#here she is ... checkers appreciation
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"To Me, You Are Perfect" - Billy Washington x Best Friend!Reader
a/n: a request from my beloved @tallemajas-scriptorium hehehehehe 💕
Summary: Things change between you and your best friend.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, alcohol consumption, angst, infidelity by reader's ex, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie
Word Count: 4,010 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Trigger Point characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
It shouldn’t take Billy by surprise when you answer the door just wearing a tee shirt, but as always, it does. He does his best to keep his eyes from moving down to the exposed skin of your thighs as you greet him.
“Billy? Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over.”
He feels the back of his neck grow warm as he manages to mutter, “Well, I, uh… Thought we could hang out.”
“Now’s not really a good time,” you reply, glancing at your feet, “Was watching a horror film.”
“Course you were,” Billy says, stepping into the apartment, flopping onto your sofa and turning on the telly. You resist the urge to snap at him as he kicks his feet up on your coffee table, listening as he asks, “What was it you told me after Becky? That I needed to get back on the horse and stop being a weepy cunt?”
“I say a lot of things to you, doesn’t mean they apply to me,” you retort, “If you’re going to be a grumpy shit, you might as well leave now.”
Billy’s expression softens and he realizes how harsh he’s being. He’s your best friend, you were there when Becky broke his heart, now he needs to be there for you after Jake has broken yours. Though he did try and warn you off of him. He sighs, tugging you by the hand to sit down beside him. Billy wraps an arm around you, turning to face you, resting his free hand on your bare thigh. A touch that’s a bit too comfortable for two people just meant to be friends, but you say nothing, rather you just rest your hand over his.
“I’m sorry. I… I know you’re going through a tough time right now. I’m here. Whatever you need.” Billy pauses before adding, “Let’s do something. Something stupid and fun.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s go to the pub,” he offers, “And we’ll go from there. Gonna help you get over this twat if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I dunno,” you sigh, “I kinda want to just wallow in self-pity and watch ‘Saw’ and order greasy takeaway.”
“You don’t even like ‘Saw’! You always say that it’s torture porn and not real horror!”
“I like pretending the people going into the traps are Jake,” you mutter under your breath, sounding like a grumpy little kid.
Billy shakes his head, chuckling, “You know what? If it makes you feel better, you carry on doing that. But you’re going to have to finish your movie after we go out. Get dressed.”
“But Saw 2 is about to start-”
He fixes you with a look that has you sighing and walking back to your room to get ready. Billy turns on the telly in your living room again, wincing that Love Actually is queued up on this one. He knows it’s your favorite holiday film, but God, he hates the movie more than words can express.
“Fuck’s sake.”
You come out of your room about five minutes later, and Billy can hardly take his eyes off of you. His jaw drops at the sight of you in a little black dress that clings to your curves in the most delicious of ways, down to your bare legs, and your… Black and white checkered Vans?
“I’m sick of wearing heels,” you grumble, grabbing your coat as you prepare to face the cold December air, “Jake always wanted me to wear heels, just let me be short in peace, for fuck’s sake.”
“You look incredible,” Billy says, taking your hand in his, trying to ignore the way his heart rate speeds up. You’ve just broken up with your boyfriend. Now isn’t the time for him to confess his feelings for you. Not like this, “Come on. Let’s go to our place.”
“Our place meaning that shitty dive bar?”
“Where else would I mean? Be serious, love.”
As the two of you walk, you remark dryly, hugging your coat to your chest with your free hand, the other still intertwined with Billy’s, “Is this the part where you reveal our entire friendship has just been a ruse for you to murder me?”
“No, love, that’s our second date, keep up, why don’t you?”
“Oh, fuck off!”
The two of you arrive at the bar and Billy bows low at the waist, clearly putting on airs to keep you entertained, “After you, my princess.”
You burst into laughter and give him a mock curtsy as you enter, putting on the most posh voice you can, “Why thank you, good sir.”
Billy rests his hand against your lower back as the two of you walk toward the bar and he pulls your barstool out for you, “What can I say, I’m a gentleman. But don’t expect me to pull out your chair at the next fancy establishment I take you to.”
“What’s that? A Macca’s?” You tease as you wait for the bartender to come over.
“Might be an upgrade. Think I’m going to drown my worries in a beer tonight, what are you having?” You think for a moment before ordering a Mai Tai, earning a teasing look from your best friend, “A Mai Tai? How girly. You going to get it served with a little straw and an umbrella on top?”
“Surprise, William, I am in fact a woman,” you snark.
“Never said you weren’t a woman, not with a pair like that on you,” Billy retorts, making you roll your eyes as he reaches for your drink, “You know, I’ve never had a Mai Tai. Maybe I’ll borrow a sip.”
You slap his hand playfully as you chide, “You can’t ‘borrow’ a sip! Get your own! Don’t want you cooties in my drink.”
“Ah, yes, my cooties, I forgot your precious pretty little mouth is only for Jake-” Billy cuts himself off when he sees the way your face falls, “Fuck, I’m sorry-”
“Nah, it’s fine,” you wave off his concern, “I’m just… Fuck, I dunno.”
He wraps an arm around your shoulder, smiling at you softly, “Come on. Let’s forget him and just have fun tonight. Just you drinking a girly cocktail, me drinking a manly beer and getting to look at that smoking hot body of yours all night.”
You snort at his words, “What’s so manly about beer? Get a scotch on the rocks and then we’ll talk, Mr. Man.”
“Hm, fair point. I actually agree. I’ll just try a sip of your drink first.” He snatches your drink and takes a long sip from it, ignoring your protests, “Damn, this is good… How come you never told me these are so delicious? I’m converting to Mai Tais as of tonight!”
“I did tell you! A hundred and one times.”
“He takes another sip before handing it back to you, “Maybe you are smart. Not about Jake, though, to be clear. You were an idiot about him.”
You slap his shoulder and laugh, “Fuck off. You were just as bad about Becky. We’re both idiots.”
He raises his beer to you, cheeks slightly flushed, “Well said. I won’t deny I’m an idiot. I’m just saying you’re one too. It’s not such a bad thing. Think about it. If you weren’t an idea, you wouldn’t be here with me right now. You might be out with some bloke who actually knows how to treat you right.”
“Imagine that,” you smirk, “I prefer you. Idiocy and all.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway,” he stands up, gesturing for you to do the same, “This is not our last stop of the night, so little miss, I’ll need you to get up now.”
You arch a brow, following him out of the bar, wondering what he’s up to.
“A bowling alley?”
Billy nods, beaming proudly at his decision, “Indeed, my dear sweet best friend. And you are about to get your arse handed to you. You are about to witness athleticism at its peak.”
“You can’t even run a mile without getting winded!”
Billy shrugs, tying the laces on his bowling shoes, grinning to himself at your incredulity. Your eyes are drawn to his fingers as they deftly fix the laces, and you find your mind wandering to places it did back before you dated Jake, when Billy was still with Becky and you still had that stupid crush on him. But it’s over now.
Totally over.
So why does your stomach flip when he smacks your hand away and ties your laces for you, grinning up at you boyishly before poking your cheek and dragging you along to the alley that the two of you have rented? Why does the feeling of your hand in his feel so right? It’s only been a month since Jake. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. You can’t. You and Billy approach the bowling ball return, your best friend giving you a little smirk as you check which one you want.
“Do you even remember how the game works? Been a long time since that school trip to America.”
You scoff, picking up a neon pink bowling ball, putting on an exaggerated valley girl voice, “I just, like, roll it, right?” You move to bowl, and much to Billy’s surprise - and chagrin - you knock down eight pins, your second bowl making you land a spare. You pump your fist in the air before turning to your best friend, a finger pressed to your chin, “What, like it’s hard?”
Billy shakes his head, pointing at you, “Oh, it’s on.” Billy goes to take his turn, getting into position to bowl, only to let out a rather unmanly yelp of surprise when you give him a smack on the bum, causing him to roll a gutter ball, “Cheater! That was a dirty trick!”
“Oopsies!”
The two of you go on like this, purposely trying to make the other lose, distract the other by any means possible.
“You’re going down, Billy boy.”
“Oh, I’m going down? I’d like to see you make me.”
“I thought you like going down on girls. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
His ears burn bright red as he stares at you in shock, rolling another gutter ball, “Cheeky! Too cheeky!”
He gets his revenge by coming up behind you, pressing himself against you under the guise of adjusting your form, his hands resting on your waist as he turns you slightly, “Oh, very smooth, Washington.”
Billy grins, resting his chin on your shoulder as he whispers in your ear, “What? I’m just helping you out, love. I think this little adjustment is really going to help you.”
You shiver slightly as his lips ghost along your skin, smiling to yourself, “If I win, you have to watch Love Actually and Saw with me when we go back to mine.”
“If I win, we watch Die Hard and Elf.”
“Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie!” You protest, turning slightly to face him, flustering at how close he is to you, how you can feel his breath on your cheek.
“Neither is Saw,” Billy says, leaning in closer to you, his eyes half-lidded, that beautiful smile on his face that always makes your heart skip a beat.
But the moment is ruined when you see him.
Jake.
With the girl he dumped you for. Your bowling ball falls to the floor with a loud thud. Billy turns to see why your face has twisted into a look of panic, glowering when he sees your ex. You’re like a deer in headlights, he notes, turning back to you, resting his hands on your cheeks.
“Hey, it’s alright. He’s a piece of shit, ignore him. Breathe for me.”
You shake your head, covering your face as you race out toward the parking lot. Billy follows after you, pulling you into a tight hug, his heart breaking as you cry against his chest. Your tears soak his shirt as you weep, murmuring softly, your voice cracking with emotion.
“He just moved on. Like we were nothing.”
Billy strokes your hair, feeling his blood boil at the fact that your asshole ex has made you feel like anything less than the most beautiful girl in the world, “Screw him. You’re worth so much more than that. Any guy who’s too much of an idiot to realize that is a fucking fool.”
You sniffle slightly as Billy kisses your forehead, “I wanna go home.”
He nods, “Tube station’s not too far from here. Let’s go, love-”
You suddenly lean in, pressing your lips to Billy’s. He’s frozen in shock as your soft lips press against his, the cold winter air whipping around the two of you. He doesn’t even have time to react by the time you’ve pulled away, horror coloring your expression.
“Fuck! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I…”
You race off to hail a cab and Billy chases after you, “Hey!” He begins to get frustrated the closer he gets to you at the realization you just kissed him and ran away afterward, “Princess, get back here! You can’t just do that!”
