn’t leave you alone? You could handle them just fine. Besides, what were the chances you’d get involved with another one? This time, you’d built a fence around your backyard to ward off any dukes in mortal peril, and you spent some extra money to get locks for your windows (though you doubted that would actually stop anyone, not with Ace and Ruggie’s nimble fingers). Also, you were going to keep your head down, and be a good law-abiding citizen, and-- okay, why were two tall men slapping a sign labeled “foreclosure” onto the bakery door? And did the owner just walk out with a man in an elegant suit, who gave you a slimy smile when he noticed you staring? No. No way. It couldn’t be, but it was: it was Azul Ashengrotto, head of the information guild, one of the villainous love interests, and the man who just put you out of a job.

Maybe you offended some powerful deity in your last life, because your luck was downright rotten. You really had no choice but to get involved with Azul this time, because you were not ready to go job-hunting just yet. Who else would be nice enough to give you free food, anyways?

Azul was your friend’s favorite character, and you only vaguely understood why. He was intelligent, handsome, and charming, sure, but he was also two-faced, manipulative and had committed numerous backdoor deals to achieve his position as head of the guild. He was one of the most dangerous men in the world, and someone not to be crossed at all costs. After all, he had eyes and ears all over the place, and was the man to go to if you wanted dirt on anyone. And while he could grant whatever wish you wanted, if you were unable to hold up your end of the deal, then you would end up in pieces at the bottom of the sea.

Underneath all of that, Azul was someone who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the social hierarchy, and would go to any lengths to cover up his past. While you briefly entertained the thought of blackmailing Azul with his secret, you figured it wasn’t worth it when Azul could just order Jade and Floyd, his favorite assistants and bodyguards, to toss you into the sea instead. Unfortunately, you didn’t hold the same leverage over him as you had with Leona. So, that only left you with one real choice: time to figure out why your employer was being put out of business.

Your boss, as it turned out, had signed a contract with Azul. In exchange for a generous loan to start the bakery, your boss was supposed to pay back the loan with a seemingly reasonable interest. Of course, it was actually a predatory deal where the amount of interest being charged was ridiculously high and guaranteed to sink your boss into a never-ending chain of debt. So, what real choice did you have but to try to make a deal with Azul yourself? If worse came to worse, you could probably throw Leona’s influence around, even if it meant Leona would demand some ridiculous fee from you in return.

That was how you found yourself working for Azul as his so-called secretary until you could pay off your boss’s loans. Though he acted generous and kind on the surface, he pushed you hard and expected you to put in overtime without complaint, dangling your precarious situation over your head any time you protested. You acted as the face of the organization, dealing with more normal customers (because, as Azul put it, you didn’t stand out whatsoever and would be perfect for the position) and helping sort through Azul’s less secretive contacts and papers. Eventually, you moved your way up to organizing his schedule, and sometimes he even let you talk with his clients in his place when he was particularly busy.

You couldn’t pin Azul down, but you knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t be able to trust him. You knew the deal you took was shady as hell, liable to blow up in your face at any time, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you tried to ask him a question that wasn’t directly related to work, he deflected. In the beginning of your time at his guild, the Leech twins would randomly pop in to check on you, watching you work with unnerving stares. Eventually, they got bored enough they would chat with you sometimes.

As loath as you were to admit it, Azul was not a bad boss. Sure, he expected a lot out of you, but if you rose to his expectations, then you were properly rewarded in return. Somewhere down the line, it felt like Azul started being more open with you... or as open as a man could be in his position. He never overworked you, and though his interest in your health started off as a logical investment, at some point, it started to take on a more... personal bent. He ensured you were eating enough (and maybe cooked you a meal himself), and even provided a room in his guild for when you stayed too late to be able to return home safely. He was always trying to convince you to sleep over instead of going back home, too.

You learned to toe the line with Azul, because if you got at least one reaction out of him, you might be closer to figuring him out. You sat on the edge of Azul’s desk as you delivered your reports, and sometimes it felt like he leaned closer to you. You teased and prodded at him verbally, but he always returned your remarks with a genial smile and brushed off your words. In fact, the closest you got to flustering him was when you told him he looked cute, which led to him dropping all the papers in his arms. Really, you wondered why he let you get away with provoking him, because your moves always got bolder the less he reprimanded you.

Sometimes you thought Azul was observing you as much as you were observing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch him staring at you, but whenever you turned around to check, he’d always be buried in one document or the other, though his ears were bright red. But hey, a great employee perk was that Azul had started inviting you out to dinner at fancy restaurants you’d normally never be able to afford, under the excuse of “observing some potential clients.” He’d even gifted you expensive jewelry, claiming he couldn’t let his employees look unprofessional, but he was always smiling whenever he saw you wearing his necklace around the guild. Floyd and Jade had even thanked you once for making “Azul even more entertaining to be around,” whatever that meant.

And then one afternoon, Jade and Floyd asked you to come to Azul’s office. You wondered if he’d finally grown tired of having you around and wanted to get rid of you (permanently), but instead, all Azul did was hold out the contract you made with him. If he forgave all of the bakery’s debt and annulled the current contract, would you be his lover? Sure, he was planning on using you at first, but now? He didn’t think he wanted to let you go.

There had to be some sort of mistake. Azul had fallen in love with you? It had to be a record to have three villains chasing after you. Sure, you really enjoyed his company (and the great employee benefits he offered), but it didn’t feel right to enter a relationship like this. Wouldn’t it create a weird power imbalance? And again, like with Riddle and Leona, being his lover would make you a highly vulnerable target. When you explained all of this to Azul, he tore up your contract without a second thought and sent you home. You ended up back at your old job, all loans paid off, and things seemingly back to normal. However, Azul had decided to generously sponsor the bakery you worked in. He insisted on stopping by with Floyd and Jade to ensure everything was running smoothly, but all he ended up doing was finding every excuse to talk to you and stick by your side.

At this point, you’d decided to accept your fate. Every time you told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with another villain, the world would just throw one at you as if in mockery. So, fine. Since it was all out of your control, you decided you wouldn’t even worry about it anymore. One day, while you were out in town, you heard excited whispers around the square. Curious, you inquired what was happening from a group of giggly girls, and learned that Kalim Al-Asim, the richest merchant in town, was holding a party. Everyone was invited, and there was going to be free food and entertainment galore! There was no way you were going to pass up on this opportunity, especially since Kalim was one of your favorite characters in the original novel. There was one caveat, though: Jamil Viper, Kalim’s most competent advisor, was another villainous love interest. Still, you had promised yourself you were going to do whatever you wanted, and you weren’t passing up this chance to have some fun.

To call the party lavish would be an understatement. There was a veritable mountain of food, an entire orchestra, and it seemed like everyone in the country was invited. You were in the corner, sipping a drink and taking a break from dancing, when you saw Kalim laughing with some members of the nobility. You smiled at how animated he was... and then you saw it. Someone slipped something into his drink. Before you even knew what you were doing, you sprinted over and knocked the cup out of his hand as a crowd of people stared at you. Well, shit.

Honestly, what were you supposed to do? Let Kalim Al-Asim, your favorite character, die? You’d read the novel, so you knew he survived an attempted assassination at a party, but you hadn’t suspected the incident would take place here and now. You didn’t regret your decision, but you were certain one of those nobles was going to throw you into a dungeon for your disrespectful act. But then Kalim took your hands in his and asked why you did what you did. He looked earnest, and you told him the truth: you saw someone slip something into his drink.

There was an uproar following your announcement. Guards swarmed the floor, and people ran around in confusion, and at least one noble accused you of lying. You thought about escaping in the sudden disarray, because you’d already done whatever you could by telling Kalim what happened. Before you could even take one step, Kalim thrust you into the arms of someone behind you, yelling at them to take care of you while he handled the situation. You turned around... and met the face of Jamil Viper, who looked less than thrilled by Kalim’s words.

In the novel, Jamil was Kalim’s childhood friend, and his family had been a vassal to the Al-Asims since the founding of the kingdom. Though Kalim saw Jamil as his most trusted retainer and loyal friend, Jamil was less than pleased with his lot in life. He would be forced to work in the shadows forever, doing all of the dirty work that kept Kalim safe in the sunlight. You remembered how many fans had loved their complicated dynamic, and how Jamil struggled with his decision to betray Kalim, who was still his childhood friend. Still, it was something you’d rather read about than be caught in the middle of. Right now, Jamil was appraising you, trying to determine your potential value as a piece in his numerous plans. You wondered what he would do if he found you lacking.

Without another word, Jamil dragged you with him as he calmed people down and directed the guards. He was terrifyingly competent, but he kept an iron grip on your wrist the entire time. By the time the commotion died down, Jamil took you to meet Kalim, who was waiting for you in a lavish parlor. As Kalim explained it, you had luckily foiled some assassin’s plans, but now there was the possibility you could be in danger. He earnestly grasped your hands and asked if you’d stay in his manor until they caught whoever did this. It wasn’t like you were going to refuse, but with the way Jamil glared at you, you didn’t think you had a choice in the first place. Kalim may have wanted you to stay out of the goodness of his heart, but it was clear Jamil didn’t trust you at all.

Your life in the Asim manor wasn’t that bad, to be honest. Everyone was generally friendly, even though you were expected to wake up at the crack of dawn to follow Jamil around so he could “keep an eye on you.” You ended up helping him with his assignments, surprisingly enough. There was nothing else to do, the servants wouldn’t let you help out, and you felt an inkling of pity at the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk and the line of people who demanded his attention. Jamil tried to stop you, but it was clear he really did need the help, so he relented. It was a good thing your time with Azul prepared you for assistant work, so you were efficient at organizing papers and managing people, marking down any important meetings or documents that required his immediate attention. You heard more than one servant giggle about how Jamil didn’t let just anyone follow him, so you must be very special (yeah, special because he thought you were connected to the person threatening Kalim’s life).

Still, despite his apparent dislike of you, and the fact he was almost as much of a hardass as Azul, Jamil acknowledged when you did a good job with a hand on your head. He never told you that he appreciated your help, but you got the sense that he did when he told you to take a break or asked a servant to prepare your favorite drink. The two of you really started to grow closer after you saw him paralyzed in the corner of his office one afternoon when you were bringing in some reports. You thought something was wrong... only for Jamil to point at a caterpillar crawling on his desk. You brought it outside on a piece of paper, and Jamil swore you to secrecy on his phobia. After that, you were the one he went to when he needed someone to dispose of any insects flying too close to him. It was honestly pretty cute, and you weren’t above teasing him by pretending there was a bug on his shoulder when Jamil was being overbearing.

Sometimes, you caught him in the kitchen, whipping up meals for Kalim. This way, he explained, Kalim wouldn’t have to use a poison taster. Jamil would offer you a sip of the soup or wipe off a smear of flour that’d gotten on your face. You’d swing your legs as you sat on the counter and watched him work. The two of you chatted idly, and you were always surprised at how easily conversation flowed with him: you got the feeling Jamil never had the opportunity to take off his mask and reveal his meaner, conniving side very often. And, well, maybe you noticed that he laughed when he was with you, more often than he did with anyone else.

Despite your role as his temporary assistant, Jamil never let you attend any of his important meetings. You were then left to hang out with Kalim, who was more than happy to make room for you in his schedule, or to wait for Jamil to finish. Today, Jamil was meeting with a trade partner, so you opted to wait for him, because Kalim was busy entertaining the rest of the guest’s party. Everything had been so quiet, you’d forgotten that someone was targeting both your and Kalim’s lives. It wasn’t until you were waving your hand in greeting at Jamil, who’d just finished his meeting, and you saw a look of genuine fear pass over Jamil’s face as something sharp struck your back, that you realized, oh. This wasn’t just a novel anymore, was it? It was your life, and the last thing you saw before you passed out was Jamil running toward you.

In the infirmary, when you woke up, you realized Jamil was holding your hand tightly, sleeping on a chair next to your bed. Kalim was there too, his face streaked with tears as he whispered that he was glad you were okay. An assassin had shot you with a poisoned arrow, but they had caught him, and now they knew the location of the group who had been attempting to assassinate Kalim. Jamil had carried you in his arms to the infirmary and had refused to leave your side for even a moment. You were safe now, but Kalim had to take care of some more business, so rest up, and he’d come see you again.

When Kalim left and you turned to look at Jamil, you saw that he was awake now... or had he been awake the whole time Kalim was talking? Regardless, Jamil looked at you so tenderly it took your breath away. He asked if you would stay with him forever, so he could protect you and dispose of any fool who tried to hurt you, starting with the assassins who had dared to lay a hand on you.

Honestly, it was a lot to take in after you had just woken up from an attempt on your life. You really had grown to care for Jamil, but you weren’t ready for further near-death experiences, especially when you knew the treasonous thoughts Jamil harbored would put him in danger. And while Jamil may be a villain, he was not a terrible guy. When you refused his offer, he let you go with little fuss. Of course, that was not going to be the last you saw of him, because when had your life ever been easy? The very next morning, you found Jamil casually perusing the bakery’s goods, telling you that Kalim had suddenly become very, very fond of the pastries here, and that Jamil was going to be stopping by daily to pick up Kalim’s orders. He would appreciate it if you helped him with that. The way Jamil phrased it, though, made it sound like more of a date than an official visit.

Fortunately, the next few weeks went by smoothly (if you didn’t include the men that kept vying for your attention with increasingly convoluted plans). You were mostly just healing from your injuries while Riddle, Leona, Azul and Jamil used that as an excuse to visit you and lavish gifts upon you. One day, there was a knock on the bakery door as you were about to close up, and you found a very beautiful man around your age standing outside. His name was Epel, and he wanted to work for room and board. The name struck warning bells in your head. When you took a closer look, you noticed that underneath his worn cloak his clothes looked finely tailored; he was obviously a noble, but why would a noble want a job? When you pressed Epel for answers, he hesitated, before admitting that he’d run away from home, but he wasn’t originally a nobleman, so he wouldn’t be useless at all! And then it hit you all at once: Epel was the heir and protege of Vil Schoenheit, an infamously beautiful marquess, and the fifth villainous love interest. You could turn him away, but you couldn’t say no to his puppy dog eyes and the exhaustion plain on his face, could you? So Epel took the spare room in your house, and you braced yourself for the inevitable encounter with Vil.

A few days passed with no incidents. Epel was a wonderful roommate (far better than Riddle and Leona) as he knew how to cook and clean and did his fair share of chores. It was a bonus, you privately thought, that you had more customers than usual because of Epel’s pretty face. The two of you had become fast friends when one morning, a fancy carriage stopped outside your bakery, and in strode a hooded nobleman and his retainer. One toss of the nobleman’s hood revealed Vil Schoenheit, a scowl on his beautiful face as he stared Epel down. He’d come to take Epel home, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, even as Epel glared at him right back.

Despite the fact you knew the root of their antagonism, you still never wanted to be dropped right in the middle of it. The tension was so heavy you wanted to make excuses and leap for the break room. Still, it was hard to tear your gaze away from Vil’s face; a written description really couldn’t do justice to the most beautiful man you had ever seen, even though he barely spared you at glance.

It was almost funny that despite his appearance, Vil hadn’t been born into nobility; no, his father married into it, and despite all the gossip and rumors about their common origins (and Vil’s uncanny talent with poisons), he had clawed his way to the top of high society, bringing fame to the Schoenheit name. He had made it... until his seat was stolen by Neige LeBlanche, the new darling of the noble world. One day, while on a trip, Vil had spotted Epel working as a farmhand and, intrigued by the potential he saw in him, he made Epel his heir and protege. Epel was only several years younger than him, and accepted the offer on the condition that Vil would support his family. Epel, in return, was to help Vil overthrow Neige so Vil’s family could regain their previous prestige. It was supposed to be a foolproof plan, but was made impossible by their clashing personalities and stubbornness.

Really, you knew why Vil acted the way he did, but that didn’t mean you were just going to stand there and let him drag away Epel when your friend looked miserable. When you stepped in between the two of them, Vil finally took a look at you. You could see the gears turning in his head as Epel pulled you back and yelled at Vil not to do anything to you. You could hardly believe the words that came out when Vil opened his mouth: perhaps Epel would have an incentive to try harder at his various lessons on the nobility if he had a friend to accompany him in the manor. It sounded like an awful idea to you, but Epel’s eyes lit up immediately. You liked Epel, yeah, but you hadn’t even known him for that long, and you had a social (?) life-- Vil offered to reward you generously for your time and you immediately headed back home to pack.

When you got to the manor, you started to suspect Vil should have added ‘family counselor’ to the description of his initial offer. Most of the time it felt like you were acting as mediator in Epel and Vil’s relationship and trying to get the two to compromise on at least one thing before the manor burst into flames from their heated glares. You’ve had to deal with testy personalities before (getting your friends/suitors/villainous acquaintances not to strangle each other is a feat in and of itself), but whenever Epel gripped your arm and yelled that the two of you were going to run away, Vil would turn his disapproval in your direction, and you could see him considering whenever he should poison you or not.

Your relationship with Vil was... frosty, to say the least. You were only there to serve as motivation for Epel, and outside of that, he didn’t pay you any attention. You barely got to see him because he was so busy with his work. If you needed anything, then you would just have to talk to Rook, Vil’s right hand man and retainer. At least everyone in the manor was under the order to make your stay as comfortable as possible, so Vil was looking out for you in his own way... or he just didn’t want to ruin his reputation by being seen as a horrible host.

Really, you expected to wind up only distant acquaintances with Vil. At least you did until the evening Vil visited you with an envelope in his hand and asked you to accompany him to a party as his partner. Swarms of pesky suitors kept knocking on his door, and he was getting a headache dealing with all of them. So why not play the part of his lover while you stayed in the manor? He’d make sure you were properly compensated for this as well, of course. You had no reason to refuse after that, but the party ended up being a bit of a disaster. You couldn’t keep up with all of the nobles questioning you, and it was only due to Vil’s smooth-talking that you didn’t fall flat on your face. Vil had prepped you on what to say, but a bit of practice was nothing compared to all those judgemental eyes on you.

After that horrible first party, the two of you opted to spend more time getting to know each other in order to make the ruse a success. You ate dinner together every night and would spend at least an hour talking and getting to know each other. Something you hadn’t expected was how attentive Vil was. You only needed to vaguely mention you got cold at night and the next thing you knew there was a roaring fire and piles of fluffy blankets in your room. You didn’t even realize Vil knew anything about you until he had your favorite meals served during dinner, or your favorite flowers planted in the gardens when you went out on walks.

The two of you went around town on so-called dates to really reinforce the deception. You dined on a variety of fine foods you would normally never be able to afford, and Vil seemed to smile at your enthusiasm, even as he scolded you over your table manners. You held onto his arm, and he would point out nobles in the streets and all the pertinent information you should know about them. He was clever, and it was hard not to be swept up in his pace, not when you saw firsthand how hard he worked for his goals. He would gift you with clothing and tell you not to worry over the expense; Vil couldn’t have his so-called lover looking shabby, could he?

It didn’t stop there. When you popped up during Epel’s ballroom dancing lessons, Vil had you dance with him to show Epel how the steps looked, his grip on you secure the whole time. And he never put you in an uncomfortable situation; the second you showed any hesitation to keep mingling with pushy nobles, he left the ballroom early, or led you onto the balcony to catch your breath. When you were cold, he would pull his cloak around you without another word, his gloved hand warming yours. He played the part of lover so well, and looked at you so tenderly, there were times you forgot this was simply fake. When did the distance between the two of you shrink? When did you start enjoying your time together, and when did he start seeking you out during his every spare moment?

One morning, during a stroll in the gardens together, Vil took your hand in his and kissed the back of yours. You were so stunned you almost missed him asking if you wanted to make your engagement official. He hadn’t expected to fall for you this hard, and Epel adored you, so why not become a Schoenheit yourself?

It was funny to you that this was the second time you had been proposed to by a member of the nobility. And from two villains, no less, who hadn’t known you very long in the grand scheme of things. Still, you didn’t think you could handle staying in high society and fighting verbal battles for the rest of your life. When you turned Vil down (THE most eligible bachelor in high society), he only hummed and said he respected your decision. However, you discovered soon after that Vil had bought a vacation home close to your town in an effort to help Epel acclimate to urban life even though there were much bigger towns out there. You found yourself bumping into Vil far too often to be a coincidence, and you wondered if he asked his retainer, Rook, to keep tabs on you. Vil seemed to look more and more beautiful each time you saw him, to the point he might start blinding people if he wasn’t careful.

After your exhausting trip to Vil’s manor, all you wanted to do was rest and catch up with your friends. You had even missed your villainous associates/suitors, weirdly enough. You were sort of friends with them too, right? But that was beside the point. You had no doubt that another villain would stumble onto your path sooner or later. There were only two more you had yet to meet, and you wanted to enjoy what peace you had before the sixth one landed on your doorstep. Well, you should have known better by now than to jinx yourself, because the very next morning, you found a shivering, hooded man being pushed around by some local goons. After you scared them off by yelling for the guards, you went up to the man to see what you could do to help him... only to come face to face with Idia Shroud, magical genius and sixth villainous love interest. Oh, great.

You contemplated leaving Idia to his fate on the streets, but the way he looked so nervous and out of place tugged at your heart. He gave off the impression of a soaking wet cat, and you’d always been fond of animals. Besides, he had ‘easy mark’ written all over him, and despite his magical prowess, you were pretty sure he’d be targeted by another thief before long. So with a sigh, you started cleaning out your spare guest room for him (which had seen far too much use lately). Idia didn’t talk the whole time you walked home with him, and didn’t even give you a thanks when you offered him a mug of hot tea. Still, it didn’t bother you too much, not when you knew his past.

In the novel, Idia was a once in a century genius, born to a long line of talented mages, who’d practiced magic since the founding of the kingdom. It was pretty much guaranteed he would take over the magic tower, the central source of authority for mages all over the country, just like his parents before him. However, the Shrouds were infamous due to a curse on their family: no one was sure who first cast the curse (a god, some whispered), but the Shrouds were cursed with misfortune. Nothing ever went right for them, and they would never be happy. Idia was a prime example of this. His parents kept their distance from him, and Idia’s little brother, Ortho, died in an accident. In his grief, Idia created a homunculus using forbidden magic who looked and acted like Ortho. Ever since the original Ortho’s death, Idia had locked himself up in the tower to conduct research and stew in his grief. Of course, he was still a formidable mage who had no qualms about striking down anyone who got in his way, experimenting with dark magic and blatantly refusing any request unless it struck his interest.

For once, you were frustrated that you hadn’t finished the book before you were transmigrated. If you had, then you would know the solution to Idia’s curse. At any rate, you were certain the way to end the curse had to do with the heroine (wasn’t that how it always went with romance stories?) but... weirdly enough, you hadn’t seen her around anywhere, or even heard word of the crown prince being engaged. Well, you would try to keep an eye out for her, and hope that Hera meeting Idia would do something about his curse.

It didn’t surprise you one ounce that Idia basically holed himself up in your guest room as soon as possible. He refused to talk about what he was doing here, his past, or much of anything at all, for that matter. He only muttered that he would pay you for rent and his share of the food, and then kept the door firmly locked. Sometimes he would slide you some extra money along with a little note of magical ingredients he wanted you to pick up.

Idia wasn’t the worst roommate in the world; the two of you left each other well enough alone. Still, it got a little boring to sit by yourself in the living room when you heard him tinkering with some invention or the other in his room. You ended up sliding little notes to him under the door, sometimes accompanied by a doodle. You knew he read them, but you never got a response back. It became a habit, actually. You would slide a note under his door before work and then be on your way.

But one day, you got a response. You had simply asked what he wanted for dinner before you left for your shift in the morning, and in the evening, there was a reply waiting right outside his door. “Something sweet,” he had written. You smiled, a bit delighted that he finally replied. From then on, the two of you started exchanging notes. It gave you something to look forward to in the evenings; when you got home, there would be a piece of paper waiting for you outside Idia’s door. The notes eventually turned into letters, and it felt like you had a pen pal... even though he was only living several feet away from you.

Idia slowly opened up over the course of your correspondence. He was surprisingly blunt and even a bit smug, though you made sure to tease him in return for every snarky line he wrote. He had run away from home because he didn’t want to take over the family business. He appreciated you letting him stay here, but wasn’t it sort of foolish to house a random stranger in your own home? (You had to reply that wasn’t it foolish of him to just follow you home with no idea of your intentions?)

One day, when you came home, you found no note by his door. You knocked on it worriedly, before you heard Idia’s voice for the first time in ages: “come in.” And so you did. Idia was sitting on his bed, looking down, and began mumbling something so fast you couldn’t hear him. You got the gist of it, though; he had cast some spells on your house in order to fortify its protections. If anyone with ill intentions, like a thief, tried to set foot inside, they would immediately be frozen stiff. And there was now an alarm system in place, and... his voice trailed off, and you told him that you were grateful for what he had done, which caused his hair to flare bright and pink.

After that, though the two of you still passed notes, Idia started venturing outside of his room more often. You could find him on the couch reading when you got home from work, or skulking in the kitchen, tinkering with the appliances which he called “horrendously outdated.” You even started eating dinner together, and it was nice having company, though Idia always retreated back to his room afterwards. You were now allowed to come into his room and examine his makeshift workshop, though you had to give Idia advance warning.

One evening, there was a knock on your door. When you got up to answer it, Idia cowering in the kitchen, you found a little boy on your doorstep. His name was Ortho, and he had come to take Idia home. Idia refused on the spot, though when Ortho looked close to crying and asked if Idia wouldn’t come home because of him, Idia rushed over to hug and comfort him. It was decided that Ortho would stay with the two of you and function as Idia’s assistant. With the arrival of his little brother, Idia admitted his true identity to you. You pretended to be shocked and promised you wouldn’t think of Idia any differently.

Ortho was extremely helpful; he did Idia’s share of the chores, and even knew how to cook, though you refused to let him do too much work. Homunculus or not, he was still ten years old. Idia tended to venture outside of his room more now that Ortho was there, and sometimes the three of you would play games together after dinner. Ortho was adorable... but he also seemed determined to set you up with his big brother. He always found some method to get the two of you alone for extended periods of time, or kept very loudly and obviously talking up all of Idia’s good points.

It was cute, even if it was a little troublesome at times. One of Ortho’s attempts led to the two of you being locked out in the garden. You gave Idia your coat in case he got cold... and then he took your hand in his. He couldn’t even look you in the eye, and started speaking so fast you had to ask him to repeat several of his sentences. Still, what Idia ended up confessing was that he had fallen in love with you, and that he was planning on finding a way to end the curse because he didn’t want something bad to happen to you. Would you be willing to wait for him until then?

Really, what could you do, other than squeeze his hands and tell him not to be a stranger? You would help him however you could! Of course, you were open about the five other men who were very energetically vying for your attention, and the fact you were reluctant to get into a relationship. Idia seemed a bit relieved at that (though you swore you heard him mutter an insult or two about the other villains), and said that was fine. The two of you could sort out your business on your own time. So Idia moved back home with Ortho, though the two of you still kept in constant contact through letters. Sometimes, Idia would teleport himself directly on your doorstep because he got impatient to see you again.

So you had adopted another villain into your little group. However, now you had some time to consider what the hell was going on. Where was the heroine? You had been so distracted by the whirlwind of events around you, you had forgotten the story’s original premise. It was the heroine who was supposed to catch the eyes of all these villains, not you. What happened? She was supposed to be engaged to Malleus Draconia, but you hadn’t heard a single word about the crown prince being engaged. It was too much to think about; maybe you would try to do some research of your own instead of spinning around in circles. You decided to contact Azul for information, who promised to get back to you as soon as he could. One day, while waiting, you realized there was a new hooded customer in your bakery, someone who looked a little lost as he glanced around all the baked goods. You headed over to explain things to him, and as you did, your eyes froze on his. Green, with slit pupils... the only one who had eyes like that was... oh. Oh, no way. This was the final villainous love interest, and the male lead: Malleus Draconia, the crown prince.

What the heck was Malleus doing in your bakery? You racked your brain, and remembered that he had a habit of sneaking out of the castle in the story. It was funny that as soon as you had started to look into the heroine, he appeared in front of you. Maybe this could be a good way to look into where the heroine went. The story had already gone off course because of your presence, you knew that, but it didn’t explain why Hera hadn’t shown up.

Malleus, it turned out, was interested in the various goods you had on sale. His eyes sparkled when you told him it was all freshly baked daily, and he was eager to take the samples you offered him. It was cute how he tried to hand you a sack of gold coins for a loaf of bread, though you politely handed the entire stack back and told him only one would be enough. It made sense that he was out of touch with the world around him, though.

From the novel, you remembered that the Draconia family had founded the current kingdom, and were said to be descendants of a great dragon who once ruled the lands. They were the oldest family and had established most of the nobility, including the Rosehearts household. However, despite their legacy, the Draconias were feared precisely due to the draconic blood in their veins, which made them faster, stronger and longer-living than the average citizen. Malleus had been raised strictly in order to succeed the throne, and he rarely had time to himself. Surrounded by people with ill intentions, and always having to put his kingdom first, it was no wonder he had fallen so hard for Hera in the original story. She was the only one who treated him like a normal person, and you found their relationship surprisingly cute as they navigated the trials of being a couple. Of course, he was still a villain at the end of the day, and would have burned the world down to keep his beloved safe.

When you waved goodbye to Malleus that day, you had not expected that you would find him wandering around the markets the next evening. He looked as lost as ever, and seemed to cheer up when he noticed your presence. As you walked around to look at various goods, Malleus followed you and questioned you on the purpose of each stall. You ended up buying him some street food and a little gargoyle charm he had been eyeing. Before you parted ways for the night, Malleus grabbed your hand, asking if he could see you again. You told him to come to the bakery anytime, and that when you had an off day, you would take him around again.

Somehow, because of that, Malleus Draconia started visiting your bakery every morning, and he would even come to see you on your days off. He was a pleasant companion; the conversation between you two flowed naturally, and his naivete was charming. You would often spend time walking around, chatting idly about the town news, as Malleus drank up your every word. He was intensely curious about the mundane aspects of life in your town, but he was also curious as to your life, too. You found yourself opening up about memories from your original world, even if you were careful to phrase it in such a way that Malleus didn’t realize you were a transmigrator.

On other days, you would take him to town and watch his eyes light up at children’s toys, wandering musicians and even the cats that lazed in alleyways. You would always make sure to sample some new street food with him, which Malleus insisted on paying for (you felt your jaw drop at the mountain of gold he casually carried around on his person. It was lucky he was so strong or he would have been robbed in an instant). The stores the two of you liked perusing the most were antique shops. Malleus would wax poetic on their origins and you would make up silly stories about their past owners, which often made him laugh.

Once, it had started raining on one of your evening walks, so Malleus had to stay the night at your house. As you prepared some spare clothes and towels for him, he unexpectedly drew closer to you, telling you that he had a confession to make. You tensed, afraid that he was going to confess his love to you, as seemed to often happen to you these days... only for Malleus to lower his hood and reveal that he was the crown prince, which made you more than a little embarrassed at your assumption.

On his head, though, grew two pairs of horns. It was a physical reminder of his heritage, and what people tended to stare at whenever he appeared at official events. He had greatly enjoyed your company over these weeks, but he didn’t want your relationship to be founded on a lie. It didn’t feel right to hide such an important fact about himself anymore. You admitted to him that you had sort of figured out who he was from the start, so it wasn’t a big deal. The two of you were friends now, weren’t you?

Well, after that, Malleus started sending carriages to pick you up and take you to the palace. His best knights, Silver and Sebek, always accompanied you (though you swore Sebek threw you dirty looks when Malleus came running to greet you). Malleus insisted on spoiling you, too (his personal advisor, Lilia, whispered that Malleus was simply excited to have a friend to invite home for the first time). He would treat you to entire feasts and show you valuable historical artifacts, and even offered to throw a party in your name-- though you had to stop him before he actually went through with that plan.

He even offered to set up a room for you in the palace, and to give you a noble title if that was what you desired. You’d never have to work a day in your life again (which was tempting, honestly). You almost forgot Malleus was a villain-- at least, you did until you complained about a customer bothering you and he asked if you wanted to make it so that they were never heard from again. You had stumbled your way into his inner circle, and if anyone ever crossed you, he would be sure to deal with them appropriately.

During another one of your visits to Malleus’s palace, you get the sense that something was different. Sebek and Silver were more alert than usual, and even Lilia was throwing you an amused glance every now and then. It wasn’t until you reached the parlor and opened the door to Malleus handing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers that you realized what was going on. Malleus told you that you had become someone unbearably precious to him, and he would do anything to make you smile. Would you do the honor of becoming his spouse, and the next co-ruler of the kingdom?

Well, congratulations, you thought to yourself. Somehow you’d collected the full set of villains from the original novel. It took you a second to get your bearings, and you gave the same spiel to Malleus that you gave to the other villains: you weren’t ready for a relationship, being future royalty was too much pressure, and so on. You practically had it memorized at this point from how often you needed to say it. He accepted it with grace, and told you the offer would always be open to you. Life continued on for you in much the same way as it did before, except now the crown prince would invite you on luxurious outings or show up at your door so the two of you could go on walks around town.

That was it... or so you thought. A few days later, Azul contacted you with a full set of information on Hera Winn. You’d almost forgotten you’d requested him to look into her, what with the crown prince proposing to you and all. As soon as you got the information, you rushed to her location to figure things out.

You found Hera Winn lounging at a cafe, a pile of desserts piled high and several books open on the table before her. When she saw you, however, she got up immediately, tears in her eyes... and leaned in to hug you.

Huh?

Before you could get too confused, though, Hera explained that when she was born, she had memories of her past life, and of reading I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover! She really did not want to follow the plot of the original story and, using her knowledge of it, gained fabulous wealth from various gambling ventures and business investments. She offered you some pastries while she talked, and while your mouth was full, said that she was so, so happy that you had come along and basically caught everyone’s attention. Now she never had to deal with them again. Good luck! Maybe the two of you could reminisce over your old world together sometime, hm?

With that, she left you, and you buried your head in your hands with a groan. You wanted to beg her to come back, but it wasn’t like she could take your spot now, not with all the villains so thoroughly in love with you.

Really, what were you going to do? The villains seemed content to wait for your decision, even if they got into spats with each other here and there. You could choose one of them, you could choose all, or you could choose none: the decision was truly yours. It looked like you were now the main character of I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!, whether you liked it or not.

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 4.6k

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 2

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“You got lost, didn’t you?” 

Sticking your tongue out at Charles, you take a seat next to his broad figure as you start applying coconut sunscreen. “Would it kill you to not gloat?” You narrow your unusually soft eyes like weapons. 

He playfully shudders. “Ooooh. My blood ran cold.”

Throwing the bottle over at his lap, he chuckles before lathering his tan body with the white goo. You try to not make it obvious, the way you steal glances at him. Everything makes sense all of a sudden; his odd obsession with anything that could cover his handsome features, the mysterious Ferrari, how he could go from making you laugh to keeping his mouth shut and looking down whenever anyone was around. 

He had kept this from you for a reason, that much is clear, but you would still give him a chance to open up. Sliding on a pair of sunglasses, you twist your body to sit cross cross. You fold your hands over your lap. “Truth or dare?”

The brunette tilts his head with hesitance. “Y-you don’t want to take a dip?” 

“Let’s lay out for a bit.” You poke him with your toe. “C’mon. Play with me.”

He sighs, pushing his hat downwards. “Dare.”

“Hmm…I dare you to…read me your last text message.”

“Easy.” Pulling out his phone, he scrolls for a bit before showing it to you. 

You’re walking the opposite way. I said near the fruit stand. 

Burning up, you push it down. “I don’t count.”

“You never specified.”

He wasn’t going to play easy and part of you respected that. Clicking your tongue, you extend your shiny legs. He gulps. Truth or dare? “Dare.” 

“Call the last person you spoke to.”