You shake your head, getting into the cab, refusing to meet his gaze, “I’m sorry, it was a mistake! It was stupid!”
“No, it wasn’t! A kiss like that isn’t a mistake!” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it, “You can’t just kiss me like that and then just leave! Do you know how confused I am?!”
He lets out a frustrated shout as he watches your cab peel away, growing smaller and smaller the further it gets from him.
He’s never been so confused in his entire life.
By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, you’ve been ghosting your best friend for a week, not replying to any of his texts or calls, not answering the door, not posting on social media. A total blackout. Billy, for his part, is still confused and hurt, but more than anything, he wants to make sure you’re okay. And, if that kiss wasn’t in fact a mistake, he wants to finally tell you how he feels about you, how he’s always felt about you.
When he reaches your apartment building, he sees you there on the third story, having a smoke on your fire escape. You freeze in place when you see him, your cigarette falling to the ground below, as you meet Billy’s eyes. You can’t breathe, you can’t move, all you can do is watch him as he begins to play a Christmas carol from his phone and holds up…
Cue cards?
“I came here because it’s Christmas Eve and because you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
“Do you know how long it’s taken me to tell you how I feel about you? It’s because I was so scared of losing you.”
You begin to tear up, covering your mouth as you watch him lift the third card.
“I’m not afraid anymore though. Wanna know why?”
“Because the pain I went through over the past few days without you was worse than any rejection you could give me.”
“So my question is, will you give this a chance? Us? Because…”
“To me, you are perfect.”
You choke back a sob as you shake your head, watching Billy climb the ladder up to your balcony. You help him over, gazing up at him.
“I’m not perfect. I’m a jerk. Kissing you and running away.”
He sighs, resting a hand on your cheek, “Okay, yes. That was a jerk move. But I forgive you. You’re my best friend and… And I love you. You can reject me and I’ll respect that. But please,” his voice drops to a pleading whisper, “Don’t?”
You throw your arms around Billy, embracing him tighter than ever, his warm arms feeling like home to you, “I missed you so much.”
Billy hugs you back, a weight lifted off his chest as the two of you cling to each other, “You don’t even know how much I missed you. I… I was terrified when you just left, I was so worried. Please tell me everything’s okay between us?”
“I just thought when I kissed you and you didn’t kiss back-”
Billy’s eyes go wide, “Love, I was just taken by surprise. Of course I wanted to kiss you back. I want everything with you. I want nothing more on this planet than to kiss you again.”
“Really?” You ask softly, “Y-you wanna kiss me?”
Billy nods quickly, “Course I do. You can’t just lay one on me like that and not expect me to come back begging for more.”
You stand on your toes, your lips nearly brushing against Billy’s as you whisper, “You’re perfect to me too.”
Your lips press against his in a soft, tender first kiss, his hands cupping your face, yours wrapped around his neck as your lips move against his. Billy’s thumb traces your jaw as his tongue moves against yours, hesitantly at first but then with more confidence, slowly and in no rush, wanting to savor the moment that’s been coming for so long.
“I never want to stop kissing you,” he breathes when the two of you break apart for air as he stares into your eyes, “Ever.”
“Think I could kiss you forever,” you agree, pulling him back in for another.
And this kiss? It’s different. There’s fire behind it, passion as he moans against your lips, hands moving to grasp your hips. Your lips never part once as Billy moves you back into your flat, using his foot to slide your balcony door shut. He won’t stop for anything. The two of you stumble onto your bed as you help Billy out of his jacket, then pull his tee shirt up over his head, leaving him in only his joggers. You lay back, gazing up at him, tearing up slightly as you rest your palm on his cheek, watching him nuzzle against it.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, turning to press his lips to your palm, then your wrist, eyes full of love and affection, “Don’t apologize. Don’t even think about it.”
Billy lifts your shirt over your head, then the pajama shorts you have on, admiring your bare body with no small degree of desire. But he keeps being drawn back into your eyes, just gazing into them deeper than he ever has before.
“Don’t break my heart?” You request, your voice more vulnerable than he’s ever heard it, “It’s kinda fragile right now.”
He nods, leaning into capture your lips with his, nibbling at your bottom lip before moving his tongue against yours once again, hands moving to cup your tits, squeezing gently, loving the way you moan against his touch.
“I promise I’ll take good care of it. I swear. My heart’s a little fragile too. Take care of it?”
“I promise.”
You kiss him, softly and tenderly but with a quiet sort of desperation behind it, the two of you savoring the feeling of being together for the first time, wanting to take it slow but unable to resist each other. Your hands run through Billy’s hair as he pulls you closer, desperation in his eyes as he moves to kiss your neck, biting down gently before laving attention over the bruised skin with his tongue, smiling at the thought that his mark will be on your skin tomorrow.
“I love you,” you murmur, “I love your smile. Your laugh. Those blue eyes. Everything.”
Billy chuckles softly, kissing your jaw, “I love you too. I’m crazy in love with you.”
You take one of his hands in yours, pressing your lips to each of his fingertips, “I love your hands. How big they are. How safe they make you feel.”
“I’ll hold you tight with them so no one can hurt you,” he promises, voice cracking, “I promise.”
He moves down to your breasts, squeezing one while closing his lips around one of your nipples, gazing up at you as his teeth graze against the sensitive skin. You gasp, tugging at his hair gently, watching as he switches to your other breast before kissing down to your navel, nipping at the skin just below it.
“I’m never letting you go,” he vows, “Gonna be with you forever.”
You nod wordlessly, watching in amazement as he moves to kiss your bare cunt, a feather-light tease of a kiss that has you squirming with need, “Billy…”
You gasp as he begins to lap at your folds, teasing you with every flick of his tongue, blue eyes blazing with desire as the two of you stare at each other, only for you to throw your head back as he buries his tongue inside of you. You hear him moaning against your skin, backing away in spite of yourself only to have him hold you in place by your thighs, squeezing them, kneading the flesh between his hands as he fucks you with his tongue, nose pressed against your clit. He nuzzles against it, making you cry out his name, hands flying to his hair as you rub yourself up against him. Billy can’t get enough of the taste of you, spreading your legs further as he moves to latch his lips onto your pearl, suckling at it, the wet noises he makes, the moans he lets out, being borderline pornographic, over and over until you come undone on his tongue with a near scream of his name.
He crawls over you and you gaze up at him, wrapping your arms around each other again as he pushes inside you, making you let out a quiet gasp. He stills for a moment, just basking in the moment of feeling you around him, finally being together as one. Your legs wrap around his waist as you gaze up at him, fingertips caressing his cheeks, feeling him begin to roll his hips against yours.
Billy rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes as he continues to snap his hips, filling you up with every movement, his thick cock splitting you open with each thrust. You’ve never felt so connected with any previous partner, never felt so loved and appreciated as he lets out a tiny whimper when you squeeze around him, his eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you, lips hot against your own. Your hands gently scratch at his shoulder blades as you buck your hips up to meet his movements with your own, mewling his name when he hits that spot deep inside of you that has you seeing stars.
“Billy, fuck, you feel so good,” you whisper.
He lets out a little groan, his voice barely audible as he replies, “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect for me. Going to make love to you every day for the rest of my life. Going to fucking worship you like the goddess that you are. My best friend. My everything.”
His words bring tears to your eyes as you gaze up at him, your stomach tightening with every move of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls bringing you closer and closer to your peak. And when you come, it’s the most intense orgasm you’ve had in a long time, maybe ever, making you sob out his name as you bury your face in his neck, feeling him fuck you through your climax before spilling himself inside you, collapsing on top of you, completely spent.
Billy’s palm rests against your cheek, brushing your hair off your face and you kiss his palm, much as he kissed yours earlier, the two of you smiling at each other, holding each other closer than ever before, bodies intertwined.
“Thought you hated Love Actually,” you say, kissing his throat, loving the way he shivers at the touch of your lips.
“Yeah. But I love you. So go ahead and cue it up. Let’s see if I did better than Andrew Lincoln.”
You laugh and do as he asks, cuddling up against him, completely in love.
#billy washington x reader#billy washington x you#billy washington imagine#billy washington x y/n#billy washington trigger point#my writing#billy washington smut#billy washington fanfiction#billy washington fan fiction#billy washington x fem!reader#billy washington#ewan mitchell#trigger point#billy washington oneshot#holiday fic
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pretty please (be a perfect night) || c.sc
You and Seungcheol celebrate your one-month anniversary; however, a guest from the past makes an unexpected appearance.
💞 Pairing: boyfriend!Seungcheol x Reader (afab)
💞 Rating/Genres/AUs: NC-17; Fluff, tad of angst; Established relationship, Pretty Please Couple
💞 Warnings: Name-calling not in bed (bitch), pet names (Cherry, baby, babe), referred to as girl, reader has she/her pronouns, some suggestive content, mentions of sleeping around and family troubles, reader wears cheol's clothes and has "fancy" nails
💞 Word Count: 3.7k
💞 Timeline: Between "(stay with me)" and "(rid your worries)"; Mostly can be read as a standalone but does have some vague references to past parts
💞 Author's Note: Based on this ask! Thank you for the idea. I love seeing people enjoy reading this couple ^-^ Apologies for the long wait! I wrote this a few days later, but then I kept editing and adding more stuff so it ended up being longer than planned fkjbgfdk starting off the new year with this couple feels right 💖
pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist
Seungcheol’s hand rests on your thigh, drawing random shapes on your exposed skin. Dim street lights pass by, and you get lost in the repetition.
You had never thought you were a person to celebrate the smaller couple anniversaries, but here you are.
It’s been one month since you and Seungcheol decided to be a couple. A month of affection and care you’re not used to, but it’s a nice change. You insisted you were fine doing something less extravagant for your one-month anniversary, however, Seungcheol refused. He made a dinner reservation at one of the fancier restaurants in town and didn’t give you a chance to decline.
Despite not wanting a formal celebration, you’re glad Seungcheol cares about what you two have so wholeheartedly.
When Seungcheol pulls into a parking spot, you finally turn to him.
He’s already looking at you with a handsome smile. His hair is styled to show the middle of his forehead while strands of his hair frame his face. You can’t believe you ever thought his looks were mediocre.
“You ready to go, Cherry?” he asks.
You nod, reaching for the door, but Seungcheol squeezes your thigh to stop you. You peer at him in confusion.
“You know better,” he says with a small frown.
“Babe,” you sigh, recalling how he likes to open the door for you. Sometimes he’ll let you do it without a fight, but tonight is not one of those times.
“This is a proper date. I want to get the door for you,” he explains.