Growing nauseous at his request, you shake your head. “I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?”

You stutter. “M-my boss called to check up on me. Wanted to make sure I was a-actually on my deathbed and not just faking it, I can’t do that.” The Monegasque squinted his eyes teasingly before leaning back against the gray rocks.

“Fine. You get a pass.” You let out a breath of relief. “But I get one of those as well.”

You felt as if you were making a deal with the devil with the way he was watching you, waiting for an answer. He might use it against your benefit, but you had no choice. “Deal.”

“Good.” Flickering his green eyes towards the crystal blue tides, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “It's your turn.”

Be smart, don’t blow it. Deep down, you wanted to ask about the simpler things. Your favorite color? What was your childhood like? Was it better than mine? But that couldn’t matter more than what information you actually needed. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You groan. How were you supposed to get all the juicy details out of him if he kept playing it safe? Nonchalantly, he waits. “I dare you to stop picking dares.” His face pales. You feel bad for putting him in that position, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“Truth or dare?”

Swallowing a thick layer or saliva, you purse your lips. “Truth.” 

“Why did you lie to your boss?”

You gape at his question as you think of a way to avoid it. All he knows is that you have a month off and chose Italy as your destination thanks to your amazing friends. He didn’t know anything about the sleepless nights of zero ideas that had you on the brink of being fired, the reason you needed this article to work. Not only would it set your career, but it would also give you the respect you so desperately looked for in everyone who looked down on you.

“She would never let me come to Italy if I told her I need a break from all the pressure, y’know?”

Waves crash noisily as he frowns. “Mhm.”

“My turn. What’s your occupation?”

“I already told you,” he laughs, brown curls flowing against the summer breeze. “I work with cars.” A gist of hope zaps your heart as you wait for the rest. “I’m a mechanic.”

He wasn’t going to tell you - he didn’t trust you. Melancholy register across your face as you rise up carefully. “I’m in the mood to swim now.”

-

Life for the Scuderia Ferrari driver moves at a  fast pace, always on the go and traveling all around the world. At just 26 years old, the Monegasque has collected 5 wins and an impressive number of podiums, all while maintaining the longest Scuderia contract in history. 

But do we really know Charles Leclerc in his everyday life? A man without any responsibilities? 

Fortunately for us, I was able to sit down and speak to Il Predestinato as he he walks us through his routine for when he’s not on track-

“What are you working on? Seeing you be so quiet is bone-chilling.”

Poking your tongue out like a slithering snake, you feverishly slam your computer shut as you flip him off. “Catching up with friends. What can I say? The people love me.” The 26 year old rolls his eyes before picking up on his scribbles. Tippy toeing closer to him, you try to inspect the messy writing. “What is that?”

“Fuck, you scared me, you little gnome.” Hiding his small journal, you immediately push out your bottom lip.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!”

Clumsily, he opens it. “Grocery list.” But it's more than that. His letter isn’t easy to read, but it'll get you there. Diary entries. Blinking up at your roommate, you wiggle your brows. What’s it say? “Nothing important.” You don’t press him on it, but that doesn’t stop the curiosity from stirring inside of you. He stiffens. “Let’s go before they close.”

Pebbles crunch underneath your ballet flats as you sing softly. He smiles, content with the serene atmosphere. What song is that? Your jaw drops, stopping dead in your tracks. It takes him a while to realize you're not skipping next to him anymore. “Tell me you’re joking…”

“I’m joking.”

“Charles!” you wail as you fling your arms. “Beyond the Sea? Bobby Darin?” His face doesn’t change as he bats his eyes blankly. You gasp. “We’ll meet, I know we’ll meet beyond the shore. We’ll kiss just as before-.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Playfully, you shiver, clutching your heart. “It isn’t good to be uncultured, Charlie.” The way you spit out his new nickname has him grasping how much he loves it - so long it's coming from you. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you wave your finger like some principal. “I’ll play it for you.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “No, just sing it to me like you were.”

You sincerely don’t have a single clue where all this unknown courage comes from, but you oblige. All the way to the local farmers market, he’s grinning ear to ear. From your voice sounding angelic, to it cracking as you would try to intimidate Darin, he feels fortunate to see this side of you. 

Entering the sliding doors, you grab a basket as you drag him, shoes squeaking from the sudden pull. “We’re not here for snacks, we’re here for food. Y’know - vegetables, rice, chicken-”

“I need something sweet!” you complain as your doe eyes glimmer at the sight of the Italian desserts. “If I don’t get it in my system I will die. Do you want me to die?” 

“At this moment, it doesn’t sound half bad.” You gawk at his dark humor. Taking the tiny basket from you, he makes his way to the produce section. “Grab whatever you need. I’ll be right back.”

Once his back faces you, you feel your phone vibrating. “Amelia!” Your cheery friend waves excitedly. Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you for days! Wincing, you place your phone on top of a box of cookies. “I’ve been gone for five days, please relax. Plus, I’m fine. Enjoying my time off.”

Your friend snickers. “I still need updates to make sure you aren’t dead in a ditch.” Making an exaggerated face, you nod and the blonde giggles. “Don’t make me fly out there. Unlike you, I will demand a year off if needed.” 

“Oh, I believe you,” you murmur, hand reaching for a box of Baci Pergunia. “How are you guys surviving without your third wheel?”

“Stop it, you,” she hisses. “Instead, why don’t you fill me in - any cute tourists?” You freeze midair, already angling your body to grab bonelle jellys. 

“I’m not too focused on any of that..” 

“Of course not because you’re too busy daydreaming about Grayson,” she teases. “Honey! She’s missing him, I told you!” Bullshit, Roman yells back from the kitchen.

“Will you two stop it?” you grit. 

“Yes, darling,” Roman talks gingerly. “Will you please stop planning a wedding?” Your jaw drops while your friend nervously giggles. He’s joking. 

“Enough about me, what are you two doing? What’s on the menu?” 

The brunette’s eyes crinkle, showing off his blurry screen. “Sicilian meatball soup.” 

“Lucky!” you groan. “You’re messed up for cooking your grandma’s recipe while I’m not there.” He shrugs. 

“We miss you so we both decided to make an Italian dish.” She emphasizes her words as he smiles bitterly. “It’s like you’re here with us.”

“She cried for an hour or so. It was the only way I could calm her down.” Amelia bites the air at her boyfriend. He leaps back, returning to stirring the sauce. “I cook because I love you, stop that.”

You throw your head back with laughter. “Again, not dead, but I’m touched.” Hearing a bag crinkle, you look down the aisle and spot Charles making his way over. “Gotta go! Call you as soon as I can!”

“Wow, you’ve managed to grab all the snacks in the entire store,” Charles teases as he points to your stack. “Got you chips, too.”

“You’re not helping,” you grunt as you take it from him. He hands you your own basket for your treats. Cramming them all in, he examines you before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So, Grayson’s the boyfriend?” 

“Ha! I wish. He’s my boss’ son. Way out of my league.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t think like that. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Then, he walks away, leaving you to follow after him like a lost puppy. You’re wary around him after that encounter, so you make sure to stand a few steps behind, waiting for him to finish paying. “What are you doing?”

“Che cosa?”

Sauntering over, he reaches down to take your things. Your breath gets caught in your throat from the sudden proximity. “I got it.” 

Bewildered, you start retreating all the sweets. “You don’t need to do that, you’re already paying for the other things. This one’s on me.” He scrunches his nose.

“That’s endearing, but I can’t. I’m on a diet.”

“Why?” You’re genuinely confused, and can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He smirks. “Really?”

“I m-mean I think so,” you stammer. “But how would I know, I’ve never been on a diet.” Charles' watercolor eyes trickle all the way down before dancing back up. Butterflies flutter inside of you. 

“You don’t need it, trust me.” A pause. “I’ll pay for your things, it’s really no problem. Though I do ask you not to blame me when your teeth rot.” 

“Jerk!” you quip when he walks away, laughing loudly. You smile at the sound.

-

“You need to stop gobbling up all that crap, if not you’re not going to eat any of what I’m cooking,” his voice warns you. Setting the bag of gummies down, you kick your bare feet against the cabinets. 

Has it been an hour? Two? You can’t remember but it sure did smell good. He had asked you to just sit still and fix up a playlist while he prepared dinner, so there really wasn’t much to do. Are you almost done? Focused on cutting up a piece of onion, he shakes his head. A minute passes by before asking again. Not done, wait. 

As soon as your stomach grumbles, he wiggles his eyebrows teasingly. You chuck a carrot at him as he cackles. “Ta-da!” Inspecting the nicely done dish, you throw a thumbs up. Grabbing a spoon, you’re about to dive in before he slides the plate away. Your lips form a thin line. “Take your time. Really enjoy it - it’s flavor, it’s scent-”

“Jesus, fine. Give it before I bite your cheek off,” you growl. Glaring at him, you dip your utensil in slowly. He applauds before pulling out his phone and pressing record. “Is that really necessary?”

“You might not realize it, but this is a monumental moment.” Bowing his head, he urges you to try it. You shrug once, wrapping your lips around the spoon and let's just say - you’ve always had a killer poker face.

“Delicious, chef!” 

“Putain oui!” He puts his phone away. “What did you like about it? The pepper helped, didn't it?”

You grimace. “I want my two hours back.” His smile dies down. Seriously? Yanking the spoon from your grip, he tries the colorful soup and winces at the saltiness. 

“I followed step by step, why does this shit keep happening?” 

The Monegaque truly does seem bummed out as his shoulders sag, glasses sliding down his pointy nose. Scooting closer, you pat his shoulder awkwardly. “You need some serious help.” He shoots a deadpan look as you giggle. “I’m kidding! It’s not that bad.” Jumping off the counter, you tug the nearest apron. “Let me try.”

It takes another two hours, but you figure it out eventually. Standing tall, you place your hands behind your back. The Monegasque eyes the food. “Now, I want you to take your time. Really enjoy it, it’s flavor-”

“Stop it,” he grumbles before diving in. His eyes open wide as you wiggle against your heels excitedly. “You can’t be real.”

“Is it good?”

He nods enthusiastically, brown hair jumping up and down. “H-how did you…” Polishing your nails, you fake a bored expression. By praying. It’s looks as if he’s deeply considering your advice for a second but when you howl out, he flushes. 

“Don’t be so gullible, Charlie. Roman’s grandma taught me. I spent Christmas with him and Amelia.”

His face softens up. “What about your parents?” 

“We’re not close like that.” You confess so unbothered that it has him fluttering his eyes for a while. “Don’t feel bad - I do just fine. They call me on my birthday.” Metal clinks against the porcelain plate as he huffs, firm chest rising up before deflating.

“That’s the fucking standard.” You raise a brow. Why are you upset with me? “I’m not. It’s just that it’s not fair that they treat you like garbage just because you didn’t fulfill their wish. Or that you let others trample over you like a piece of shit.” You flinch. “Y-you know what I mean…”

“Sure,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Enjoy the food, Charles.”

-

He feels guilty for making you feel bad, but he wasn’t lying. It bugged the crap out of him that you floated through life thinking everything was okay. He’s never met Amelia or Roman, but he felt a strong gratitude towards the couple for treating you with genuine care. But you had filled him in on the rest; they way others would look down on you - all while you wore a miserable smile. I’m used to it by now. Doesn’t even bother me. 

Charles was always in the limelight - always probably will be - but he also knows he signed up for it. He knew fake smiles like the back of his hand. Whether it was a pretty girl trying to get money out of him or sponsors trying to get close to him just for fame. If it weren’t for his friends back home, he definitely would have lost faith in humanity. 

And then there was you. Someone so kind, who puts others' needs before yourself. You didn’t have to check up on him that day at the beach, you didn’t have to help him or give him shelter but you did. He thought you would be some crazy fan but when you blinked up at him like a curious expression, he could tell you didn’t know who he was. 

The Monegasque felt relieved that you treated him without any special treatment, that you saw him for who he really was, not just some F1 driver. He owes it to you to make things right and apologize.

He finds you eating a pint of gelato as you stare blankly at the eggshell wall. “Did you save me some?” You jump at the sound of his deep voice. Halfway done, you respond red-faced. You can have the rest. Leaning against the table, he shakes his head. “Let’s just share.”

You’re sure you can hear Amelia and Roman bickering from how quiet it is, but don’t dare to utter a single word. It’s bad enough that he knows that his words got to you, how can you look him in the eye? 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Peeking over at the brunette, you admire his side profile before humming. He continues. “But at the same time I don’t regret it.”

You laugh dryly. “Wow, this is some apology.”

Clearing his throat, he cages your body against the wooden furniture. “I’m serious - I don’t.” Avoiding eye contact, you stare at the sides of your bare thighs where his large hands lay. Suddenly the room feels suffocating. “You do need to stop letting others decide what to think about yourself. You need to stop pleasing everyone around you. Your parents, Eleanor, shit, even me.”

The green eyed boy begins to get blurry as your eyes foolishly well up. “I don’t do th-”

“Yes, yes you do, do that.” His accent comes out stronger than intended. You let out a shaky breath, then beam up at him. Okay, I’ll stop. He grinds his teeth together. “No. Don’t agree just because I’m telling you - do it for yourself because you want to.”

“I want to,” you whisper meekly. 

His heart breaks at the sight of you answering untruthfully but does say anything else. Instead, he hauls you off the table, planting you onto your feet. “Grab a sweater and meet me by the door in five minutes.”

-

He’s for sure going to murder you, Amelia was right after all. Shit, you mutter underneath your breath as he pulls onto the hills. The view was great - for sure a nice way to go if that’s the last thing you’ll ever see. 

Following him out, you pinch down on your denim shorts. Was it too late to run away? He left the key in the engine, maybe you could leave him stranded? 

“I’m not going to kill you, you can relax.”

Blood rushes to the tip of your ears. “What are we doing here at…” You check your phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Yell.”

You quirk your head curiously. “I’m sorry, say that one more time.”

He extends his arms out, enjoying the cool breeze. “Just do it. No one’s going to hear you.”

“That sounds like something a killer would say. Can I get a ten minute head start?”

He rolls his green eyes. “Trust me, it helps a lot. My trainer has me do it all the time.” You raise your brows. “I- uh- box during my free time. My boxing trainer has me do it when I’m too stressed.”

Ignoring his slip up, you shake your head. “I can’t scream, that’s weird.” His pink lips turn downwards. “You’re going to judge me!”

“I won’t!” Covering his ears, he signals at you. “Not a thing.”

You bite down on your sweater before shaking your buzzing hands. Once and he’ll drop it. Ahh, you let out weakly before smiling brightly. “You’re right. That was great!” Turning on your heels, you begin to skip away before he tugs on your sweater, flinging you back. 

“Not even the crickets heard you. Try again.”

“I did do it, you just didn’t like it.” 

“I’m not letting you leave until you do it the right way.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he peacefully shuts his eyes, enjoying nature's lullaby. He seems to let his guard down because before he knows it, he hears the Ferrari engine loud and clear. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns as he runs up to his car. 

“Get home safe, Charlie!” you squeal as you step on the gas. Chasing after you, he ends up standing in front of the car as you shriek. As quickly as you can, you step off the break but the tip still manages to hit the Monegasque. You scream at the brutal sight. 

Scurrying out of the car, you drop down next to him as you flip him onto his back. His pretty eyes remain closed as he lays still. Wake up Charles, I’m too young to go to jail! Do you know how hard it is to prove your innocence when you’re a foreigner? You delicately tap his cheek but his head only rolls back. You yell out in panic as you let go of his heavy body. 

“Oh God, oh God, holy shit, holy fuck,” you whimper as you pace back into the red car. Squeezing your eyes tightly, you place your hands over the steering wheel as you think about what just happened. Amelia was going to kill you. Eleanor would personally write a whole article about you. 

“You were seriously going to leave me for dead?” a voice interrupts your thoughts as you scream. You face Charles and he yells back at the sudden ring. 

“What the shi- You’re alive!” Jumping over the console, you hug him, barely giving him room to breathe. Groaning in pain, he pushes you back. You hop off as you grab his left hand and raise up four fingers. “How many am I holding up?”

“Fingers? I have ten.”

Your heartbeat travels to your throat as you squirm. “I broke him.” Images of you behind bars enter your mind as you plead Charles to drop the charges. Amelia and Roman would travel to visit you in jail but only to demand their money back. You’d be in complete debt for the rest of your life and oh God what if the Italinas had a thing for the electric chair-

“I’m teasing,” he laughs as he rubs his head. “It hurts like a motherfucker, though, but hey, at least you let it all out.” Wacking his arm, you glare sternly.

“You did that on purpose?”

Grunting, he inches away. “I did not, are you crazy? But it helped you! How do you feel?”

You narrow your fiery eyes. “Angry…mad.” That's the same thing, he points out as you scowl. Nevermind. “I feel good.”

All smug, he leans against the passenger's seat. “I told you it would help.”

“Huh,” you let out in astonishment. 

-

It started out with a simple argument - pesto or tomato sauce. You were leaning more towards the green paste but he held onto his end stubbornly. Honeymoon phase is over? Spinning to face a little boy with whipped cream all over his cheeks, he quirks his head. My dad always likes to say - happy wife, happy life. Walking away, you’re both left with your mouths hung open as you put the ingredients down. 

“Did we just get scolded by a some little fucker?” 

Gasping at his words, you smack the side of his head. He yelps. “No Charles, he basically called us old! We’re ancient!”

“Nonsense. He’s just being dumb.”

Glaring, you put your hands on your hips as you pace the aisle. “What if he’s right? What if we are on the verge of death?” He laughs. All because he thought we were married? Closing in to his tall figure, you pinch your face up. “A married couple spend their life together - growing old. He called us old!” You walk fast down the supermarket as you run wild hands through your hectic hair.

Hurrying after you, he pants. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find him.” He comes to a sudden stop. And do what exactly? Tossing your head back, you groan in frustration. “I don’t know! Whoop him or something like that.”

The Monegasque lets out a snicker. Your face twists up. “Let’s just calm down.” I am calm, you grunt. He clicks his tongue. 

“We need to do something,” you declare. He sighs. Forgetting all about your errands, you drag him out of the store. Bright eyes flicker across the busy streets as you huff. Then you spot it. “We’re going.”

The brunette squints his eyes as he reads the small print. Amalfi Club. Theme: Halloween costumes. He scoffs. “But it isn’t even October.”

But your mind is set. “It’s perfect.” Bumping against his shoulder, you beam. “Looks like we can turn back time after all.”

-

Ballerina for me, you cheer. And Stormtrooper for you? You narrow your eyes in confusion. “I’m sorry, how do you even know Star Wars exists? Aren’t you French?”

“Monegasque,” he corrects you before frowning. “Stars Wars is a global success. Being from Monaco doesn’t mean we don’t know anything, thank you very much.” 

You shrug. “Be a tiny bit more grateful that I found our costumes on such short notice.” Yeah, yeah, he yawns. “I’m so excited!” you squeal as you finish tying your pink ribbon. You would for sure have a terrible headache by the end of the day. “Won’t you sweat with a helmet all night?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

It’s so crowded - packed - that your roommate has to practically shove you in as you yelp, arm swatting your tutu down. A cheap looking Tinkerbell gives you the death glare when you step on her foot. I can’t fucking breath! The Stroomtopper mask tilts as he brings his gloved hands to your shoulder. Do you want to leave?

“No!” A beat. “Let me just go get us a drink.”

Zipping past him, you can hear him calling after you but you choose to ignore since you knew he would drag you back to the shared Airbnb. Just water, you chime in as the bartender nods, eyeing your perky tits. Frowning, you pout somberly. “Ignore him,” a deep voice rips you away from your thoughts as you face them. 

Is everyone just okay with melting their face off? The towering man wears a red jumpsuit with the infamous Dali mask. “I like your costume. I binge watched all of Casa De Papel in a singular night.” Your cheeks flush when you realize you’re rambling. He chuckles richly.

“Thought I’d look cool.

There’s an award silence as you wait. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you scrunch your nose in disgust. “You must be sweaty beneath all that,” you ponder, fingers signals to the white mask. He sighs, wide shoulders rolling back. I’m thinking I might faint. A bright giggle slips past your lips and he grins from underneath, even if can’t see. “You remind me of my friend. He would rather die than take his helmet off. He’s a Strormtrooper,” you add. 

Large hands come up as he pushes the hoodie off, messy brown locks coming into view. Stubborn, aren’t we? You nod, thanking the man who comes back with your glass of water. “I should go find him…”

A heavy pant flows from the mysterious man. You’re leaving? He coughs to cover up his neediness. His accent makes your cheek burn up. “I sort of left him,” you respond sheepishly. He chuckles, finally taking his mask off, beads of thin sweat painingting his large nose. You breath hitches, waves of recognition hitting you all at once.

“Valid.” He extends his tan hand towards you. “I’m Carlos, by the way.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm

[unholyhelbig]

I just want to say I'm already hooked on the beast you made me. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 5151

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, animal bones, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Thank you all for the overwelming support on the first chapter! I truly didn't expect that much reception. I'm going to be traveling for the next week so the next chapter might be delayed a bit]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

1917, Rural Pennsylvania

A sweeping river cut through the patch of sweetgrass on the south side of the farm. It emitted a gurgling sound that often soothed your nerves. There was a rocky clearing sandwiched between the tree line and the plain of grass that had become a perfect spot for you to settle in and read the hard-covered books you’d gotten from the corner store.

Your father would bring back any book you requested from the city during his travels. You devoured them faster than he could provide them and had read ‘Eight Cousins’ ,Lousia May Alcott’s foray into the adventures thirteen-year-old Rose, enough to nearly tear the pages from the binding.

The book itself held the clean honeyed scent of the earth, of the secluded spot that you called your own. Your muscles would thrum from loading the bales of hay into your fathers ford. Your fingers were calloused, and dirt caked around your ankle in a dark ring. All of that vanished when you cracked open the book about a girl that was so much like yourself.

It was easy to lose yourself in the paragraphs, the hum of the river sometimes lulling you to sleep. Your mother would pack you a sandwich on warm, hand-kneaded bread, usually some salted meat and mayonnaise. She’d pack sweet tea and send you on your way, knowing that you wouldn’t return to the house until you saw a flicker of a firefly.

Today, you’d fallen asleep under the sun. The book was discarded, and your forearm draped across your eyes. It was easy to drift, and easier still to dream about leaving the small dairy farm for something bigger- the very city that your father would return from with new literature and arts, and spices that made your mouth buzz with flavor.

You were in a haze when the ear-piercing scream cut through the air as if it were a natural solid. Your ears pinched at the sound, heels digging into the coarse sandy shore. Maybe it was a dream. It could have been an animal that had sunk its pointed teeth into the artery of another.

So, you waited, panting with your heart in your chest and the corner of the book barely lapped by the muddied water. And there was this sound. It was no fox caught in a trap or bovine tangled up in the barbed wire fence around the property- no, this was familiar. This was your sister.

Helena was quiet, often described as demure and borderline submissive. Despite being younger than yourself she carried a certain poise about her. Mother would often boast about how she would have no trouble finding a husband, how the boys already fawned over the child of hers that was not feral and unkempt.

Her cry was the loudest you had ever heard her and it had you on your feet, scrambling up the bank. Once past your small world of wonder, you were greeted with an endless sea of sweetgrass that was waist high in some areas.

A warm breeze created waves against the landscape, the farmhouse a small speck among the expanse of land. Your head was spinning, it was hard to track exactly where it had come from. It took another cracking screech to set you North.

Your legs pumped until you were consumed in a blind speed. You’d been renowned for your quickness, for your dedication to get from point A to point B. The kids in your town often joked that you were steadier than a steed. Not only were you the fastest in the class, but the fastest in the county according to some. Still- only a child of fifteen, and no man would want to wed someone with speed. It wasn’t a practical skill.

There was a pit deep in your stomach whirled, instinct knowing precisely where Helena was yowling from.

Jorge had gotten there at the same time you did; his brow was leaking with sweat and he panted against the hot air that surrounded you both. Your older brother was tall and lanky, serpent-like with beady black eyes and pitch hair to match your father’s. His shirt hung low against his midsection, his skin pale despite his hours in the sun working the fields.

“Stay back, y/n.” He demanded sharply.

The old well was a mere foot in front of you both but neither made the effort to move forward. The aged wooden plank that covered the stone shaft had been splintered through the middle, worn from age and weather.

Helena’s soft cries echoed up. When your father had first acquired the property, the previous owners explained that it had been boarded up after of the bulls had fallen down and snapped it’s neck. It was too large to pull out and they left it to starve and then rot.

Your father never let any of his children peer down into the well. You wondered if something had pulled Helena here, or if she had simply forgotten of it’s existence. Jorge dropped down to his knees and did a cautious crawl as if his own two feet couldn’t’ hold him anymore.

You saw the exact moment his skin became waxier, almost a gray porcelain paleness that had a green tint. He was swallowing too much, his white shirt coated in the red clay dirt.

“What?” You asked, voice breaking “What is it?”

“Go get Mama.”

It would have been easy to listen to your brother. He was the man of the house when your father wasn’t there but with him pleading for your mother, for an adult, you got a rancid taste in your mouth.

Against your better judgement you edged close enough to the abandoned well. The sun was setting in a fire-filled orange haze with enough color and angle to get a good view of the bottom; a slosh of fallen grass and rainwater, and muck, and yes; the bones of a beast once left to decay and rot in its own silence.

Your sister was wedged within the ribcage of the befallen bull, almost as if she replaced the beating heart that stopped pulsing long ago. Her hands gripped at the sun-bleached bone, knuckles nearly the same color.

It took you a moment to make out the slick, and the red that stemmed from the center of her stomach. The head of the bull had shattered under her weight, all expect the stretching length of it’s curved horn. That was wedged through her abdomen, surrounded in a vibrant rose red that puddled and had already coated her hands.

Prints from her struggle were against the limestone edges of the well. Her eyes pleaded up at you; your kind and caring, and animal-loving sister was trapped inside the remains of one. You fought back the urge to vomit, the rash thought that if the bone ripping through her flesh didn’t kill her, then infection would.

“Y/n get mama!” Jorge hissed again, and this time you didn’t hesitate. You nearly tripped over your own boots with the fever it took to back away from the scene, the metallic scent of blood mixing deliciously with the turn of rotted soil.

You had never run so fast in your life.

Wanda Maximoff had never felt the cold that wormed its way to her bones before. It was the type of cold that almost wasn’t, a stinging, horrible feeling that had her startled from the folded metal chair. It collapsed within itself as the blinked the wine-dark color from her eyes.

She stumbled backward, only to be brought back to the starkness of the room by a soft grip on her elbow. Wanda allowed herself to be held, if not for stability but for comfort. Steve Rodgers had a welcoming hand on the small of her back, the other steadying her.

He was a solid force, and her reaction stirred him.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from her lips, “Jesus Christ.”

There was quietness to the room in the aftershock of the fallen chair. It was nicer than a standard holding cell. The walls were cream colored, triple enforced to keep people like you inside. There was a bed bolted to the wall, a bunk that was almost like a summer camp endeavor.

A charged glass wall was blocking you from the rest of the world. It was seemingly unbreakable, and in this moment, so were you. Wanda didn’t want to test the glass, nor did she know how to make sense of the memories- your memories- that had flooded every inch of her body.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling at a normal pace, as if none of what Wanda had just seen was flitting around your mind. Soft snores pushed past your lips, one arm hanging over the side of the bed while the other followed the flow of your breathing as it rested on your chest.

Wanda didn’t understand the secrecy and the precaution that surrounded you. The Avengers compound was a constant ebb and flow of different heroes, Inhumans and mutants. What made you so different? What made you an 0-8-4?

It was a term that Natasha had used only once that was usually attached to objects, not a person. It was an object of unknown origin and in that case, it was a power-filled object from space. Space. She’d been through different dimensions, but that, for some reason, struck her as terrifying.

0-8-4’s were never brought here, but then again, they’d never been alive either. Steve had told her that your energy signal was off the charts, and that they wanted her to dig around your head. Something that she denied doing at first. It was an invasion of privacy.

But, there was a certain pleading within Captain America’s eyes that scared Wanda more than the personal rules she set for herself when it came to her power. What she had seen, what she had felt was barely scraping the surface of what your mind contained. She wasn’t keen on pushing past that barrier for the conclusion of that story. Was it even yours?

“What? Wanda, what is it?”

“I… I don’t” She shook her head, eyes hardening as she stared into Steve’s “Where did you find her?”

He hesitated to answer, his eyebrows furrowing before he looked away from the witches’ prying eyes. She’d been part of this team for years now and they were still reluctant with what they were willing to share. Wanda clenched her jaw, then unclenched it before her stare flashed back to your resting form.

There was a small frown that creased your features. You looked so… harmless. You had shifted, folded into yourself as if you were scratching the surface of what flashed before her. Your arm was folded under your head, knees flush to your chest. A small, beautiful whimper escaped you.

“She’s in distress, Steve.”

“Discomfort, more like. It’s better for all of us that she stays in there for right now. The last thing we want to do is harm anyone but if that requires some temporary-“

“Imprisonment?”

“Containment.” He said firmly, eyes hard. Wanda crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent, letting him continue. She was sure she wouldn’t have been asked if not for her ability to worm her way into minds, to rearrange things. “What did you see?”

“A memory, one that can’t possibly be hers. The timeline doesn’t fit, this is a woman in her mid-twenties and who I saw was barely a teenager on a farmstead. To experience that much tragedy, that much fear and heartache.”

She started to pace, trying to not only work through her own thoughts, but yours as well. It could have been a story, and she was convinced of the fact save for the vividness. There was the feeling of grass tickling her arms and the sharp, undeniable stench of blood.

“Her younger sister died, fell through some rotted wood and fell to her death.” Wanda’s fingers pressed against the edge of her hairline. “She could have lived, but I have my doubts.”

He lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at her. His expression betrayed his compassion towards you, his stance uncomfortable with the topic. While the revelation was heartbreaking it hardly made you extraordinary. They’d all lost people, none had stirred Wanda as you did.

Wanda’s stare found his after darting to you once more, “Steve, I have the sinking feeling that what I saw was only scratching the surface. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of memories that were pressing in on all sides.”

The sensation of being observed is what pulled you from your fitful sleep. Exhaustion had washed over you like a tidal wave, all at once and leaving your mouth dry like a spoonful of salt. There was a stiffness that rivaled that of the grave you’d crawled out of, and you hoped that it was all a dream.

You were in your bed, in your apartment, after having one too many drinks. It was a horrible stretching nightmare that had plunged you into one sea of darkness from another. But even you weren’t that naïve.

Just as you felt a stranger’s eyes on you now, you had felt the dirt under your nails, the cold sodium-filled takeout as you attempted to chew it. More than anything, you remembered the burning feeling of the Black Widow pressed fully against your back, bending you over Jenn’s kitchen counter.  

“I would prefer if you kept the feeling of my wife’s body against yours out of your mind.”

You shot up with a dizzying amount of quickness, heart suddenly in your chest. There was an imbalance to the bed that you were laying on. It was smaller than your own and unfamiliar. The room was stark white. It hurt your eyes and you had to blink the color away. You pressed the heels of your palms close to your eyes.

It felt as if you were locked in a glass shower with an audience and stage lights. The more you looked, the more you realized it was a room, something with no personal effects but a bed and a dimmer switch that you itched to utilize.

A pitcher of water was on an end table. It wasn’t color exactly, but it was more than the rest of your surroundings. Possibly with the worst manners you’d ever exhibited, you drank straight from the pitcher, not remembering the last time you had a drink. Suddenly, you were parched enough to soak your collar.

Despite your audience, you continued until you felt your stomach protest. You used the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture, black dirt was smeared across your skin. It was then, and only then, that you forced yourself to look past the walls of your prison, your enclosure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said, walking close to the glass. You could see her clearly now, there was an heir of recognition about her, in the same way that there had been with the Black Widow.

“You were in my head.”

“For a while. It’s my job. But your thoughts are also deafening.”

“Sorry,”

This woman was intoxicating. Alluring and beautiful in her presence. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt hugging her form. You weren’t positive what time it was- what day it was- but it could be late into the night. She looked like she was roused from sleep, and a part of you felt guilty for the fact.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie.” Her voice was much more tender than it had been a few moments ago. “You can’t control being brought back from the dead. A lot of trauma comes with that.”

You stood shakily and walked closer to the glass. They’d taken your shoes and the tile under your feet was frigid. You crossed your arms over your chest and shivered into yourself. You didn’t want to think about the fact that they had undressed you, probably taken your clothes for testing. Instead they left you in a blue set of scrubs.

You averted your stare from your own reflection, not willing or ready to look too hard. You’d much rather look at this stranger, your heart not slowing, your head pounding. Nothing but a simple pane of glass separated you.

“And I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a fucked-up dream where I got hit by a car and then poof God, if there is one, decided that me of all people was worth bringing back.”

She lilted her head, quirked an amusing brow at you. A chill flushed down your spine and seemed to fizzle out at your toes. This woman was gorgeous and terrifying and made you want to squirm. But if this was prison, you had to assert dominance. Right? That’s what Wentworth taught you.

This cell didn’t look or feel like Wentworth, and this Warden had an amused smile tacked to her lips like she had heard your every thought. And she had. At least you assumed that she did. She’d mentioned her wife earlier, and the woman’s body against your own was plaguing you like a runaway freight train.

When she didn’t say anything, you clawed to fill the silence “I want to talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce? Honey, he’s off world.”

“Off… world.” You laughed, softly at first but then almost manically, tears forming in your eyes that you wiped away with your cold fingers. “No, no, that’s really cool. I worked a 9-5 and now I can’t talk to Bruce because he’s in Outer Space.”

“Maybe not outer space, maybe another dimension.”

You leveled her with a humorless glare. She had both of her hands up as if she wanted to comfort you, or the caged animal you had become. You had to give her credit, she seemed just as horrified as you were. She offered up a dim, faltering smile.

There wasn’t a way for you to process this in a gentle manner, there was no one to guide you through it other than Jenn. She’d done this before, lived a whole life that was flipped upside-down and she’d come out on the other side. It was the uncertainty that scared the hell out of you.

“You were in my head earlier,” You stopped suddenly, pressing your fingers against the glass. The woman didn’t flinch. Your frantic breath fogged with each exhalation. “Do you know why I came back?”

She shook her head, “No. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No.” A weak chuckle, you let your hands drop. “At least we’re on the same page.”

The nurse they allowed to enter through the side of the containment unit took cautious steps towards you that made your chest ache. All your life, people had said how welcoming and kind you were; how they were never afraid to come to you with their worries. It had bothered you before the incident, before your death, but now you missed seeing the stare of those who didn’t harbor any fear.

She was small, a mouse of a thing that had pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Her name tag read Julia. Your mind rushed with the paths she’d taken to this place. She must be interning here, much too young to hold a classification herself.

Your finger twitched on your knee, palm sweaty. It’s heat radiated through the thin blue fabric of the pants they’d provided you with. You hated needles, always had. But, you struggled to stay still and the effect that had on poor nurse Julia was making you fidget more.

There was a scent about her. It was under the layers of hairspray, nail polish, and shea butter. It was a sweet metal that made your stomach swirl. Was it her sweat? You’d never smelt anything past walking by the bomb that was the boys locker room, and it certainly had never been this tantalizing before.

Your eyes met hers, crystal blue and uncertain. “You’ll just feel a little pinch”

This is when you pulled your gaze back and instead focused on the cream colored walls. There was no problem with needles, you’d dutifully sit for your flu shots, but something about the sharp edge pushing through a layer of skin and fat before hitting your vein made you nauseous.

“We just need enough to run a few tests.” Julia soothed.

She was a normal nurse in that one, small way. Your mind was itching, blood seeming to congeal. It refused to cooperate and her burning touch was all but dominant against your skin. You both waited for the small tube to fill with black liquid. 

Finally, you felt her press the gauze against the crook of your arm and withdraw the needle. Another small pinch and then a massive relief. Her smell hung around you and filled the room. There was an undeniable urge to sink your teeth into her. To taste her.

You’d stopped the elevator just hours before to assess your penchant for brain consumption, but this wasn’t that. This was an intoxicating pull. This was animalistic, the same rush of emotion that had flooded you without prompting during your earlier conversation.

Julia squeezed your shoulder calmly, not entirely over her own reservations, but on the penance that she was a nurse and this was her job. You kept yourself rooted to the bed, fingers digging into the wood. She left the room and you could hear the compressed lock reseal you inside, breathing a sigh of relief.

That sweet odor lingered, and your reaction to it scared you more than anything. The wood beneath your fingertips splintered, and suddenly that anger, that fear, rolled away to shock. That wasn’t… normal. None of this was normal, but you weren’t exactly picked first in sports either.

You were a middle kid, a I guess I wouldn’t mind having you on my team kid. Suddenly your fingers were cutting through wood like it was butter. You let out an indignant squeak and shifted the blanket until the slashes were covered.

“Is everything alright?”

Wanda, you had learned that her name was Wanda, occupied her usual spot in front of the window. A slick sweat covered your forehead. She was holding a small tray that had a steaming bowl of soup and a delicious hunk of French bread.

“I figured you were hungry,” She lifted her chin towards the panel next to your door. “May I?”

“I’m at your mercy.”

And you were, truly. You hadn’t seen anyone but her since you’d woken up. There were shadows of others, people that made the pit in the center of your stomach grow three sizes. You knew exactly what they were doing, you watched enough true crime with Jennifer to know.

Here was this beautiful and powerful woman offering you food and words of comfort, and you allowed yourself to fall for all of it. Listlessly. Because what did you have to lose? You’d already died, and the thought of putting your family through the heartache of resurrection and then possibly enough committal to the ground was too much.

So, let her Stockholm syndrome you. The food smelled divine.

Wanda didn’t hold the same fear that Julia had. In fact, once the compression of air signified that it was okay for her to enter, she did so without hesitation. She set the food down on the equally dull side table and lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, making herself at home.

She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt that had the outline of SHIELD on its sleeve. You frowned, for a company that does everything in its power to keep itself hidden, they sure loved that stupid bird so much.

“Go on, sweetie. You can eat.”

Wanda had a command about her that made you fold and listen despite any reservations. You took up a spot on the far end of the bed and shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. An explosion of heady flavors coated your tongue, coaxing a low moan from your lips.

Blush rushed to your cheeks at the spark in the set of stormy eyes that watched you like a hawk. You rushed to break the tension. “So, what’s the plan here? Run a bunch of tests and keep me locked up?”

“Somewhat.” She paused, carefully thinking of her next words. “Y/n, I have the ability to get inside the psyche. Not only can I read every thought, every action, but I can control them too. It’s not something I like to do, nor something I want to. Not without permission.”

You frowned again. You certainly hadn’t given her permission to enter your mind before, and she tensed at the realization. But, you took another bite of soup and swallowed down the spiced broth. What’s done was done. You didn’t expect her to ask, much less admit to her wrongdoing.

“I prefer to ask. Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“Paralegal, the bar seemed like too much stress. But I’m good at my job. I was good at my job before a car turned me into sidewalk art.”

“Right, and your family, what about them?”

There was no desire to think of them and their perfect lives that you’d shattered with your death. Your mother used to sit in the tepid air on the porch swing, downing a glass of wine before she turned to you with tears in her eyes. She’d urge you to be careful working in the city. She’d plead for you to come home. More than anything, she’d utter the phrase a mother should never outlive her daughter.

“My mother is a seventh grade biology teacher and my father runs a painting business that’s been operating my whole life. They’re not very exciting people. They must be worried sick about me.”

Wanda nodded, “Any siblings?”

“Not anymore.”

She stilled at your words and didn’t pry. You were well aware of the fact that she could push through your deflections and learn the information that she wanted to know. But, you respected that she didn’t. Instead, she stared at you, and you stared right back, suddenly not hungry.

Wanda was someone that you felt the need to open-up to. Unlike the brief encounter you had had with her wife. Not that you let that word stick with you, not in the same way that her touch did. Again, you had to push the thoughts to the back of your mind, even if Wanda wasn’t prying.

Instead, she placed a warm hand on your thigh, sending a wave of shivers through your body. You suppressed a whimper at the sudden contact.

“I had a brother named Pietro. He was fast, unnaturally so. Neither of us ever wanted to be heroes, we didn’t think about the future like that. So, when the Avengers, these so-called saviors of the world, recruited us, we knew about the dangers. But it still shocked me when he died. He was my brother. He wasn’t supposed to be fragile like that.”

You stared at her with an amount of tenderness in your eyes that she wasn’t used to from the others. They cared, sure, but in the way that a co-worker would care enough to purchase cut flowers and a ‘sorry for your loss’ card. You were different.

“They’re our protectors.” You swallowed hard, mouth dry “when something drastic happens, it doesn’t seem real.”

“It still doesn’t.”

There was a lapse of silence that pushed memories in your direction. The burning cold weather on the day your own brother had died. You remember the scream that died in your throat and the way you’d knelt in the cracked snow until you couldn’t’ feel your legs or your fingers. It took an EMT with a heated blanket and a horror story about hypothermia to pull you to your feet.

“Jonathan.” You whispered.

She let out a questioning hum, pulling her feet from the floor and making herself more comfortable on the less-than-comfortable bed. “Your brother?”

“My older brother. I followed him around like a lost puppy, but he never complained. He was a hockey player and a damn good one too. He’d use the lake behind our house in Jersey to practice and one winter the ice broke underneath him. He drowned, and I was too weak to save him.”

Wanda let out a shuddered breath. You couldn’t read her facial expression. It was a mix of confusion, or sadness, but not pity and that was something you appreciated. You’d had enough pity, just as your family had enough grief without you adding to it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but both of you were startled when three quick knocks shattered the silence. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, stood on the other side. She showed no interest in breeching the containment unit. Instead, she leveled her wife with a dark stare and held up a folded piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Wanda whispered, giving your leg a settling squeeze.

She left the plate and exited the holding cell. Her words were muffled, but those unripe green eyes that Natasha possessed kept flicking to you nervously. She too, didn’t’ show pity. It was interest and if you were being honest, you thought you saw the smallest spark of fear.

Wanda took the paper from her wife, squinted at something you couldn’t’ see. You felt like you were at a parent teacher conference, just out of bounds of hearing but you could see their body language; the way that Natasha itched to move closer to Wanda, the fingers that the taller woman pressed to her lips, thumb creasing the paper.

Finally, Wanda turned back towards the glass. Natasha met your stare without issue, hitting the intercom on the other side of the cell. It was her who spoke, her raspy voice falling from the speaker.

“In the spirit of transparency, we want to be honest with you about your blood results.”

You stood from the bed, moving to one side of the barrier. They were intimidating like that, standing shoulder to shoulder with a natural beauty. It made you want to shrink. If not for the paper in their hands you would have curled into yourself at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’m dying.”

“No, honey.” Wanda shook her head, “Quite the opposite, you’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow and pressed the paper against the glass so you could read it. None of it made sense, it was lines of DNA that looked like musical notes. You shook your head, giving her a confused look.

Natasha scoffed, peeling the paper from the surface of glass. Wanda bit her thumbnail nervously. “According to these…You’re Asgardian, Kitten.”

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato]

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Seven: I'll Catch You Darlin'

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 3.9k

Chapter Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, unprotected p in v, flirting, dads being dads. Two idiots falling in love. Joel is his own warning. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

Thank you so much to everyone who reads this self-indulgent story and extra thanks to those who comment and/or reblog - you all make me feel like a rock star!

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

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Chapter Six | Main Masterlist

Moonlight peeked through the gap in the dark curtains, beams of soft light dancing across your face. Blinking your eyes open, you glanced around the room, momentarily uncertain where you were. Even in the pre-dawn light, the walls were noticeably darker than your room, furniture a rich mahogany, the bedding a deep blue. The spot in the bed beside you was empty but warm, and it jogged your memory.

You were in Joel’s room, in his bed.

You slept with Joel last night… but, no, wait. You didn’t, you know, sleep with him, though you wanted to and now wished you had.

The two of you made a mess of each other on the couch – you still couldn’t believe you made Joel come in his pants. You’d never done such a thing and it was so fucking hot! Even hotter was the fact that he wasn’t even embarrassed about it. Instead, he let you know how much of an effect you had on him, murmuring affectionate words in your ear. Afterwards, you both cleaned up, Joel loaning you a pair of boxer briefs and joggers to replace your soaked jeans and panties, and finally sat down to watch a movie and order pizza. It was a perfect Sunday date night in. When Sarah and Tommy returned, they joined you for a bit, Sarah cuddled into your left side as you cuddled into Joel on your right. Somehow, after Sarah went to bed and Tommy left, you ended up in Joel’s bed, the dark sheets covering you as he held you in his broad arms. Too tired for anything more, you fell asleep.

It was the best night of sleep you had in your entire life.

Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, you sighed. Too early to rise, you huddled under the covers wondering where Joel went off to. Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Joel emerged, climbing back into bed next to you. His arms encased you in the warmth of his body and you hummed happily, placing soft kisses on his chest.

“Mmm, what are you doin’ awake, darlin’,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“Dunno,” you replied, fingertips dancing along his arms and over his shoulders. Joel pulled you closer still and, with a tilt of your head, you pressed a kiss to his pouty lips, the scruff of his beard and mustache tickling your skin.

Just being in his arms, in his bed, caused a wave of arousal to pool in your lower belly. Thinking of last night on the couch, your hips pressed forward without conscious thought from your brain and your lower belly brushed against the swelling length of Joel’s cock.

“Is someone feelin’ a lil’ needy?” Joel asked, voice thick and velvety, as one hand wandered down the length of your back to squeeze at the plumpness of your ass.

“Always need you, Joel,” you practically whined, internally cringing at your own neediness. You always swore you wouldn’t beg for a man but with your skin practically burning for his every touch, you’d give anything for Joel to be inside you. You never wanted someone so much you felt like you could shatter from the wanton desire pulsing through you.

Shifting forward, Joel rolled you onto your back and hovered above you, bracing himself on one veiny forearm. The thumb of his free hand swiped slowly across your bottom lip, pulling at the pouty flesh, his dark eyes searing as your tongue darted out for a taste of his skin. With a growling moan, he darted forward to press his mouth to yours, nipping at that bottom lip while his hand traced a path down your neck and chest, seeking the roundness of your breasts. Precise in his movements, Joel swallowed your little mewls as he plucked at your nipples one at a time until they were hardened peaks. You squirmed as each delectable pinch sent a bolt of arousal straight to your pussy.

Without a word, Joel read your movements, his hand gliding further down your body to dip beneath the elastic of your panties. Leaning back slightly, his eyes met yours, pupils blown, and arched a single eyebrow. You were absolutely drenched, your arousal seeping through the fabric of your panties to coat the flesh of your inner thighs.

“All this for me? I’ve been so neglectful, you poor lil’ thing. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you, darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes never left yours as he swiped through your folds, the rough pad of his index finger strumming at your clit for a few beats before slipping inside you. It had been a while since you had anything other than a tampon inside you and your breath caught at the feeling of his thick finger stretching you. Soft mewls quickly turned to panting moans as he added another finger to the mix, curling them both to hit that little fleshy bundle of nerves that made you desperate to come as his thumb teased your clit.

“Shhh, darlin’. We need to be quiet,” Joel whispered, his breath in your ear causing goosebumps to prickle across your scalp and along your arms. Biting your lip, you did your best to stay quiet, breathing heavily through your nose as Joel scissored his fingers, opening you up to take the fullness of him.

Suddenly realizing you’ve been so focused on what Joel was doing to you that your hands hadn’t moved from his waist, you shifted. Hips arching up chasing the orgasm that teetered just out of reach, you slipped one hand around Joel’s hip, digging your fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs to take the heft of him in hand.

Fuck, he was huge. Joel chuckled and your faced heated at the realization that you said that aloud. “That’s why I’m making sure you’re ready to take me, darlin’. I don’t want to hurt you, ever.”

How was this man real? He was everything you never knew you always wanted and then some. And God damn did he know how to work you right over the edge. Afraid of being too loud, you bit into the flesh of Joel’s shoulder to drown your moans as an intense orgasm washed over you. Joel’s fingers worked you through it, soothing you through the trembling aftershocks until you came back to your senses.

“Please, Joel. I need you. I’m ready. I need you now. Please,” you babbled, hands scrabbling at his underwear, wanting him as naked as you. So much for not begging.

Pushing back, Joel tugged his boxer briefs down his hips and thighs, kicking them away as he settled between your thighs. Your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of his cock, mouth watering with the desire to taste him. Next time, you thought, as he tilted his hips forward, balancing his upper body on his arms. This was the moment you’d both been waiting patiently for.

Joel’s big brown eyes met yours, seeking confirmation that this was what you wanted, and you smiled. “Please, Joel,” you whimpered, hips bucking in search of friction.

Sealing his lips to yours, Joel pushed forward, easing his cock into you with an exaggerated slowness. The mixture of pleasure and slight pain was exquisite as inch after inch of his cock caressed your walls, eyes rolling back when he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck, baby. Y-you feel so fucking good wrapped around me, squeezing me so tight. I could live here, just like this, forever.” Joel’s voice a deep whisper as he rocked into you, cock sliding along your fluttering walls, hitting just the right spots with every movement. He was do deep inside you; you’d swear you could feel him deep in your belly.

The broadness of him surrounded you as he fed you his cock with steady thrusts. Sex never felt so good, and you knew it had everything to do with Joel and the way you felt about him. You’d never felt this way about anyone before and, though it overwhelmed you, it was the greatest thing in the world. You were bursting to tell him the true depth of your feelings, but hesitated, not wanting to be the first to make such a declaration, especially in the heat of the moment.

The pace picked up, Joel kissing you deeply as he rocked into you. You swallowed each other’s moans as you wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him ever closer, ever deeper. The brush of his lower belly and coarse curls against you created just the right amount of friction on your clit it threw you right over the cliff, moaning into Joel’s mouth, fingernails digging into the skin of his back. No doubt there would be a dozen half moon markings on his back later.

Within a few thrusts, Joel’s pace turned erratic as he sought his own pleasure. Tearing his lips from yours, he frantically blurted, “Where?”

“Inside. Come inside me, baby,” your mewled, aching to feel him pulse inside you.

Two more thrusts and Joel came, his low groan muffled by your neck as he burrowed his head into the pillow. “Fuck,” he drew out the word, followed by a sigh of your name before he collapsed half on top of you. The bulk of him like a weighted blanket covering your body. “That was amazing. I can’t wait to do it again.”

Still delirious, you both chuckled as quietly as you could manage, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Rolling off you, Joel pulled you close so that you were now sprawled half over him and cuddled you until your heart rates returned to normal.

A glance at the clock let you know you were out of time. Sarah would be up any minute looking for breakfast before getting ready for school. The thought of unwrapping yourself from Joel and leaving his bed pained you, but you both got up. You did a quick cleanup while Joel jumped in the shower. As much as you wanted to join him, you both knew you’d lose track of time if you did. Instead, you jumped in after Joel finished, letting him deal with getting Sarah’s breakfast.

It wasn’t until you emerged from the shower that nervous energy coursed through you at the thought of going downstairs. Did Sarah know you stayed over? Did Joel want Sarah to know that you stayed over? You should have talked to Joel about this before he went downstairs, but it was too late now. The questions still swirled in your head as you slipped on the borrowed joggers and scraped your hair into a knot at the back of your head. You wore a tank top to sleep in and were about to put your shirt from the night before on when one of Joel’s flannels caught your eye. Holding the fabric up to your nose, you breathed in the scent of him – fresh cut wood and a musk that was so uniquely Joel – and slipped the shirt on with a tender smile. Time to face the music, you thought.

Steps light as you walked down the stairs, you heard Sarah chattering away to Joel and smiled when Joel’s deep voice muttered responses. Their connection warmed your heart and you wanted so badly to be part of this family unit with them.

Catching sight of you as you turned the corner, Joel’s dark chocolate eyes lit up, lips twitching into a half smile. “Good mornin’, darlin’,” he greeted once you stepped through into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as if the two of you hadn’t spent the last hour getting full carnal knowledge of each other. “How’d you sleep?”

“Mmm, good morning you two,” you replied, slipping into the seat next to Sarah with a smile at the young girl. “That was the best night of sleep.”

Joel looked pleased with himself as he placed a glass of water on the table in front of you along with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. “Just what I hoped to hear.” He took the seat across from you at the little four-top table and the three of you dug in.

Sarah kept up a stream of chatter as you ate, telling you all about her ice cream date with Tommy the night before. About mid-way through breakfast, you nearly choked on your eggs when the little girl blurted, “You’re wearing Daddy’s clothes. Does that mean you’re officially his girlfriend now?”

Sputtering, your wide-eyed gaze darted to Joel. He sat there looking cool as a cucumber, lips quirked in a grin and umber eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yeah, darlin’. Does that mean you’re officially my girlfriend now?”

Eyes narrowing at the menace of a man sitting across the table, you smirked. Two could play this game. “Well, I don’t know. What do I get for being your official girlfriend?” you asked, voice dipping toward sultry.

Joel visibly gulped, eyes searching your face before he cleared his throat. “Anything you want.” He said it so simply, the words leaving his lips so effortlessly, and it threw you.

“What about what you want?” you deflected.

Sarah gazed between the two of you, nose scrunched, equal parts happy and confused. Why did adults make everything complicated?

Playfulness glinted in Joel’s eyes, winking at Sarah before turning back to you. “I want you to be my official girlfriend.”

“Okie dokie,” you replied with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, feigning indifference as you took the last bite of eggs on your plate to hide your smile.

Joel shook his head, wide grin splitting his face, and went to reply when his phone buzzed. He shot a brief look to you before answering. “Hey JB,” he greeted, listening as your dad spoke. “Yeah, she’s here. Just getting the nugget ready for school.”

One thick-fingered hand tapped a rhythm on the wooden table, phone to his left ear as he gazed at you. Your dad was talking a lot, the echo of his voice carried in the air, but you couldn’t decipher what he said.

“It’s no bother, man. She’s a good girl and we love having her here.” Joel winked at you again before motioning for Sarah to go finish getting ready. “Yeah, JB, you can talk to her.”

Accepting the phone as he passed it across the table, you sat back in the chair. “Hey Dad. What’s up?”

“What’s up with you, ya dirty stay out? I didn’t see your car last night or this morning and wondered where ya were. Guess I shoulda known you’d be over there.”

There was something off with your dad’s tone and you panicked, trying in vain to think of an excuse on why you would’ve stayed the night. Mouth opening and closing a few times, your dad beat you to the punch.

“Don’t be makin’ a nuisance of yourself over there, ya hear? It’s one thing to have a crush on the guy, but it’s another to force yourself into every aspect of their lives, Spud. Don’t be getting’ in the way of their family time. You know how important that is.”

Your dad kept going, rattling off some other advice you didn’t ask for, but you were stuck on one thing. He thought you had a crush on Joel. He was much more observant than you ever gave him credit for. You and Joel would not be able to keep your now official relationship secret for long, not with good ol’ JB nosing around.

Joel’s eyes burned into you, but you couldn’t meet his gaze, staring down at the flaws in the tabletop instead.

“Anyway, I just wanted to wish ya good luck on your meeting at the school today, sweetie. You make your old man proud,” your dad said. “Tell Joel I’ll see him later. Love you, Spud.”

“Thanks Dad, love you too,” you uttered, the line going dead before you finished speaking. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, your eyes met Joel’s, finally. “He thinks I have a crush on you and shouldn’t interfere with your family time.”

Tilting his head to the side, brows pinched, Joel reached a hand across the table to link his fingers with yours. “We’ll tell him real soon, darlin’. Don’t want you keeping secrets from your dad like this.”

“You sure? What if…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here, in this, for the long haul,” Joel replied imploringly, his fingers squeezing yours. “I haven’t felt like this in too long, if ever, and I’m not givin’ it up for anything. Okay?”

The tell-tale tickle of tears welled but you refused to let them spill over, nodding with a watery smile. “Okay.”

The day started off cool, but the southern sun beat down on the back of Joel’s neck by early afternoon, causing him to shed the red flannel he wore to the job site. Gulping down a bottle of chilled water, he glanced at his phone hoping for a message from you.

You were on his mind constantly. Something triggered a memory or thought of you at almost every moment of the day. He’d see a bird and wonder if you knew what species it was. Or he’d hear something funny and wonder what you’d think about it. Or memories of you in his lap and in his bed would hit suddenly, making him hot under the collar and below the belt.

Joel Miller was a man falling in love and powerless to stop it. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

Just then his phone buzzed with a message from you asking him to call you when he had a moment. He’d always make time for you, he thought, his fingers already hitting the call symbol.

“Hey handsome,” you answered on the second ring, breathless as if you were running.

“Howdy darlin’,” he replied, voice deep and rumbly, just the way he knew you liked it. “How’d the meeting go?”

You were silent for a moment too long, and Joel pulled the phone from his ear, checking that the call didn’t drop.

 “Well, you’re talking to the new middle grade science teacher, so I’d say it went well.” He could feel the pride in your voice and his heart swelled.

“Congrats, darlin’. I knew you’d get it and you’ll be the best damn science teacher those kids will ever have.” He was already thinking about how lucky Sarah would be to have you as a teacher. Letting his voice go a little deeper, he added, “We should celebrate this weekend. Sarah has two sleepover birthday parties to go to, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. I can take my time in showing you just how proud I am of you, and we can be as loud as we want.”

Your breath audibly hitched on the other end of the phone, causing Joel’s lips to twitch into a smirk. “I’d really like that, Joel,” you breathed, and his jeans suddenly grew tighter.

Adjusting himself as subtly as possible, Joel sighed. “I should go, sweetheart. There’s a ton to do at this site and I’m already looking at a few long days this week. Call JB next. He’s dropping by in a bit, and I don’t want to let something slip that I shouldn’t know yet.”

Sighing deeply into the phone, you said, “Alright, I’ll call him now. We gotta tell him soon, Joel. This is only gonna get harder, you know.”

“I know, sweet cheeks. We will, I promise.” Hearing his name, Joel nodded to one of his crew before saying goodbye. Your sweet voice echoed in his ears as he worked like a dog the rest of the day. JB was a proud papa when he stopped by, bragging about you to anyone who would listen. Guilt gurgled in Joel’s gut knowing the two of you were keeping a secret from the guy, but he pushed it down, pretending that he didn’t know anything about your new job and let JB share the details. The sun set long before he left the site, and he arrived home to find leftovers warming on the stove while you got Sarah ready for bed.

The sight of you walking down the stairs, smiling sweetly at him, set his soul on fire. God, how he longed to be with you all the time, to wake up next to you every morning and come home to you every evening.

“Come ‘ere, my sexy teacher girlfriend,” he greeted softly, pulling you in for a scorching kiss. He wasted no time, tongue dipping into your mouth to tangle with yours. “You’re so beautiful and smart, I’m so lucky I get to call you mine.”

You laughed with a little shake of your head. “I’m the lucky one, Joel. I can’t believe some lucky lady hadn’t snatched you up before I came along.”

Even though he was dirty and probably stunk of sweat from working all day, Joel hesitated to let you out of his embrace. As if sensing his feelings, you nuzzled into him.

“I wish I could stay the night, but I should get back to my dad’s,” you said, reluctantly.

“I know, darlin’. We’ll tell him soon and then you can stay over whenever you want.” Joel walked you out the door, thanking you for taking care of Sarah and cooking dinner. He kissed you a few more times on the way to your car and even ducked down to buckle you in and kiss you one last time before finally stepping back. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. I—”

That pesky little four-letter word had been bouncing around his heart and mind for weeks, even before the two of you decided to give this thing before you a shot, but he hesitated to say it first. He’d never said it and meant it, and to him it was a really big thing that he needed to time just right.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of work for Joel. Business was good, keeping him, Tommy, and a few other guys busier than any of them preferred. It was getting to the point where Joel needed to hire another crew so they could run two jobs at once. Though it was a great thing, making changes to his business always increased Joel’s anxiety. Management wasn’t his forte and he was terrified of screwing something up, but maybe that’s what made him a great small business owner. He was hyper vigilant in both the business and construction side of operations, going the extra mile to make sure things ran safely and smoothly.

The downfall of being so busy was, of course, the complete lack of time to spend with Sarah or you. It made him extra happy to know that Sarah had you to lean on and spend time with while he was busy, though. You were the piece of the support system that Sarah had been missing and seeing the bond between the two of you grow stronger every day warmed his heart to the point of bursting.

Finally, Friday arrived, and Joel busted his ass to get done early, rushing home to shower and setup a little something in the backyard to celebrate you landing your first teaching position. He had the perfect evening planned.

tbc

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

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[proxima-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | Join the tag list

Summary:

Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s note: I’m playing fast and loose with ages and timelines here. Joel is 38, reader is 23, and Sarah is 5. No mushroom apocalypse here, y’all.

Additional tags/warnings: explicit sexual content, age gap (15 years), reader is 23 and Joel is 38, he’s a lil guilty about it anyways, pet names, dirty talk, lack of aftercare, oral (f receiving), fingering, begging, angst, drying humping. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

You hear the heavy footsteps of your dad and the contractor coming up the steps to the front door. You turn from the stove, spatula in hand just as your dad comes into view with a man you’ve never seen before.

He’s tall and broad, shoulders stretching the worn flannel he’s wearing to what must be near its breaking point. He’s got a strong nose and sharp jaw highlighted by his tan skin. His hair is brown that’s streaked with gray, messy curls sticking up in all directions.

Woah, you think. Your eyes meet warm brown ones that make your knees feel a little unsteady.

Your dad gives the man your name followed by, “My daughter. She’s home for the summer while she studies for the MCAT. I hope that’s not a problem that she’ll be here?”

“Not a problem for me. Noise might bother you, though, if you’re tryin’ to study,” the man says, deep voice making your mouth go a little dry. He holds a hand out to you. “I’m Joel, by the way. I’m doin’ the remodel on your parent’s room.”

That’s right. Your dad had mentioned that your mom had finally broken him down and made him get a contractor out to update their master bath. They scheduled it while they’re away on a six week cruise, leaving you to house sit while you studied for your exam.

“It won’t bother me,” you reply, shaking his hand. They’re calloused and warm and just the brief contact is enough to have you wondering what they would feel like trailing over other parts of your body. “I’ve got noise canceling headphones.”

He smiles, but it’s short lived. He sniffs the air, brows pinching together. “Is something burning?”

“Shit! My eggs!” You turn back to the stove and shut the burner off, moving the pan off the heat and trying to scrape your now burnt scrambled eggs from the surface.

“Come on, Joel, let me show you upstairs.”

________

Joel returns to the house a few times that week to take measurements and talk materials with your mom. Each time you’re there in the kitchen, books spread around you at the dining table and your head bobbing to music he can’t hear.

He can’t help the way his eyes linger when he comes inside, stomping his work boots against the mat inside the doorway as a courtesy and, if he’s honest with himself, to get your attention. And every time you glance up and smile at him, bright and beautiful.

As soon as he’s back upstairs and remembers he has a job to do, he berates himself for the thoughts he has. He has no goddamn right to be looking at a client’s daughter, much less one as young as you.

His presence in the house is sparing over the first couple weeks of the job, mostly just dropping by for measurements and to get an idea of a plan for demo day. He’s got orders in on tile placed, fixtures picked out, paint purchased. Everything’s in place to get started next week.

Satisfied, he heads downstairs to leave. He both hopes you’re in the kitchen and prays you’re not, if only to ease his guilty conscience.

But there you are, bent over in front of the fridge in shorts that hug your ass a bit too well. You straighten up with a can of beer in your hand, popping the tab and taking a sip.

“You even old enough to drink that?” Joel can’t help but ask, lingering in the doorway.

“I bought it. Why, you wanna see my ID? You moonlight as a cop or somethin’?” You roll your eyes.

Brat, Joel thinks, rolling his lips together. He turns to leave, he’s made enough of a fool of himself for one day.

“I’m twenty-three, in case you were wondering!” You call out as the door shuts behind him.

Fuck.

________

Joel’s been upstairs since early this morning, smashing things with a sledge hammer, prying things with a crowbar, and all sorts of other destruction that filters through your headphones.

It’s almost noon when you decide to give up and give into the temptation to go see what the man is doing. You head upstairs, stepping carefully into your parents room. There’s plastic tarp leading from the door of the bedroom to the door of the bathroom that crinkles beneath your feet as you move further inside.

You peek beyond the doorway of the bathroom and clutch the frame almost painfully when you catch a glimpse of a rather sweaty Joel, white t-shirt sticking to his chest and back as he wiggles a crowbar between the wall and vanity, leveraging his body weight against it to get the fixture to detach from the wall.

He repeats the process a few more times until the vanity is completely removed. He tosses the crowbar to the side and wipes the back of his hand across his dusty forehead. You clear your throat, his eyes shooting to the mirror to meet yours.

“Hey, uh. Hi. I’m about to make something for lunch…did you want anything?” You ask. His chest moves rapidly with his labored breathing.

“Sure,” he finally says.

_______

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be sitting at the kitchen table, watching you move around the kitchen like a picture of domesticity as you make two ham and turkey sandwiches for lunch.

You set the plate in front of him, along with a cold can of Coke, before sitting across from him with your own matching meal. He takes a bite, humming in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” he says when he’s swallowed. You nod, picking up your own sandwich and digging in.

The two of you eat in silence for a few minutes. Joel lets his eyes wander over you while you’re focused on your food. You’ve got a University of Texas tank top on, white with an orange Longhorn stretched across your chest, and another pair of shorts, giving him an eyeful of your long, smooth legs.

Tearing his eyes from you, his gaze lands on the stack of books on the table. “So, the MCAT. Must mean you’re pretty smart.”

“Not to brag, but I did finish organic chemistry without crying,” you reply, lips tilted in a smug grin. “I’m taking it at the end of August, before senior year starts. Dad said I didn’t have to get a summer job if I moved home and saved him some rent money.”

“What kind of doctor are you lookin’ to become?”

“Pediatrician. I love kids.”

Joel’s heart rate kicks up as he thinks about you chasing a toddler around a manicured lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. Or in the kitchen with a baby on your hip.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Joel?” You ask, breaking through his mental flagellation.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you have any kids,” you repeat.

He can feel his face go soft. “Yeah, Sarah. She just turned five. She starts kindergarten at the end of the summer.”

“How sweet,” you say. “I bet you and your wife are excited about that.”

“There’s, uh…there’s no wife,” Joel replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He stands, taking this empty plate to the dishwasher. “I better get back to work.”

Joel feels the weight of your stare on his back as he heads upstairs.

________

It goes on like that for two weeks. Joel gets to the house early and you study at the kitchen table until lunch time, when you ask him if he wants anything to eat. He should say no. It’s not your job to feed him, he’s got a stash of granola bars that’ll do just fine.

But each time he sees your hopeful doe eyed expression, his resolve crumbles to dust.

So he sits at the table each day, eating the sandwich you made him and drinking the Coke you gave him, learning tidbits of information about you.

Like how you weren’t sure about pursuing medicine at first, so you’re a bit behind schedule in taking your studies and will be graduating late. You changed your degree path when you volunteered in the pediatric oncology service at the medical school, sitting with young kids undergoing chemotherapy and making their days brighter. Your last roommate had a cat that always hid your keys, but you still liked him anyways. How your favorite color is yellow.

He tells you about Sarah. About how her mom left not long after she was born and how he’s gone at this parenting thing alone, save for the support of his brother, Tommy. He tells you about how only finished a semester in community college before dropping out to pursue construction. His favorite drink is whiskey, neat, and his favorite color is red.

One day, you’re not at the table when he lets himself into the house with the key your dad made for him. He finds he’s disappointed, not starting his day with your smile.

Upstairs, he’s working on laying the mud for the shower pan when he hears a splash from outside. He peeks out the window of the bedroom that overlooks the backyard.

His mouth goes dry and his pants get uncomfortably tight as he watches you lift yourself from the pool. You’ve got on the skimpiest red bikini he’s ever seen, the top barely containing your tits and doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of your nipples. You wring your hair out over your shoulder before moving to lay down on a nearby lounger. Your body glistens with drops of water that Joel wants to chase with his tongue.

You turn over on your stomach and Joel bites back a groan, greedily committing the view of your ass to memory. Jesus Christ, he’s never felt like a dirty old man more than in this moment.

He returns to his task and tries to chase his lustful thoughts away with manual labor.

_______

You can see him watching you from the window. Your sunglasses keep your own gaze hidden as you revel in the undivided attention of the man you’d been drooling over the last few weeks. You’d put on your tiniest bikini for the occasion, laying yourself out on the lounge like a meal you’d like him to dig into.

He stood there for a few minutes and you could practically hear his teeth cracking from how tense his jaw was. You could tell Joel really struggled with his attraction to you. He’s staring down the barrel of a fifteen year age gap, after all.

You didn’t see an issue with it. You’re an adult, he’s not abusing any sort of position of power, hell, all the man has done is check you out. He hasn’t even touched you. You don’t want him to feel guilty about being attracted to you because god knows you don’t feel guilty for wanting to climb him like a tree.

You don’t bother with a towel or changing when you go upstairs to tell Joel lunch is ready. When he sees you in the doorway he freezes, and you bite back at a laugh at the look of surprise on his face.

“Lunch is ready,” you tell him.

He clears his throat. “I uh…I think I’ll just eat a protein bar. Thank you, though.”

Your bottom lip pops out in a pout. “But I made pasta salad.”

“I got a lot to do,” he tries again. His jaw keeps clenching, his hand wrapping tightly around the tool he’s holding like he’s hoping it’ll anchor him in place.

“Please, Joel?”

That gets him. He sighs, standing with a groan.

“Fine.”

________

This was a bad idea. He should have held strong and insisted he’d eat by himself today.

You’re still in that goddamn bikini and he is fighting for his life sitting at the table as he watches you plate up pasta salad. Usually you would drink a Coke with lunch but today he’s surprised to see you pouring a glass of wine.

“It’s my day off from studying,” you say as you take your seat across from him, sipping from the glass. “I think I deserve a little treat. Don’t you?”

He has to be imagining the double meaning of your words. He gives you a tight nod in response before focusing all his energy in eating his pasta and avoiding your gaze.

“You okay, Joel?” you ask. Your sweet face is pinched in concern and goddamnit, Joel can’t take this.

“Fine,” he grunts. You give him another pout, the same one that broke his resolve upstairs.

You finish before him, sticking your bowl in the sink before picking up your wine glass from the table and refilling it. Instead of taking a seat, you lean your barely clothed hip against the table in front of him.

“You seem tense,” you comment. Joel swallows roughly, throat dry. You set your glass down and take a step closer.

“What are you doin’?” He asks, voice rough and low. He can barely breathe. This can’t possibly be happening.

You plant your hands on his shoulders for balance as you slide onto his lap, legs on either side of his waist and pussy dragging across his hard cock. He hisses, hands grabbing onto your waist before he can stop himself.

“Darlin’, you can’t be doin’ this,” he says, voice strained. “We can’t be doin’ this.”

“Why not? I see the way you look at me. I’ve been lookin’ the same way.”

“You’re young, baby. Too young for an old man like me.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pressing your chest to his and fuck, he can feel your tight little nipples as your tits press against him. “‘M not too young,” you murmur, dipping your head to mouth at his neck. His fingers flex against your ribs. “You’re not doin’ anything wrong, Joel.”

His head drops back as you keep pressing sweet little kisses to the stubbled skin. His hips flex beneath you and you gasp, arms tightening around him.