Relenting, you drop your hand into your lap. “Okay.”
He smiles, then makes his way to your side of the vehicle. He opens the door and holds out a hand. You take it, carefully stepping out and double-checking you have your purse.
“You look incredible, baby,” he murmurs as he stares at you.
You tuck your head down with a smile wide in appreciation. “Thanks.”
He chuckles at your bashfulness. After shutting and locking the door, he leads you to the entrance.
As you near, you say, “You look really nice, too, Cheol. Is this a new suit?”
You pause in your trek to raise a hand to his chest, fingers grazing the material in wonder.
Seungcheol glances at his attire. It’s an all-black suit paired with a checkered-pattern tie. On the left lapel is a Chanel broach.
“No, but I rarely wear this,” he explains. “I had to wear the best for you.”
“Well, I’m honored,” you smile.
Seungcheol covers your hand that’s on his chest with his, giving it a squeeze while he leans in to kiss your head.
As expected, he holds the front doors open for you and takes care of checking you both in. He keeps one hand on you as you follow the waiter to your table. When you arrive, he pulls the chair out and helps you get situated.
You’re a little shy about being treated in such a way, but you know it makes Seungcheol happy.
“You know what I’ve noticed?” he asks while taking his own seat.
You pick up the menu and hum in response.
Seungcheol lowers your menu, so you’re looking at him.
“You get nice when you’re nervous,” he chuckles softly.
You roll your eyes and wiggle the menu from his hold.
“I’m not nervous,” you protest.
Seungcheol smiles. “It’s okay that you are. I’m a little nervous too.”
Your eyes meet his. He leans back in his chair and opens his own menu. His gaze is wandering over the courses with no sign of jitters in sight.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
Seungcheol looks at you. “You don’t believe me, Cherry?”
A shake of your head.
“I’ve taken the prettiest girl I know on a date; she’s dressed so beautifully that it’s hard not to stare. And she’s looking at me with these eyes that make my heart do weird things,” he speaks slowly and earnestly, sitting straighter.
“I want this night to go well, so yes, I’m nervous.”
“C-Cheol,” you say in a whisper.
He just smiles, showing off his dimples and making your heart rate spike.
Seungcheol doesn’t normally say these things unless he’s teasing you.
You want to tell him he makes you feel as though you’re his number one. As if he’ll run a thousand miles just to get to you. You want to say he’s treating you so well that you’re falling harder for him. He’s put so much thought and effort, not only in the planning but his appearance, that you don’t want to mess it up somehow.
The way he’s gone all out for this date is making you feel both cherished and guilty. Cherished because none of your other boyfriends ever took the relationship so seriously, and guilty because you don’t feel you deserve it.
“Order whatever you want, babe,” he finally breaks the silence. There’s a small smile on his lips as if he’s proud to have rendered you speechless. He’s not upset you haven’t said anything, nor did he expect you to. The look on your face tells him enough. He understands your affection comes in the form of actions. Granted, so does his most of the time, but tonight, he wants you to know how he really feels.
When the waiter comes back, you order your drinks and meals. You’re surprised to see Seungcheol ordering a lot of food, some you figure is for you since you didn’t order much—not because you didn’t like any of the options but because a lot of it is expensive.
“I have a gift for you,” Seungcheol announces once the waiter leaves.
You’re sipping your drink and nearly choke on it from shock. The guilt grows in your chest when you realize you didn’t buy him anything. You didn’t even think to get a gift.
“You didn’t need to get me anything,” you say.
“I know,” he replies and retrieves something from his suit pocket.
It’s a black rectangular box. He places it on your end of the table, staring at you expectedly.
You grab the box and open it carefully. Inside is a rhinestone necklace with several cherries dangling from it. For some, all the bling might be gaudy. To you, it’s stunning.
“Wow,” you say and graze your fingers over the accessory.
“Is it too much?” Seungcheol asks, worry in his voice.
You shake your head.
“It’s so pretty. Thank you, Cheol,” you smile and look at him.
“I know you already have one on, but do you wanna,” he trails off.
You touch the necklace you’re already wearing as if to confirm he’s right. “Oh,” you murmur.
When you dress, you ensure every part of your fit matches perfectly. From the shoes to the layers to the accessories, you’re particular with how you style. So, when Seungcheol asks if you want to exchange jewelry, your first reaction is to be hesitant.
The necklace is beautiful, but you’re nervous about switching it when you haven’t tried everything together.
Seungcheol’s shoulders sag ever so slightly at your silence.
“No worries,” he forces a smile. “Forget I asked.”
He averts his gaze to glance around the restaurant.
You frown upon seeing his sad expression. He’s doing a good job hiding his disappointment, but you’re watching him so attentively that you can see it.
“Baby,” you call out softly.
“Hm?” he hums, glancing at you briefly.
You reach a hand across the table to cover his. “Will you help me put it on?”
Seungcheol gives a small smile, lips pressed together. “You don’t—”
“I can’t put it on because of my nails,” you explain. “So, will you help me?”
Seungcheol eyes you for a moment. He gets a feeling you don’t really want to wear it.
With a silent sigh, you remove your hand from his and reach behind your neck to unlatch your necklace. You struggle to unclasp the hook, fingers slipping from the clasp too quickly for you to slide the connecting end away.
Seungcheol stands, makes his way behind you, then replaces your hands with his.
He’s silent as he takes off the jewelry and sets it on the table gently. He grabs the cherry necklace, wrapping it around your neck carefully and securing the ends. The cold metal makes you shiver for a second. You didn’t realize it would fit more like a choker, but it’s nice to have variety in your wardrobe.
Seungcheol’s fingers linger on your skin before he sits back down.
“How does it look?” you wonder with a smile.
“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he says without a doubt.
You glance in your lap and then look at him again. “I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol tilts his head. “What for?”
“For hesitating.”
He smiles, the same closed-mouth one, but it looks more genuine now.
“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. Do you want me to take it off?”
“No,” you answer quickly. “I want to keep it on.”
He nods. “I think it suits you well, Cherry.”
“I think so too,” you reply.
Although you haven’t seen yourself fully with it on, it should be fine paired with your simple yet elegant dress.
Soon the tension dissipates, and you both fall into a casual conversation.
The waiter comes back and informs you that it’s taking longer than usual for your meals. Seungcheol doesn’t look pleased momentarily, but he puts on a friendly appearance soon after.
As an apology, the waiter comes back with a complimentary bottle of champagne.
“This just means I get to spend more time with you dressed up,” you say as Seungcheol pours you both a glass.
He peeks at you and sighs. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“This doesn’t ruin anything,” you reassure, knowing he’s upset that there’s a hiccup in what he hoped would be a perfect date.
Seungcheol nods and hands you your filled glass.
“To being happy,” he says, raising his glass.
You grin at his small toast. It’s nice to know you make him as happy as he makes you.
“To being happy,” you repeat, then clink glasses.
You watch Seungcheol over the rim of your glass as you take a sip, smiling as you make eye contact.
“Good?” he asks.
You nod and place the drink down.
“I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom,” you inform and slide your chair back.
“Okay,” he says.
Seungcheol watches as you leave, eyes a little more focused than necessary to make sure you get to the restrooms safely. It’s only when you round the corner that he tears his gaze away.
He pulls his phone out and starts scrolling through social media to bypass the time.
“Seungcheol?” a hesitant voice calls in front of him a minute later.
He snaps his gaze up, something about the voice ringing familiarity.
A woman dressed in a long dress stands across the table. Her hair is neatly pulled from her face and a small handbag is in one of her hands. She looks different from the last time he’s seen her.
“Hajun?” Seungcheol asks, shocked.
She grins widely.
“It is you,” she breathes out a sigh of relief. “Not that you look much different, but I thought I was seeing things.”
He hums, an uneasy feeling in his chest.
The last time he spoke to her was at your senior fashion show. Numerous calls and texts from her went ignored; especially, when he found out what she had said to you outside that bathroom on campus. Even now, he can’t stop thinking about her words. The very untrue, and vile words.
“Can I sit real quick? I feel bad with how things ended between us.”
Seungcheol glances behind her. He doesn’t see you and hopes you take your time. He’s sure she’s the last person you want to see.
“Yeah,” he replies.
She nods and takes a seat.
“Look, I’m sorry for how I acted in college. I know it hasn’t been long, but a lot can change in a month.”
“Like?” he ponders.
“For starters, remember that company I really wanted to work for? I got hired there!” she beams. “There are some really nice people helping me improve my skills.”
“That sounds great, Hajun,” Seungcheol congratulates.
“It is,” she smiles. “So, are you doing a business deal or something? I saw you work for Attacca now.”
“I do, but that’s not why I’m here tonight,” he replies.
“Oh,” she says, a little surprised. “Then, why are you dressed up so nicely? You used to only dress like this when we had presentations or something of the sort.”
Her gaze flickers across his body, taking in his nice suit.
“I’m on a date,” he answers plainly, not having any desire to disclose with whom.
Her eyes widen. “Really? Me too!”
This time, it’s Seungcheol’s turn to look shocked.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she laughs. “I’m not totally undesirable.”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s not that, I just…”
Hajun smiles. “I’m just messing with you. Like old times, remember?”
Seungcheol hums. Although Hajun was never nice to you, she always treated him kindly. Sure, she was a gossiper, but nothing came out of it. Not until you came along. Perhaps he just never saw her with the people the gossip was about.
“So, if you’re on a date, does this mean you got over Yn?” she wonders. He gets the impression that she always assumed his liking toward you was temporary. As if Hajun was just waiting for his “phrase” to pass.
Seungcheol’s hands close in fists beneath the table. The conversation was bearable until now. Now, he dreads to hear what Hajun has to say. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened months ago.
“You’re still thinking of her?” he asks, trying to divert the question.
She shrugs. “Not really, but seeing you reminded me how infatuated you were. I mean, you did ditch me for her.”
She laughs, but it feels forced as if she’s trying to hide how upset she is.
Seungcheol purses his lips. “You know why I ditched you, Hajun.”
“I told you I was just looking out for you, Cheollie,” she exasperates. “All I ever wanted was for you not to get hurt. And can you blame me for worrying? She was known to sleep around and be noncommittal. All her exes said—”
“They were exes for a reason. It seems they were all insecure and needed to start rumors to heal their egos.”
Seungcheol can feel his body heat as the anger begins to rise. It always did when she spoke about you, but now it’s intensified.
“Maybe the reason was because she wasn’t all she made herself out to be,” Hajun argues.