Joel is so fucked. So, so fucked. Has been from the moment he stepped into this goddamn house and saw you sitting at this very table.

Maybe…maybe just one time. One time should be enough, get it out of your systems, cut through the tension and move on.

You’re whimpering against his neck, squirming over his lap as his hands drag up your waist until his fingers find the edge of one of the pathetic triangles covering your breasts. He can feel your breath hitch as he pulls it to the side, exposing your tight little nipple to the cold air.

“God, baby,” he groans, dipping his head forward to wrap his lips around the little bud. You moan so loud and wanton as he licks you that he knows he’s fucking done for.

He digs his fingers into your still damp hair, tugging your head back so that he can finally drag your mouth to his. You taste like wine and sunshine and he’s never been much of a wine guy, but from your tongue he’ll taste anything.

You open up to him so sweetly, your hands clutching his shoulders and your hips moving against his painfully hard cock as he devours you, dragging his own hands over all that exposed skin like it’ll disappear if he doesn’t touch you everywhere at least once.

It’s still not nearly enough.

He stands and you squeak in surprise as he sits you on the edge of the table. “Holy shit,” you mutter. He glances at your face to make sure you’re okay.

Your hair is messy from his hands and lips swollen from his kisses, eyes wide and dark as you stare back at him. Your top is half off, and Joel can’t help but reach out and tug the other cup down to expose your other breast.

“Pretty as a goddamn picture, darlin’,” he murmurs. He presses a hand to your chest, urging you to lie back.

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask. He huffs a laugh.

“Don’t be a brat, fishin’ for compliments,” he admonishes. He plucks at the strings holding those little bottoms in place, the bows falling loose so that he can push the material aside. “Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re drenched, baby.”

“Been like this every day,” you reply, voice all breathy as you squirm beneath his rapt attention.

“That right?” He asks, dragging his thumb through your wet folds. You moan, hips jumping from the table. He kneels, placing one arm around over your hips as he presses your legs apart with his free hand, spreading you for him.

You’re breathing so fast he’s almost worried you might pass out. “Shhh, pretty thing, let me take care of you.”

He licks a broad stripe over your core, his tongue swirling around your aching clit before dipping back down to your entrance. You fight against his hold, hips trying in vain to chase his mouth.

“Oh, god,” you cry out. Your hands find their way to his head, fingers scratching against his scalp as he feasts on your cunt. “Joel, more, please!”

He keeps his arm tight against you and uses his other hand to slip one finger into your wet heat, groaning at how tight you are. His tongue focuses on your clit while he slowly strokes his finger in and out, adding a second then a third when you start babbling about more more more.

“Fuck me, Joel, please,” you beg. He shakes his head against your cunt, the scrape of his beard against your sensitive flesh making you scream. “Please!”

He stands, continuing to stroke his fingers inside you as he uses his thumb on your clit to replace his tongue. “Can’t, baby girl, I don’t have a condom with me.”

“I’m clean, I’m on the pill, please, Joel, I need your cock so bad,” you plead. Joel groans. He’s already crossed a line but he can’t go there. He knows damn well that if he feels you clenching around him with nothing between your bodies, screaming his name as he pounds inside of you, he won’t ever leave.

“No, sweetheart, you’re going to come on my hand and my mouth or you’re not going to come at all,” he snaps, hand moving faster, curling against your front wall.

_______

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes as Joel continues to drive you higher and higher toward release, your muscles tightening painfully as his fingers curl inside you and his thumb circles your clit.

You don’t know what you expected from all this, but Joel Miller dirty talking and finger fucking you on your kitchen table was not on your deduction bingo card. He’s better than anything your brain has conjured up thus far and you just know this one time isn’t going to be enough to sate you, especially since he keeps calling you “good girl” and “darlin’” and “sweetheart” in his rough southern accent.

You want him to fuck you so bad, you’re desperate for it. But he’s staunchly refusing to cross that line despite the hundreds that have been crossed already.

You try to hold back your orgasm, not wanting this to end, but it crashes over you anyways, leaving you breathless and sobbing his name as his hand slows its pace.

Joel’s fingers slip from your body and he leans forward, pressing them to your lips. You open your mouth, licking and sucking at his offering.

“Goddamnit,” he groans. “That was gorgeous.”

You sit up, supporting yourself on shaky arms. He steps back, but you hook a leg around his waist to stop him.

“Wait, let me—“

“No, baby, I’m good,” he says, cutting you off and dodging your hands. “I gotta get back to work.”

You can feel your high leave you in an instant. “Oh…okay.”

“Thank you for…lunch,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll be upstairs. If you need me.”

You don’t say anything as he turns to leave.

————

Upstairs in the bathroom, the one not being remodeled that he presumes is yours due to the messy countertop and fluffy yellow towels, Joel takes his cock from his pants and fists his length, grip almost painful as payment for his transgressions.

He cums with the thought of your eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, shouting his name as you clenched around his fingers. Your name is on his lips in the softest whisper he can manage as he cums, hard and hot, into a tissue.

He slumps against the wall, breathless. And while he may have come faster than a teenager, he doesn’t feel an ounce of relief.

Fuck.

[yawneneteyam]

ALL THINGS CONNECTED | j. flatters chapter six — are you filming?

summary: growing up on the set of avatar: the way of water was a dream. your friends had become your family, all except for one. jamie was the one person you always found yourself drawn to, in ways more complex than the title of 'best friends' [3.1k].

pairing: fem!reader x jamie flatters

notes: based on jamie flatters documentary: all things connected. co-stars/friends to lovers. inspired by @cacapeepee. THE KISS IS HERE!!

masterlist ⎸ chapter five | chapter seven

2017.

"I'M JUST GONNA DO IT" YOU said, bouncing up and down on the spot. 

“okay,” jamie nodded, waiting for you.

“i’m just gonna get it over with,” you shook your head.

“yep,” he nodded again.

“and once it’s done, it’s done”.

“over and done with,” he agreed.

“okay, i can’t do it,” you sat down on the couch. resting your head in your hands.

"and that's okay," jamie nodded, as he sat down next you.

“yes, i can” you stood back up, bouncing again, “i can do it”.

jamie followed, standing up once more. “yes, you can” he said.

“i can” you said again.

this was how the last twenty minutes had been going. you and jamie were sat in your trailer, ready to run your kiss scene together before you shot it tomorrow. jamie had been a saint, patient and respectful, whilst you were havaing a minor mental breakdown at the thought of kissing your best friend.

but here he was, looking beautiful, his hair getting longer as it had begun to grow back; and you still couldn’t kiss him. 

“it’s just a kiss,” you told yourself.

“a stupid kiss,” he nodded, “means nothing.”

“absolutely nothing” you emphasised, “we’re professionals.”

“that we are,” he had been agreeing with you and everything you said since you began this ordeal. he was trying his best to make you comfortable and talk you through it, but he knew you were really struggling with this, especially since your conversation in the pool last week.

“i’m just gonna do it,” you closed your eyes, shaking your head again. the nerves pitted in your stomach were threatening to spill over any second. you had been on edge all morning since deciding you would run this scene last night. “it’s a fucking kiss,” i can do this, you thought. 

“i’m gonna do it now,” you told him, your eyes still shut.

jamie chuckled as he watched you. “okay,” he nodded, not believing you at all, “i’m ready.” he had been ready for the last ten minutes. he was ready the first day he met you. 

“i’m really gonna do it,” you told him, opening one eye.

“and i really believe you,” he nodded, eyes wide teasing you. 

“fuck” you growled, opening your eyes again, “i can’t do it.”

jamie took your hand gently and began to walk you back over to the couch. you looked from your hands up to him, but he didn’t catch your gaze. lucky that, because otherwise he would’ve been able to read the panic written all over your face from his touch. 

“y/n,” he sighed. 

“i know, i know- i’m sorry,” you cringed, covering your face with your hands. “i just i can’t, i don’t know how and it’s gonna be bad and then it’s gonna be weird between us because i’m a bad kisser,” you let all the words flow as they came to your head, not being able to stop yourself. 

“y/n-“

“and you’ll be like oh my god, what the fuck? this girl is a shit kisser, i wanna die. that’s what you’ll be thinking” you just kept going.

“y/n, i’m gonna kiss you now,” he said. you continued to speak over him. he sighed, “and then i’m gonna get down on one knee and propose,” he noticed that you weren’t even listening to a word he was saying, let alone registering it. “and afterwards i’m gonna go get in my helicopter and crash into a tree”.

after you finished your rant, you just sat there in silence. looking straight ahead, you looked like you were in a completely different universe, one where your anxiety was consuming you. 

“y/n,” jamie tried again to get hold of your attention. 

“yeah?” you said softly, still looking ahead.

“let’s worry about this tomorrow yeah?” he asked, “you are working yourself up too much over this, everything is fine”. 

you hesitated before turning to face jamie. the look on your face broke his heart. you looked embarrassed, but frightened. of what he wasn’t sure, but he knew that there were so many emotions running through your head that you couldn’t pick just one thing to fear in that moment. everything was running at you full speed and you didn’t know why.

this was your job, so why was having to kiss jamie putting you on edge?

“are you sure?” you ask him, guilt creeping back in for wasting his time.

“more than sure,” he nodded, “lets go do something, it’s getting late”.

“what’re we gonna do?” you asked, still nearing on shy after your meltdown.

“we could go to the beach or something?” jamie leant back on the couch, crossing his arms, “get the others and have a night there”.

“who’s gonna come with us?” you asked him, “for trin”. trinity was probably too young to come out with you all alone, you would need an adult with you.

“trin’s back at the hotel, i have her mums number though. i’ll text them to see if they want to bring her” jamie said.

“i’m really sorry,” you whispered.

“what?” jamie sat up, leaning forwards so he was closer to you. 

“for freaking out about it all,” you shrugged, “it’s dumb”.

“it’s a big deal for you, y/n.” he reminded you, “so no, it’s not dumb. we’ll go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with,” jamie smiled. he took your hand in both of his, squeezing it slightly. “until tomorrow,” he chuckled, “because we actually have to do it tomorrow,” 

you laughed too, something jamie could always get you to do, even when you were feeling bad. “i know,” you shook your head. “it’s literally a ten second shot, i don’t even know why we have to do it.” 

that hurt jamie a little. he was taken aback back your words, not once had you spoken as if you didn’t want to kiss him, only that you were nervous to do it. but you spoke with chest this time, making it sound repulsive almost. he tried his best to brush it off, knowing you were nervous about the entire thing, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant it, if you didn’t actually want to kiss him.

because he wanted to kiss you.

the sun had just began to set. the sand underneath you was cool now that the heat of the day had left, just cool winds blowing occasionally by. you all had headed down to manhattan beach, bailey’s parents driving you all down to enjoy the rest of your day.

jamie was near the water’s edge with bailey, jack and duane. you sat up on the sand with britain and filip. the three of you weren’t saying much, but we’re enjoying each other’s company in the silence none the less.

“you nervous for tomorrow?” britain turned to you. the question made filip turn to look at you too. the boys had all be talking about the kiss constantly. whether it was them ribbing jamie about it, or asking if he was excited, it had been the topic of conversation since the schedule was released.

you sighed, shuffling your feet nervously in the sand. “yeah,” you nodded, looking over at the boys. “i don’t know why i’m so nervous, i just- i don’t want it to be bad for jamie,”

“why would it be bad?” filip asked.

“i’ve never kissed anyone before,” you said.

“it’s easy,” he shrugged, “it’s not like you’re making out with him or anything,” he chuckled. “you gotta not care as much.” he told you.

“she can’t,” britain looked to filip, “she likes him.”

“what?!” you almost shouted. you looked over at the others on the shorefront, making sure they didn’t hear you or what britain had said. “i don’t like jamie,” you said defensively, “not like that. he’s my best friend.”

“mhm,” britain nodded, eyes wide, “and i don’t like bailey.. at all. hate her actually” he chuckled. filip laughed along with him, nudging him with his elbow playfully.

“you like bailey?” you asked, a gasp escaping your lips.

“oh my god, are you blind?” filip scoffed. “he likes bailey,” he looked to britain, “jamie likes you,” then from jamie back to you.

“jamie doesn’t like me,” you whispered. 

“yeah, okay,” filip shrugged.

“has- has he said that?” you asked, suddenly interested.

“i mean.. no,” filip shrugged, “but it seems like he does, he’s not that subtle. and neither are you, you’re constantly looking at each other like you’re into each other”.

“i don’t like him!” you argued, “i just don’t want him to think i’m a bad kisser”.

“.. because you like him” filip said pointedly.

“no, i-“ you paused.. and then paused some more, “shit maybe i like him”.

“maybe?” britain scoffed, a smile across his lips.

you sighed, “oh my god.”

“how did you just realise?” filip rolled his eyes, astounded by your stupidity. “you guys are practically dating already,” he shrugged, “so don’t worry about some stupid kiss”.

“yeah no-“ you saw jamie and the others begin to walk back up the hill to you three as britain began to speak again- “it’s a kiss, and maybe after it-“

“shh-“ you whispered.

“you guys will tell each other how you actually feel-“

“britain, shut up-“ you pushed him over, as the others finally approached.

“woah,” jamie pulled you back and away from britain, “let’s stop the domestics, yeah? calm down, tiger”.

you didn’t say anything in response, just let bailey start talking to everyone instead. you really did like jamie, how it didn’t click til’ other people started mentioning it, you’re not sure. maybe you needed someone to reality check you, that’s exactly what you got from britain and filip. 

“you right?” jamie whispered to you as bailey still spoke, jack joining in.

“yeah,” you nodded, trying to muster up a smile. jamie looked at you like he didn’t believe you, and you knew that he didn’t, but he didn’t say anything else. you watched him as he laid back on the sand, hands behind his head. you stared at him for a few seconds longer, silently admiring him, before joining him.

soon, all of you were laying down on the beach, watching the sky change from purple, to pink and, if you stayed for another forty minutes or so, eventually to black. 

“hey,” jamie spoke up. none of you were sure who he was speaking to. “is it not mad that this is our life?” he asked.

you sat with his words for a second.

“it’s crazy,” bailey agreed. you turned your head to the side, to look at jamie, who’s eyes were glued to the pink sky. 

“absolutely insane,” you agreed. jamie turned to meet your gaze, giving you a smile, before looking back up. he looked so beautiful, so relaxed without a care. and in that moment, you wished it was just you two. because in that moment, you could kiss him. 

you could kiss him without a hint of worry or regret, and you wished you did.

“i’m really proud of us, you know?” jamie said, sitting up. “i love you guys,” you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you at the end, “and i’m never ever gonna forget this, never”.

“i love you guys too,” jack said. 

“so much,” britain agreed.

“when we’re old,” you looked out to the ocean, “promise, we’ll remember this, yeah? no matter how many movies or shows we’re in, or where we go; remember how special this is… because this is so, so special”.

“forever,” filip said. you all looked to each other, bailey with tears in her eyes. you pulled britain in close to you and then jamie, resting your head on his shoulder. bailey, jack and filip joined in the embrace and there you sat until the sky turned black and it was getting too cold to sit anymore.

there you sat, grateful for your friends.

you woke up the next morning, ready to shoot. you and jamie sat next to each other in the makeup trailer, like you always do. trinity sat on jamie’s lap today, playing with his necklace as jose put jamie’s dots on his face.

“morning kids,” sam poked his head into the trailer.

“hey,” jamie kept his head still for jose. trinity hopped off jamie to run over to sam, who picked her up and rested her on his hip.

“morning,” you smiled as rita pinned your hair up. 

“ready for your big scene?” he smirked. jamie went to go cut sam off, knowing you were probably still nervous about shooting it, but you spoke before he could.

“all scenes are big scenes when you’re an actor, sam” you smiled over at him, “you’ll learn that one day, when you become a professional too”.

“oooh,” he laughed, “sorry miss professional, i guess i’ll go then.”

“sigourney says that she doesn’t want to swim in your tank today, by the way” you chuckled.

“well, i’m not going in hers,” he pointed at you, “it’s too cold”. sam and sigourney could never agree on a water temperature. often shooting their scenes in separate tanks, jim was forcing them to shoot in the same tank today. 

“good luck with that,” jamie laughed, looking over at sam. jose came over to paint on your dots, jamie waited for you so you walk to set together. you thanked jose before heading into the change room to put your suit on. rita followed and helped you into it, before you put your shoes back on and left with jamie.

“you okay?” jamie prided himself on being able to read you incredibly well, but he was struggling this morning. you seemed completely fine, something he wasn’t expecting from you, especially not after yesterday. 

“i’m actually alright,” you told him, “i’m not nervous”. and you weren’t lying. last night helped you realise that this job was too special to be worrying about. because one day, you wouldn’t all be together anymore. you knew you had to make every take worth it. 

jamie looked surprised. “not nervous, hey?” he smiled, “wasn’t expecting that from you to be fair”. 

“i’m a professional,” you shrugged with a smirk. 

“oh yeah?” he chuckled.

“yeah,” you nodded, playing it off. “so are you,” you looked to him, “i’ve seen so awkward,” 

“nah, allow it” he chuckled, “allow it”.

“i loved it,” you held your hands up.

“how have you seen that show?” he shook his head with a smile, “thing haunts me”.

“you’re a true artist, flats”.

“oh, shut it,” 

you laughed as you walked into where jim was setting up for your scene. you quickly marked the scene; it was only a shot for a montage- short and simple. suddenly, your nerves made a return, but they felt different. the pit in your stomach had now turned into something lighter, excitement? you weren’t sure. but it was a welcome change. 

“okay,” jim sighed, “set it up and run it.”

you and jamie got into position. he was laid against a block, you sitting next to him. james came over and directed you into a more natural position. you were now sat with your legs over jamie’s, turned in towards his body more. 

“you okay?” he asked again.

“i’m fine,” you nodded, “are you?”

he chuckled, scrunching up his face a little. “i’m actually quite nervous,” he said.

“really?” you whispered.

“oh yeah,” he nodded, “petrified”. you realised he was joking, seeing his smirk peek through. 

“piss off,” you laughed. james called out to you both, ready to shoot. 

“okay, hold the gaze, go in slowly. they’re only kids, they’re still nervous around each other,” you chuckled softly, thinking it was ironic. you both nodded as he spoke with you, ready to shoot. “okay, ready? quiet on set.. action”

jamie looked into your eyes, like really looked into them. you watched as his gaze flicked from you to your lips, you could have him look at you like that forever. you leant in slowly, he followed your lead. you could feel your heart in your throat as you both grew closer.

as you closed your eyes, you felt your head knock with his- foreheads connecting, instead of your lips. you and jamie laughed softly, you closed your eyes embarrassed, thinking they would cut. 

but jamie kissed you anyway. it took you by surprise, but you suddenly felt lighter than you had in the past week. his lips weren’t soft, you knew he bit them often, small marks indented his pout often. but to you, they were perfect. 

jamie felt the blood rush to his head, as he kissed you. it was like everything clicked for him. in that moment, he wanted to kiss you for the rest of his life. he brought his hand up to your face, cradling your chin. he deepened the kiss, leaning in a little more. 

you felt like you were floating. you weren’t sure why you were nervous, because the kiss was amazing- for you it was, you wondered for a second if it was this good for him... and it was. 

you knew you had to break apart, you didn’t want to, but you were the first to pull away. you held his gaze and he left his hand where it was, wanting to hold you for a few more seconds if he could.

“cut,” jim watched the viewfinder, “okay let’s run it again.”

you kissed jamie 7 more times that time. always small discrepancies that had you shooting it again. on the third time, jamie asked if you could sit differently afterward. the fifth, jamie broke apart quickly and pulled away from you, having to sneeze. you were oblivious to the fact, that he just wanted to keep shooting the scene over and over- everyone else knew what he was doing.; everyone but you.

you shot a scene with sigourney in the tanks before finishing for the day. your phone buzzed in your pocket as you were leaving to go back to your trailer for the day.

 [ 📱 jamie flatters: ] proud of you for today.

 [ 📱 jamie flatters: ] if it’s any constellation, you kiss like a pro. 

a smile involuntarily broke out on your lips. your heart felt like it could burst our of your chest with how hot it was getting. you considered sending the response you typed up, but second guessed yourself. 

“send it,” 

“oh my god!” you jumped, turning around to see zoe. 

“sorry! i was snooping,” she shrugged, “now.. send. it.” she smiled before walking off.

you watched as she left before looking back down to your phone. you took a breath, before pressing send and closing your phone- too scared to look if he was typing. 

[ 📲 message sent: ] so do you 

you waited around ten seconds before your phone lit up again.

[ 📱 jamie flatters: ] you had nothing to worry about, it was a good kiss x

you sighed, a smile on your face. you really did like him.

taglist: @littlexscarletxwitch, @thexplosivegirl, @lagoonabluebabe, @rexorangecouny, @ilovejakesullysdick @rhiannonhippiegirl @leelumenaura @playboykenz @couragemydearheart @whos6claire @m-1234 @coconut-dreamz @graysonshaven @stvpidscvpid @ok-boke @cvsmic-love @sully-stick-together @caniuseurname @fandom-geek17 @sully-stick-together @leaveitbythewave @mirandathebanana @aisselasstuff @midnightstar-90 @jellybeanstacey0519 @bellstwd @netemoon @deadgirlwalkingtaylorsversion @innercreationflower

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 2, In Which You Meet A Tall Dark Stranger 

Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Careful which mods you install for BG3. Did you read the terms and conditions carefully?

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 2

The next day, during your lunch break, you made another attempt to persuade Raphael to take his clothes off. The clock struck noon; your private laptop was on the right side of your desk, while your work laptop was on the left, Teams open and your mouse ready to show signs of activity from time to time.

The sun was shining through the wide open window, children playing outside. Idyllic. Nothing sinister could be happening in broad daylight with those happy sounds in the background. The horror movies told you so. Except for Midsommar.

Well, screw Midsommar, then. This isn’t Sweden.

"All right, I'm going to set some ground rules here," you said to the loading screen. "I can be as creepy as I want to be to you, because you're just a bunch of pixels, but you can't do anything creepy to me, because I'm a human being. Got that? Good."

The sound of your voice made you feel braver.

As you heard the familiar sinister 'you-let-the-villain-win-bad-player' music in the background, you covered your eyes with your hands and peered through splayed fingers.

Then he appeared. Just as you had wished. Perfectly naked, with a stereotypical video game six-pack and just the right amount of body hair. The orange lighting made his skin glow, and his flaccid penis, like that of the game's generic male model, vanished from sight as he strode closer.

Your ears pricked up to listen to the scripted monologue you knew by heart, watching (waiting?) for any hiccups or new animations, the YouTube app on your phone playing the identical scene for comparison.

Everything happened exactly as it should, word for word, save for the speaker’s nudity.

All good. You breathed a sigh of relief and spread your fingers wider to admire Raphael a little better. 

Same as always. Handsome and charming and completely imaginary, which, now that you thought about it, was the biggest part of his charm. 

"Ta-ta... for now," Raphael's signature line echoed through the room.

"Bravo, Raphael," you praised the screen. "You've done nothing creepy. You have earned your title of Archdevil Supreme."

After waiting for a response that never came, you laughed off your silliness and shook your head. Your laptop was overheating, giving off a slight synthetic smell. Should have upgraded a long time ago. Just need to put enough money aside.

"OK, screenshots," you said. "I wanted to take some screenshots. Do you mind, Raphael? Can I have your consent? They’ll help recruit more followers for you, my liege."

Your phone vibrated. The FaceID gave you a preview of the Discord messages from Queen-of-the-Bored, one of the few Raphaelites you'd actually spoken to directly and felt like you kinda sorta knew.

queen-of-the-bored: ngl that was some really funny joke, we spent the whole night trying to recreate it :-D queen-of-the-bored: you sounded legit worried over that voice message tho haha you: it was legit. check the reddit thread queen-of-the-bored: which thread

Ok, let me google that for you. You typed in the same search words as yesterday, "Raphael naked mod April prank," clicked on the thread from yesterday, and skimmed through the comments.

“nah not joking there is this naked mod for teenage mutant ninja""

“all dongs appeared MASSIVE on April’s first”

Scrolling further, you realized that was not the correct Raphael - it's Raphael the Turtle, not Raphael the Devil. Why was there so much NSFW content about him? What did people see in turtles?

You quickly corrected your search to "Raphael BG3 naked mod April prank," but it didn’t bring back any relevant results. So, you changed it to "last twenty four hours" just to be thorough.

Didn’t help. Nothing. You were the only to be called a naughty little mouse. The special one.

queen-of-the-bored: which thread dude??? you: my bad it was the turtle queen-of-the-bored: ??? queen-of-the-bored: I am slowly getting worried about you haha

Next step? Contact the mod developer directly? What if they have no idea what you're talking about?

Then what? What were the alternative theories? You've been hacked and doxxed to madness for that one Twitter post that got people waving pitchforks at you? 

There you go, you were scared again. Daytime, sun shining and children playing outside, but there you were, alone in your flat, scared again.

You took a deep breath and looked at the screen. "All right, I understand, Mr Archdevil Supreme. No screenshots. I'll uninstall the mod and I apologise for my disrespectful behaviour."

You couldn't bear to see Raphael's face on the screen again so you hit ctrl alt delete instead of Escape and stared blankly at the Task Manager.

Next, you uninstalled the mod that had caused all this trouble. Then you went to Tumblr and removed the reblog of Raphael in a cat playsuit with the tag "my poor miau miau". Then you deleted your bookmarks on AO3. Your Twitter account was beyond repair, so you deleted it altogether.

None of these actions made you feel any better. You grabbed a quick cup of shrimp noodles, but eating it only made you feel worse. As you tasted the sodium on your tongue, you came to a realisation: what you needed was to go the fuck outside.

You had been stuck in your flat and home office since the start of the pandemic, chronically online. Online work, online colleagues, online friends, who was the last real person you saw, talked to and hugged?

Your mum, probably. 

Oh yes, no wonder you were going mad. You need to get out there and meet some real people. You opened Discord, quickly scrolled past the sketch of Tav giving Raphael head, and typed a message: you needed to touch grass.

queen-of-the-bored: well there is Comic-Con this weekend  you: this is NOT touching grass, this is burning it queen-of-the-bored: true you: besides not going alone queen-of-the-bored: maybe Raph will keep you company 😈 

What? Such a strange thing to say. Or was it? Who the hell was that behind the screen anyway? Apparently someone called Sammy from Ohio. Supposedly. Wasn’t she the one who recommended this mod?

She was.

Come on, you're just letting your paranoia get the best of you.

queen-of-the-bored: oh BTW I found THE hottest Raph smut  queen-of-the-bored: mind the tags it's so hot but soooooo fucked up queen-of-the-bored: just read it trust me thank me later

Who the hell were you, Sammy from Ohio, Korilla? You put the phone down and started pacing around your small flat. It was not much to pace around, only forty-two square meters. 

At least you rent a flat in a building with other people and not some house at the edge of the forest. Strangers live below you, above you and on either side of you. They don't know you and you don't know them... but they were there, just in case...

Just in case.

"You know what?" you said to your computer. "I need a break. I need to focus on my mental health. Self-care, Raphael. I'm not playing with you. For now".

The moment you finished speaking, your phone lit up again with another notification. This time it was an email. You made a mental note to start managing your notifications better.

Did you enjoy your Devil Dick © - Natural Red experience? We know you will be back for more 😈 Check out the new...

What the fuck? Oh no, no, click away and make a mental note to never order from Bad Dragon again with customer satisfaction emails like this. It's borderline harassment. You ordered from them ONCE, as a joke, just to see what ridges might feel like.

Not as good as the smut had promised you,

Private. Private stuff. Between you and your bed drawer. Between you and your browser. God, how much stuff you have in your browser history. You should have used incognito mode more often.

Would that have helped? 

"That was low, Raphael," you muttered. "Or is it Haarlep today?"

You glanced around your room before angling your computer screen towards the wall, then retrieved the Devil Dick © from its hideaway in your bedside drawer. Your fingers grazed over the silicon ridges as you swiftly stashed it away in a box beneath the bed.

"If you must know, it was too big for me. Flattered?"

Crawling out from under the dusty bed, you looked up and realized for the first time that anyone in the building could easily peep into the flat if they tried hard enough or cared enough to do so.

Enough is enough.

You need to hydrate, you need to eat some vegetables, you need to start jogging again and you definitely... you definitely need to go out and talk to some real people. Maybe it's time to get back on Bumble and try your luck again. Who knows, it might actually work this time.

He wouldn't like that.

Where did that thought just come from? He wouldn't like it, who the hell cares what some imaginary devil thinks.

Standing up straight, you pointed a finger at the screen in front of you.

"Raphael, just so we are clear, you and I: I really like you. I do PR for you every day for free. You don't have to scare me to get my attention. You should appreciate me and be nice to me. I'm the best agent you'll ever have.”

Having made your point, you put on your running shoes and AirPods. It brought back memories of all the times you had jogged through the nearby park. Afterwards you'd sit on the bench and eat an ice-cream, watching couples, happy and glowing, watching families with children, happy and stressed, watching people living their lives in a reality parallel to yours, and then you'd come home and go into a reality parallel to theirs.

The AirPods picked up right where they left off last time.

I want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear

I wanna fucking tear you apart

You removed the AirPods from your earlobes and exhaled. This wasn’t Raphael's fault. This is She Wants Revenge, you have listened to it a thousand times. You knew the lyrics, they hadn't changed. 

You can't even listen to music anymore. Pull yourself together. 

Get some vitamins from the pharmacy.

Touch some goddamn grass.

***

You stuck to your digital and physical diet until the weekend, and as a reward, nothing happened. No oddly timed emails, no strange messages, no random phone calls. Maybe it was your pitch talk or the vitamins you started taking, but either way, Raphael was on his best behavior, and so were you. 

No Tumblr, no AO3. Didn't even touch Steam. Got into a highbrow podcast about the Roman Empire.

You set a new personal record for days without 'self-indulgence', as Raphael would put it, although that wasn't really the intention. Something always seemed to interrupt - whether it was the loud hum of the fridge (which was always obnoxious) or the flickering light in the hallway (which had been broken for over a week). 

By Friday, you had finally finished the work projects you had been putting off for months. The job wasn't too bad, but it hadn't been any fun for years, if it ever had been. You did the bare minimum to get the paycheck and keep the job, and your employer kept the paycheck at the bare minimum to keep you. If there was anything else you could do, you would do something else.

Still, this was probably the most productive week you had in years. You scrubbed your flat from top to bottom twice and cleared your wardrobe of clothes that no longer fit.

You were proud of yourself.

Gradually your sense of security began to return. You tried not to dwell too much on the incident with the naughty little mouse; if you didn't think about it, it almost felt like it hadn't happened.

On Friday, you plucked up the courage to play BG3 again, wandered through Baldur's Gate, avoiding the House of Hope for the time being, had a few fights, played the graveyard scene with Astarion (daring, but a small part of you hoped it would make Raphael jealous enough to come out again), and shut it down. 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

You hadn't planned to go to Comic-Con. For one thing, it was on the other side of the city, in the business district of the convention centre, so it would take at least an hour to get there. Secondly, going alone just felt... weird.

It was not until Friday night that a little voice in your head started to whisper, "Why not? Maybe you'll meet some like-minded people”. Make some friends you can actually touch (not in a creepy way). 

It's a better chance than endlessly swiping on Bumble.

Maybe you'll meet...

Neil Newbon. If you can get past the hordes of fangirls. Andrew Wincott. No, Andrew Wincott wouldn't be there; you'd checked beforehand. To be honest, hearing his voice might have been too much for your psyche at that moment.

So you decided to go. You went, and it was as fun as you had imagined it would be - that is, hardly any. The convention hall was huge and crowded, rows and rows of stalls, crowds and crowds of people. Live panel discussions, cosplayers, flashing lights, bright colors, chatter, laughter, very loud, very lively.

Raphael wouldn't last a minute in that chaos.

"Hell is other people," you thought to yourself, quoting Sartre. If you ever met Raphael, you'd quote Sartre to him too. He must know that you read intelligent books and not just fanfiction. 

Some people might be comfortable going to events and eating alone in restaurants, but not you. It's even worse being the odd one out in a group of odd ones. How come all the others had someone to take along? Where did they find all those people in this godforsaken city?

You talked to a few people and a few people talked to you. Nothing really took off. Your mind was elsewhere, to be fair. You were looking for something in the crowd. 

Someone.

It was absurd, yes, but so was what happened this week with the mod. You had met a few Raphael cosplayers, three at least, but they were...

Well, of course they weren't him. But they did a great job with the clothes and the hair and the make-up, and one had really great prosthetic horns, and you touched them and admired them and praised that particular Raphael for all his hard work in creating them.

They were real people, not video game characters that had come to life, and neither were you. You looked down at your jeans, at your thighs, and thought you should start jogging again, and felt even less comfortable in your own skin. 

Then Neil Newbon came along and things quickly became too chaotic for you.

You decided to take a break and walked down the street until you came across a cosy café - none of that generic chain stuff, but something that tried hard to be authentic with pretty flowers in the windows.

Sitting alone at a table for two, you looked down at your phone and opened the Discord chat because you came here to talk to some real people.

In the main chat, there was a heated debate about whether devils are allowed to torture mortals into signing contracts. Both sides presented arguments based on lore, edition contradictions, past precedents and personal conviction. 

A man's voice interrupted you as you typed your own very elaborated opinion of hellish law. "Excuse me, may I?" he asked, his words slightly muffled by the AirPods.

"Sure," you replied with practiced friendliness, not even looking up. That was always your default answer. It's not like you can say no to this kind of request anyway. 

People ask and do a lot of things out of politeness. That was precisely why you took the AirPods out of your ears.

The moment you lifted your eyes to meet the man's, you learned the true meaning of the word 'jumpscare'. Your body jerked upwards, the table shook and the coffee cup tumbled - narrowly missing Raphael.

Raphael. 

Not a man who looked like Raphael, not a man who was dressed like him - Raphael. 

You weren't sure if you made any sound or uttered any words. You probably yelped.

What you did do for sure was gawk.

His skin tone identical; hair slicked back just right; eyes uncannily accurate in hue and shape - down to every wrinkle. A perfectly realistic rendering. Not the uncanny valley type, no, perfectly believable. This is exactly what he would look like if he were real and swapped his fantasy clothes for a business suit.

So this is what it feels like to go completely insane.

Very banal, actually. You are having a psychotic breakdown and no one is even looking at you, except for an imaginary devil.

"Oh my, my apologies," Raphael said as he quickly grabbed napkins to mop up the spreading lake of coffee on the table. "I did not mean to scare you."

Oh, but he did, very much. You could not breathe, your chest encased in an iron brace of fear. It's you who needs to apologise, and apologise fast, and apologise a lot, and beg for mercy. Especially for liking the Twitter art of him being spit-roasted between Yurgir and Haarlep. 

If you only knew... you would never have clicked on it... absolutely never... all those posts you wrote... 

"Raphael?" you managed to squeak out. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

This must be how a deer feels in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

He looked at you, very sincere confusion etched across his handsome face. "Excuse me?"

You drew in a shaky breath, your nostrils flaring as you tried to catch a whiff of cherries under the aroma of fresh coffee, not caring how absurd you appeared. Yes? No? Or was that strawberry jam on his croissant? Have your senses gone haywire? Your mind certainly has.

"You're... you're here to cosplay Raphael?" 

The thought tumbled out of your mouth before it had time to fully form in your head. It was the only explanation that made sense... It didn't, but it made more sense than all the others put together.

Raphael moved closer, pulled up a chair and asked, amused: "I beg your pardon, I'm here to do what to whom?"

The voice. The voice was the same. Andrew Wincott's voice. The man had simply stolen his voice. Or had the man stolen it from him? The movements, the mannerisms, the facial expressions. This man could not be Raphael because...

Well, because this man was real. As real as you were. 

"Raphael," you explained. "From the video game. Are you here to cosplay... to play... Raphael?"