It suddenly feels like he’s in college again, surrounded by the study room walls with his so-called friends. At least he always had Vernon to lean on for reason.
“I think people put labels on her and just went with it,” Seungcheol says.
Hajun scoffs. “Oh, come on, Cheollie. She always acted like she was above everyone else. Perfect grades, perfect family… Yeah, right. I heard her father is a dead-beat and her sister is a—”
“You don’t know shit, Hajun,” he snaps finally. “You never did.”
She frowns, seemingly offended at his words. “You can’t seriously still like her,” she says, flabbergasted.
“Why not?” he challenges.
“You’re better than her!” she huffs. “You’re caring, you’re loyal, you’re smart. She’s none of that. You can reach levels of success she never can. She’s not that talented, and she’s probably not even good in bed.”
“She’s amazing, actually.” He smirks.
Hajun chokes, eyes wide in horror. “W-What?”
Seungcheol leans on the table. He narrows his eyes at her, more serious than ever.
“You haven’t changed, Hajun. You’re still jealous of her and all your shit-talking shows it. Had I never tolerated all your badmouthing, I would’ve been much happier the last few months.”
Hajun blinks; her mouth is slightly ajar as she processes what he said.
“So, you are on a date with her,” Hajun says in realization. There’s disgust evident in her voice that fuels Seungcheol’s irritation. He’s been so engrossed by her that he hasn’t seen you standing behind Hajun. He jumps as if his hand is caught in the cookie jar.
“Why, of course,” you laugh mockingly sweetly. “You still think he’ll give you the time of day?”
Seungcheol’s heart races at seeing you. You don’t look as pissed as he thought you would be, but that doesn’t mean you’re not hiding it.
He’s prepared to tell you Hajun’s just leaving, but he’s interrupted before he can get a syllable out.
“You’re still the bitch you were in college,” Hajun growls, a glare in her eyes.
You smile. “Takes one to know one.”
Hajun’s eyes narrow.
“I see your fashion has improved,” you observe. “Did you learn something from me?”
Hajun reaches for the glass of champagne on the table, fully prepared to drench you with it, but Seungcheol grabs her arm swiftly. Some of it swishes over the lip and spills on the table.
“It’s time for you to go, Hajun. I’m sure your date is wondering where you are,” Seungcheol speaks firmly.
Hajun turns to face him and slowly relaxes in his grip. “You don’t see what she’s doing to you?”
Her voice is softer now; she sounds sad.
“She’s making me happier,” he replies, hand still wrapped around her wrist in case she changes her mind.
“She’s making you a dick,” Hajun corrects. “You’re not the Seungcheol I knew a few months ago.”
“No, Hajun. I’ve just gotten better at standing up for people I care about,” Seungcheol replies. He almost sounds a little defeated by her lack of sense.
Hajun’s stare lingers on his. He watches her search his eyes for what he’s guessing is his past self, but she doesn’t understand he never left. It’s just clearer to him to see who’s worth fighting for.
“Enjoy your night, Hajun,” Seungcheol dismisses.
Hajun inhales deeply before releasing a breath. She eases her grip on the glass and stands from the seat. She gives you one last snarl with her back turned to Seungcheol, then walks to the other end of the restaurant.
As she’s walking away, you shuffle to Seungcheol’s side and call her name.
She turns, already annoyed with whatever you’re about to say.
You give her a small smile before you tilt Seungcheol’s face toward yours and kiss him. Seungcheol nips at your lip at your childish behavior but doesn’t resist.
When you pull away, you see she’s rolling her eyes and giving you the finger.
You’re tempted to reciprocate the gesture, but she turns around before you can lift a hand.
“That was immature,” Seungcheol murmurs, although he doesn’t sound upset.
“So is she,” you argue.
Seungcheol rubs his lips together, not disagreeing with your comment.
“So, what did you hear?” he asks as you sit down.
“That you think I’m amazing in bed,” you grin, crossing your legs and leaning back in your seat.
Seungcheol seems embarrassed for a few seconds, but then he’s smirking and grazing one of your legs with his under the table.
“I’m sure you’ll be amazing in my car too,” he replies.
Your mouth drops slightly. “Seungcheol!”
He cocks an eyebrow up briefly—a habit of his that you’ve started to find more attractive than annoying.
“We can get a to-go,” he offers.
You shake your head and nudge at his leg with yours. “You wanted to eat here, so we’re eating here. Behave yourself.”
Seungcheol’s eyes flicker down at your body, sighing.
“But you make it so hard,” he groans lowly.
You know he’s talking about not being able to behave, but you get the hint he’s also referring to something else.
You resist the urge to glance down, knowing you won’t be able to see what you’re looking for anyway.
“I’m sure I do,” you smile mischievously.
The corner of his lips dips down.
Thankfully, your food arrives before he can reply, and the conversation transitions into something more appropriate.
With the night winding down and a belly filled with delicious food, you begin to get sleepy. Seungcheol pays for the meal and then helps you get into the car. His hand holds yours, and he can’t stop the grin on his face when he feels your grip ease as you fall asleep.
You look so sweet that he doesn’t wake you when he arrives at his apartment. He’s careful to pick you up and carry you to his front door, then to his bedroom.
“Babe,” he finally speaks.
“Hm?” you mumble in his arms.
“We’re at my place, you wanna change for bed?” he asks softly.
Your eyes peel open, glancing around to confirm your whereabouts.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumble.
“It’s no problem, baby,” he says and eases you onto the bed.
“Your clothes or mine?” he asks, opening his closet to get you something more comfortable.
“Yours,” you answer tiredly.
Seungcheol’s not surprised by your answer, yet his heart still skips a beat. He likes that you enjoy his clothes even if they’re not the most stylish. Granted, some are well-known brands, but they’re still just plain.
He hands you a spare shirt and shorts and then changes into his own nightwear. When he looks at you, you’re already tucked under his covers, shorts forgotten at the foot of the bed.
“That sleepy huh?” he chuckles and puts away the unwanted shorts.
“Very,” you sigh.
Seungcheol climbs into bed after turning off the light, immediately getting hugged by you. He wiggles a bit to get comfortable.
“You have a good night, Cherry?” he asks.
You nod, eyes peering up to his. “The best.”
“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “Thank you for letting me take you out to dinner.”
You smile. Despite wanting to keep things small, you’re glad he took you out in the end. It was nice going on a proper date since it’s been a while. Not by choice, but aligning schedules hasn’t been as easy nowadays. You’ve both been busy with your new jobs.
“I didn’t have a choice,” you answer teasingly.
Seungcheol chuckles. “Not really.”
It’s quiet for a moment until Seungcheol begins to speak.
“I lo—”
“Happy one-month anniversary, Cheol,” you say nearly at the same time; however, you don’t inquire on what he was going to say afterward.
Seungcheol pauses as he contemplates continuing his sentence. He decides against it.
“Happy one month, baby,” he echos instead, leaning down to kiss you sweetly—a faint smile on his lips.
A/N: If anyone is curious, this is how I imagined the necklace/choker to look like.
For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^
taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @cheolcherries, @oncloudvii23*, @mystikha*, @lithelust, @doom-fics, @ellllsia (im debating on only tagging those who specified for the pretty please couple just bc some parts may not make sense if you haven't read the series, but lmk if you have a preference!)
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#kvanity#kdiarynet#scousp fanfic#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#scoups fluff#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol fanfic#scoups x reader#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#svt scoups
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Hi! Ursula I hope your day is great! I was wondering if you can do Jack champion x reader them watching the Barbie movie and them like having matching cute pink outfits and like them posting about it and the routine of them getting ready!
hii! love this request, i loved barbie!! btw can we appreciate how pretty jack looks in pink?? like 😫💕🥺😭💓🥹💖 i’m in love with that man
feel the glamour in pink — jack champion
word count: 1,376
pairing: jack champion x fem!reader
THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING JACK LOVED MORE THAN SEEING HIS GIRLFRIEND HAPPY. And he would do anything to make her feel like that. So, when Y/N asked him if he would be up to have matching pink outfits to go see the Barbie movie, he instantly grabbed his keys and led them to the mall.
“You know we don’t have to buy anything, right? I have pink clothes, and so do you” Y/N laughed as he dragged her towards a shop.
“We don’t have to, but I want to buy you a new outfit” Jack told her. Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed his lips against hers before she could mutter a word “I want to spoil my girl”.
Y/N blushed—something she always did when he called her ‘his girl’. “Okay, fine”
They spent a few minutes seeking for pink pieces of clothes until they made a few outfits. “Now go try them on for me”.
“Yes, sir” she teased as she entered the changing room. She grabbed the first outfit—it was a checkered pink dress and a short pale pink cardigan above it.
When Jack heard the click of the door, he turned his head and with wide eyes took in his girlfriend’s figure. “Holy shit”
“It’s really cute, but the dress is too short for my liking”
“Well, certainly not for mine”
Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes “I’m not getting this dress”
“That’s okay. Next”
The next one was a bit more like her. It was a white top and jeans with wide legs and a cute hot pink blazer.
“Oh, yeah. Blazers are your thing, babe. You look like a hot business woman” Jack said when she got out of the dressing room. Y/N threw her head back laughing.
“I really like this one” Y/N said, checking herself in he mirror.
“This is really hard” she heard Jack say as she changed into the next outfit. “You look good in everything, how are we supposed to choose?” Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile on her face, completely in love with the way her boyfriend was always complimenting her.
“Jack I think this is the one!” Y/N said as she opened the door. Jack fell silent, inspecting her with detail. Yes, this was indeed the one.
That deep shade of pink matched her skin tone perfectly and the clothes looked absolutely good on her. It was a white tube top underneath a hot pink vest and high wasted shorts of the same color.
“Please never take that outfit off. I’m begging you” Jack said, standing up. “You look fantastic. I’m going to look so bad next to you”.
“You could never ever look bad, and you know it” Y/N laughed, grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt to pull him down in order to give him a kiss—which was supposed to be short, but Jack had other plans. “Nuh-uh, sir. That’s completely inadequate. You have to wait outside the dressing room” she said in a playful voice when Jack tried to pull them inside.
“I hate you” Jack said, throwing himself on the couch like a little kid who had just been denied a candy.
“I love you too, you big baby”
“BABE CAN WE DO A LIVE WHILE WE GET READY?” Jack asked her, he was already dressed. He had put on a white tank top, jeans and a pink jacket—which was the same color of Y/N’s outfit. “The people are asking”
Y/N laughed “Sure, why not. You look unbelievable handsome, by the way”.