The man gave you a look as if questioning your sanity, and rightfully so. You were also sweating bullets - could he see the damp patches under your hoodie? You pressed your arms against your sides; wouldn't want him noticing.

"I'm hardly an actor," Raphael replied with a polite smile, "although there was a time in my youth when I entertained such ambitions."

He chuckled lightly and took a leisurely sip of his coffee. 

"I'm here to enjoy my espresso, nothing more. I... have never been particularly fond of..." he added with the disdain of a typical middle-aged man, "... video games.”

You had no response for that because Raphael wouldn't be into video games either; that much was believable.

"My office is across the street," he said, pointing towards the office complex opposite you. "Precisely there."

The golden sign on the building across from you, d'Avergni & Partners, told you nothing, except that Raphael had an office job and an office space and a desk and all the things that the devil shouldn’t have because the devil invented them to torture the others.

Raphael was dressed like he had just stepped out of a board meeting. A three-piece slate gray tailored suit, white shirt peeking out from underneath, silk tie and matching pocket square. Of all the modern Raphael AUs, you preferred the Professor one, you voted for it, you had Sucharide’s fic bookmarked. The Professor was more, ugh...

Safe.

As for you, you were wearing a hoodie with your university on it. A clean hoodie, but a hoodie nonetheless. What the hell else would you be wearing to Comic Con? You didn't do your hair. Well, putting it in a ponytail is not doing your hair. Why did you not do your hair? 

"I know, I know, you must be wondering why anyone would toil on a weekend," Raphael continued. That was the last thing you were wondering. "Alas, no rest for the wicked."

"Wicked?" you echoed. You looked at the people in the cafe, sure they were staring at the both of you, but they weren't.

"Oh," he chuckled lightly, "it's just an expression – 'No rest for the wicked.' You've never heard it before?"

"Of course I have," you said, momentarily embarrassed. "Never mind...sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Raphael raised his eyebrows. "In fact, I should be the one to apologise for startling you. May I offer you another cup of... ah, what was that... cappuccino? After twelve? Tsk-tsk, young lady".

Not a single modern man could ever manage to say the words "tsk-tsk, young lady" as charmingly. That was Raphael.

"No bother, I can get one myself," you said quickly, about to stand up. 

He raised his hand slightly and put it down to halt your movement, and for a second you thought he was going to touch you, and if he had, if you had felt the skin of his skin, he would have felt more real and you would have died on the spot from a bursting heart.

"I have no doubt about that. But may I treat you? It would be my absolute pleasure”.

Pleasure. The way he said the word was straight obscene. You couldn't handle the word 'pleasure' coming from a man who had been responsible for more than half your orgasms in the last few months.

So in your daze, you mumbled: "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Raphael stood up and walked over to the barista. She acknowledged him, so that's one point for him being real and you not hallucinating. Not only did she acknowledge him but she flashed him a goofy grin - clearly smitten.

Of course she is.

You have to take a picture of him. How do you take a picture of someone without their consent without being a total creep?

You don't. It's in the fucking definition; you can't. But you should. Maybe you'll open your camera roll and see someone completely different, and then you'll know it's time to call for mental health services.

Your phone was buzzing with messages, which you quickly swiped away and went straight to the camera. You took a picture of him from behind while he ordered you a coffee. The barista gave you a “fucking weirdo” look. 

Fuck you, you thought, you have no idea what I am going through right now. Then you switched to the camera roll and checked to see if the photo reflected what you saw.

A broad, fit back of a very attractive middle-aged man with lush brown hair, paying for coffee with cash.

You couldn't decide whether this made you feel better or worse.

When Raphael returned with your cup, you had something for him too. "This is the character I was talking about," you said, a screenshot of virtual Raphael ready on your screen.

Anyone who saw the screenshot would say, "Who motion-captured me?" 

Not Raphael. He barely glanced before shrugging and handing your phone back. "Hmm, I see some resemblance, I guess."

Resemblance? What fucking resemblance? There was no resemblance; he WAS Raphael! You were about to argue but he beat you to it: "Why? Were you hoping to meet this...Raphael?" 

His voice dropped an octave and he looked at you intently. He was flirting - openly, unashamedly.

"I...I was," you stammered out. "He's my favourite character."

Brilliant, brilliant line. Dear diary, today I wanted to meet Raphael, my favourite character from my favourite game. So much for quoting Sartre.

"Well now, I'm flattered," Raphael purred, causing you to wriggle uncomfortably in your seat. "I do bear some physical likeness."

That was a massive understatement. 

The man had a disarmingly charming smile. You tried to remember if Raphael had ever smiled like that in the game. It was mostly scowls and grins and smirks, but this kind of smile? You didn't think so. You caught a glimpse of yourself in his hazel eyes, and that was not Tav; that was you. Just you.

Not that you were unattractive or anything. Average. Maybe even a little pretty on a good day. You didn't like yourself very much. Then again, most people don't. That's how the beauty industry makes its money. 

You got your share of attention, some, nothing to brag about. Had two boyfriends, it didn't work out, you used to care, now you don't. Certainly never got any attention from men who looked like him.

Why should this man be interested in you, why? Ah, yes. Your soul. He probably wants your soul. Is it worth much at all? Is it worth coming all the way to Earth? You wanted to apologize to him for going through all this trouble just for you.

"So this event in the convention hall down the street..." he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall a forgotten name.

"Comic-Con 2024," you supplied. "It's huge in fandom culture. TV shows, video games, that sort of stuff.”

"Ah. Not my kind of entertainment - or my kind of audience, for that matter," Raphael said with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyeing the “Astarion approves” badge on your backpack.  "It does remind me of a deal I signed recently."

"Deal?" you asked in a weak voice. He nodded. "What deal? With who?"

"With who? No, I meant the Microsoft-Blizzard acquisition". 

Ah, that kind of deal. The words felt so reassuring, so real, the acquisition. Raphael would have no idea about these words. Raphael wouldn't say "Microsoft". You mean the real Raphael. What the hell is a 'real' Raphael again?

For the first time, you let go of a little tension. You took a first sip of your coffee and leaned back slightly in your chair. 

"Actually, I think these acquisitions are really harmful for the industry," you said. 

Why did you have to be so confrontational? You didn't have anything clever to say about such things, so you spoke the truth instead. Bad idea.

"How candid of you to say that. Well, I’ll be just as candid with you: I am indeed a villain." Raphael grinned. "I hope you can forgive me." 

There went your short-lived relaxation, which lasted less than a minute.  Raphael had just looked at you and said "I am a villain". Challenge him. Tell him it's him because, well, it's him. It can only be him. Tell him you know it's him, and then...

And then what?

"Everybody's got a job to do, I guess", you managed to utter the most generic phrase in existence.

"Isn't that so..." Raphael replied, pausing for a moment before finishing the sentence with your name.

You did not introduce yourself to him. You were sure of it. Absolutely sure. 

"How do you know my name?" you asked, half rising from your chair, raising your voice and quickly lowering it again. "I didn't tell you my name. How do you know it?"

Raphael gestured to your phone, which lay on the table screen between the two of you. Your work ID card was tucked away in its transparent case - something you hadn't needed for a while.

It had your first and last name on it.

"I saw it right before my eyes," he explained. "I thought it was a hint."

"It wasn't," you said.

"Oh, another faux pas on my part then," he said. "At this rate, I owe you something to make up for all my many transgressions. Perhaps dinner?"

You let out a nervous chuckle. One of your popular Tumblr posts had been an impassioned rant about how Raphael had promised a similar in-game offer but failed to deliver despite the many times you gave him the Crown.

"I seem to have absolutely terrified you, and that was not my intention. I insist on making it up to you. If you allow me, of course. I don't want to impose. Would you allow me to?"

He looked at you with the intensity of a man admiring a beautiful woman, his shoulders back and chin slightly up, trying to present himself from his best angle - something you've seen men do before, but rarely (if ever) to you. It was as if he could hang on every word that came out of your mouth, simply because he enjoyed watching your lips move. Raphael looked like he was in love, for Christ's sake.

Your cheeks grew warm. 

"Yes," you replied.

He kept silent for a bit, savouring your answer. 

"Splendid. Where might I collect you?"

It took you a moment to realise that he was asking for your address. Your personal address. Shouldn't he know it already, if he was Raphael? You replied as nonchalantly as possible:

"Why don't I give you my number and we can arrange to meet at the center?"

His expression darkened slightly; you've seen this look in the game before.

No, you shouldn't have said that. You wanted him to like you. 

Desperately.

"You don't trust me?" Raphael's voice dropped an octave or two, playful and just a little threatening.

You felt his breath on your face (cherries?) and the next second you stopped feeling your legs. The attraction that had been simmering inside you for months started boiling over.

Breathe. Pretend it's not Raphael. A man came up to you in a coffee shop and asked you if you trusted him in that kind of tone, leaning in like that. You know what the sensible thing to do would be - get up and walk away. And if it really was Raphael, get up and run away. 

You remained seated and stayed. 

"Just, ugh..." was all you managed to get out of the jumbled thoughts in your head; two coherent sentences so far into the conversation, and both of them made you sound like an absolute madwoman. 

Raphael laughed.

"Of course you don't trust me, that's only prudent, and you seem to be quite an intelligent young lady. But just so we are clear, you and I: you have nothing to fear from me. What is that number of yours?"

Quite an intelligent young lady, the words echoed in your mind and you remembered your naughty anonymous Tumblr confession: I would suck every last drop of cum out of him as long as he kept praising me.

God, everything you've read with him in the main role. Double penetration, double vaginal penetration, pet play... you weren't even into half of it. You hoped Raphael didn’t think you actually wanted him to do all of the things you read with you.

You just liked clicking on random links.

"Do you need something to write it down or...?" you asked hesitantly.

"I will remember," he said curtly. “I do not forget things easily”.

You realised that there was something far more frightening than anything that had happened before: that he wouldn't remember, that he would never call you, and that this conversation and this meeting would end there. 

So you carefully enunciated each number, then took a pen from your pocket and wrote it down on a napkin: it seemed romantic in the movies, but your handwriting and the coffee stain made it look like a secret message from the madhouse.

He grinned and tucked the napkin into the pocket of his suit.

He took the last sip of coffee and then took your hand in his. He touched you. His skin was warm and real and soft and everything you had ever imagined, his touch surprisingly tender. 

Your whole body responded to that tiny crumb of affection, viscerally. You hadn't realized how famished you were for a touch until that moment.

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed them against yours. His lips were soft too, slightly damp from the coffee.

"I am looking forward to our rendezvous," Raphael murmured against your palm. "Ver much so."

Rendezvous.

In any other situation, a middle-aged man kissing your hand would be downright creepy. But this... this was a fever dream, an illusion, anything but reality. Because there was no way this madness could actually be happening to you.

Was it a bad thing? Was reality ever... this? So unpredictable? So exciting? 

You only snapped out of it when the door closed behind him, but you snapped out hard. You practically threw yourself at the next table, where a group of guys were sitting, their appearance screaming video games - backpacks and scruffy beards, Warhammer-emblazoned T-shirts. 

You grabbed one by the shoulder and hissed urgently: "Guys-guys-guys-guys." Your words came like rapid fire. "Tell me that guy doesn't look exactly like Raphael from Baldur's Gate? That one? On the street behind the window?" 

Damn, you sounded desperate.

"Ah, sorry, never played it," came the nonchalant reply before he turned back to his friends' conversation.

"Baldur's Gate," chimed in another, his face lighting up. "Amazing game. Looks like who?"

"Raphael," you said. "The devil."

The guy laughed, but didn't even look where you were pointing.

"Ah, the two-pump chump?"

You shot a quick glance at Raphael. His eyes met yours through the glass window, and they were cold now; his smile was gone. 

I didn't say that, you pleaded with him in your thoughts. That guy said that. That guy over there. I would never say that.

Your defence of his bed skills stretched from Reddit to Tumblr threads, you argued that Haarlep was slandering him, that Raphael was the best fuck there ever was and you personally vouched for that because you fucked him a thousand times in your head.

"Don't call him that, please," you whispered to the guy. He gave you a confused look when you pointed at Raphael again: "Look at him. The one staring at us. Does he look like him?

Is he real? Do you see him too?

"Ah yes," he admitted with a grin on his face, raising the cup of coffee to his lips, "he sort of does. Yes, he does! Well, I hope he doesn't...oh shit! FUCK!".

The guy's face contorted in pain as he clutched his mouth, jumping, cursing, tears streaming down his face. You could see the skin on his lips reddening and blistering.

"What the fuck?! It's fucking boiling! FUCK! "

The barista rushed over to him, spewing apologies as she tried to handle the situation. You took a step back and glanced at Raphael whose lips were moving subtly - two syllables that matched rhythmically: 'bye-bye' or maybe 'ciao-ciao'. 

It didn't have to be 'ta-ta'. He waved nonchalantly at you.

You waved back.

NEXT: Chapter 3, In Which Larian Introduces The Raphael Romance

[el-tur-el]

coconut skins. - Chapter 1

Pairing: Rolan x F!Tav

Warnings: Tailplay, Light D/S, Explicit Sexual Content. 18+, Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2,674. Read it on AO3.

While she was immensely proud of the work Rolan put into his studies - the achievements he’s managed to garner at an age much younger than those before him, the respect that his new title commands - she would be the first to admit that sometimes it all became a bit of a slog. The constant late nights studying, crawling into bed beside her long after the sun had set over the Gate and the sky had become scattered with pinprick starlight.

She tried to stay up with him when she could; she’d drape herself over a chaise in the study and pretend to read while he worked. In truth, she was spending more time watching him. Fingers twitching as he scrawled notes on a piece of parchment with a quill, the shape of his mouth and he silently rehearsed the verbal components of new spells he was working on. Something so mundane should hardly be considered intoxicating, and yet the competency set a heady thrill in her veins. The Master of Ramazith’s Tower.

Gods above, but he deserved it.

Tonight, boredom has settled itself into her bones, leaden and heavy. She’s been sprawled out on chair in the study for the better part of six hours now, idly leafing through a book while he pours over research and hastily scribbles notes in the margins. She can see the exhaustion radiating off of him, the soft hunch of his shoulders, the way he’s rubbing at his temples and mumbling under his breath. She wonders, idly, if he even knows what time it is. If he had even been aware of the sun sinking far below the horizon two hours ago, painting the room in split yolk yellow and flicker flame orange.

She rises from the chair delicately, walking across the room to his desk; footfalls ghostly silent against the carpet, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of the sleeve on her thin nightgown - a gift from him a month or so ago, with delicate flowers embroidered on the material.

“Love,” She murmurs softly, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind, pressing a whisper of a kiss against the crown of his head. “You’ve been at it for hours. Why don’t you take a break, hm?”

“In a moment.” He replies, not looking up from the paper in front of him - she swears he’s been stuck on this one for over an hour now, some text about the importance of somatic components in spellwork, written in tiny, cramped hand. “I’m nearly done with this one.”

Something tells her that’s not true - that he would sit here for another eternity if she let him; not bothering to slink to bed until the sun began to lazily pull itself over the horizon, and even then only allowing himself a half hour of rest before getting up to tend to Sorcerous Sundries for the day. She knows this because he has done it before, more times than she can count on one hand. Murmuring a quiet apology for being so late to join her, then turning around and doing it all over again the next day.

“Rolan, you’ve been staring at the same piece of paper for hours. Maybe it’ll make more sense after some rest and some breakfast.” One of her hands gently rubs over his shoulder, soothing small circles against his robe with her thumb.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

Getting him to be anything other than self-sacrificial is a task akin to pulling teeth even on the best of days. He runs himself ragged constantly, all weeping edges. Nose to the grindstone until there’s little left but marrow. It makes her chest ache, truthfully; the extent to which he is willing to go in some misguided venture to prove himself.

He doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone, anymore.

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind the tip of a pointed ear, and brings her lips to the stark line of his jaw; no amount of pleading will get him to relent, but perhaps there are other methods at her disposal that will be effective. He’s always had trouble saying no to her when she looks at him with soft eyes, when she’s soft and clingy and sweet. Like he has a weakness for the saccharine. Or maybe just a weakness for her.

“Tav.” He rumbles, low and throaty - a warning.

She’s never been particularly good about contemplating consequences.

“Come to bed.” She whispers against his skin, dragging her mouth down to the slope of his throat. Open-mouthed and damp, her breath ghosting over his pulse point, her arms still draped over his shoulders.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that sends heat spooling in her stomach, makes her feel effervescent. He’s still looking at the desk, but his gaze is unfocused and hazy, and she thinks, for one triumphant moment, that she may be winning this battle.

A few things happen in the span of a moment. He rises from his chair rather noisily, and a flicker of fear that she has somehow overstepped jolts through her. But then he’s pushing her up against the desk, the edge of the hardwood digging into the small of her back, his hands planted firmly on her shoulders. He leans dangerously close to her, his breath a heavy and ragged thing, a few strands of his hair coming loose from their tie and framing his face in a way that would almost be considered soft were it not for the glimmer of hunger held within the aureate flame of his eyes.

“Someone ought to teach you a thing or two about patience.” His voice is sharp and hushed, gravelly in a way she’s not sure she’s ever heard from him.

She stares at him with wide eyes, her lips parted in a silent question, her hands curling into the soft material of his robes at his flanks. He tilts his head to the side, eyes trained on her, flicking over her expression to see if there’s any hesitance. When he doesn’t find any, he leans in further, his breath hot against the shell of her ear.

“Is this what you wanted, Tav? To test my resolve? To see how much it takes for me to snap?” A yawning chasm of want splits open within her, a flush rising to her cheeks. “For me to pin you down and have my way with you like some kind of animal?”

“I’m certainly not complaining.” She finds her voice, shaky and uncertain as it may be, and the words fall forth in the ghost of a whisper.

“You would think that the time you spent saving the Sword Coast would have taught you even a little in the way of self-preservation, but here you are. Still so godsdamned brave.” His teeth graze over her earlobe, and she stifles a soft sound. “I could eat you alive. But you don’t care.”

“Because I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” She does, in her bones. He’d been reticent to even entertain the notion of anything that would put her in harm’s way, even if she’d expressed enthusiastic consent. Pain was not associated with pleasure in his mind, and she had never been about to argue - he’d been through enough. She wanted to be a safe place for him. A respite from it all.

He pulls away to look her in the eyes once more, a soft smile dragging up the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t.” He echoes, quiet.

“This is nice, though.” She feels like such a shy creature when faced with the intensity of his gaze. What a difficult thing, to be seen so thoroughly. For him to peel back the layers of herself, scrutinize each one. To know and be known. “The confidence.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He laughs, soft, all breath. “I’m rather uncertain of what I’m doing.”

She presses her lips to his cheek, featherlight. “Just do what feels natural. Or do nothing at all. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.”

He contemplates her for a long moment, as though trying to determine the best course of action. It feels rather silly, to calculate intimacy, to map it out into data points and facts and figures. But she’s intrigued, curious as to where, exactly, this is going to go.

“I want to try something.” He says after a while. “Do you trust me?”

“Endlessly.” She replies immediately - she doesn’t even have to put thought into the question. She’d put her life in his hands if he asked her to.

“Undress for me.” The words are offered up on a breath, still so gentle.

She wordlessly moves to comply, shaky fingers moving to the hem of her nightgown, gingerly pulling it over her head. She takes the time to fold it neatly - she’d loathe to unceremoniously toss something so delicate, something he picked out for her by hand, on the ground. She turns to look at him with expectant eyes.

“Everything.” He’s perched back onto his chair, and he watches her with a neutral expression, his tone settling into something detached. It shouldn’t send a thrill of heat through her, and yet it does all the same.

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, all nervous energy, but does as she’s told with no resistance. She steps out of her smalls, undoes her breastband, sets them both to the side. He looks at her appreciatively, eyes roaming down her body in a way that has her feeling like he could see right through to the bone if he so desired.

Oh, how vulnerable it is, the mortifying ordeal of being known.

He taps two fingers against the corner of his desk that is free of paperwork and stacks of books. “Sit.”

She wonders what he’s playing at here, exactly.

She settles herself down on the hardwood, sucking in a sharp breath at how cold it is against her bare skin. Suddenly so unsure of how to take up space, she folds her hands in her lap. Her movements feel awkward, unsteady.

“I’m going to finish my work.” He motions towards the paper he’d been engrossed in earlier. “And you’re going to sit there quietly.”

“And I need to be naked for this because….?” She blinks at him - suddenly she is very much feeling like the one who has been played here.

“If you’re good,” He ignores the question. “I’ll give you the attention you so desperately desire, once I am done.”

And just like that, he’s once again directing his attention downwards, beginning to resume his reading. She shifts awkwardly - the idea of sitting still, bare before him, with him not even paying attention to him…. It fills her with equal parts arousal and defiance, makes her want to act out so that this is over faster.

But she’ll let him have his way for now.

One of his hands comes to rest on her thigh - not gripping, simply touching. It sends sparks rolling through her, bright bursts of something fluorescent and alive. She takes in a soft breath, tremulous, and he offers her a pointed look before returning his gaze to his work.

And you’re going to sit there quietly.

Ah. She’s beginning to understand the game, now.

Silently, he pushes her knees apart, and she knows with resounding certainty the moment his hand splays out flat against the inside of her thigh that she is well and truly fucked. His nails drag a slow path upwards, and her stomach lurches, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in an attempt to keep silent.

There’s a heavy ache between her thighs, and it takes more than a little self control to not press them together, to coax his hand higher, to open her mouth to plead with him to relent. He’s still reading, and she wants to take back everything she said earlier about finding his bravado intoxicating - such a selfish creature suddenly in the face of such overwhelming want.

Perhaps he’s feeling merciful, perhaps he can sense the yearning bubbling beneath the surface of her, because his index and middle finger graze over her slit, and she nearly whines. He lets out a breath when he feels the evidence of her arousal, how wet she is just from being made to sit before him like this - but his gaze does not leave his work.

The callused pads of his fingers press against her clit, and her hands come to grasp at the edge of the desk, knuckles white from the effort of it. She hopes to all the gods above that he is not nearly as patient as he makes himself seem.

She thinks that perhaps she can handle this - a little touching, a little teasing, and then he’ll cave.

And then comes the tail.

The point of it drags over her thigh, and oh, that’s new. She does let out a gasp when he brings it up higher, when he flicks it over her slit like a silent question. Tentative, cautious, curious. Without really thinking, she spreads her legs a little wider, invites him to indulge in the impulse.

It’s different than anything she’s ever felt before. The stretch of it, the hesitancy he uses. He’s no longer paying attention to the words on the paper before him, instead staring at her with wide, glossy eyes, his lips parted.

“Look at you.” He breathes, the tone of his voice awestruck, and she lets out a whine - her patience has been unraveled, decorum discarded.

She shifts her hips, desperate for more - something, anything. He relents, dragging the spade of it out, pushing back in.

Fucking her with his tail.

It feels licentious. Base. Wrong and filthy and yet so completely and wholly right. She moans, her head tilting back, her eyes fluttering shut. His fingers work against her clit more insistently now, his breath heavy, leaning forward in his chair, drinking in the sight of her.

“Fuck.” She manages, shaky, all breath. “Holy fuck, Rolan -”

“That’s it, Tav. Just like that.” He’s all rasp and gravel, and she cracks her eyes enough to see him palming himself through his robes. Something within her snaps, fractures. “Want to see you come like this - want - Gods.”

It takes little more in the way of prompting for her to get there; flashbang bright behind her eyelids, her lips splitting open in a silent cry. It feels like drowning in the most pleasant way possible, the way it rips through her. He hisses out a curse from behind gritted teeth, his movements slowing, then stopping completely.

She’s panting as she comes down, peering down at him through unfocused eyes, her hair sticking to her forehead - skin slick with sweat, her chest heaving. He’s looking at her with a reverence in his eyes, an awe that she feels wholly undeserving of.

“That was - that was different.” She fumbles for the words, coherent thought having evaporated from her mind.

“If I had known you would have responded positively, I would have suggested trying that a while ago.” He leans forward to press his lips against the back of her knee, soft. “Was that alright?”

She motions to herself, disheveled on his desk. “I hardly think you need to ask, Rolan.”

“Right, yes, well.” He clears his throat. “No harm in checking.”

“Will you come to bed now?” She tilts her head to the side, her gaze flicking over his form, lingering on his lap. “I’d rather like to repay the favor.”

“I… believe I’m at an appropriate stopping point for the evening, yes.” He smooths out his robes and stands, offering her a hand. “But please don’t feel like you need to -”

“Rolan.” She takes his hand and gently slides off of his desk, lifting a finger to his lips. “If you don’t take me to the bedroom and ravish me right this minute, I swear to all the gods in every pantheon, I will cry.”

“Well, we can’t have that, I suppose.”

[weemssapphic]

Strange

PART TWO: Welcome home

Link to part one - please read that first!

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

Summary: Being on the run is the hardest, most heartbreaking thing you've ever done. More than anything, you wish you could go home.

Words: ~1.8k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: angst, breakups, hurt/comfort for this part!

A/N: This part of the fic is loosely based on the song Welcome Home by Radical Face! Again huge thanks to @dianneking for suggesting the song for this chapter!

It’s been almost six months now since you left your life - since you left Brienne - behind you. Some days are harder than others - especially when you’re technically on the run. You’ve been lying low, never staying anywhere for too long. You’re in the North now, but winter is coming, and you know that soon you should head farther south - who knows, maybe you’ll end up in Dorne. You’ve never been. Perhaps, though, you should leave Westeros entirely - it’s all getting awfully exhausting, and everything just reminds you of Brienne, and of a life you’ve run away from.

Tonight you’re sitting in a tavern. It’s dark and everyone is drunk, and no one cares about a stranger nursing a pint of ale in the corner, so long as that stranger minds their own business. You stare into your mug and twirl it idly this way and that, watching the amber liquid slosh around. Tomorrow, you’ll move on to the next town, the next tavern. 

Sleep, don't visit So, I choke on sun And the days blur into one And the backs of my eyes Hum with things I've never done

The door to the tavern swings open - the other patrons are too drunk to pay any mind to the tall, hooded stranger who enters, but you notice them immediately. Because they’re tall - too tall, even for a man - and there’s only one person in Westeros who’s that tall. 

You couldn’t tell if you’d be excited or afraid to cross paths with Brienne again - your body can’t decide either, apparently, for your heart flips as your stomach sinks. But there’s no need to get all riled up - the Lord Commander wouldn’t come here, she has no business this far north. 

Except the stranger doesn’t take a seat at the bar, nor do they head for one of the many empty tables - instead, they make a beeline for you. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you pull your own hooded cloak tighter around you. Your eyes dart about the tavern, trying to map out an escape route, but it’s too late - you hear the scraping of wood on wood and your eyes snap up to the tall stranger, who has taken a seat across from you.

“Didn’t think the North would be your style. I’d have thought you’d head for Dorne.” Their hood shrouds their face in shadows still, but you would recognize that gentle, gravelly voice anywhere.

You want to cry - you want to scream, actually. You want to fall to your knees and let out all the tears and anguish that you’ve kept in for the past six months. You want to grab onto Brienne’s cloak and beg her to stay with you, whatever she does, to take you back and never let you be so stupid as to leave again.

Instead, you shrug and take a healthy swig of ale. “Maybe for the winter.”

Brienne pushes her hood back just a little. You can see her face now - she looks the same as always, though maybe a bit more weary, a bit more worn-out. Or maybe that’s just your wishful thinking - that Brienne would be just as affected by the absence of your love as you are by the absence of hers. You wonder if she is - just as affected, that is. You wonder if she’s lost any sleep over you, if she still thinks of you sometimes, if she still reaches out in the middle of the night, only to find that spot right next to her in the bed cold to the touch. 

Ships are launching from my chest Some have names, but most do not If you find one, please Let me know what piece I′ve lost

Blinking back tears, you drain the rest of the ale in your mug and slam it down on the table, harder than intended. “What’s the Lord Commander doing this far north? Gone to visit Castle Black? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to send a more lowly knight?”

A strange look crosses Brienne’s face. Her brows knit together and her lips part - she seems to be struggling internally with something, and it takes her a while to find her voice. “Haven’t you heard?”

You snort. “Heard what? I’ve been kind of busy surviving, been keeping to myself. I’m not really in the position to be partaking in local gossip.” You don’t mean for your voice to be so cold and so hard, and you feel sorry for the hurt that flits - however briefly - across Brienne’s face. 

“I-I’m not… I’ve resigned.” The words come out in a rush. Brienne seems to be holding her breath now, and you cock your head to the side, furrowing your brow.

“What do you mean you’ve resigned? From what?”

Her breath comes out in an annoyed huff. “I’ve resigned. I’ve given up my position as Lord Commander.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“You’ve what?” you hiss. You suddenly feel dizzy - you can hardly dare hope to be the reason Brienne of Tarth gave up the coveted position of Lord Commander, surely there must be another reason…

“Months ago, actually.” Brienne’s gaze falls to the table and she traces a long, slender finger over a little hole in the wood. “I’ve been searching for you… You’re hard to find, you know that?”

You can’t help but chuckle a bit - Brienne’s lips curl up into a little half-smile and she risks a shy glance at your face, peeking up through blonde lashes. Her expression is guarded but her eyes aren’t - they’re soft and hopeful and almost girlish in the sparkling naivety that they exude. 

“I probably should have headed to Dorne, it’s fucking cold up here,” you say with a breathy laugh, letting your hood fall back slightly. Brienne’s eyes immediately drink in your face, your hair - in the spirit of becoming harder to recognize, harder to catch, you’ve cut it and dyed it. You suddenly feel self-conscious as Brienne stares at you, your cheeks turning pink. “Don’t you like it?” you mutter, your eyes dropping to your lap.

Strong fingers grip your chin and tilt your head up, stealing the breath from your lungs. “I do, actually. It suits you.” She offers you a soft, sincere smile, and your face reddens further. It all feels so familiar, so comforting, and that hurts. You gently pry your chin from her grip and lean back a tad, just out of her reach - her face falls, and it makes your heart ache.

“Why did you resign? Why have you been looking for me?” Your heart is hammering against your ribcage, so hard it hurts - you’re afraid of the answer but you need to know.

Brienne takes a moment to mull over her words. When she answers, her tone is serious, her expression solemn. “I thought about what you said, the day you left. I-I’m sorry that I got angry, I was afraid. I was wrong to doubt you - I should have taken your side. I afforded my loyalty to the wrong people, and I have been paying for that mistake every day since you left.” Her chin quivers and her eyes are glassy, but she sits tall and looks intently into your eyes.

A swell of emotion crashes over you and you stand abruptly, drawing the attention of a few patrons. You yank your hood over your face and grab Brienne’s wrist - she allows you to drag her outside, where you pull her around to the back of the tavern and push her back against the cold, dirty wall.

“You’ve found me. Now what?” you ask, your voice low and demanding. You can see your breath in the cool air - it mingles with Brienne’s.

“I’m not letting you leave again. I’ll go with you this time. Please. I want to be with you, I need to be with you.”

You search Brienne’s eyes - they’re bright and earnest. “You know what that means for you - for us? Don’t think the King has forgotten what I’ve done.”

“I don’t think he’s very fond of me anymore either,” Brienne breathes out, and you can’t help but chuckle. She laughs, too, and before you know what you’re doing, you’re pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, your hands curling around the base of Brienne’s hood to pull her in for a kiss.

Her lips are cold and cracked - regardless, you feel your heart being mended the second they connect with your own. Her tongue darts out across your bottom lip and, fuck, she tastes like home and you sigh into the kiss as you allow her to deepen it. You kiss until you run out of air - and then you kiss some more.

Peel the scars from off my back I don't need them anymore You can throw them out Or keep them in your mason jars I've come home (home, home, home)

“I have something for you,” she murmurs against your lips, and you rest your forehead against hers as she digs around in the pocket of her cloak. Whatever she’s just pulled out glints in the light of the moon and you pull back to get a closer look. Brienne takes your right hand in her own and places the object in your palm - it’s cold to the touch, and tears spring to your eyes when you see what it is. Her mother’s necklace.

“Bri-”

“It’s yours. It’s always been yours.” Her hand curls around your own and she closes your fist around the necklace, before placing a tender kiss to your knuckles. “I love you,” she whispers against your skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back that day.”

You feel your face break out into a beaming smile - it feels strange (you haven’t smiled properly in so long) but it feels good.

“I love you, too, Brienne. I haven’t stopped, not for a minute.”

Brienne offers you a watery smile and chuckles - she sniffles a bit, her cheeks tinged pink.

“We cannot stay here now,” you whisper, your own smile faltering a bit.

“I know.” She sniffles again but her smile remains, and your stomach does a somersault - she looks so beautiful when she smiles and, Gods, you’ve missed her smile. You’ve missed her.

You bite your lip. “Where will we go?”

Brienne’s blush deepens and she takes in a shaky breath. “Would my lady like to accompany me to Dorne?”

Your smile returns full force - so wide that it hurts. “Your lady would very much like to accompany you to Dorne, Ser.”

“I’m not a knight anymore,” Brienne says with a quirked brow.

“You are to me.”

Brienne smiles softly and her fingers curl in the little ringlets of hair at the base of your neck as she pulls you closer. Her lips brush gently, slowly against your own as her other hand finds your lower back and tugs you flush against her. Her body is warm and comforting, and the tenderness of the kiss steals the air from your lungs and makes you feel dizzy. You wrap your arms around her neck to steady yourself and keep your knees from buckling as your tongue slowly enters her mouth; exploring, memorizing, coming home.

Here, beneath my lungs I feel your thumbs Press into my skin again

You know, without a doubt, that everything will be okay - no matter where you go. As long as Brienne is by your side, you will always be home.

Welcome home (home, home, home)

x

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[siampie]

Risk and Reward||Chapter 1: When I Met You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: You have a hard time settling into your new life but with new acquaintances and newfound friendships. You slowly find your footing.

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut (not sure, don’t know how to write it but I’ll try), angst, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood trauma

A/N: So, this is a first for me. Please be indulgent. I am no stranger to writing fiction. I’ve done it before just not on this platform. Also, this is my first time writing in 2nd POV and for Matt Murdock. There isn’t much of him in this chapter but I hope the small bits I have is as close as it is to his character. I did what I always do before writing fiction, read other writers' work and see how they capture the character and watched videos or episodes to get a good feel of the character. So, I hope you will like it. Feedback is welcome. And just enjoy! Also English is not my first language.

Chapter List || Next Chapter

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

You gave me a reason for my being

And I love what I’m feelin’

You gave me a meaning to my life

Yes, I’ve gone beyond existing

And it all began when I met you

“Another day, another week.” You whispered to yourself as you stepped in the building where you work. You smiled quickly at the receptionist before making your way to the elevator. After you made the big move across the states, you were lucky to land a job as a proofreader in a publishing house. It wasn’t your dream job but it was the next best thing.

For as far as you can remember, you have always been taking care of your family. Many expectations and responsibilities were put on your shoulders from a very young age. So, when your brother stepped in and decided to move your father in with him, you felt some relief. A load was being taken off of your shoulders. You loved your family. But over the years, you had started to resent them slightly. You resented your father for being sick. You resented him for taking out his bad moods on you. You resented your siblings because they get to live their lives. You resented them for leaving you behind in the dust. You knew you loved them but you resented them. And you didn’t want to hate them. So, you left.

You made the move to Hell’s Kitchen, six months ago and you had big plans. First of which, was to properly kickstart your life. You didn’t think it would be easy. You knew it would have been a challenge but you didn’t think it would be that hard. After six months, you thought you would have made some friends or at least some acquaintances. But shy as you were, and as cautious as you were, making friends did not come easy for you.