“Thanks, love” Jack kissed her nose before setting his phone on the bathroom counter, checking that they could both be seen “Hi, guys! We are seeing Barbie tonight and we are getting ready. Well, she’s going to get ready I’ll just stand here to admire her”
“Hi!” Y/N waved nervously. She wasn’t part of the media. Jack’s fans knew her as his best friend—who was now his girlfriend—, and while they all have been super kind to her, she still gets a bit anxious.
hi y/n/n!!
you look gorgeous y/n/n !!❣️
jack move away we want to see y/n😫
y/n/n if you ever dump jack hmu
“Hey, if you’re going to flirt with my girlfriend and be mean to me I’m going to end the live” Jack frowned and pouted like a baby. “And she’s not going to dump me, quit it”.
“Oh, poor Jack” Y/N said, giving him a kiss on the cheek which made him smile.
“If you’re going to kiss me everytime they insult me, then please keep insulting me guys” Jack said with a smirk.
“Stop seducing me. We need to hurry” she scolded her boyfriend “I’m going to get dress and then I’ll do my make-up”
“I can’t wait for you to see her outfit. It’s so good” Jack said when Y/N left the bathroom. “We went to the mall together yesterday to choose it”.
are u excited for the movie?
“Yeah! Y/N’s excitement is contagious. She has been talking about the movie non-stop since it was announced. She’s a huge Greta fan. Wish you guys would hear her rumbling about Barbie, she’s adorable”
awe he’s so in loveeee
“I mean, if you guys fell in love with her with only a couple of tik toks and instagram stories, imagine how head over heels I am” he laughed.
“Ta-dah” Y/N said entering the bathroom as Jack whistled. “Thank you, guys!” blood rushing to her cheeks as she read the compliments the people in the chat were telling her.
“You look beautiful” Jack grinned, eyes shining like fireworks. She smiled shyly as she embraced him in a hug. “Can I do your make-up?”
“Sure. I’ll keep it simple, though. First, eye-liner”
“Oh, this is scary” Jack said.
“If you poke my eye out, there are people witnessing it. Remember that” Y/N teased him, closing her eyes. She felt him carefully making the cat eye and the simple brush of his fingers against her skin made her feel dizzy.
“Ready” he squeezed her waist.
She looked herself on the live and made a surprise face “Jack, that’s actually cute”
Jack smiled contently “Now, what?”
“Mascara and lipgloss” Y/N said, handing him the stuff. He put the mascara first and then his favorite part—the lipgloss.
Y/N watched his face of concentration and melted. “You’re adorable. And you have the most beautiful eyelashes. So unfair”.
“Y/N! Thanks, but don’t move your lips! Now there’s lipgloss all over your face” he laughed.
“Hey, don’t you wanna check if this lipgloss lasts?” Y/N smirked.
Jack’s eyes twinkled and the corner of his mouth lifted “I guess this is the end of the live. We’ll tell you what we think… of the movie, not the lipgloss”
“Bye guys!” Y/N said as her boyfriend ended the live. Immediately, Jack’s lips were glued to hers.
“Hmm, grapes” he muttered, making her laugh.
Y/N ENTERED THE CINEMA WITH PERFECT EYE-LINER AND MASCARA AND LEFT WITH HER FACE LOOKING LIKE A RACOON. Jack rubbed her shoulder comfortingly throughout the way home. He couldn’t put into words how much the sight of her crying pained him.
“Babe, what can I do for you? Do you want a hot bath? Snacks? Ice cream? Do you want me to put your favorite Taylor Swift album on? Want me to give you massages?”
Y/N laughed and rested her head on his chest as she shook her head no “I’m fine, I promise. The movie left me a tad sensitive but I’m alright. Thank you, though, you’re the sweetest. I love you”
“I love you more” he kissed the top of her head lovingly. “Do you want to cuddle in bed?”
“Yes, please. So much crying left me exhausted” she laughed.
“You know that you’re the smartest, funniest, most gorgeous and kindest girl in the world, right? You have the purest heart and you make me so so happy” he grabbed her from the waist, lifting her from the floor.
A bright smile instantly appeared on her face, and it was physically impossible to erase. Her heart felt so full of love she was afraid it might explode “I love you so much. You’re the best boyfriend in the world and you make me extremely happy too”
jackchampion she’s everything, i’m just jack y/n.l/n
y/n.l/n you’re perfect and i love you so much
jackchampion no you are🥺❤️
jacksdaylight how was the lipgloss- i mean, the movie???
jackchampion 10/10
y/n.l/n it was the best thing ever, thanks for asking!
#jack champion#jack champion x y/n#jackchampion#jack champion x reader#jack champion oneshot#jack champion fluff#jack champion imagine#ethan landry#ethanlandry#jack champion fanfic#ethan landry oneshot#ethan landry fluff#ethan landry x y/n#ethan landry x reader#barbie#barbie the movie
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The Horrible Un-Haunting of Elliot House
Author: kpopfanfictrash
Genre: Ghost!AU / Romance / Comedy (?)
Pairing: Seokjin / Reader (she/her)
Synopsis: Some houses are harder to sell than others but you, Y/N, are determined to find the (supposedly) haunted Elliot House a new owner. That is, until it's very real and very hot exceedingly well-dressed ghost decides to make himself known. If only you didn't find yourself enjoying the knowing.
Rating: PG-13 (kissing but nothing beyond that)
Word Count: 6,214
Author's Note: hope you enjoy this random Halloween "drabble"! This got oddly angsty? I suppose that happens with ghost love LOL
[ Cross-Posted to Wattpad ]
“Through here,” you say, leading the Gundersons through an arched door. “You’ll find the most adorable sunroom.”
The Gundersons both gasp, appropriately awed by the tall walls of windows. Each panel is topped with stained glass, casting colorful patterns across the checkered floor. Technically, the sunroom isn’t part of the original house – it was added in 1975 during a brief period the address was owned by a cult – but you rarely disclose this fact during tours. Most people don’t care which parts of the house are original, so long as they can say they bought a 19th century Tudor.
Not that you blame them. Most people (or at least, sane people) appreciate the romanticism of an old structure without actually wanting to live in one. Modern amenities are the top benefit of progress, after all. The government couldn’t pay you to live without modern heating, plumbing, or refrigeration.
“Margaret, did you see?” Arthur Gunderson, a slightly rotund lawyer, and husband of said Margaret, gestures emphatically. “I’ll be damned if this stained glass isn’t Tiffany! See there, see that stamp in the corner?”
“Good eye, sir!” you chirp, barely glancing up from your clipboard.
Truthfully, you aren’t sure whether the glass is authentic. The cult that installed could hardly be called profitable (they sold the house at a loss after less than ten years, although this likely had more to do with crimes committed on said property than their income, but you digress), so you’d be hard-pressed to believe they could afford real Tiffany.
If this is what convinces the Gundersons to buy though, you’re hardly a realtor to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Ticking a box in the upper right corner – sunroom – you look up. “Right, well. That’s most of the lower level.” Pivoting on your heel, you head towards the corridor. “If you two will follow me upstairs, we can –”
“What’s that?”
Steps slowing, you stare at the plaster wall. A moment passes, then two before you convince yourself to turn around. When you see where Arthur Gunderson points, a relieved breath leaves your lips.
“Oh, that?” Floorboards squeak as you cross the room, sounding almost like laughter. “That’s the cellar. I’d offer you a look but unfortunately, the staircase isn’t quite up to code. You’ll need someone to look at that ASAP if you buy.”
Hovering at the wooden door, you grasp its bronze knob and pull. Tugging the cord for the light, you briefly scan the stairs but spot nothing unusual. Mostly convinced, you dutifully step aside.
“Feel free to look,” you say brightly.
The Gundersons crowd the landing you vacated.
“Careful, honey,” Arthur warns, holding Margaret’s elbow. “These stairs are steep.”
Standing on tiptoe, Margaret peers beyond him into the basement gloom. It could be your imagination, but she almost seems disappointed. A few cobwebs and shadows line the staircase, but nothing more sinister.
Hiding a smile, you check the next box. Cellar. Sometimes, people request to see this house not because they’re interested in buying it, but for the thrill. Entering the haunted Elliot house and surviving will make a great tale to tell their friends over cocktails.
Lowering your clipboard, you glance upward. So far, everything has gone to plan, which is partly the problem. You must’ve shown this house thirty times and always, something has gone wrong by now. Before being assigned its realtor, you believed in the paranormal, but only in a theoretical way. Not because you’d witnessed anything spectral.
Your opinions since then have changed.
Turning sharply, you plaster a smile on your face. “Shall we?”
Stepping back, Margaret pulls wiry frames from her jacket pocket. “I must admit,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “Based on what our last realtor said, I was expecting far worse from this property.”
Although your smile tightens, you nod. The other realtor had a point – Elliot house could be temperamental, at best. Downright petulant, at worst. You glare again at the ceiling.
“We get that a lot,” you say, ushering them down the hall. Best not to linger. “Whenever a house sits too long on the market, you know – people talk. Lots of rumors!”
“Oh, sure,” Arthur says, passing you with a chuckle. “We’re not superstitious, don’t worry.”
“Oh?” you say lightly, remaining behind. “That’s good to know. Now, if you head down the hall, you’ll reach the foyer. All the crown molding you pass is original. The house’s first owner and builder, Daniel Baker, was something of a craftsman. He –”
Abruptly, you cease talking and stare at the stairwell. Halfway down the steps, where before there was nothing, sits a perfectly ripe orange. Eyes narrowed, you stare at this a long beat before yanking the light cord down and shutting the door.
Glancing upward, you hiss, “Not today, I swear to – well, whatever hellish being you worship.”
The wind sounds almost like laughter, but you don’t stick around long enough to find out if that’s true. Shaking your head, you traipse down the front hall in search of the Gundersons. Luckily, they’re too busy taking pictures of the aforementioned crown molding to have noticed your absence.
“Shall we?” you say, gesturing at the front stairs.
Pocketing their phones, they begin their ascent. You wait at the bottom, giving them space to discuss the house. From personal experience, buyers tend to appreciate when you don’t hover.
Besides, the grand staircase is your favorite feature – equal parts artwork and functionality. From your place at its bottom, you admire the craftsmanship. Starting the climb, your fingertips skim whorls in the wood and for a second, you feel a phantom hand rest over yours.
Scowling darkly, you yank your palm away. Reaching the landing, you clutch at your clipboard tighter and walk forward.
“This way!” you say, practically shoving the Gundersons into the first bedroom.
While they ooh and ah about the bay windows, you tick another box on your spreadsheet. Master bedroom.