You dropped your bag on the ground next to your chair. And dropped your coat on the back of it. Your desk was already stacked with manuscripts that needed to be proofread. You always started your day the same, first you read your emails and answered the most important ones. Then came coffee and then came reading with a red pen. You were to review any typos that may have somehow slipped past the author and the copy editor. You were also to review for issues like kerning and stacking and whether the running head is consistent. Proofreading was the last step before publication. You knew it was an important step, so you did it thoroughly. And you did it well. At least, you thought you did. Your boss had not complained about your work so far. And you took it as a good sign.

One of your coworkers stopped by your desk and softly called your name. You looked up at her. You knew her, you had barely interacted with her a few days before. She had long, red hair, that you loved, and legs for days. Her name was Amelia. A few nights ago, as you were leaving after workhours, she was standing outside of the building. A cigarette between her lips as she was looking for something.

“Excuse me?” She stopped you. You turned to her. “Do you have a lighter?”

“Yeah.” You nodded quickly. Your best friend from high school, had convinced you to buy a pack of lighter once. Telling you that it was the best way to meet people and to make friends. More precisely to meet your future boyfriend. “There you go.” You handed her the lighter.

“Thanks.” She lit her cigarette before giving it back to you. She took a long drag at it. The tension in her shoulders dropped. “I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at her and turned to leave.

“You’re that new proofreader, aren’t you?” She asked you.

“Yeah.” And you gave her your name.

“That’s a pretty name.” She remarked. “I’m Amelia.”

“Nice to meet you.” Amelia was not a proofreader. She was an acquisitions editor. The one, literary agents would come to, to sell a book. The book landed in her hands first, and if they made it past her, they landed in yours last.

You stayed with her long after she finished her cigarette. You walked with her because it was dark out. And Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t the safest place to be after dark. And there was strength in numbers. Coincidentally, your flat and hers weren’t that far apart. So, you walked her home before going to yours.

After that, you had not seen or heard much of Amelia. You thought that was it. But there she was, talking to you.

“So, some of us are going to grab a drink after work and I thought that maybe you would love to join us?” She sat on your desk.

“It’s barely 9 and you’re already thinking about the end of the day.” You scoffed lightly.

“Well, I need something to look forward to.” Amelia laughed. “So, wanna come?”

Your default answer was ready to come out of your mouth. You were already making up excuses to not go. And then you stopped yourself. Why shouldn’t you go tonight? There was no one waiting for you at home. You had no obligations. It could be a fun night out; you could even make a few new friends. Might even start a new friendship with Amelia. After all, she came to seek you out. She wanted to invite you.

“Why?” You had not meant to ask this out loud.

“What?”

“Why invite me? We barely talked to each other? Why ask me?”

“You said you just moved here in Hell’s Kitchen, remember?” Amelia gave you a tight smile. And you nodded at her words. “I figured I do the nice thing and invite you to come with us. Since, you don’t really know anyone here.”

Now, you felt stupid. You could feel your neck and cheeks heat up with your embarrassment. Not everyone was going to hurt you. There were good people in the world, you had to remind yourself of that.

“Sorry.” You apologized quickly. “I—I would love to come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded quickly.

“Good, I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go.”

You pressed your hands against your neck. If you could see yourself, you were sure there would be splotches of red all over it. Of course, you had to go and ask why? If “no” was your default answer most of the time, “why?” wasn’t too far behind. When your niece had first told you she loved you, your first answer wasn’t to say it back. It was to ask her why? And she had answered very sweetly: “Because you’re funny and you give the best hugs. And you always play with me.” And after that you never asked again. You only said it back. Because you did, you loved her very much.

You did not know why you did this. It was almost as though you did not believe that good things could happen to you. And if it did, it was not sincere. It was because someone wanted something from you and once, they got it. They’d leave you high and dry.

As the end of your day was nearing. Your anxiety was starting to get the better of you. You dreaded the moment Amelia would come and pick you up. You had agreed to it earlier because you genuinely wanted to. But now, all you wanted, was to go home. Not because you were drained or overstimulated. No, because you simply did not feel like going anymore. You were hoping she would forget about you. Or at least, it would have been cancelled.

It wasn’t cancelled. And you couldn’t just bail on them. It was the first time, since you arrived in Hell’s Kitchen, that you had been invited to hang out. If you bailed on them now, you might not be invited ever again. So, you went. And who knows, you might have some fun.

“Josie’s.” You read out as you stopped in front of the bar with Amelia.

“Yeah, it’s a dive bar, really.” Amelia told you quickly. “But the drinks good enough.”

“Okay.”

She pulled you in after her. You both stopped at the bar to order your drinks and she then took you to their table. It was a small gathering. You recognized a few people, there was the receptionist; Clara. Then, there was another proofreader, you had interacted with. Barely. His name was Sebastian and some other people. You sat next to Amelia.

As soon as you sat down, they resumed their conversations. You were a silent observer. You laughed at their jokes. You listened intently to what they were saying. And you were really brief when they asked you questions about yourself. And redirected the attention on someone else as quickly as possible. You did not want the spotlight to be on you.

While your coworkers were conversing with one another, you couldn’t help but glanced around you. Your eyes travelled over the numerous patrons in the bar. Bikers, blue collar workers and some white-collar workers. They were many. The bar seemed to be quite successful.

And then your eyes landed on him.

Dark haired, with red tinted glasses and a cane. His plump lips were begging to be kissed, his jawline was to die for. His hair looked soft to the touch and you were itching to run your fingers through them. His shirt was so tight that it left nothing to the imagination. You could tell that he was well built underneath it. And his smile—oh, his smile was the most beautiful, you’ve ever laid eyes on. It lit up his whole face. Made him look younger. He looked perfect in every way.

You quickly darted your eyes away. You did not want to be caught staring. However, it was too late. Unbeknownst to you, Amelia had caught you looking.

“So, you look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Amelia said as she pulled you to the bar, to grab another drink.

“I am.” You nodded. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“No problem.” Amelia nudged your shoulder. “Would you want to do it again sometimes?”

“Yes, but can we space them out?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She snorted. “It’s only when the urge strikes.” And she turned away from you. She looked over her shoulder briefly. “So, someone caught your eye.”

“What? No.” You answered quickly.

“That’s not what I saw.” She smirked at you. Josie pushed your beers towards you. “You kept staring at glasses over there.” She waved her hand towards perfect man.

“No, I did not.” You protested while pulling her hand down.

“Oh, come on!” Amelia insisted. “It’s not a crime. He’s pretty and you have eyes. It’s okay to stare a little.”

“Stop.”

“But you know what would be even better?”

“I’m going to regret this.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “What?”

“If you spoke to the guy. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Rejection.” You simply answered.

“Well, rejection is part of the game.” She shrugged. You gave out a deep sigh, and put your chin in the palm of your hand. “You got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Nothing to lose? Easy for her to say. After all, she wasn’t the one who had her heart broken, so many times, that there was barely anything left of it. When it came to the matters of the heart, you did not think that the risks were worth it. Even if it was for a Pretty Boy.

Your eyes landed on him again, in spite of yourself. His eyes seemed to be on you and Amelia. Almost as though he was directly looking at you. But he was blind, right? That would be impossible.

“You’re staring again.” She teased you. And you turned back to the bar quickly.

“Drop it.” You told her sternly. “It’s not worth it.” Her eyebrows went into her hairline. “Plus, a guy like him would never go for a girl like me.”

“What? Beautiful and sweet?”

“I’m not beautiful. I’m not ugly but I’m not beautiful. I’m average at best.” You shook your head. “And I’m not sweet.”

Amelia looked at you baffled by your defensiveness over compliments. You acted as though she insulted you. She pushed your beer away from you.

“First, those were compliments and not insults. So, take them.” Amelia said. “And why would he go for someone else when he could go for you?”

“You’re being this nice to me over a lighter?”

“It’s not just about the lighter.” She told you. “You walked me home. You didn’t have to but you did. It was very kind and sweet. Thus, proving my point. You are sweet.”

“It was practical. My flat isn’t too far away from yours. And it was as much for your safety as it was for mine.” You shrugged. “It’s dangerous at night in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and groaned in frustration. “You are going to take that compliment. I will beat it into you, if I have to.”

“That would be assault.”

“You thing you’re funny, uh?”

“I think I’m adorable.”

“Bitch, you’re testing my patience.” And that got a laugh out of you. She shook her head and laughed with you. “You really are annoying.”

“That’s more like it.” You grinned at her. “Want me to walk you home again?”

“Yeah,” She nodded and clinked her beer with yours. “We finish our drinks and then, we’re good to go.”

“Okay.”

She waved her finger at you. “But this conversation is not over.”

“What conversation?” You retorted, taking on a faux air of innocence.

Amelia glared at you which elicited a chuckle out of you. “Put a few drinks in you and you turn into a comedian. Who would have thought?”

“I could have mentioned it. Save you some time.”

“Do you need to have an answer to everything?”

“Should I answer that or--?”

“Oh, shut up.” And you snorted.

She raised her beer to her lips and toss it back. She gulped the rest of the bottle down and slammed it back onto the counter. Both of your empty bottles were left on the counter and you walked back to your small group of friends. On your way there, your eyes automatically found Pretty Boy, once again. Again, his gaze seemed to be on you and you dropped your eyes to the ground immediately. Feeling guilty that you were staring again, you let out a long sigh and muttered to yourself. “If he’s ever going for someone, it would be for Amelia.”

“There you go.” Amelia handed you your coat and bag. “What are you muttering to yourself again?”

“What do you mean again?” You asked stunned, blood rushing to your neck and cheeks. “You caught me doing that a lot?”

“You are not really trying to hide it.” Amelia shrugged. “So, what was it?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You pouted while you put on your coat.

“Was it about Pretty Boy?” She smirked at you.

“Oh, stop!” You said as sternly as possible with your lips jutted out in a pout. “It wasn’t about Pretty Boy.”

“Hmm,” She nodded smugly. “I’ll pretend I believe that.” She laced her arm with yours as you both exited the bar.

“He is really pretty.” You smiled shyly. Amelia’s shoulder nudged yours, as she giggled along with you.

“Next time, we see him. You’re talking to him.” You groaned at her words.

That night was the first time, you ever laid eyes on him. And you thought it would be the last time.

What were the chances for you to stumble upon him in this city ever again? He could be living outside of the city. Or it was only chance that brought him there tonight. And this was a once in a lifetime chance to meet the love of your life. And you blew it.

“Shut up!” You groaned as you slapped your forehead. “I did not blow my chance because there wasn’t one to begin with.”

“Voices in your head?” Amelia put down the lighter next to you.

“They’re really loud today.” You shook your head. “And you don’t have to bring it back all the time. You can keep it.”

“I won’t have an excuse to come and see you. anymore”

“You don’t really need one.” You sighed.

“True.” She smirked. “Wanna go to Josie’s tonight?”

“What are we celebrating?” You retorted.

“Nothing.” Amelia shrugged. “I thought maybe we could blow off some steam.” She shrugged and sat down on your desk. “Seeing as those last two months were kinda crazy.”

“Yeah, they were.” You agreed. “I mean we are nearing the end of the season.”

As it were in the publishing world, books are published in a three-season cycle: Winter, Summer and Fall. Winter season came to a close by the end of April and the datelines were getting closer. For the last two months, you and your team had been working nonstop. You and the author of the book you were proofreading, were going back and forth about editing issues he had. And his anxieties regarding the matter were also affecting you. Under pressure and anxious, you and your coworkers had no time to go back out.

“I could use the break.” You leaned back in your chair. “And a couple of beers.”

“It’s a date.” Amelia got back on her feet. “Meet you by the reception desk.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Amelia and you were on the sidewalk in front of Josie’s. She was smoking a cigarette before you both get in.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Amelia asked you.

“I like the smell of it.” You shrugged.

She took another puff before she elbowed your side. You glared at her.  Her pointy elbow dug into your side painfully. “What’s that for?”

“It seems you’re in luck tonight.” She looked down at you. And with a jerk of her head, she indicated at something behind you.

You turned around and there he was. Tapping his cane on the sidewalk, holding the arm of a beautiful blonde. There was a man, blonde also, walking on his other side. Pretty Boy’s tie was loose around his neck and slightly crooked. A giant smile was on his face as the beautiful lady on his side threw her head back in laughter. You kept your eyes on their little group as they disappeared into the bar.

“Alright, tonight’s the night.” Amelia took a last puff out of her cigarette.

“What?” You turned to her confused.

“We agreed that next time we see him here, you would talk to him.”

“I did not agree to anything. You agreed with yourself.” You told her as she started to drag you toward the bar. “Amelia, stop!” You pulled your arm away from her.

“What are you so afraid of?” Amelia huffed in annoyance.

“Rejection. Humiliation. Mortification. Embarrassment.” You started to list out.

Sure, he was handsome. He was painfully handsome. And although, you had thought of his lips on yours, of his hands running through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Your hands flew to your ears at the thought. They warmed up as your blood rushed to them. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t talk to him.

“I’m perfectly fine with watching him from afar.” You said quietly, dropping your hands. “Can we go somewhere else, please?” You crossed your arms over your chest, making yourself as small as possible.

She dropped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her side. “We already here, so we might as well go in.” You started pulling away from her. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Relax.” She pulled you back in and turned you towards the doors.

“Promise?” You put your pinky out.

“Promise.” She hooked her pinky with yours.

In most situations, you weren’t afraid to go after what you wanted. Of course, you had to pass it through a few people first. Just to make sure you were making the right decision. Especially, when it came to your job. But when it came to relationships—romantic ones, you never took the first step. You were always afraid that the people you wanted—you desired—wouldn’t want you back. Which explains your lack of experiences when it came to dating. And the disappointing sexual experiences you had.

You sat at the bar and ordered your beer. Amelia sat beside you but kept looking over her shoulder. You turned briefly to where she was looking. And surely enough, she was looking directly towards Pretty Boy and his friends. You sighed and turned back around.

“You promised, remember?” You told her. “Pinky promised. Those are sacred.”

“Yeah, I know.” She pouted and turned back around. “You’re going to regret it later.”

“Don’t I know it?” You exhaled deeply.

How many times have you let someone go before you were too afraid to speak? How much longer will you stay up at night wondering about what ifs? How much longer will you stand in the way of your own happiness? How much longer will you live in fear?

There was comfort in fear. It kept you on your toes. It told you where the edge was. It helped you survive. There was nothing wrong with fear. There were no broken hearts, no hurt feelings. It was safe.

And yet—you wished you could take that step. You knew you could. You’ve done it before. You left the comfort of your home. Of everything you’ve known to come here in Hell’s Kitchen. What was the worse that could happen in talking to him? Nothing, right? It was just talking. A simple conversation between two people. Or maybe, you would just give him your number. He could call you if he wanted to. If not—well, you would keep wondering why he didn’t call you. The thought of it was torture enough.

You glanced back over your shoulder at Pretty Boy. He was no longer sitting with his friends. His coat was still there on the back of his chair, but he was gone. You turned back to your drink, and sorrowfully starting to play with the condensation on your beer.

“What can I get you, Murdock?”

“Just another beer, Josie, thanks.”

You turned your eyes towards the voice. And there he was. So, much more handsome up close. His voice was nice and deep. Music to your ears. You turned your eyes away from him. Your heartbeat was now racing in your ribcage. You looked up at the ceiling, searching for some sort of answers.

“Hey, I’m gonna go out for a smoke.” Amelia announced slamming her bottle on the counter.

“I’ll come with you.” You squeaked out.

“You should definitely stay and enjoy yourself.” Amelia pulled her hair out of the collar of her coat. “I’ll be back in a moment. You should—you know strike up a conversation or two.” And she pointedly looked at the man by your side.

You gasped as she left. “You promised!” You called after her. “Pinky promised.”

“What did she promise?” Pretty Boy asked you. A grin plastered on his face.

You took a few minutes to answer, your eyes following Amelia’s exit out of the bar. And let out a breath. “To not make me do something I didn’t want to do.”

“And what was it? The thing you didn’t want to do.”

You couldn’t help the small grin that came onto your face before you answered. “Striking up a conversation with someone.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Why not?”

“It’s kind of terrifying for me to—talk to people.” The blood was rushing to your chest, your heart was slamming against your ribcage.

“You’re talking to me now.” His voice seemed lower as he spoke.

You scoffed. “True. I am.”

“How does it feel?” His lips twitched up at the corners.

“Not as terrifying as I thought.”

He chuckled. And you smiled at the sound. “I’m Matt.” He extended his hand out to you.

You put your hand in his. Your breath hitched in your throat as your skin touched his. You cleared your throat before giving him your name.

“You have a pretty name.” He told you.

“You make it sound prettier.” You quipped back, feeling braver now. His eyebrows flew high on his forehead before he let out a laugh. You laughed along with him. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He nodded, this boyish grin never leaving his face.

That was the night you officially met Matt Murdock. It wasn’t as daunting as you thought it would be. In fact, speaking with Matt came easy to you. His eyes were unseeing and yet, they were always on you. And for once in your life, you did not mind the attention.

You didn’t think anything life altering would come of it. If anything, you thought you were gaining another friend.

Little did you know…

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[thelightsandtheroses]

3. we can get away, palm trees, beach views ...

Let's Get Lost Chapter 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to past drug addiction, references to food and alcohol, discusison of TF canon events, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2500 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from I Want You Around by Snoh Aalegra.

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You can hear the birds outside when you wake up. Soft, lyrical songs coax you awake and you hear yourself groan slightly.

There are thin lines of light streaming through the gaps in the shutters and you’re surprised you can’t hear your daughter. She’s usually awake by now.

“Clara’s still asleep,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s got to be a record,” you whisper back drowsily, quietly shifting yourself so you’re propped up by your pillows.

Frankie is bolt upright in bed, a book loosely clasped in his hands and you can see that the reading lamp by his side of the bed is turned on. Despite the dim yellow light you can still take in every detail of his face, the freckles adorning his neck, the laughter lines, his stubble.

“Mornin’” he says, meeting your sleepy gaze.

“Hi, what time is it?”

“About six?” Frankie stifles a yawn.

“Why aren’t you asleep still?”

“Just woke up early. Couldn’t - y’know …”

You look at the book in his hands, he’s a lot further ahead now than you remember him being when he placed the bookmark in last night.  You notice his worn eyes, the way he looks like he’s been awake for a while.

“How’s it shaping up?” you ask, indicating the book and leaning slightly over your pillow barrier.

For a second you’re not here, you’re back in Florida a few years ago and this is your usual morning routine. All sepia lighting, soft kisses, lingering touches and hot skin against you.

You remember awkward giggles about morning breath, the way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for years when it had only been a matter of hours. 

You return to reality with the sound of Clara’s soft snores.

Frankie smirks at you. “She gets that from -”

“Do not finish that sentence, Francisco.”

He raises his hands with an easy grin. “Full name, huh? So, do you want to try her for a bit at the kids’ club this afternoon? Get her used to it more before we’re deep in all the wedding events?”

“She’s been really excited about that and meeting the other kids,” you say. You often wonder how two introverted people produced such a gregarious child. You imagine maybe Frankie was that confident as a little boy; you can see it - all round cheeks, mischievous grin and open eyes.

“She just takes everything in her stride,” Frankie whispers.

“She’s strong.”

“Like you.”

“I meant, like you,” you say.

Frankie shakes his head but there’s the slightest hint of a twitch on his lips.

You could reach over and touch him - it feels natural.

You can remember what his lips felt like on yours - the way his hand would so carefully and lightly move down your waist in a movement so delicate you used to think of it as his fingers dancing down your body.

It’s just proximity, it’s just the proximity.

You need more pillows for the barrier.

You lean back against your chair, listening to the steady sound of the ocean in the distance.

You spent the morning exploring in the local town with Lia and Sophie. At first you felt slightly guilty to not be spending time with Clara, but she was excited about a morning with her tios before heading to the kid’s club. It is Lia’s wedding break after all and you want to celebrate with her.

It had been a really good morning; you’d found a great cafe, wandered around tourist destinations and most importantly had enjoyed your time with Lia and Sophia. The three of you kept laughing and joking and any doubt you had that you would feel out of sorts for being the only one of them who was an ex swiftly vanished. In fact, you hadn’t discussed men once. It had been great.

All of you have now met up for a late lunch back at the hotel before you drop Clara off at the kid’s club. You’re sitting opposite Frankie who today has bought out one of what you used to semi-affectionally dub his ‘loud shirts’. Frankie’s style has always ranged from simple, casual basics to the occasional louder shirt that you feel would be associated more with a PI than an ex-army pilot. It’s Frankie though. You seem to remember those shirts were pretty soft too.

You take a sip of your drink, enjoying the sweet and refreshing taste of the coconut flavoured cocktail.

Frankie catches your eye and smiles briefly.

You’re finally starting to feel a little relaxed; that nagging anxiety to check your emails or to just be ‘on’ all of the time is starting to abate.

Santi stands up and raises his glass. “Okay, I wanted to call out that we’ve got the team back together and it only took Benny here getting married for that,” Santi says cheerfully, “and it’s a double celebration today because we need to mark that Frankie got the official confirmation yesterday he’s getting his licence back.”

You watch Frankie’s face colour up with the attention.

“No fucking way,” Benny exclaims, “finally, Frankie! I’m so fucking pleased for you.”

He’s got his licence back? you think immediately, proud that he’s achieved this goal he was working towards. It’s another sign of his sobriety, of his recovery.

It stings though. He didn’t tell you. He couldn’t do this while you were together either.

He didn’t tell you. He could have told you this morning - did he not want to? Or is it just that in your new co-parenting role you don’t get to know these things immediately anymore. You’re not his girlfriend or fiancée, you’re not one of his best friends, you’re not sure where you stand anymore.

He meets your gaze and nervously nods at you, wringing his hands slightly as Benny swallows him into a one-armed hug, delicately balancing his drink with the other hand.

“That’s great news, Frankie, well done,” you say, your voice sounding clipped and cold even to you.

Will frowns at you and you feel your palms growing sweaty with embarrassment as you notice Santi shaking his head. You tighten your grasp around your oblivious daughter who immediately fidgets on your lap.

You’re doing this all wrong.

You shouldn’t be here anyway.

“I - it’s time I need to drop Clara off. I’ll uh - I’ll, um, see you all later.”

You feel Frankie’s eyes on you the whole time you’re walking away.

“Fucking really, Santi?” you hear Frankie say as you walk away.

You're not hiding. Not officially. You watch the waves ebb and flow in the near distance, scrunching your toes on the sand just past the terrace from your room. There's the faintest sound of laughter, of people enjoying their time on the beach.

You shut your eyes. How did you get the lunch so wrong?

The door closes behind you and you turn around instantly, caught in the headlights as you see Frankie standing there.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, hesitance clear in his voice. “You just walked off? I thought we’d take Clara to the club together.”

Another failing. Why do you keep getting this so wrong? "I - I just - crap."

He pulls the terrace door to and sits on the sand next to you, hugging his knees. "It's not a big deal, sw- it's not a big deal. Just - what's wrong?"

“You didn’t tell me,” you finally say, trying so hard to hide the hurt in your voice. Frankie doesn’t have to tell you things anymore, you know that. You just thought that maybe he’d want to.

You’re friends again, right?

Frankie looks down at the sand and exhales a heavy, poignant sigh. He seems to be stopping himself from saying something, probably that it is none of your business. You watch him open his mouth then close it a couple of times and wait patiently.

“I know.”

“Do you not want to tell me things anymore? I mean, I guess you don’t have to but I thought -”

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confides.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the past few years with this single mission. Get sober, get my licence again, get my life, or at least something like it, back.“ He pauses, looking at you and then away from you quickly. A question pops into your head and immediately dissipates - no, you can’t go there.

“Well, you’ve done it,” you say gently, placing a hand on his sandy bicep. He’s all sun warmed skin and you can smell the hint of sunscreen as you sit next to him too.

“I never thought about - about what would happen once I got those things,” he admits. “I guess, I didn’t want to jinx it, I didn’t think I’d even get it back.”

“You don’t know if you want to fly anymore?”

Frankie lives for flying. The passion you remember in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he talks about the technicalities, the detail of the science and data behind flying. He used to read flight manuals to Clara when she was sobbing with colic through the night, right before the relapse and Colombia. Every time you see a helicopter or a plane, you think of him.

Can you remember him talking about flying recently though? Can you remember that passionate, bright look in his eyes at any time recently other than when he’s with your daughter?

“The last time I was flying - I crashed it. Tom ended up dead,” he says, barely above a whisper and once again looking away from you. “It’s all on me.”

Automatically you squeeze his arm in sympathy, in the only consolation you can give right now. “Not in the crash though, you said -”

“If I hadn’t crashed it, if I had just said no to the extra weight, if I -”

“Stop, stop, Frankie.”

He looks over at you, finally meeting your gaze with wide, brown eyes. His eyes are a swirl of emotion; pain, achievement, memories you can never know, regret. There’s so much regret in his eyes now.

It’s funny, you stood in an airport baggage hall just days ago thinking he’d entirely glowed up since the break-up, but his eyes are telling you wildly different stories now.

“You can’t change the past; you can’t go over what ifs. It was - it was a tragedy but it wasn’t your tragedy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” he asks plaintively, “And I robbed a kid of their father, of my friend, if that’s true. Do you realise that? Can you even imagine that weight?”

“You were all grown-ups, all making your own choices that led to that exact moment. I know, I know there’s a lot about that time I don’t know, probably never will, and I don’t - I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to, or can’t, but know this, Frankie, you are a good man.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth, I’d feel safe in any aircraft if you were flying it.  ”

He swallows, looking away from you for just a moment.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

He nods.

Your hand has slipped into his and he squeezes. It feels so familiar, so right at this moment.

“If you don’t want to fly,” you add, “that’s okay too.”

“I don’t want Clara to have a deadbeat dad.”

“She won’t. She doesn’t.”

“I don’t want know what I’m supposed to do other than fly.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

It’s only later as you return to your hotel room that you realise you said we, that you made you and Frankie a unit again.

You still mean it too.

You feel awkward about what’s going to happen at dinner. Even though you’re walking in alongside Frankie, even though you know he’s going to demonstrate that the two of you are just fine, all you think about are the disappointed looks at lunch.

To your surprise, it hurts worse than leaving your daughter with a sitter.

You can only imagine what they must think of you right now.

They must think you’re becoming that stereotype of an ex - resentful and bitter and you don’t know how to say it’s not that at all. It’s that for some reason the confirmation you weren’t the first person he’d want to tell anymore cut a deep hole in your heart.

It’s hypocritical and stupid and risks ruining everything.

There’s a revelation low in your stomach you cannot let rise yet, you cannot voice because it really will ruin everything and you’re not ready for that. You’re not ready for this - things have just started to stabilise again.

You’ve prepared for dinner though. You chose one of your favourite outfits, doused yourself in your favourite perfume and spent time on your appearance for dinner. It’s armour.

Lia smiles when she sees you. “You look gorgeous,” she says in greeting, rising up and hugging you as you join them at the large table you’ve all now mentally claimed as your own throughout your stay.

She draws you in next to her. “How’s Clara? Did she like the kid’s club?”

“She did and she likes the sitter too.” You feel terrible about having a sitter on holiday but it’s novel to have a dinner with all of your friends in the evening. Besides, between you and Frankie, you’d both extensively researched and interviewed the hotel sitter so you felt as at ease as you could under the circumstances. It’s a family holiday yes, but two hours at the club and a sitter for a dinner hardly makes you and Frankie bad parents.

“That’s so good. It’s great having you and Clara both here, you know. I know work’s been a lot recently but I’ve missed you. I’m just - I’m pleased you made it.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else,” you say candidly. “You’re my best friend, Lia.”

“Ditto, just like, don’t tell my sister that?”

“Guide’s honour,” you say with a wink.

You’re grateful for Lia, she’s one of your closest friends and somehow she knows just what you needed to hear. You vow to be there more for her this week - it’s her wedding after all!

It doesn’t escape you that Frankie’s been sat with Santi and some distance from you and you are next to Lia. You wonder whose idea this seating arrangement was - Will’s perhaps, or maybe it was Sophia. You know they must be worried about a repeat of their wedding.

You take a long sip of your drink.  On the other end of the table, you can hear Frankie’s soft laughter. You can’t help thinking about your conversation with him earlier, the slight tingle in your stomach when you spoke this morning.

You broke up for a reason. You know that.

It was the right thing at the right time and it hurt that all that love you had for him, that you think he had for you, was changed by everything that had gone on them.

It has to go somewhere though, doesn’t it? It can’t just stay stagnant; you’re supposed to move on.

It’s just, you think that maybe you still love Frankie a bit. Maybe you never stopped.

This is a hideously unwelcome revelation, it’s inappropriate, it’s clearly unreciprocated. You’re supposed to just be co-parents.

There’s no just with Frankie though, there never has been.

You feel nauseas. It’s starting to look like once again you and Frankie are going to end up ruining another friend’s wedding. Your best friend’s wedding to make it worse.

Only this time, it will be entirely your fault.

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[narumi-gens]

Between Dreams and Reality

Gojo Satoru x gn!Reader

summary: The space between dreams and reality is a curse. Loving Gojo Satoru makes it the greatest curse of all.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, massive jjk manga spoilers, chapter 236 spoilers, angst with no happy ending, sad times guys, established relationship, gojo being his usual obnoxious self and making everything about him

notes: I'm just working through jjk 236 like the rest of you! also the title comes from something kenjaku says in the manga and it was used in the vol. 23 promo video and I loved it so much that I've been wanting to work into something so here we are.

words: 2.5k

“Hey, remember that fight we had?” Gojo asks from behind you in bed. The question pulls you from the edge of sleep, but just barely.

“Be more specific,” you grumble, too tired to even snort in response. All you can do is nuzzle further into your pillow. 

“It was about you getting remarried,” he says.

“That was a tantrum, not a fight,” you correct. “And I told you not to say re-married. We’re not married now.”

Even with your eyes closed and your back turned to him, you can feel how amused he is by your response. 

“I was kind of a dick about it, wasn’t I?” he reflects aloud into the darkness of your shared bedroom.

It’s such an unexpected moment of introspection from him — a man who doesn’t seem to know what introspection is — that even in your drowsy state, you let out a small laugh.

“When aren’t you?” you ask him through a yawn and he lets out an offended noise that tugs the corners of your lips into a sleepy smile. 

“Well, sorry I was such an asshole,” he sighs, a faint note of uncharacteristic sincerity coloring his words.

“Gojo Satoru apologizing? I must be dreaming…” you mumble.

“Oh, my aunt’s getting remarried,” you say as you read through the series of messages that your mother sent you. 

“Didn’t your uncle just die?” Gojo kindly asks. Thankfully, you’re more than used to his inability to display any form of tact.

“Well, it’s been a year. But everyone heals differently. I guess when the time is right, the time is right,” you muse. You glance over at him where he sits next to you on the couch and are surprised by the thoughtful look on his annoyingly handsome face.

You turn back to your phone, where your mother seems to be having a very similar reaction to Gojo based on her messages — especially the ones that say, “It’s too soon!”, of which there are many. 

You’ve never been all that close with your mother’s side of the family so your aunt’s decision to remarry isn’t something you have a strong opinion on one way or the other. If she’s found someone else, you wish her the best.

“How long would you wait to get remarried if I died?” Gojo suddenly asks and you scoff without looking up at him.

“To get remarried, I’d have to have been married previously, Mr. Marriage-Is-Just-A-Construct.” The words would probably sound harsh if they were coming from someone else. You speak them dryly and with clear disinterest.

“Fine. How long would you wait to get married to someone else if I died?” he rephrases his original question and you shrug, your attention focused on trying to calm your mother down.

“I don’t know. Two years?” 

“Two?!” he screeches so loudly that you flinch away from him on the couch and slap a hand over your ear. He sits up and turns to face you fully, even going so far as to slide his glasses down his nose so that he can focus the full weight of his Six Eyes on you. “That’s not even enough time for my body to get cold!”

“Can you calm down? It’s just a hypothetical,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes. You reach a hand out to push his glasses back up only for him to bat it away before you can even come into contact with his Infinity. 

“Two years!” he repeats in outrage. “There should be at least five- no, ten years of solid mourning. And I mean the whole thing. You better only dress in black and I expect weekly visits to my grave with flowers and incense. And make sure you put my portrait in the butsudan—”

“We don’t have a butsudan now,” you cut him off to point out, gesturing a wild hand out towards the rest of your shrine-free apartment. “I’m not gonna go out and buy one just because you were stupid enough to get yourself killed.”

“And definitely no dating!” he shouts over you before he brings a thoughtful finger to his chin. “In fact, you should just be like one of those widows who throw themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre. Yeah, that’d work.”

He nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with his proposed solution. 

“We’re not married, so I wouldn’t be a widow and you’re not getting a funeral pyre. This is the 21st century. Your body’s getting shipped off to a crematorium,” you tell him dryly. “They’ll cook you up. We’ll do a little bit of grieving and say a prayer or something. Then we’ll pick your bones, put everything in the urn, and be done in time for lunch.”

He slouches forward and props up his elbow on his knee so that he can rest his chin in his palm with a pout, doing everything that he can with his posture to convey his unhappiness.

“Who’s we? You and your new boyfriend?” he asks and you would liken him to a sulking teenager who didn’t get their way, but that would be an insult to the students at Jujutsu High. 

“No, me and my new husband,” you smirk and he gasps as he turns back towards you, horror coloring his features.

“This is my death! Take it seriously!” he cries.

“Satoru, you’re not dying anytime soon. Why does it matter?” you reply, your tone short as your irritation finally begins to start peeking through.

“It matters because I want to know that you’re not gonna be off fucking some other guy a week after I die,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not gonna be fucking some other guy,” you snap and now it’s your turn to lean forward in your seat, your elbows on your knees as you tiredly rub your face with your hands. 

“You will two years after I die,” he huffs and you groan at his petty response.

“Can you shut up about ‘two years’ already? It was just a number I threw out. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it,” you explain, hoping that he’ll drop the topic despite knowing that Gojo has never been one to let anything go. 

There’s a slow creeping weariness that you can feel settling into your bones. It’s one that you usually only feel after a bad mission, not when arguing with Gojo. Feeling it in such a domestic setting is putting you on edge.

“Why not? This is my death we’re talking about!” he presses and you feel your self-control crack.

“Exactly! I don’t want to think about it!” you shout back. 

You’re not sure if it’s because of how loud your voice suddenly is or the admission altogether, but it seems to stun him into silence. You immediately find yourself regretting your words, hating how exposed they’ve left you. 

The last thing you want is to see the look on his face and so you bury your face further into your hands. You can feel his gaze on you and even if he didn’t have the Six Eyes, you think it would burn just as hot. 

“I don’t want to think about you dying,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from continuing. “So can we please just drop it already?”

There’s a heavy silence that hangs over the two of you. Eventually, it breaks when Gojo lets out a soft sigh. You feel the couch cushions shifting as he leans forward and tosses an arm over your shoulders. He then drops his chin to rest on top of your head as he holds you close.

“Don’t worry. I’m the strongest,” he says, his tone light as he tries to reassure you. It’s only because you know him so well that you can tell how forced his nonchalance is. “No matter what, I’ll win.”

You find yourself wrapping his words around you, clutching onto them tightly like a safety blanket that refuse to let go of.

“Isn’t your aunt’s boyfriend like half her age?” he suddenly asks, switching the topic altogether and you lean further into his side in silent gratitude. 

“More than half. He’s younger than us,” you reply with a quiet snort, finally dropping your hands from your face.

“Hm, well good for her.”

He doesn’t respond to your taunt, and you think the universe is finally showing you mercy and allowing you to fall back asleep. But then he gives an exaggerated sigh, pulling your waning attention back to him without even needing to say a word — an art that he’s perfected over the years that you’ve been together.

“I guess you don’t need to spend ten years mourning me,” he says and you groan, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over and for him to just let you sleep like mere mortals do. “I mean, mourn me a little at least. But ten years is asking a lot, isn’t it?”