The second you’re done, the pen slips from your grasp and hovers in mid-air. It then turns, point-down, to scrawl something in the margin.
‘Master’ bedroom? Kiiind of racist, don’t you think?
Teeth gritted, you snatch your pen back. “I wasn’t the one who created the spreadsheet, okay?” you whisper. “And while, yes, I agree, and other realtors are moving away from that language, I don’t–”
“Pardon?” Arthur Gunderson peers, confused, over his shoulder.
Somewhat manic, you smile. “Oh, nothing,” you say, the words sounding high-pitched, even to you. “I was just reminding myself to show you the main bathroom. Beautiful claw-foot tub.”
“Oh. Sure,” says Arthur, returning to his wife.
Head whipping sideways, you glare at the most likely place Seokjin would be. A chuckle drifts past your ear on the other side, and your scowl deepens.
Once an appropriate amount of time goes by, you usher the Gundersons into the next bedroom. Hovering outside, you calculate how quickly you can convince them to leave. The longer they stay, the worse the so-called haunting will be.
You should have known better than to show them this house, but they were insistent. Or at least, Arthur was. Margaret seems reasonably paranoid, which you deem a positive quality. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius has heard of the haunted Elliot house.
Even the name is confusing, since it doesn’t bear the name of its builder, Daniel Baker, nor its longest resident, Mr. Josiah Whitley. Instead, it’s named for Nathaniel Elliot, the cult leader who murdered a man on its premises in 1978. Obviously, this fact wasn’t known to the public until after the cult sold the house and moved far away.
Eventually, Mr. Elliot was tried and found guilty of murder, but this was much later. Wincing a little, you glance at the ceiling. Seokjin has said many times that ghosts can’t read minds, but you wouldn’t put it past him to lie for a punchline. Even if he can’t read your mind, the faint scent of cedar lets you know he’s nearby.
Quickening your stride, you show the Gundersons the next bedroom. “This is one of my favorites,” you say, pulling hard on its warped door. “The view from that window is stunning. You can see all the way to the brook!”
Taking the bait, Margaret crosses the room. “Oh, look, Arthur!” she exclaims, leaning forward. “There’s a gazebo!”
He follows at a more leisurely pace, frowning when he spots a lone cobweb in the corner. Sighing, you swipe at this as you pass, almost certain the web wasn’t there this morning.
While the two converse, you pull out your clipboard and run down the list again.
Most days at your job are like today – running down lists and waiting for other people to make their own life decisions. Becoming a realtor wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon you. When your mom got sick your senior year of grad school, you returned to take care of her and finished your coursework remotely.
There were only so many jobs with flexible hours, and you ended up getting your realtor’s license to support her on the side. When your mom passed, you stuck around to sort out her paperwork and affairs. Two years later, everything is in order and still, you remain. Stuck in a holding pattern, showing houses and too afraid to try your hand at anything different.
BANG.
The sudden noise from above plunges the room into silence. Both Arthur and Margaret swivel, wide eyes landing on you.
Margaret’s glasses chain trembles. “What was tha–”
“My assistant,” you blurt, backing towards the door. “He mentioned he would stop by to drop off some keys. That must be him – I’ll go and check!”
“But…” Arthur stares. “The noise came from above.”
“Be right back!” you call, stepping into the hall.
As fast as possible without raising suspicion, you rush down the hall. “Seokjin,” you hiss, hand skimming the banister as you descend. “Stop that right now!”
No one responds – not that you thought he would. Crossing the foyer, you reach the cellar door and yank it open. Flicking the overhead light, you see the orange has disappeared. Rolling your eyes, you shut the door.
“This isn’t funny,” you huff out loud to no one.
Far above you, a low groan shakes the house. Honestly, it sounds more sexual than scary, but you suppose that only makes it more sinister. Reaching the foyer, you slow your pace and set down your clipboard. Suppressing a sigh, you glance at the clock. This has happened enough times that you can predict things to the minute.
Crossing your arms, you tap your foot and count down in your head.
One – increased groaning. Sometimes from the cellar, often the attic and, during one memorable visit, from behind a locked bathroom door.
Two – shuffling feet while the Gundersons (insert buyer’s name here) debate whether to run or wait it out. They hastily whisper, wondering if it’s their minds playing tricks.
Third – laughter. Seokjin will say it sounds lilting but to you, his laughter is more akin to a car’s windshield wipers. Today, said laughter drifts from the main bedroom, immediately followed by the Gundersons’ screaming.
Directly above you, Margaret’s heels pound wooden floors. Wincing, you make a mental reminder to buff the scuffs from the wood.
“ARTHUR!” she calls, her voice pitching upward.
“Right behind you!” he bellows.
When the lights in the foyer flicker, you lean against the grand railing. In your experience, there’s nothing you can do now to save the showing. As soon as Seokjin reveals himself, it’s only a matter of time.
“Whoooo dareeessss to disturrrrrb meeeee!” he wails, and you try not to laugh. “This is MYYYY homeeee and you are nooooot welcomeeeee! OoOOOOooooOOo!”
Arthur is first down the stairs. Reluctantly, you step forward – as their realtor, you’ll try to calm them down and get them out. All part of the plan. What’s not part of the plan is Arthur’s blind panic, elbowing you – hard – in the stomach as he runs past.
Concaving, you stumble, your foot catching on a loose floorboard as you fall backwards. Suddenly, a pink cushion slides between you and the floor. You land in the middle of it, shocked but unharmed.
Arthur yanks open the front door. “You!” he blurts, whipping around to point. Blinking, you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder. “Yes, you,” he scoffs, spittle flying as Margaret runs past. “I don’t know if this is your idea of a sick joke or what, but your manager will be hearing from me!”
Before you can formulate a response, Arthur is out the front door. You hear the sound of their car starting, exhaust billowing behind them as they speed down the street.
Propping yourself on one elbow, you release a sigh. The house has fallen silent, almost sheepish in its total lack of sound. Head lolling back, you glare at the ceiling.
“You are so annoying,” you groan, well-aware you sound crazy. “I honestly don’t know what you’re looking for, Seokjin. The Gundersons were fine.”
The front door slams.
An outline of a person materializes between you and the living room, seeming composed of dust motes and sunshine. Turning your glare in their direction, you tap your fingers against the oak floor.
Seokjin solidifies fully, rakishly leaning against the paneled wall. He’s dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore when he died, albeit with his hair styled in this century’s fashion. Seokjin once said ghosts are able to change their appearance, but most choose not to. There’s little point to it, and it wastes precious energy.
Sadly, he shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Seokjin says, his deep timbre resonating through floorboards beneath you.
“Show off,” you mutter.
Lips twitching, he crooks a finger. The foyer light ceases to flicker, and Seokjin straightens. Dusting invisible dust from his shoulders, he walks forward.
“The Gundersons were tiresome,” he says. “I would’ve been bored of them in months, started haunting again, and this house would’ve gone right back on the market. Really, I saved you trouble in the long run. You can thank me later.”
“Oh, no,” you deadpan. “Two commissions on the same property. What a horrible fate.”
“Exactly. You’re welcome.”
Fighting an eye roll, you push yourself upward with cushion in hand. At least Seokjin was kind enough to break your fall, even if he caused the circumstances which led to it in the first place.
Brushing the dirt from the cushion, you shake your head. “You do know that eventually, someone will buy this house and you’ll have to make peace with that fact. Right?”
When Seokjin doesn’t immediately respond, you look up. His dark gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, briskly looking away when he catches you watching.
“I know,” Seokjin says, turning around. “Might I point out though, that I don’t have to make peace with anything. Ghost,” he adds, pointing at himself. “Not making peace with things is our bread and butter.”
“People have owned this house before, though.”
“Boring people,” Seokjin mutters.
“That didn’t seem to bother you back then!”
Seokjin enters the living room. “Ugh,” he groans, dropping onto a chaise. Dust motes spiral around him, as though he were solid. “If I must be trapped on the material plane, Y/N, the least the material plane could do is provide some entertainment. And the lovemaking of two seventy-year-olds doesn’t count,” he adds, fixing you with a glare.
Stifling laughter, you follow him into the parlor. Fluffing the cushion, you replace it on its chair and survey the room. Seokjin lounges dramatically and it could be your imagination, but he almost looks solid. More so than the first time you met, anyways.
He nearly scared the shit out of you, back then. Everyone at the firm warned you this house was haunted but were purposefully vague on the supernatural. The warnings they gave you were borderline mundane.
Oh, yeah, that house has been on the market forever. People say that it’s haunted, but I’d honestly be more worried about rats. Or asbestos – popcorn ceilings didn’t age well for a reason. And I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard a convict once lived in the basement for three months before the cops caught him. Watch out for that!
You entered this house with more than your usual trepidation, pepper spray in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Apparently, the wiring wasn’t all up to code – something you’ve since rectified with the city.
The sound of the door creak could’ve been written by the Brothers Grimm themselves, textbook gothic. Your flashlight swept over dusty floors, faint footprints remaining to remind you of its past. Spine steeled, you forced yourself to continue.
Finding a light switch, you flicked upward, and the chandelier came to life. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by on a rainy day. Keeping your flashlight, you wandered into the parlor and came to a sudden stop. Forest green wallpaper lined the walls, remarkably intact for its age. Stunned, you turned in a slow circle.
Moody maximalism was one of your favorite design styles, and this room was made for it. With a slightly better attitude, you resumed your walk-through, discovering a hidden cupboard in the kitchen and a dumbwaiter to nowhere. The second-floor entry point had been boarded up, but that could be rectified.
Some of the woodwork of the house was scuffed, and a few corners held fallen leaves, but overall, it was in great condition. None of the realtors had prepared you for that – you arrived expecting a war zone and were pleasantly surprised.
On the second floor, you found a library – or what had once been the library, given the shelving was empty – that made you audibly gasp. Blue-black custom shelves extended along three of the walls. Closer to the door, a bright square of color remained from where a painting had hung.
Curious, your fingers traced the edges. “This place is unreal,” you murmured to yourself.
“I know, right?” said a voice directly in your ear.
Like any sane person, you screamed and jumped skyward. Your flashlight fell, its beam rolling over and over until it hit a baseboard. You didn’t stick around to find out, turning fast on your heel and bolting into the hall.
Thundering down the front stairs – wincing as the wood groaned – you nearly reached the foyer when Seokjin appeared.
“Boo,” he said calmly, between you and the door.
Coming to a shuddering halt, your hand gripped the railing. The ghost was impeccably dressed, if slightly invisible, and raised a dark brow in response to your flight.