“Satoru…” you warn. It would probably sound more threatening if you hadn’t yawned halfway through saying it.

“But, just wait a while before you start dating again, alright? Even in the afterlife, I don’t know if my ego could take it if you moved onto someone new too quickly,” he jokes, but beneath the self-deprecating humor, there’s a strange vulnerability that finally has you opening your eyes.

And you immediately wish you hadn’t because doing so shatters the strange, liminal space that comes with not being fully asleep and not fully awake. Your mind is still drowsy and it takes a minute to realize that something is wrong. All that you’re aware of is that you’re now soberingly conscious. 

When reality manages to catch up with you, your world comes crashing down around you in sharp, jagged pieces. Because where only a moment ago, you could feel Gojo’s warmth behind you in bed, hear his voice in your ears, feel his presence in your life, all that’s left now is an aching void. 

You’re overcome with the urge to look over your shoulder, despite knowing that you’ll find nothing when you do so. And that’s what keeps you lying still, staring straight ahead into the dark. 

This is your own Schrödinger's cat — if you don’t turn around then you don’t know if he’s not there. Just like the cat, Gojo is still alive so long as you don’t look. 

“S-Satoru…?” you ask, unable to help yourself. Your voice is rough with sleep, and it sounds so different, so much more real, from how you just heard it when you were talking with him. Maybe that’s answer enough. 

“Satoru?” Your voice cracks when you try again, only to be met with deafening silence. 

There’s a sharp pain in your ribcage, one that you’ve become familiar with over the past few months. You instinctively bring a hand to the middle of your chest, pressing your palm down hard to alleviate the ache despite knowing that it won’t help. 

The bed has always been too large. It had to be in order to fit his lanky frame. But now it threatens to swallow you whole and you scramble to escape it, your legs getting caught in the sheets as you rush to kick them off. 

You stumble out of the bedroom and make your way to the living room, where you fling a shaking hand out to flip the light switch. The sudden brightness has you squinting and after you’ve taken a moment for your eyes to adjust, you find yourself dropping to your knees in front of the small, wooden altar that’s been set up against the wall. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you’re met with Gojo’s smiling portrait — the only way you’ll ever be face-to-face again. His sunglasses sit carefully, reverently, to one side, folded on top of his trademark blindfold. A small box of mochi from his favorite café sits on the shelf just beneath in offering. 

With slightly trembling hands, you open the butsudan’s drawer and pick up the box of incense, sighing when you open it and see that there’s only one stick left. You absently note to buy more when you go out tomorrow for your regular visit to Gojo’s grave. 

Once you’ve set the last stick in its elegant dish and lit it, you take a deep, shaking breath, and try to push down the wave of tears you feel burning behind your eyes. The fabric of your black sleep shorts is clenched tightly between your fingers where your hands sit on your thighs. 

You suddenly feel angry and you latch onto the burning emotion, desperate to feel anything other than the overwhelming grief that’s found a home deep in your soul. Its roots have grown and stretched over the months to consume every piece of you, like an invasive species that’s destroyed everything else until it’s the only thing left in your life.

“You asshole.” You meant to spit the words out, but instead, they fall flat along with your resentment. “Of course I’ll mourn you. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Your head drops forward and you cover your eyes with one hand, as if doing so will hide your tears from Gojo’s ever-watchful gaze. Despite your best efforts, your self-control finally slips and you softly begin to sob.

“Y-you wanted ten years?” you ask, still unable to look at him. “I’ll mourn you forever. I promise.”

If he was still alive, you would have offered to make him a binding vow. You should have offered to make him a binding vow. Instead, you can only make one with yourself. 

“Please tell me this is just my imagination,” you murmur, desperately hoping that some passing god will take pity on you and give you what you want more than anything. You don’t care what you have to give up, as long as they’ll give you Gojo back. 

With your eyes closed and your hand blocking any light, you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen back into that liminal space once again, where everything is and isn’t at the same time. If you try hard enough, you can almost hear him tsking and asking you why you didn’t spend more on a bigger butsudan. 

But the scent of the incense and the soft sounds of your crying keep you from slipping away from the present. 

Your vision is blurry with your tears when you lift your gaze back up to look at Gojo. As his photo grins back, you sniffle and wipe your messy face with the back of your wrist before you press your palms together and bow your head.

“I pray that this all is just my imagination,” you beg him, pleading with him to perform one last miracle for you.

But when you open your eyes and find yourself still alone, the incense burning, and only your grief and his portrait for company, you know that this is reality — even as it falls out from under you.

[x-bluefire-heart-x]

Acting Like Teenagers

Here is the next chapter for Dating App. Things get a little more heated between Rafael and Miss Librarian.

Warnings: Nothing much, a little heavy petting and make out session.

Master List

Prompt List

One , Two , Three , Five , Six

So far it had been a boring day at the library but it was looking to shape up a little. You had just gotten about six boxes and if they were what you were hoping? Well, you were just about jumping in excitement. You had managed to convince the boss to allow a monthly theme, chosen by different staff members to start with and then allowing the public to have a say, where you would have a table or two dedicated to books that matched the theme. There would also be some activities throughout the month as well, aimed to provide people with the opportunity to learn more about whatever the theme was. Since you had come up with the idea you had been given the first month. Your chosen theme was Mythology, specifically Greek.

The boxes were some decorations as well as some new books and you were about to have a day filled with making the tables as well as starting to prepare the some of the activities. You had already handed out a list of the activities you and a few other librarians had brainstormed. Which included some amazing colouring in pictures of the Greek Gods and Goddesses, as well as some demi-gods with a few pieces of information about them. An adult activity planned later in the month was a trivia night, coming in costume optional but highly encouraged. Without even thinking you pulled out your phone taking a picture of the first box you had opened.

‘I am about to have an entire month geeking out over books inspired by or that have some Greek Mythology themes, plus getting to teach kids about the stories of the Gods and Goddess…though highly edited to make them child friendly!’

You sent that message to Rafael along with the photo. You paused for a moment, realising that the first thing you wanted to do when you found out these boxes where for your monthly book theme was share your excitement with Rafael. You drummed your fingers on the box in-front of you trying to decide to if you wanted to deal with that particular realisation or leave it. You sighed as you opened the next box, mind still juggling the two options before the title of a book caught your eye and the excitement was back tenfold allowing you to happily ignore everything else.

--

‘I am about to have an entire month geeking out over books inspired by or that have some Greek Mythology themes, plus getting to teach kids about the stories of the Gods and Goddess…though highly edited to make them child friendly!’

Rafael felt his phone vibrate against his leg as he stood in the squad room, listening to the detectives run through the latest update in the current case. He pulled it out, the detectives very use to him doing so, he looked down at it, smiling the moment he saw your name. That smile softening from the excited upturn when he read your message, he could imagine the way your eyes would light up when you opened he boxes and if you had been speaking these words how your hands would have been gesturing excitedly around you. Rafael hadn’t even noticed that Amanda had stopped speaking, drawing everyone’s attention to him, all of them sharing looks when they saw the way he was looking at his phone.

“Counsellor?” Carisi asked. Rafael forced his eyes away from his phone, the look dropping away from his face in a second when he realised that they had all seen it.

“Who’s on the other end?” Finn asked leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have no idea what you are insinuating,” Rafael tried to deflect. “Rollins, you were saying?”

“It can wait,” Amanda grinned. “I’ve seen you pull a lot of faces Barba, but never one like that. Plus, the fact that Liv prevented us from contacting you the other night.”

“And yesterday at lunch we also were not allowed to call you,”  Nick added. Finn and Carisi nodded along, while Olivia was standing back. Rafael had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon filling her in on both dates he had with the you. She had to stop herself from overreacting at times, she had no idea that Rafael could be so adorable. She really wanted to meet you, if only to see Rafael’s reactions to you in person. And maybe sneak a few photos.

“Sometimes, I hate how good you all are,” he grumbled. “It was someone I have been on two dates with. She messaged me about something she’s doing at the library she works at, she’s excited about it and wanted to share it.”

“She seems adorable from what Rafael has told me,” Liv finally interjected. “And she’s very pretty. Will keep him on his toes that’s for sure.”

“Okay now I need to know everything,” Amanda grinned taking a seat next to Finn.  

“We do have a case,” Rafael gestured to the boards around them. “Shouldn’t we focus on that?”

“We’ll get back to that,” Finn unsurprisingly added his voice to the conversation, his grin speaking volumes. Even Nick and Carisi were sitting there with grins on their faces, Rafael sighed knowing full well that if he wanted to get back on track he would have to talk.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Just one moment.” He looked back down at his phone, your message still opened there. The team all shared a look, grinning at each other the minute Rafael’s face changed back to that adorable soft expression.

‘You’ll have to tell me all about it at lunch. I expect photo updates, Miss Librarian.’

--

You had just finished unboxing the first two boxes you had opened, making sure to correctly catalogue them and mark them off against the invoice. You had started separating them into different piles for each of the planned activities and the books.  There was another pile of some of the decorations you would be taking home to work on, some drawings to colour in, some posters and banners to put together and paint. You were excited. You had just started opening the next box when your phone lit up from where it was on the table.

‘You’ll have to tell me all about it at lunch. I expect photo updates, Miss Librarian.’

“Fuck this man,” you muttered. “How can he be this amazing?”

“Ooh, you talking about the man you went on that date with?” your friend Lily asked as she came into the storage room.

“Yes,” you whined. “He likes how I get excited about books and he didn’t look bored when I rambled to him. I sent him a photo telling him about the plans for this month and he said I’ll have to tell him about it.”

“You lucked out with him,” she said. “I’ve had no luck with men. How old is he?”

“Well, he’s 45,” you said twisting a strand of hair around your finger.

“Ooh girl, I’m so proud you didn’t change the age range,” Lily nudged you with her shoulder. “Have you matched with any other interesting men?”

“No idea,” you shrugged. “I didn’t look at any of them after matching with Rafael and since we exchanged numbers after dinner the other night I haven’t even looked at the app, even turned off notifications for it.”

“Ooh, you got it bad for him already huh?!” she gushed.

“It definitely seems that way, I mean the first thing I wanted to do after opening these boxes was message him, which I did with zero thought,” you blushed a little admitting that. “Plus, well, our first kiss was pretty fiery, even as tame as it was cause we were in public. I mean the man also kissed my knuckles after our first date, at which he also pulled out my chair and helped me out of my coat and then back into it. And he says what he thinks, he literally ran to meet me for our second date, apologising for being late, even though he messaged me telling me he would and it was only ten minutes.”

“Take a breath,” Lily laughed. “Fiery huh? Thought you didn’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“Well, Rafael might have me rethinking it,” you grinned.

“Maybe I need to increase my age range,” Lily said tapping her chin in thought.

“I mean it might be worth it,” you agreed.

“When are you seeing him next?” Lily asked helping you with the next box.

“Tomorrow, for lunch,” you answered looking back at your phone. “Just gonna respond to him, let me take a photo of what we have. He wanted photo updates.”

“Sounds like he’s got it bad as well,” Lily giggled hoping out of the way to let you take a shot of what you had pulled out so far.

‘I’m looking forward to it. You might regret telling me to send photo updates, I’m notorious for sending a lot! Here’s the loot from the first two boxes!’ you attached the images and sent the messages.

“Alright, I want all the details while we finish this,” Lily informed you. “So get talking.”

“So pushy!” you laughed. “Alright, well, his name is Rafael, he’s an ADA for the Special Victims Unit.”

“Wait, Special Victims, they deal with sexual based crimes don’t they?” Lily interrupted.

“Yeah, he said it was confronting but rewarding work,” you nodded. “He warned about long and hectic working hours in his profile but I’m not bothered. The work he does is important.”

“Very important, so can we assume from that that he is potentially a feminist?” Lily asked. “Which I think is important.”

“I also think that’s important,” you nodded. “I haven’t asked him but I have a feeling he might be. He asked if he could kiss me before he did, which I know doesn’t automatically make him a feminist but I figure it’s a good sign.”

“Hm, we’ll gather some more evidence before making a final decision,” Lily determined. “Alright, keep going!”

You shook your head in amusement at your friend but obliged her none the less. Rafael had Liv, and you had Lily, it had been with her that you had had one too many cocktails and downloaded the app that lead to you Rafael so you figure she should get some details.

--

Rafael was sitting at his dinning table, taking a break from his work. He was trying to work out if it would be worth it booking somewhere for lunch tomorrow. After he had filled in the team things had suddenly became hectic as another victim turned up. He had hoped that you two would be able to meet at a café but he really hoped that you meant it when you said you were happy to have lunch at his office. He had just picked up his phone to message you when a series of alerts popped up. All messages from you. One quick text and a number of photos.

‘Keeping my promise of photo updates.’ The first photos included pictures of potential ways you were thinking of displaying the books. The next series were photos that looked like they were taken in your living room, it showed banners and posters with some of the Greek Gods and Goddesses, half of them painted and the others blank. One included a photo of you with a paint brush and some paint on your nose as you held up a completed picture, a proud look on your face. Rafael laughed as he saved that photo, putting in the folder with the photo you had sent the day of your first date.

‘They all look amazing, you didn’t mention you enjoy painting,’ Rafael sent back. He bit his lips before sending another photo. ‘I hope you are alright with me saving some of the photos you have sent.’

God he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.

--

You had just finished the banner you would be putting up at the entrance of the library. You somehow gotten a little paint on your face, but instead of removing it you left it there, knowing that you would somehow get more paint on yourself, as you always did whenever you painted. You sat your brush to the side, to start cleaning up but before you could start your phone vibrated.

‘They all look amazing, you didn’t mention you enjoy painting.’

You smiled as you read Rafael’s message. You were about to start responding when another message came through.

‘I hope you are alright with me saving some of the photos you have sent.’

You grinned at his confession, you thought it was cute that he wanted to save your photos, you figured he meant the photo you sent of you in the park and most likely the selfie you just sent. You weren’t bothered by him saving them but you liked that he didn’t hide it.

‘Thank you, I don’t do it often but I enjoy it, mostly I just paint landscapes. I’m fine with you doing that, so long as I can do that same if you send me any photos.’

--

‘Thank you, I don’t do it often but I enjoy it, mostly I just paint landscapes. I’m fine with you doing that, so long as I can do that same if you send me any photos.’

Rafael grinned at your response, he found himself wanting to watch you paint. Maybe he could suggest going back to where you guys had a hot chocolate in the park so you could paint the trees, maybe even that bridge. And he was happy that once again he hadn’t made a wrong move with you. He stared at the last part of your message, he realised that for all you two had messaged each other he hadn’t sent you any photos. He didn’t tend to think to take any, hell all of his photos on the app had been ones that Liv had taken. But at this moment he wanted to send you something, he glanced at himself in the mirror his hair was a little dishevelled, and he still had part of his suit on, he had removed the jacket and unbuttoned his vest, with his suspenders showing underneath, his tie was loosened and he had unbuttoned several of his shirt buttons. Since his last two risks had proven to be good ideas he trusted this risk would be the same.

‘I would like to see any, if you let others view them. It wouldn’t be fair for me to deny you the chance to save photos of me, when you allow me.’ He sent that with a photo attached.

--

You had just finished cleaning up, scrubbing the paint off of your face and your hands when his next message came through. You almost dropped your phone when your saw the photo he had attached. You thought he was handsome at dinner, you thought him distractingly charming at your second date. But at this very second you thought him insanely and unfairly sexy. He wasn’t as put together as you were use to, but you thought it suited him, plus the fact that you could see the suspenders under the vest he wore and his shirt had enough buttons undone that you could see some chest hair. You immediately saved that photo. You finally read the message he had sent with the photo.

‘I would like to see any, if you let others view them. It wouldn’t be fair for me to deny you the chance to save photos of me, when you allow me.’

You never really let others see your work, but maybe you could eventually allow Rafael to see some of your pieces. You found your eyes focusing back on the photo as the kiss you shared with him kept replaying. You honestly hoped that lunch would be at his office tomorrow so you could kiss him again, without having to worry about the public. As you were looking at the photo again another message of his popped up.

‘I think lunch might have to be at my office tomorrow if you are still okay with that. This case has just become a little hectic.’

“Well, this works quite nicely for me,” you grinned. “Now the question is do I buy something or make it?” You had a quick look in your fridge and pantry to see if you had something that could be made and eaten cold. You could keep it in the fridge at the library and carry it the lunch bag you got with a block. You had the ingredients for your chicken, pasta salad. Perfect. You pulled your phone out to respond to his message about lunch. You decided you would bring up the photo then

‘Absolutely, still okay with that. I’ll make something for our lunch then.’

--

You double checked the address Rafael had given you for his office before walking into the rather intimidating building. You wore some snug jeans, a sweater with the front tucked in and a leather jacket over it. You had a beanie on and a scarf to deal with the cold as you travelled from the library to his office, you had a little make up which you didn’t normally do for work, however you forewent lipstick. You carried the lunch you had prepared for Rafael in your little lunch tote.   

“Can I help you?” a gorgeous woman questioned you as you looked around checking to make sure you were in the right place. This building was massive and you had almost gotten lost trying to find Rafael’s office.

“Oh, um, I’m meant to be having lunch with Rafael?” you lifted your tote up a little. “I’m-”

“Chica,” Rafael’s voice interrupted you as he walked out of his office to greet you. “Thanks Carmen, you can go for lunch.”

Carmen smiled at the both of you as she clicked a few buttons on the phone and the computer before leaving. You turned to give Rafael your full attention and you were not prepared. Rafael was in a full dark blue suit, with a silver tie and vest to complete the look, his hair was perfectly styled. He was in his element and he was even more attractive for it.

“Hey,” you didn’t mean for your voice to sound so breathy but this man just kept knocking you for four. An image of you running your fingers through his hair, messing it up as you finally got him to let that fire you had seen a few times in his eyes loose ran through your head, causing your cheeks to heat.

“Hello you,” he grinned taking a closer step to you, his hand raising but stopping before touching you, a question in his eyes. You stepped closer, moving so his hand was sitting on your waist and tilted your head a little looking up at him from under your lashes, he squeezed your hip gently as he placed a kiss on your cheek. “Come inside.”

His hand moved from your hip to the small of your back as he lead you into his office, closing the door behind you. Your eyes widened a little at it, his desk sat in between two windows with a bookshelf filled with fancy looking books behind it. It was covered with folders, papers and books. There were several other windows along the wall opposite the entrance letting in plenty of natural light. The office was neat and tidy. Rafael led you to a couch just inside the door with a coffee table in-front of it, and laying on it was a dozen yellow daffodils. You stopped just short of the table, mouth opened in a small ‘o’, as you turned to look at Rafael as he took your lunch tote from your hand, placing it on the table to pick up the flowers.

“For you,” he smiled a little shy. “I know you said you were fine with having lunch here but regardless.”

“Rafael, they’re lovely,” you took the flowers from him, stepping close to place a kiss on his cheek before smelling them. “Thank you.”

“Only the loveliest for you,” he said, a flood of heat hit your cheeks at that. The two of you sat close on the couch as you placed the flowers back on the coffee table.

“I made a chicken pasta salad, I hope that’s okay?” you asked starting to pull out the containers and some forks, as well as some drinks. “I also picked up some lemonade.”

“That’s perfect,” he grinned picking up the container you placed in-front of him smelling the food. “Smells delicious. Thank you for making this.”

“It’s not a problem, I enjoy cooking for people,” you told him taking a bite. The creamy sauce perfectly balanced against the seasoning you had used on the chicken. “Especially people who gift me with a…distractingly gorgeous photo the night before.” You hadn’t noticed that Rafael had taken a bite of food until he coughed before taking a mouthful of lemonade. “Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it, chica,” Rafael coughed. You finally looked at him but couldn’t tell if the red in his cheeks was from inhaling his food or your comment. “Distractingly gorgeous?”

“Hmm,” you nodded. “Almost dropped my phone.”

“Sorry,” Rafael shrugged.

“Sound so sincere counsellor,” you laughed nudging him with your shoulder before slumping back against the couch, grinning at Rafael as he looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes roamed over you taking in how comfortable you looked in his office. You had taken your jacket off and placed it on the coat rack without prompting. He followed your example and sat back, the side of his body pressed tightly against yours. The warmth from him sent a curl of pleasure through you, settling just behind your stomach.

“I take it you saved it?” Rafael asked after eating a few mouthfuls.

“Oh quicker than you could blink,” you admitted, you decided to be even more open and honest than you normally would. Rafael deserved it after all the open honesty he had shown you. “It was very distracting. To be honest, I hoped you would tell me lunch would have to be here.”

“Really?” Rafael asked, eyebrow raised. You watched him eat for a few moments, taking a little pride in the look of satisfaction on his face as he enjoyed your meal. You waited for him to swallow his next bite before answering, not wanting to cause him to choke again.

“Yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “Because, I didn’t want to bring the photo up over text and…I was hoping for another kiss…”you trailed off as Rafael froze with a forkful of chicken and pasta half way to his mouth. He sat forward on the couch putting the container down and took a drink from his lemonade, before he turned to face you still sitting forward. He reached to take your container from your hands, both mostly empty of the meal. He took hold of your hands, bringing them to his mouth to trail kisses down your fingers and across your palms, he stopped to mouth at your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. A fire starting to burn in those green orbs. The heat inside you started to build, the warmth flooding your veins.

“Another kiss?” he smirked. “And you wanted that to specifically happen in my office because?”

“You really need to ask that?” you replied, pointedly looking at where he was still lacing your wrist with kisses. He removed his mouth from your wrist, lips curling at the edges.

“You want a little more then the first time?” he continued to tease. Your breath had kicked up a notch, you can’t remember the last time something so little as kisses on your wrist and a look had you so worked up. You nodded, unable to get your voice to work. Rafael tsked as he reached out to cup your cheek, one of your hands still trapped in his. “Words, Amor. I need you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you whispered, pleasure curling to a throb in your pussy, his voice was soft and gentle, but still a little dominant. A perfect combination. “I want a kiss that would be indecent in public.”

“Your wish is my command,” he growled leaning close to you.

His hand moved from your cheek to rest on the side of your throat, his thumb stretched enough to tilt your head up. The hand still holding yours placed your hand on his shoulder, freeing his hand to hold your waist. You wrapped both your arms around his shoulders drawing him closer with an impatient whine when he just hovered above you. Rafael grinned for a second before he claimed your lips. The angel was a little awkward, given that he was still a little forward on the couch not wanting to overcrowd you. The kiss was definitely more passionate then the first, the hand on your waist squeezed in time with the little noises he pulled from you as he alternated between kisses and little nips to your bottom lip. He ran his tongue along yours, asking for permission without breaking away from you. You grinned into the kiss as you parted your lips, a moan pulled from the both of you the kiss deepened. You wanted more. You surged forward, trying not to break the kiss, your hand coming up to run through his hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He allowed his body to fall back against the couch pulling you with him, you swung a leg over his lap to straddle him

“Rafael,” you moaned as he broke the kiss. His hands trailed up and down your back as he started to kiss along your jaw, being careful not to leave any marks. You tilted your head to the side giving him more access to your neck as he started kissing down it until he got to the collar of your sweater where he started kissing along the skin just above the collar and back up your neck nipping briefly at your ear lobe. You pulled at his hair drawing his mouth away from your neck, you crashed your lips back to his, the passion and heat building as Rafael slipped a hand under your sweater and the other moved down to squeeze at your ass. You ground down in his lap, pulling a rough groan from his chest before he pulled away staring up at you.

“Chica, I still have meetings after this lunch,” he chuckled. “I have to look presentable.”

“Such a shame counsellor, I’m sure you can calm down but your hair might be a little harder to fix,” you grinned kissing him on the nose as you tried to fix the mess you had made of his hair.

“Hm, not so sure I can, what with you so nicely perched on my lap like this,” his voice was husky filled with lust to match his black blown eyes. But there was a soft look in them as his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks, before he moved to nuzzle his nose against yours. His hands sliding down to hold your hips, as he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

“It would appear we are at an impasse,” you giggled as you smoothed your hands down his chest. “I also need to tell you something.” You pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “You look very handsome today.” You leant your forehead against his. “And I have greatly been enjoying each time we meet. And each time we message. Yesterday when I sent you that message I didn’t even think about it, I just knew that I wanted to share my excitement.”

“Amor,” Rafael whispered, his eyes staring up at you in wonder at your statement. “I have found myself looking forward to hearing from you. To finding a reason to message you, and find a way to be able to see you.”

You grinned down at him, your whole body warm from the happiness that surge through you. You had hoped that you weren’t alone in how you felt, and to hear him say it, it made you insanely happy. You pressed your lips to his again, over and over, giggling a little as Rafael’s hands tightened on your hips. You felt his lips curl into a smile against yours as you slowed the kisses down, claiming his lips in a slow sensual dance. His hands moved to run up and down your thighs, causing a shiver to move through you, as they grabbed at you.

“Rafi,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his jaw before running your nose along his jaw nuzzling into him. “I’m-” you were interrupted by a nock on the door.

“Mr Barba,” Carmen’s voice called through the closed door. “You’re next appointment is here.” The two of you pulled apart, a look of shock on both your faces.

“Give me five minutes Carmen,” Rafael answered his hands back on your hips as he gently nudged you back. “Sorry, Chica, times up.”

“Pity,” you pouted but moved off of him, straightening your sweater before you started packing up the lunch you brought him. His arms wrapped around your waist, lips pressing a sweet kiss to your neck as he squeezed you close.

“I’ll message you as I can throughout the day,” he promised as you turned in his arms.

“Hmm, that’s sweet,” you smiled at him. “I’ll take what I can, but I understand how busy you are.”

“You are already too good to me,” he released you to try and fix his own appearance, sending you a wink as he flattened his hair. You took your jacket back folding it over an arm that held the flowers, your tote bag hanging in the crook on your elbow, as Rafael walked you to the door, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Real soon,” you agreed. “Don’t work yourself to hard, Rafi.” You squeezed his hand before he opened the door.

You walked out with him on your heels, you could feel his eyes following you as you past by a large man in a suit who was holding a briefcase. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as you left the building. The flowers continuously drawing your eyes, the warmth of happiness never leaving you.

‘You still need to tell me all about your theme at the library, Chica, I hope I will be able to arrange a time where we can have dinner again.’

You grinned all the way back to the library, you needed to speak with Lily. You were tossing around the idea of asking him over to your apartment for dinner. Wondering if maybe it was too early to ask if he wanted to stay the night but if your little make out session was anything to go by it wasn’t.

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 1

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Synopsis: There's no place for women in the world of racing. Let alone rally. Until you show up - the daughter of a racing legend who lost everything out of nowhere - ready to stir the pot of competition and throw fuel to Naozumi's fire, burning wild in more than just one way. Just how far will you go to take your rightful place in the world of rally, restore the team to its glory and change things for the better?

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, dating in secret

Word count: 4.5k+

A/N: Here it finally is. I can't believe I got to write about one of my passions in this way. Though I love rally, getting the technicalities right was rough but I researched as much as I could on it so it feels like the real thing, though there might be some minor inaccuracies, not really affecting the story.

This one has been in the works for a good period of time and though this first chapter is short and fast-paced, there's so much more coming. Trust the process cause god knows I do. I hope I can make Naozumi justice and I can't wait for you to read the next ones. Enjoy lovelies.

Now Playing: Edge of Seventeen - Wuki

Next Chapter 3

It's not about how fast you go.

It's about how long you go fast.

Fast like-

A knock reverberated against your helmet, interrupting the pre-race mantra before you even finished reciting it, bringing you back to the chaos prior to the race start.

Chaos you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Blinking your eyes open, you took in the smell of burnt rubber and the atmosphere, fully packed with the deafening roars of the crowds in the stands soaring over the music heard all the way to your station. Another voice joined in the noise, demanding your attention.

"Raiko, are you ready?"

Letting out an exasperated breath, you waved off whoever spoke to you and closed your eyes again.

"Give me a minute, will you?"

Okay, where was I?

It's not about how fast you go-

A drilling noise came from your right, annoying the living daylights out of you.

Ah, fuck it. Since we keep getting interrupted...

How about I tell you a little bit about me.

Name's Raiko Suruki.

Yes, that Suruki. Here we go again.

I'm the daughter of the famed Hiro Suruki, five times Japan World Rally Championship winner, consecutively if I may add, proud podium sitter for thousands of times, also kind of a living legend of the primetime of the rally world. The same Hiro Suruki that started one of the best teams in the history of Japanese rally, snatching six more titles under his directory. WRC'S Golden Boy.

After his personal fifth title, he decided he wanted something more. Something that would fulfill him, beside his love for driving at the most insane speeds known to man and having his first and only child - that's me in case you didn't know.

Anyway, without any second thoughts he retired from the sport out of nowhere, changing the fireproofs for the laid-back team principal shirt and a cheap very 'dad' baseball cap. At barely 35 years of age, he took the biggest leap of faith and Suruki Racing was born out of fuel and passion for rally.

He poured everything he had into the team and built it from scratch, taking it so high in his prime that everyone wanted a piece of it, be it driving in a seat for the team, changing parts as a mechanic or simply having shares in it.

It was basically the shit. The pinnacle of the rally series in Japan.

The team became a national sensation. So many influential people, from mere businessmen to politicians, even foreigners were so interested in it and helping it expand. It genuinely felt like the only way for him was up, flying like a rocket towards the legends' hall of fame.

It went like that for a while. He was beaming with happiness, unable to understand where all that luck came from. But like everything good, once he started to question it all, it was like a switch flipped inwards.

And everything started going wrong.

All of a sudden the cars started missing parts the night before races. They had engine failures mid-race in almost every stage, followed by dnf's on every scoreboard. And those aren't even the most shocking things that happened. You name the disaster and it definitely happened to Suruki Racing at one point.

The mess piled up more and more and it showed.

Contract deals with sponsors started falling through, losing funding for a lot of parts and investments in equipment. Then the drivers got fed up with the constant failed races and blamed the car or the team if they felt like it. They terminated their contracts way before their terms were up under the pretense that they wanted different things... which were not related to Suruki Racing. The mechanics chose to stay, well, a few of them anyways, but it wasn't enough.

The team ripped at the seams and slowly but surely ran into the ground and dad couldn't find at least one reason why it happened.

It was like a curse you couldn't get rid of and I saw it happen first-hand.

The late nights he would spend in the garage trying new parts that kept failing with every test on the car. The way he would go as low as begging the drivers to come back offering them money he didn't have because no driver, rookie or experienced, didn't even bat an eye once the name of the team was mentioned.

Lost, penniless and with a heavy heart, he had to watch the one thing he loved the most on earth rust little by little, no matter what he would do to prevent it.

Mom called it karma for his reckless racing days because as talented as he was, the road forgives no one. That you can be God's favourite and still lose everything. And he didn't want to understand that. He never did.

I was too young to help back then. Too young to understand what Suruki Racing meant to him. Too young to do the only thing I could to save it.

Until now.

So, let's try that again, shall we?

Name's Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing 2.0.

Another knock to your helmet, echoing in your head louder than the first, brought you back to the real world for good this time. Mechanics rushed around you to finish the set up on the car before you were called up to take your spot in front of the race marshal, which from a quick glance at the scoreboard would be soon.

Looking to your left, you were met with a set of dull brown eyes, messy jet black hair, a funky moustache and an extremely creased forehead for his middle age, all belonging to your co-driver, Don Tanaka. He's another legend of the sport.

Former training coach for some of the current biggest teams in the WRC, with a CV of experiences surpassing most people that have been in rally for longer. On top of all that, he is an even bigger friend of your father's. When he called him up asking for an old favour to train you, he couldn't say no.

But if it was up to commenting, you'd say he was one of the biggest fools for giving up a lavish salary with so many perks for one favour, especially for your old fart of a father.

Driving with him was great, but training with him was hell on Earth.

"I was doing my mantra," you reasoned, trying to get him off your case.

"Your mantra sucks."

He is an absolute joy to be around, isn't he?

"Well," you turned to him in your seat with a tight-lipped smile, "you're the one choosing to be co-driver to a young adult at your ripe age of 40. If I was you I would've picked something more calming, like gardening."

Bringing his hand to his chin in thinking, he sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"That doesn't sound so bad right now," he went on trying to push your buttons.

"Oh, shush," you waved him off, turning back to the wheel.

If there was one thing he liked doing, it was keeping you in check by poking fun at you. He was like that one uncle you could always go to with your secrets or to ask for extra pocket money, but in return he liked to tease the fuck out of you for it. Every. Single. Time.

As much as you hated his antics, you did kind of owe him a lot. He was the one who caught your talent for racing early on, back when you would drive plastic mini cars made from scraps around the team garage like you had years of experience. A few drifting maneuvers around old tires done like a pro at the cool age of 8, and he was sold on you and your potential.

Amongst all the teasing and the pain of having to train like a man, you've spent enough time with him to know you could count on him for literally anything. He was the best co-driver you could ask for and you wouldn't want anyone else in that seat directing your fate for the world.

He knew what it took to annoy you greatly in order to deliver on the dirt track and prove yourself. Especially now, since you were the only woman on highly occupied male territory.

Racing was a man's world.

With as many female advancements in motorsport as there were today, the majority of the community was still not convinced that a woman could drive better than a man or even compete alongside a whole grid of their species. They can regard you, acknowledge your existence, but they would never accept you.

Your father knew your entry to the championship would stir up a lot of unwanted attention, besides the fact that he was basically reviving a cursed team and you happened to be the poster face for it this time around. It sounded like a catastrophe in the making.

Frankly, you were ecstatic to get to drive an actual race car outside of the junior series and helping the team get back to its rightful place, restoring its deserved glory. But you knew it wasn't going to be easy work. Especially, since public enemy number one - the press - was going to try and tear you to sparkly shreds for a lot of reasons. An attack that they started before any official information was out.

A few months ago, when the announcement of Suruki Racing's comeback after ten years of inactivity hit the WRC, the media had a field day with it.

They criticized your father for being a nutjob that didn't know when to quit. They smeared Don Tanaka's name like he didn't make most of the drivers currently selling their dying papers. They even tried to get paid scoops from anyone involved with the team in the slightest.

But the team had one wildcard left to play before pulling the curtains for good and giving them the satisfaction that they ruined it.

You.

The press didn't know about you. No one in the other teams knew about you. Thanks to your father's extremely private life, no one even knew of your existence.

The only people that did were your team in the garage, from the mechanics to your PR agent.

Even walking into the circuit grounds this morning, long hair down over your shoulders, sporting the team gear in plain sight, no one batted an eye at you. Even if they did, they would think you were involved with technical or marketing - though even that was a rarity in this universe - or worse, just another groupie looking to get one of the drivers under your hood.

Your father wanted to give everyone a show they'll never forget by having you drive the first race in the calendar without a proper introduction. No car reveal. No interviews. No pre-race press conference. Just a car and its driver.

This way they would judge your driving before they actually got to judge you for being a woman at the wheel of a three hundred horsepower beast. He trusted you and your judgement on the track far more than the lousy press setting you up for fail. They would get a proper car show and speech after the race anyway.

It was out of the ordinary but that kinda summed up Hiro Suruki and his bipolar personality.

The distorted sound of a megaphone, followed by the voice of the race marshal called you to the start line.

"Car 7, Rai Suruki for Suruki Racing, you're up next!"

You could already see everyone turning their eyes to your station, booming cheers going quiet, turning into sharp murmurs.

Time to get this show going.

Rolling up your windows to block the world, you put the car in gear and drove to the start line, waiting for the green light. Looking out at the lines in the road ahead of you spotting the first hazard ahead, the nerves climbed up your spine faster than your engine could pump the pistons for pressure.

You prepared for this for most of your life, but if you were being honest, it all got a little too real now, sitting with your foot hovering above the gas pedal ahead of the moment that could make or break your career before it even started. The very moment that could be a step forward to restoring your father's name, getting the team back on track in a new age of rally racing. The moment for a change.

No pressure, right?