Gaze darting sideways, you sought a second exit but all you could recall was the cellar and that wasn’t an option. Years of training from watching scary movies kicked in at that point, and you slowly straightened. Running away would do nothing – a ghost could follow you anywhere – so, maybe reasoning with him would be the best option.
“What do you want?” you asked, masking your fear to plant both hands on your hips. “Who are you?”
Surprise flared in his – admittedly attractive – gaze. Some of the shock had worn off by then, and you could admit to yourself (if to no one else) that the ghost before you was hot. Even thinking this felt ridiculous, and you wondered if your already-fragile grasp on reality was slipping.
Taking a single step forward, the ghost cocked his head. When you stumbled back, his lip quirked, and he appeared by your side.
“Who am I?” he mused, walking in a slow circle. “Awfully strange to ask me that, when I’m the person that died here, and you’ve never stepped foot in this house until now. I would know.”
Started, you turned your head.
This was a mistake since it allowed you to see every ridge of his features. The rounded tip of his nose, his enviably full lips, and a curve to his jawline which could likely cut glass.
Forcing your gaze upward, you found him focused on you. “You… died here?” you asked before you could think better.
His lips thinned. “You know, it’s very rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s personal.”
“Oh,” you said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” the ghost replied with a sigh.
Your eyes narrowed, hearing barely hidden laughter in his tone. This ghost was making fun of you. The audacity!
Incensed by this, you lifted your chin. “Wouldn’t asking you whether it’s polite to ask about death be asking you about death, though?”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged, slipping both hands in his pockets. “There really isn’t a good way for you to bring up that conversation.”
A laugh escaped, despite yourself.
His gaze flickered, as though oddly pleased. Quickly, the ghost scanned you from your shoes to your face, where he lingered.
“I’m curious,” he mused, resuming his walk in a circle.
Despite your discomfort, you forced yourself to stay still. Even though you could feel each place his gaze lingered – your shoulders, your collarbone, tacing the slope of your cheekbones.
“What are you curious about?” you asked, pushing the words past your lips.
He stopped between you and the door again. Slipping both hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest. The way his biceps strained against his suit was intriguing, implying there was something to strain against. Dimly, you wondered what a ghost’s gym routine looked like.
Your lips twitched at the thought, and the ghost scowled.
“Stop that,” he commanded. “You should be terrified. I was curious about why you haven’t run yet. Anyone else would’ve by now.”
“Would they?”
“Based on my experience, yes.” He tilted his head. “This is the first time I’ve introduced myself to someone and they stayed. Well,” he amended through teeth. “Stayed without crucifixes, holy water, and a priest.”
“Does that really work?” you wondered, genuinely curious.
“Does what work – exorcism?”
You nodded.
“Clearly not.” He waved a hand down his body. “At least, not in my case. When I first died, I wanted to move on. I was even excited when the first priest arrived, but he did nothing, and neither did the next one… eventually, I stopped hoping. Started haunting, instead.”
“Well, sure,” you said, dazed.
His lips twitched. “My name is Seokjin, by the way. Not that you asked.”
“That was literally one of the first things I asked!”
Ignoring this, Seokjin stuck out his hand. “And you are?”
“Y/N,” you said, ignoring the impossibility of what you were about to attempt while extending your palm. “Nice to meet you.”
Your hands met in the middle and, instead of passing through, you felt your palms brush. For a moment, you touched calluses and warm skin, smelling the faint scent of cloves.
Seokjin went utterly still.
Chin jerking down, he stared at your joined hands. “That’s… never happened before.”
Retracting swiftly, you said the first thought that came to mind. “What? Never touched a woman?”
Scowling, he retracted his hand as well. “I was thirty when I died, Y/N. Not thirteen.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, then paused. “You… haven’t been able to touch anyone since you died?”
“Things, yes. People, no.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “A psychic visited me once. The owners at that time brought her, wanting to see if she could get rid of me.” Seokjin snorted. “She got them to pay her, then said, ‘No.’ Hilarious. And interesting,” he added. “She told me she’d met other ghosts, ones that could interact. Never seemed to work for me, though.”
You blinked, unsure how to respond. For it being your first encounter with the supernatural, nothing about this had gone as imagined. You weren’t sure how to converse with a ghost who, for all intents and purposes, seemed fairly normal.
Except for the whole ‘being dead’ part.
“Well.” You shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”
His expression remained inscrutable, but for the faintest of seconds, you thought Seokjin looked intrigued. After a moment, he moved closer and leaned in. You caught the faintest whiff of orange, cloves, and cedar on what could have been his breath.
“I suppose there is,” he murmured, and then disappeared.
Since then, Seokjin has appeared each time you returned. The second time, you were halfway convinced your first visit was a hallucination. A theory Seokjin seemed content to feed into, refusing to show himself until you were about to leave. Then, he jumped through the hall closet to yell, “MUTINY!” and cement his presence in your mind.
Seokjin doesn’t dress the same every time. A few weeks into your friendship (if one can call it that), he informed you he could change his appearance but hadn’t done it much. It took energy to appear on the mortal pane, more so if his appearance was altered.
Still, you’ve learned Seokjin will do pretty much anything to commit to a bit. His brand of haunting tends to border on comical. Putting his arms on backwards, headless juggling, vomiting wine – really anything is fair game if not truly grotesque. By now, you’ve seen his whole gambit, which is how you can say today’s performance was lackluster.
Sprawled on the chaise, one foot dangling, Seokjin looks every bit of the tragic lothario. Again, you can’t help but wonder whether he’s gained permanence since the last time you saw him. You could almost swear the chaise sinks under the weight of his frame.
“What is it?” he demands, lazily pushing himself upward.
Something in your chest flutters, although you ignore it. Arms crossed, you fix him with a look of disdain. It’s sinful for Seokjin to look as good as he does – and the worst part is, you know it’s not an illusion.
After you met the third time, you Googled his name along with the house and found multiple hits. Seokjin Kim was killed on October 31st, 1978, by Nathanial Elliot, the leader of the Sunny Days cult. Both Seokjin’s parents joined two years prior, and he’d tried unsuccessfully to convince them to leave by mail and phone.
Eventually, he visited in person and convinced them to go – unfortunately, Nathanial caught wind of the situation and killed Seokjin before this could happen. You saw photos of Seokjin from then and can confirm he was always devastatingly handsome. Often, you’ve wondered if he left someone behind – a wife or a girlfriend – but can’t bring yourself to ask. You aren’t sure which answer would hurt more.
Regardless, you know Seokjin was missed. His parents were the ones who took down the Sunny Days cult, putting their leader behind bars for killing their son. Seokjin admitted once that they tried to tear this house down. They didn’t know he was tied to the grounds, and he didn’t want to tell them. It would’ve been harder for them to move on, he explained, and your heart broke a little.
Not long after that, you accidentally let it slip that Seokjin had a scent. It made him howl with laughter, nearly falling down the front stairs – not that this would’ve hurt him. From then on, Seokjin showed off his growing ability to move solid objects by leaving oranges for you in the house whenever you came. Only another of his practical jokes but lately, it’s made your skin hot to think of.
You realized you felt more than you should for him last month when he saved you from falling. Determined to clear out the cellar, your entire foot went through the first step and Seokjin pulled you to safety.
“Careful,” he murmured, one arm wrapped around your waist. Gently, he eased you backwards and onto the landing. “The top step is rotted through. You’ll need to call in someone to fix that.”
Unable to speak, you nodded and quickly disentangled. Each place he had touched, your skin tingled, and not at all unpleasantly. Since that day, your feelings have only worsened. Sometimes, you wonder if he knows.
Sometimes you wonder whether he feels the same, no matter how hopeless it is.
Heaving a great sigh, Seokjin stands from the couch. Lifting both arms, he stretches this way and that like an overgrown cat. The end of his shirt comes untucked, displaying a flat strip of skin you refuse to acknowledge.
Forcing your gaze to his face, you lift a single brow. Weeks after meeting, you considered Seokjin your friend, or at least an acquaintance. Now, you can’t call this friendship, but not because things between you have worsened. It’s because the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself wishing for something impossible. Something more.
“You know what,” you tell him. “There’s no need to scare off every potential buyer.”
Seokjin pauses, then lowers his arms. “There’s a need when they’re terrible. I’m the one forced to live with them for eternity, not you.”
“It’s not an eternity, though,” you tried to joke. “Eventually, they’ll die – or, so one would presume.”
Seokjin’s face hardens. Before you can take another breath, he’s standing before you. “Much better,” he says, his voice like steel. “I love being reminded that, while the world continues to age around me, I never will. I’ll simply stay on this godforsaken plot of land until the earth is destroyed by its own inhabitants. How long do you think that’ll take, Y/N? One decade? Two?”
Eyes wide, you stare at him in shock.
Seokjin has never spoken to you like this before. Usually, he’s far more cavalier about his reality, easily accepting the fact that he’s a ghost. Never once has he ranted about the world passing by. In fact, Seokjin frequently throws in your face that you’ll soon have more wrinkles than him.
For the first time, you wonder if all that is a front. If perhaps, deep down, all his lackadaisicalness is merely a cover for a deeper kind of fear.
Slowly, you move closer. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive,” you murmur. “Of course, I don’t want you to be forced to live with people you hate. I just meant…”
You trail off, uncertain and Seokjin’s face softens. He moves even closer, his scent comforting you in a way you can’t explain. In a way it shouldn’t be.
“I’ll never get used to this,” you sigh.
You aren’t sure why you’re speaking so softly. Possibly due to his proximity and possibly due to the look in his eyes, studying you as though you’re the impossibility, and not him. Dust motes trail through the air when Seokjin lifts a hand.
With bated breath, you watch as he reaches towards you. At the last second, he shifts and lightly brushes your jaw.
Sharply, you inhale because you feel it. You feel him.
“Seokjin,” you whisper. “What are you…”
Gently shushing, he leans in, and you feel his breath, feather-light, across your skin. Utterly shocked, you go still. It’s his breath that you feel. Breath that shouldn’t exist, according to logic.
Slowly, his gaze drops and stays on your lips. If Seokjin can’t read minds, he must hear your heart racing. The sound of it is all-consuming, drowning out rational thought.
“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he murmurs, his gaze lifting. “I’m waiting for someone to look at this… house the way you do.”
“A lot of people have liked the house, Seokjin. People who –”
“I don’t want you to sell this house."
Startled, you stop. “Why not?”
His expression twists, revealing his vulnerability. “I think you know.”