"Raiko," your co-driver called your name, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the road, gloved fingers tightening on top of the wheel with a small snap. "Do you remember the course?"

"Yes."

"Good. All set?"

"I think so."

"Raiko, look at me."

"You're not my style."

"Raiko," his voice turned more serious and deep with warning. With another sigh into the small, cramped space for breathing your helmet provided, you turned to him.

"You've got this. Let's prove everyone wrong."

He was right.

Let's prove everyone wrong.

The race marshal started the countdown, walking from the front of your car to the side, each number in the count descending with your nerves. You loosened the hold on the wheel, stretched your legs to the pedals and let out a deep breath.

"3."

It's not about how fast you go.

"2."

It's about how long you go fast.

"1."

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

A soon as the lights went green, you hit the throttle and took off into the dirt, raising the dust behind you. You skidded off to the side a little due to the gravel but you got control of it before anyone could notice.

Tokai was a pretty difficult course to rally depending on which stages got picked for the day. More forest terrain gave way to hard roads, receeding in wheel control, gaining insane suspension pressure. This one was more of an open valley terrain, which was a bit safer, but the later you got the okay to race, the more dust and gravel from other drivers would pile up in front of you, making visibility dangerously low. The corners were way too tight and one second off from Tanaka's directions or a mishap of your footing could cost you and put your car on the sidelines.

"5 left over crest," Tanaka paced you for the upcoming hill and you prepared to release the throttle.

"1 left 100."

Wheels back on the ground, you resumed pressing the pedal as a hairpin portion came into view. The cloud of dust in front of you was chalky and you had to get through it before it raised higher. Putting the car in second gear, you got ready for the drift portion.

You had to be extra careful here. The mechanic in chief told you to go easy as the rear could send you into oversteer, throwing off the balance of the car and fuck up the race completely.

Listening to your gut, you waited for the right time then tapped the brake, cut the wheels and pressed the throttle, sliding across the portion. Loud cheers and whistles erupted as the crowd in the stands got up to watch you complete a perfect drift.

"3 right don't cut."

Reduce pace and prepare for a possible road hazard.

You slowed down and sure enough a bump in the road came up. If you missed that one and took it at 120 kph, it would've projected you off the track, crashing the car hard into the rocky wall like a cereal box. Thankfully, you swerved around it, feeling the car lift off the ground on the left for a bit before it fell back down.

"6 right very long."

Hard left into a tight corner.

"Cut 8 left."

Tight corner requiring you to follow a straight line in the curb.

This was the last and worst corner on the track. You were lucky it didn't rain because this is where your car can skid off into the stands. You caught the straight line pretty fast, cutting a few seconds off your lap time without slowing down.

Following the rest of Tanaka's directions and focusing on the rest of the road, the race finished before you knew it. You liked the state you were in as you drove, mind clear of everything else because as soon as the adrenaline in your body decreased, your brain got bombarded by all kinds of issues.

Did I push the new suspensions too hard? God, I hope I didn't scratch the rear in the hairpin. Was my timing too off on that last corner? I should've practiced it more.

Driving back to your team's station, you sent all those worries at the back of your head and got out to watch the screen showing the score board just as it updated to display the new track times since you were the last to go.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma - 1.24.55

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 1.23.59

3. Rai Suruki - Suruki Racing - 1.23.40

"WE BAGGED THIRD PLACE?!" you yelled throwing off your helmet onto the car seat.

"WE SURE DID," Tanaka high fived you, beaming with energy just like you.

"That's 15 points on the first stage! Well done, lightning strike," he ruffled your hair as you snickered, nose scrunching up with a smile at the gesture you were already accustomed to.

"The car held up a lot better today than in testing. Maybe we lifted the curse," you wiggled your eyebrows at him at which he flicked your forehead. "Ow, what did you do that for?"

"Don't jinx it. We still have two more stages to go."

"But-"

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by angry shouting coming from the station next to you.

"I told you to not touch the third gear," yelled a strained voice.

You walked to the side of your station, peeking your head by the team banner, and watched the heated exchange between one of the drivers and his mechanic. Your eyes wandered to the car sitting in the middle, not one hand touching it for the regular post-race check up. From the different strokes of sky blue layered over stark white, the red and blue sponsor stickers and the carbon spoiler, you recognized it to be Spica Racing's.

"It doesn't matter now," shouted another voice, so annoyed and sure of themselves as if they owned the place. "I got a good lap record this time."

"What would you do if you had to retire in the middle of the race?" shot the mechanic, chastising the driver for being careless.

He got up in his face, towering over him though the other was much taller than him.

"We won't win if I don't attack!" he yelled back, throwing his hand in the air to make a point. "The moment I think of being scared I will lose. I won't make that mistake. So just do your job and fix the car."

With that final remark, he rounded the car to walk away from the station until he noticed you in the corner, now standing in full sight just at the line between your stations.

Quickly replacing the scowl on his face with what was probably his natural smirk, he came to you, stopping short of the barrier separating you.

"I don't do autographs, but for you I can do more than that," he added a daring wink, flashing his cocky smile at you.

Ew.

Taking a small step back hoping his vibes wouldn't envelop you, you uncrossed your arms from your chest and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I don't want your autograph."

Taken aback at your response, he backed up slightly too and looked you up and down, taking in your deep blue and dark gold team fireproofs and the suit tied messily around your waist. The old, way out of fashion colours seemed to ring a bell.

"Suruki Racing...," he started doubtful, "the shithole that revived from the ashes? Are you a mechanic, a co-driver or something for them? If you are, why don't you jump ships? I wouldn't mind having you on my team instead," he finished his speech of intent with another shit-eating grin.

Who the fuck was this guy?

The audacity that wafted off him must definitely make him popular with the ladies.

"I don't think we've met before," you extended your hand out to him, curt and polite, like a normal person would do, introducing yourself.

"Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing," emphasizing your role in the team so he got it through his head that you weren't some bimbo.

If you were, you'd make sure your fist decorated his face in pretty red tones before anything else.

He straightened back, smirk gone from his face in all sense of the word. It got replaced by some kind of curiosity. Looking between you and your palm hanging in the air he looked confused to say the least. He's heard about female racers before and seen some working in technical around the place, he's just never seen one stand against him on track.

Tired of being polite to someone who obviously has never heard about manners, you were about to retract your extended hand when he caught it in a firm grip and pulled it towards him, just holding it instead of shaking it. The move sent you forwards, almost barreling into him when your reaction response kicked in to steel you a safe distance away.

Maybe Tanaka's intense survival program pays off sometimes.

"So," he began and you wondered if he was about to say something intelligent or spew more shit with that mouth of his. He decided to choose the latter. "You're the one driving the Beetle dupe right there?"

Eh, come again?

Your eyes widened at him, looking at where his finger was pointed to confirm that he was pointing at your car and not anywhere else, then you whirled your head back at him appalled.

"B-Beetle dupe?!"

"I thought you were a guy."

Wouldn't be the first time I heard that one.

You took your hand back from his hold, wiping it on the sleeves of the suit hanging on your hips in the hopes that it would wipe off the disgust you were feeling too. It didn't but it was worth a try.

"It's the name," you replied through gritted teeth.

He backed up some more to scan you again, though more attentively this time, like you were some kind of illegality, cooked up from the pits of his imagination. You gave him your best front, hardening your jaw and rolling your shoulders backwards, proving you were more than a pair of boobs and a vagina, which was apparently his deranged first impression of you.

You deserved to be here. No amount of stares from the male specimen, surprised or with sinful intentions, could ever make you back down from this. This was yours to take on. No man could take this from you. Not him anyway.

So, you stared him down too, trying to find something else beside the extreme big dick energy and unsurmountable lack of scruples surrounding him. Struggling to see anything else but some disdain in the way he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a rich prick attitude from how he shifted on his legs like the world owed him golden lingos every time he breathed, and some leftover rage from the screaming match with his mechanic still present in the tick of his jaw, you let your eyes meet his own in conclusion of your very own analysis.

Yeah, there's nothing else in there. An ambulant douchebag. Just like I thought.

Flashing cameras were suddenly thrown in your faces, interrupting the intense stare-down between you. The press and some people, potentially fans of other teams by their t-shirts, surrounded you from every corner of the plastic barrier around the two stations, pushing each other over the race marshals that tried their hardest to keep them away. It wasn't long until they pushed over the barrier.

Too absorbed in the chaos, you didn't notice he leaned down to your ear but when you did, you stilled in your shoes, all blood draining into your pounding stomach. He spoke close and low, so only you could hear his words.

"Don't get too comfortable around here, rookie," he whispered, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear making shivers run down your extremely clothed spine. "Let's see how long you last in here because this season might just be your first and last."

Pulling away with another one of his smirks that were starting to get on your nerves, he regarded you once more before he walked off in amusement to his cool-down room, giving you a full view of his broad back.

Oh, just you wait -

A reporter shoved into the human barrier of orange and green safety vests reaching the railing, yanking it back and forth repeatedly until the poor plastic seal broke off, letting everyone else pool in around you.

Uh-oh. This wasn't good.

They packed around you like wolves on their prey, all shouting different things at you while shoving their big cameras, recording devices and phones in your face. The flashes blinded you, turning the world white and too bright for it to be natural light from the clouded sky above.

Your hands shot up on instinct to cover your eyes from the flaring lights as your ears focused on filtering through the blaring sounds of camera clicks and voices. Then the countless questions registered clear as day, hitting you like a truck at full speed.

"Are you Rai Suruki, daughter of Hiro Suruki?"

"Where did your father get the money to restart the team?"

"Is your car even going to last a season?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

I guess that was it for mystery, dad.

Some of the other teams passed by the ruckus, sparing quick judgmental glances or sending disgusting sneers your way like that was the way they initiated your welcome ceremony at the gates of the jungle.

If this was any other series, you would've been so welcomed by the rest of the grid and treated somewhat better by the media and the fans. But this was the World Rally Championships.

Driving was dirty.

Talk was filthy, full of disrespect and unspoken trials of envy between each driver.

The press competed to see who would get your head on a pike first and parade it as the story of the century.

Respect was fought for, not earned.

It was a different game. One where you needed to play even if you didn't want to so in turn you wouldn't get played. Survival of the fittest truly.

You steeled your gaze, waving the reporters off and digging a hole through the crowd, successfully escaping away to your pit crew. Helping with packing up bits and pieces and taking your own stuff, you headed back to your team quarters, aware of the intensifying stares belonging to the rest of the teams still around their stations, talking about the first day in this season's calendar being an interesting one.

You had a feeling you and the team were the hot topic of conversation since you could feel their eyes searing deep holes into your back, burning hotter and doing more damage than flame-lit arrows aimed straight at you ever could. Tanaka wrapped an arm around you giving you his curled moustache smile, sympathizing with you.

Looking up at the sky darkening in mauve and pink, you let a small smile grace your lips. At least today was done. Your rally racing career has officially started. The team was back in business.

However, this first stage was just one of the many challenges still to come. Who knew what else was on the way?

As you trudged on the warm asphalt, warmed by the mid-spring warmth of March, there was one thing you knew for sure.

This is gonna be a long season.

Next

Thank you for reading :) As always leave a like, comment or reblog!

[milfsloverblog]

Life Eternal (last part)

Can you feel me longing for you forever and ever?

Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Well, this story has finally come to an end. Thank you to everyone who’s been following since chapter one, I loved reading your comments of pure anguish and despair. It took me a (long) while to decide how I wanted to end this fic, I hope you’ll enjoy reading it. Here’s the song mentioned in this chapter, which I recommend listening to (I swear I’m not trying to turn y’all into The Cure fans…unless…). Thank you again, enjoy!<3

AO3 link in title

She couldn’t know. It was impossible, you knew it was impossible for someone to remember once their memories had been erased. Unless… No. No, this was just fate messing with you, it was life sticking its middle finger right into your face.

You should have declined. You should have pushed the drink away and get out of the bar. But you didn’t. If life wanted to mess with you, then so be it. What did you have to lose, anyway? Larissa didn’t remember you.

So you found yourself picking up the glass, your legs moving on their own accord as you walked towards the tall woman.

“Hey!“ You pushed a small smile as you sat down on the stool next to hers.

“Hey, I’m Larissa!” She offered her hand and you shook it, introducing yourself in return.

“I don’t do this very often,” she said, gesturing around with her hand. “Going out to bars, I mean. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I don’t have much free time with my work. And I’m rambling now.” she chuckled softly. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t know if this was the right approach, buying you a drink. That’s what people used to do when I was younger.”

“Well, a free drink is always welcome.” You joked. “Unless it’s from some creepy old man. In which case, it’s never welcome.”

Larissa laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand like she always did.

“Tell me more about you.” You said as if there was anything she could tell you that you didn’t know already.

You listened to the tall woman telling you about her life, your chin resting on your hand. You could feel yourself melt at the passion and the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her work at Nevermore. She told you it was a school for outcasts and asked if you knew what that meant, to which you simply nodded and took a sip of your drink.

It had always been hypnotising, the way she moved her hands around as she talked. Her mouth spread in a wide smile as she told you about the last Outreach Day, her crooked bottom teeth peeking out from behind her lip. You almost wished you had found a way to erase your memory too, just so you could fall in love with her all over again.

“Jericho, you said?” You tilted your head. “It’s a bit far from here, isn’t it? You don’t have nice bars over there?”

“Well, to be completely honest, a former student recommended me this place. She said it was quiet and it would do me some good to be away from Nevermore, at least for a weekend while it’s the summer break.”

A former student, of course. Enid. I swear you won’t live to see another full moon, you traitorous fur-bag.

“I never thought I’d be taking recommendations from Wednesday Addams. But here I am, and I’m glad I did!”

Wednesday?!

You choked on your drink, turning away from Larissa as you coughed a few times.

“Are you alright?” Larissa’s hand gently rubbed your back and you had to close your eyes for a second, her electrifying touch sending a jolt through your veins.

You nodded and cleared your throat, almost letting out a whine at the loss of the woman’s warm hand on your back.

“I’ve been rambling about myself for half an hour, how about you tell me more about yourself ?” Larissa emptied her glass and gestured for the bartender to pour her another one.

“There isn’t much to say about me, really. I finished high school six years ago and tried university but it wasn’t for me. Currently working at a small coffee shop downtown but god knows how long that will last. I’m sorry, I’m not as interesting as you are.” You shook your head and looked down.

And then her hand was on yours, giving you a gentle squeeze that had your breath hitching in your throat.

“Don’t say that. It’s not easy to find what makes us vibrate, what makes us want to get out of bed in the morning. Everything takes time.” She gave your hand another squeeze before letting go. “And do you come here often?”

“I suppose it depends on what you call often? Once a week, usually.” You shrugged, realising how pathetic that sounded.

“And you come here looking for…?”

“I’m not even sure, to be honest. I guess I come here trying to forget some things. It doesn’t help though, and I keep coming back like an imbecile.”

“Mm, trying to mend a broken heart then?” Larissa’s fingers carefully took hold of your chin and raised your head so you’d look at her.

You were grateful for the song changing in the background right at that moment. You could tell Larissa immediately recognised it, as you did, by the way her eyes widened.

“I love The Cure!” She said, her ruby lips stretching in a wide smile.

I know. I haven’t forgotten.

“So do I!”

Truth was, you hadn’t listened to them in over a year. But of course one of their songs would play right when Larissa found her way back to you.

So, we meet again and I offer my hand

All dry and English slow

Larissa offered you her slender hand to take and you didn’t think twice before grabbing it, letting the woman pull you towards the small dance floor.

And you look at me and I understand

Yeah it's a look I used to know

Three long years and your favorite man

Is that any way to say hello?

And you hold me like you'll never let me go

You were hypnotised, entranced by the way she danced to the music. You had asked her once if she had always been so diligent and she had nodded, telling you that she’d always been a studious and dedicated student except for the few times where her roommate had managed to drag her to a bar downtown.

You imagined a younger Larissa, drink in hand and dancing to some new wave song with her roommate. Is that where she had learnt to dance like this?

Larissa spun you around and wrapped her arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against her body.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you so much

The older woman whispered the lyrics near your ear, the hair on your neck sticking up as her breath hit your skin. You wondered then if she knew. If by some miracle - or curse - she had found a way to remember.

You couldn’t resist closing your eyes and letting Larissa sway you from side to side, her arms tightly wrapped around your body and her lips dangerously close to your pulse point.

But how many times can I walk away and wish, if only

How many times can I talk this way and wish, if only

Keep on making the same mistake

Keep on aching the same heartbreak

I wish if only, but if only is a wish too late

It pained you how accurate it all was. How many times you wished you had told her the truth. How many times you regretted running away, making the same mistakes again and again. You wished, if only.

The song came to an end and Larissa held you a little longer before eventually letting go, spinning you around and biting her lip as the two of you locked eyes.

“I think I’d like to go home with you.” She whispered, the dim light doing nothing to hide the blush that crept on her cheeks.

Oh. Oh.

“Larissa, I don’t think…Fuck-“ You rubbed your hand over your face, trying to find the right words.

“Oh, god. I misread the signs, didn’t I? I’m sorry, I really did think you were interested-“

“I am!” You cut her off. “You didn’t misread anything, I’m interested. It’s just-“

“It’s the age gap, right?” It was her turn to cut you off. “Listen, I can make myself appear younger.” She blurted out “I told you about Nevermore. I’m an outcast too, a shapeshifter.”

“What?!” You scoffed. As if you would ever want her to shapeshift into anything else than what she was right now.

Larissa’s eyes widened and she froze looking like a deer caught in the headlights. She had told you too much. She shouldn’t have mentioned her abilities, you looked absolutely horrified about her admission.

“Come with me.” You said, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the door.

Larissa had just enough time to reach her arm out and catch her bag from the stool as you pulled her outside.

“I don’t live too far, we’ll walk. The fresh air will do us some good.” You said, walking down the street with Larissa by your side.

You were halfway to your house when you realised that you had not let go of her hand, that her fingers were still intertwined with yours and she didn’t seem to mind. It felt so right to be walking home with Larissa, holding hands like lovers did. And yet you couldn’t ignore the dreadful feeling of guilt that pulled in your stomach. It wasn’t right to do this, to lie to her like you were doing right now. What if this went too far? You couldn’t take advantage of her like this, you would never.

“I hope it’s not too messy inside.” You joked awkwardly as you unlocked your front door and pushed it open. “You can take your shoes off if you’d like, I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to walk around in heels all day long.”

The woman nodded and slipped out of her shoes, placing them by the door. She followed you deeper into your flat and looked around, smiling at the decor.

“It’s cozy.” She said. “It looks like you, very fitting.”

“Thanks, I guess?” You chuckled and watched her sit down on your couch as you poured two glasses of water.

“So…” She started when you sat down next to her, placing the glasses on the table. “I don’t usually do this. I already told you that I don’t go out much, nor do I have sex with people I’ve just met, but there’s something about you…”

Larissa’s hand had landed on your knee and moved higher as she spoke, her fingertips rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. She moved her free hand to cup your cheek and pulled you closer, finally allowing herself to press her lips on the expense of your neck.

“Fuck-“ you breathed out, feeling your willpower slipping through your fingers.

You had dreamt of this moment for so long, imagined her lips on your skin so many times. All you had ever wanted was there in your arms, years of yearning and longing finally being rewarded. But you couldn’t let it happen, and you knew it.

“Larissa-“ You carefully held onto her shoulders and gently pushed her away from you.

Don’t look at me like that, please. If only you knew. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and you’re all I can never have.

“We can’t! I can’t…Trust me, Larissa, you don’t want to do this with me.” You said looking into her eyes, hoping she would accept it without further explanation.

“You don’t know what I want.” Larissa breathed out and the next second her lips were crashing onto yours.

The world around you faded into oblivion as you tasted Larissa’s lips and she tasted yours. You eventually dared to reach for her, your hand craving to hold onto her waist when the older woman suddenly recoiled as if she had been burnt.

And you could immediately tell by the look on her face that she remembered. She desperately searched for your eyes, silently seeking an answer to the memories that had just gushed into her mind.

“I can explain.” You whispered, holding your hands out in front of you.

Larissa’s body visibly tensed and for a second you thought she was about to scream at you, half expecting her to slap you as well. But that wasn’t Larissa. She had never raised her voice at you, you weren’t even sure she had it in her. Instead, the woman opened her arms and pulled you in a tight hug that had you burst into sobs.

“I’m so, so sorry-“ you sobbed loudly, slumping into Larissa’s arms and gripping onto the fabric of her blouse to keep her close.

Larissa stayed quiet, her chest heaving up and down as she buried her face in the crook of your neck, trying to process the thousands of thoughts and emotions that ran through her.

“We should have talked this out.” She eventually said when you had calmed down.

She pulled away from you and brushed your tears away with the pad of her thumb.

“I was so scared to lose you.” You admitted, your lips dangerously wobbling once again. “I was so scared that you would forever be disgusted by my feelings for you, that you would kick me out of your life. I was horrified that you might think our friendship was based on lies, because it wasn’t! You were the most important person in my life. I was so terrified at the thought of losing you that I willingly chose to evict myself from your life, and your memory.”

Tears dropped from Larissa’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks, ending their path on the woman’s lips. She shook her head a little and cupped your cheek.

“Your feelings for me are anything but disgusting, do you hear me?” She said. “You should have let me speak, perhaps you would have found that my feelings weren’t very far from yours.” Larissa admitted, fighting against the little voice in her mind screaming how unprofessional this was.

“Are you saying-“ Your mouth dropped open and you were unable to say anything else.

“Yes, I am.” Larissa nodded. “I know I shouldn’t, you used to be my student and I was your principal. I feel like this could be seen as me taking advantage of you, and I would never want anyone to think that.”

“You’re not! You’re not taking advantage of me, Larissa. You have never, not once, said or done anything inappropriate. Please-“ you pleaded and took her hands into yours.

“Why do I remember? I thought erasing memories was irreversible, so why did it all come back?” Larissa asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“It is irreversible, unless…” You chuckled and shook your head. “Look, there isn’t any non-cheesy way to say this so I’ll just say it. It’s irreversible unless you receive a true love’s kiss. I know how corny that sounds, trust me.”

“So that means…”

“That your soul and mine belong together, yes. But it doesn’t mean it has to happen. You will still be able to find love somewhere else, to fall for someone who isn’t me. All it means is that your soul matches mine.” You explained, readying yourself for rejection.

“I would be a fool to find my soulmate and decide to run from them, don’t you think?” Larissa whispered, her lips pulling in a small smile. “If you’re still interested in me, in being with me…”

“Yes, yes of course I am!” You answered without needing to think about it. “We will take it as slow as you want.”

“As slow as I want? I was practically throwing myself at you all night long.” Larissa laughed, a blush creeping up her chest and face.

“Yeah, well, it feels nice to know I’m the kind of woman you’re interested in.” You grinned and she gently nudged you before pulling you into another hug.

“I love you, Larissa.” You whispered in her ear, her arms squeezing you a little tighter.

“I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

—

The first rays of sunshine seeped through your curtains, hitting you straight in the face. You slowly blinked awake and turned your head to avoid the light, smiling at the sight of the woman asleep next to you.

Naked, with her mouth slightly agape and her silver curls spread on her pillow, Larissa was a vision.

Your eyes fell on the golden band that adorned her ring finger, which matched yours. You still had no idea how you had gotten lucky enough to call a woman like her your wife.

You closed your eyes, lips spreading in a soft smile as you recalled your wedding first dance. You had held onto each other, as you always did, and gently swayed along to the music, your lips near her ear whispering the lyrics.

Can you hear me say your name forever?

Can you see me longing for you forever?

Would you let me touch your soul forever?

Can you feel me longing for you forever and ever?

If you had life eternal?

————————————————————————

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[rorywritesjunk]

Oh, go to sleep, Little Skylark. Fly up past the stars

After breaking your heart, Buggy is cursed to be a kid again. The last thing you want to do is be involved with this.

Rating: PG-13ish. Warning: A crying kid, mentions of drinking to cope, kid with some abandonment issues so he cries. Also an adult lying to a kid because what else do you do in a situation like this? This story and how the Reader deals with Kid Buggy is different than the other Kid Buggy story. A/N: This is what I originally wrote before the other Kid Buggy fic. I decided to revisit it and tidy it up before posting it. This has no connection to the other story at all. Completely different.

Title comes from "Little Skylark (safe at home)" by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @fluffybunnyu @plethora-of-fickleness

*Little banner made by me

Chapter Two

It had been a rough week since you left the ship and your ex behind. The first two days you were drunk and miserable, holed up in your room as you cried until there was nothing left and then you’d sleep until starting over the next day. You smelled terrible and by the third day you were only half drunk before taking a bath and cleaning up. By day four you were angry, cursing the captain’s name as you searched the town for work. Day five you were crying again and day six you were wondering if maybe the two of you could have tried to talk about all of this, but when evening rolled around and you were getting dinner, someone made some comment about their useless husband and how ridiculous he was about something and you felt maybe leaving was the right thing to do.

If he didn’t want you around then why should you bother? 

Day seven someone was pounding on your room door. You looked up from the book you were reading and sighed. You paid up front and no one in the crew knew where you were, so you didn’t know who to expect. You put the book down and got up, walking over to the door before opening it slowly. 

Mohji pushed his way in and grabbed you by the shoulders. The concern on his face worried you. Was there something wrong with Richie? 

“Mohji, how did you find me?” You asked him. “Is Richie okay?”

“No, it’s the captain.” He said. “We need you back on the ship.”

You pushed his hands back. “No, he doesn’t.”

“You don’t understand, we need you.” Mohji stated. “It’s about the captain. He’s…”

You crossed your arms, waiting for him to tell you. There was nothing that could happen to make you go back, even if he was gravely injured and asking for you. He said what he said and Buggy rarely apologized for his words if he felt strongly enough about them. 

Mohji hesitated. You could see he was trying to think of how to tell you what he needed and while you were upset with Buggy, his two commanders did nothing to upset you. With a sigh, you dropped your shoulders and put your hands on your hips. 

“Fine, I’ll come to the ship for you.”

~

When you arrived back on the ship you were surprised to see the crew gathered around the casks. Cabaji was out of sight but you could hear him talking, trying to sound soothing and comforting, but it wasn’t coming off that way. Frowning, you hurried ahead of Mohji and pushed your way through, stopping when you saw Cabaji kneeling by the opening you squeezed into just a week before when you cried your eyes out. What was going on?

“Cabaji?” You asked. He looked up, relief on his face when he saw you. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the captain…” He looked back between the space between the wall and casks. You frowned and moved over to him, peeking around to see what was going on. There was a flash of blue and what appeared to be Buggy’s red and white striped shirt. What was going on?

“Kidnappers!” A tiny voice shrieked. “I’ll kill all of you!”

That… that was a kid’s voice. No, nope, no way, you did not deal with kids. You spun around to glare at Mohji. “You better not have dragged me here because I’m a woman and you think I’m good with kids.”

Mohji and Cabaji shared a look before the former nodded. “That’s… exactly why I came to find you.”

“Good luck you two.” You said as you straightened up. “Just get the damn captain to use his powers to pull the kid out.”

“No, you don’t understand, that’s the captain!” Cabaji exclaimed. “He… he got cursed by a witch this morning!”

Your jaw dropped slightly. He was cursed? Of all the people… no, actually, Buggy would get himself cursed by a witch. Probably insulted her too. He was good at that. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes, counting to three. None of these fools would know what to do, and honestly, neither did you, but if someone didn’t take charge, something was going to happen and you’d somehow have to end up dealing with it.

“Fine. Fine!” You looked over at the crew that stood there watching. “You all need to stand around us and get close together. Create a barrier with your bodies because we’re going to have to flush him out.”

Several shared a look. “But… you’re not the captain.”

“No, but I’m taking control of the situation, so I need you to do as I say.” You snapped. “Now get in line.” As the crew listened, you turned to Cabaji and Mohji. “Move the casks and when he runs out I’ll grab him, got it?” You couldn’t believe that you were back on the ship right now. You had hoped to never see it again, but you were there, waiting to help the cursed captain. You would rather leave him to suffer if it was up to you. 

You waited as everyone got into position. Cabaji and Mohji moved the casks on your signal. A little figure suddenly darted out from behind them and you moved fast, grabbing the back of the shirt and yanking him back to you. The fury you saw on the tiny face almost had you letting go for concern of your own safety, but you had to know what was going on.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay!” You insisted as he tried to pull away from you. He tried to slip out of the shirt but you grabbed him by the arm, and to your surprise it stayed attached to him. What was going on? 

“Let me go!” He shrieked. “Kidnappers! Captain Roge will come rescue me!”

“Captain…?” You stared down at him, mind racing as you tried to think of what to say next. This had to be Buggy but with Kid Buggy’s memories. Why was he a child? What actually happened? You glanced at Mohji and Cabaji, both looking like they’d rather be somewhere else than under your gaze. Taking a deep breath, you looked back at the kid and smiled at him. “Hey, it’s okay, your captain knows you’re on my ship!”

“Your ship?” You heard Cabaji mutter. You shot him a look and he went quiet.

“Your ship?” Buggy repeated with a frown. You nodded frantically, hoping he would calm down. “Who the hell are you?!”

“I’m…the captain of this ship.” You lied. “We’re the… uh, Pumpkin Pirates!” 

Buggy narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he looked between you and the crew, seemingly assessing if you were lying or not. He crossed his arms and looked you up and down.

“You don’t look like a captain. More like the cook or something.” He sneered. You almost swatted him upside the head for that but held back. Yes, you were previously the ship’s cook but he didn’t need to make it sound so insulting. “Where’s Captain Roger?!”

“I am the captain.” You told him through clenched teeth, still smiling. “And your captain asked me to keep you safe while he ran an errand with some members of his crew!”

“What?!” Buggy shrieked. “Why did I get left behind?! Where’s Shanks?”

“He went with them.” You said hastily. “You overslept, silly, so he asked me to watch over you. He’ll come back.”

You had to think of something. Kid Buggy was expecting to see his captain at some point, but how do you tell him that Gold Roger had been dead for over twenty years? You expected more questions, more arguing, but what you didn’t expect was the tears welling up in his eyes as he glared at you. Buggy as an adult didn’t cry very often, and when he did it had been only in front of you. Did kids cry a lot, was this to be expected with Buggy at this age? 

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry-”

“Why was I left behind?!” He cried as tears rolled down his cheeks. “What did I do?!”

Oh, shit. Shit. You didn’t really know what to do. Kids were very much not something you were around very often and your brain halted as you tried to think of what to say to calm him down. You decided to let him have a cry while you gestured for two crew members.

“You two, go into town and get him some clothes.” You hissed. They looked hesitant, but you glared at him. “Now. I don’t care how you get them but do it. We can’t have him running around like this.” With a gesture to the rest of the crew, they disbanded, hurrying off to do any chores or maintenance that needed to happen on the ship. Cabaji and Mohji stayed nearby just in case. You rubbed your face and glared at them both. “I’ll stay on board until this is solved but then I’m gone, do you understand?” 

The two of them nodded. You looked back at the kid and sighed. He was still crying, using the oversized shirt to wipe his eyes and nose as he sniffed. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing. There was no reason for you to be on board helping with this, but even though this last week had hurt, a part of you still loved the idiot. You didn’t want something bad to happen to him when he was a kid. With a sigh, you knelt back down in front of him.

“Hey, you hungry?” You asked; he looked up at you, sniffling loudly. “I think we just restocked the kitchen so I can make you a sandwich if you want. You were asleep for a while so I bet you’re hungry.”

“W-When can I go home?” He hiccupped. “I do-don’t want to be here.”

“I know, and he didn’t tell me when he’d come back, but probably around evening time?” You felt bad lying to the kid but what else could you say? You had to do something, and the only thing you could think of was to just lie to him for the time being, to play along with what his current state of mind was. He was Buggy as a kid, apprenticing on Gold Roger’s crew with his friend Shanks. “He didn’t give me an exact time, but he just told me to make sure you don’t take a nap today so you get some sleep tonight since you stayed up late yesterday, which is why you slept in and missed out.”

Buggy sniffled. “I couldn’t sleep ‘cause we were supposed to go on a raid today. I was too excited.”

“Well… next time drink some tea to sleep.” You chuckled as you stood up. He looked up at you, face tear stained and his eyes red. You held your hand out to him and smiled. “C’mon, Buggy, let’s get you some food, okay? You’ll feel better. And we can do our own fun thing today!”

He looked at your hand before taking it, following you to the kitchen. You hoped the crew came back with something for him. He couldn’t stay in Adult Buggy’s shirt the entire time, and you didn’t know how long this would last. As cute as he was as a kid, you didn’t want this to be a permanent thing. You didn’t want to stick around that long.

~

“Why does your Jolly Roger look like that?” Buggy asked as he looked up at it. 

Having calmed down, been fed, and given new clothes to wear, he was much more relaxed. You looked up at what he was pointing at and shrugged. The skull with the bright red nose definitely stood out to him.

“I forgot what a pumpkin looked like when I had it designed.” You lied. “Remember, we’re the Pumpkin Pirates.”

“What does that even mean?” He asked with a frown. You chuckled and ruffled his hair; he batted at your hand and glared at you.

“It means I like pumpkins!” You told him. “And I’m Captain Pumpkin, which is why we’re the Pumpkin Pirates! Just like Captain Roger has the Roger Pirates!” 

Buggy looked back up at the sail. “Pumpkins are orange and that nose is red.” He glanced at you before looking back up at it. “It looks like mine, that’s weird.”

“I had a memory lapse, okay? I hadn’t seen a pumpkin for a while.” You grinned. “Are we done judging me for my mistakes? We should do something fun.”

“I want to go home.” He mumbled as he went over to the side of the ship that faced the sea. He looked across the docks, seeing other ships, as well as some further out. He didn’t even see the Oro Jackson and frowned. “Where’s my ship?”

“Oh… uh…” You followed after him, squinting out at sea, trying to find it. “Maybe behind one of those other ships? Who knows. There’s a lot of people here.”

“When do I go home?” Buggy asked, looking up at you. It was hard to keep telling him the same thing, but you supposed this was how kids were. They would ask the same question again and again, each time expecting a different answer. You debated telling him a different answer this time, but you couldn’t risk him crying again. Instead, you pointed off to the distance.

“Is that them?!” You exclaimed. Buggy turned to look while you frantically waved Mohji over. You handed him a piece of paper that was in your pocket and whisper-ordered him to go off ship for a moment before running back with the paper. He looked at you like you were crazy, but you glared at him and he did as you asked. You pointed out to the water to keep the kid distracted. “Buggy, I think that’s it over there!”

“I don’t see the ship!” He snapped. “Where is it?!”

“It’s not that over there?” You pointed to a ship that had a horse for a figurehead. He looked up at you like you were an idiot.

“That’s not my ship! Do you even know what it looks like?!”

“I do, really!” You laughed. “Sorry!”

Buggy glared at you as Mohji came sprinting towards you. The first mate stopped, hunched over as he tried to catch his breath while he handed the paper over to you. Buggy tried to grab it but you snatched it first, holding it out of his reach as you unfolded it. You had to make this believable, so as you ‘read’ the scrap piece of paper that had a grocery list on it, you sighed heavily before looking down at Buggy.

“Sorry, kiddo, Roger sent word that they’ll be gone for a few extra days.” You told him, trying to sound disappointed. “Looks like you get to stay with me a bit longer.”

“W-What?!” Buggy exclaimed. “No, I don’t want to! I want to go home to my ship!”

You’re already on your ship and I need this to end now! You thought as you crumpled the paper up and shoved it in your pocket. “Sorry, kiddo. I know it’s not ideal but your captain is busy. There’s no one on your ship so you gotta stay with me. But I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

To your horror, the tears started up again. You did not expect him to be an emotional kid and yet this was the second time he has cried since coming into your care almost two hours ago. When Adult Buggy returned, you would demand three weeks worth of pay for this.