Roughly, you exhale.
Yes. You do know. It’s the same reason you’ve half-assed the last six showings at this address. It’s why you keep people from looking, and when they insist, barely attempt to stifle Seokjin’s shenanigans. You could have come earlier today and requested Seokjin to be on good behavior. He would have done it. For you, he would have.
Which is exactly why you didn’t ask.
“I… want to hear you say it,” you say, so low, you’re surprised that he hears.
Achingly slow, Seokjin’s hand slips from your jaw to your neck. When he pulls you closer, you can feel the weight of his hand, the solid pressure that comes from his fingers on your skin.
Your eyes flutter shut.
“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “If someone else buys this house, you’d stop showing it. You wouldn’t come here again, and I can’t leave these grounds. If someone else buys this place” – his breath hitches – “I won’t see you again. I can stomach eternity, Y/N, but not without you.”
“Seokjin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, or prayer.
“Yes?”
“Do you ever…” Eyes opening, you look up. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Your voice breaks. “That might make it real. What I want can’t be real, so if I say it out loud, it might vanish and right now, it exists in this tentative space. We exist in this space.”
Lightly, his thumb strokes your throat, and you feel your knees buckle. Every callous, every touch feels so horribly real, it’s making it difficult to remember why this can’t be.
“I’ve stopped wondering what’s real and what’s not,” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze tracing your mouth. “Most people say I shouldn’t exist and yet, here I am. They say I shouldn’t be here, able to touch you like this and yet, I am. They say I shouldn’t–”
Rising on tiptoe, you cut him off with your kiss. Seokjin shudders, his lips parted and warm in the shock of the moment.
“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at you in wonder.
Before you can respond, he returns, his kiss wild and fierce. Your own desire surges, touching him hesitantly at first, and then with full abandon. Hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, your fingers curl in his hair to anchor him to you.
Cupping your face, Seokjin pulls your body to his. His touch is reverent, deifying while his hands travel lower to land on your waist. His body curves above yours, catching your gasps with the tip of his tongue. Seokjin feels solid beneath you – solid, and warm, and painfully real.
His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing heat down your throat and across your bared collar. Shivers of pleasure shoot through you as he walks you backwards, pressing your spine to the wall. Briefly – wondrously – you laugh, the sound caught again by his kiss.
Within minutes, you’re panting, heart beating wildly as you grip his hair tighter. Seokjin’s leg presses forward, pushing your thighs apart and you nearly dissolve. He moves harder, faster, as though scared that you’ll vanish. This is the opposite of disappearing, though.
This is together, beneath, and on top as –
“Shit,” Seokjin growls, the sound torn from his throat.
Dazed, you look sideways and realize his hand has gone through the wall.
Seokjin stares at his wrist, his chest rising and falling. Everything you can feel is solid, but his hand sinks through the wall about an inch deep. It’s hard to concentrate with him above you, looking like that. Seokjin’s hair remains mussed by your hands, proving you touched him – however briefly.
Lips thinning, Seokjin pulls his hand out. Purposefully, he lays his palm flat on the wall but it’s clear to you both that he’s concentrating. Some of his pressure dissipates.
“I – fuck,” he exhales, dropping his chin.
Gently, you soothe a strand of hair behind his ear. This is the first time you’ve seen Seokjin anything less than immaculate and goddamn, if it doesn’t look good on him. That’s making it difficult to focus on the matter at hand.
The matter at hand. Ha.
Thinking this, a snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. Stunned, Seokjin glances up with wide eyes.
“Did you just… snort?” he asks, incredulous.
You shake your head, and then nod, sheepish. “Um, yes. I did. It’s just…” Now that you’ve started, you can’t help but continue. “I can’t believe the hottest make-out session of my life ended with your fucking hand through a wall.”
Seokjin stares for a long moment before – impossibly – his chest starts to shake. Before long, you’re both laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Once your laughter has faded though, comfortable silence remains.
Pulling you into his chest, Seokjin’s hand strokes your neck. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits with a sigh.
“Me, either.”
“I do know I want to do that again.”
“Same,” you say, pulling back.
“But…” Seokjin hesitates. “Y/N. You know I’m not… real, right?”
Your heart sinks to your shoes. “You’re real to me.”
“I know.” He speaks softly. “But I –”
Lifting a hand, you press a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” you warn. “Please. I don’t want to think about the future right now. I know I don’t have eternity, but I don’t want what I have without you.”
Something in his gaze breaks but Seokjin merely nods, letting silence fall again. You fear that he’ll vanish, leaving you alone but he merely exhales. The breath brushes your skin.
“Alright,” Seokjin murmurs, winding his hand with yours. “What do you want to talk about, then?”
The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “What if… we talk about me buying this house?”
© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.
Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and Happy Halloween!
#bangtanarmynet#bts fanfic#seokjin fanfic#jin fanfic#seokjin fanfiction#jin fanfiction#bts fanfiction#seokjin au#jin au#bts au#bts halloween
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hi nikki, congratulations on 2k! it's so deserved <3
for your event, can I request sk8er boi by avril lavigne with nanami specifically "he was a punk, she did ballet" + fluff
thank you <3
Sk8er Boi
He was a punk, she did ballet, what more can I say?
Pairing: Nanami x f!reader
Word Count: ~2.4k
cw: fluff, modern day au, no curses au, college au, reader is a ballet dancer, Nanami is a musician and a skaterboarder
Summary: You’ve had a crush Kento Nanami ever since you first saw in him your class, dressed in the typical skater boy attire with baggy jeans and flannel shirt wrapped loosely around his waist. You don’t ever expect to cross paths any further until you find out that he’ll be performing as part of the orchestra for your spring recital. Soon, you learn that the two of you, despite your seemingly obvious differences, are more compatible than meets the eye.
Author’s Note: Thank you for this request @75songs and for always supporting my Nanami content, I appreciate you so much! This is such a fun song for the y2k karaoke party, I really had a blast writing it. I did a bit of research on ballet, so to any/all my ballet dancers on here, I apologize if I got any details completely wrong or inaccurate! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated, thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! Divider credit to @/saradika.
You’re drawn to Kento Nanami from the start, ever since you first lay eyes on him spring semester of your junior year in Music Appreciation. It’s a small class, no more than thirty people in the lecture hall early morning on a Monday. It’s not uncommon for students to travel around campus on a longboard or skateboard, but when you notice Nanami put his on the rack, donned in ripped baggy jeans, white tee, and a blue checkered flannel wrapped around his waist, you can’t help holding your gaze on him a little longer than necessary. As a dance major, with a concentration in ballet, you’re used to your classes being filled with the same people you’ve been with since freshman year. So, when you spot someone new, someone different, it sparks your interest. There’s nothing wrong with admiring from afar, right?
Two months pass of you crushing on him in secret, sneaking glances during lecture, your heart skipping a beat whenever you spy on him outside of class either in the library or cafeteria. You would have never expected your paths to actually cross in March, when your troupe prepares for the spring recital. Mei Mei, your ballet master, instructs you all to gather at the main theater on campus to meet the orchestra, who will be performing the music for the concert. To your pleasant surprise, Nanami is among the ensemble, carrying a bass clarinet in his hands.
“This is our grand orchestra for this spring’s recital,” Mei Mei introduces. “They are some of the finest musicians in the city. Some of them are even your fellow peers here from the university. I expect you all to show them your utmost respect and gratitude for volunteering their time to make this concert spectacular.”
You give them a round of applause, eyes flickering to Nanami, wearing his usual skater boy attire. His gaze meets yours, and he smiles, giving you a small wave. Heat rushes into your cheeks, tummy fluttering nervously, flustered by the fact that he’s acknowledged you. You search around, trying to see if it’s someone next to you that he’s waving at instead, but neither of your neighbors seem aware of him. When you look back, his attention is elsewhere, and the moment passes as quickly as it occurred.
The following Monday, you’re early as usual to class. You set up your laptop and take the extra time to people watch, especially eager to see one particular person. He arrives to the lecture hall with about three minutes to spare, placing his skateboard on the rack. Today, he’s in a black V-neck with a familiar logo on his chest, his collarbones barely visible. You expect him to take his usual spot on the other side of the room, a few rows ahead. When he walks towards you, beelining to the empty seat on your left, you’re dumbfounded, hastily collecting yourself as he asks, “Is this taken?”
You shake your head, attempting a smile, unable to coherently forms words into a proper response. He murmurs a soft, “Thank you,” before sitting down, retrieving his laptop to set in front of him. The professor still hasn’t arrived, and for the first time, you’re actually wishing they would to offer a distraction from this unusual situation.
Nanami clears his throat, turning to face you. “We haven’t properly met yet. I’m Kento Nanami. I recognized you the other day from class. I’m excited to see your performance for the spring recital.”
You introduce yourself, too nervous to meet his gaze, instead focusing on his neck, which only flusters you further. “I’m excited to hear your performance as well. Are you a music major?”
“Yes, music education to be more precise. I want to be a music teacher.”
You smile, relaxing a bit with the easy flow of conversation. “What a coincidence. I want to be a ballet teacher.”
His expression brightens. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Wow,” he muses, eyes twinkling at you.
Maybe it’s just in your head, but there’s a spark. And when the professor finally arrives, you wish you could take back what you thought earlier, because now, you want nothing more but to be distracted by Nanami.
~~~
Since that day, you and Nanami talk with each other every chance you get. Before lecture, on the way to your next class, the few minutes until practice starts, and even after, as he walks you to your on-campus apartment with his skateboard tucked under his arm. You learn that he plays a variety of instruments, including bass clarinet, drums, even a little bit of piano. His true passion is bass guitar, which he plays for his band Black Flash. As if you could like him any more than you already do, the thought of seeing him up on a stage, fingers working nimbly on the strings, slapping a riff with that smooth expression on his face does wonders to your heart. You’re shy every time he compliments your dancing, waving him off to say that you still have work to do to improve your technique, make your moves cleaner, more precise. Still, he continues to praise you, in awe of your flexibility and gracefulness. Sometimes, you’ll catch him staring at you from the pit when Mei Mei pauses the music to focus on a certain movement.
A week before the recital, Nanami waits for you after practice to collect your belongings. You forgot to mention to him earlier that you’ll be staying behind to break in your new pointe shoes, a process that takes a while. “Just go ahead without me,” you tell him.
He lingers while you sit down on the stage, a hard mat in front of you, unboxing your shoes. “What are you doing?”
“Pointe shoes are very stiff, so I have to break them in before I can dance in them properly,” you explain.
“What do you mean ‘break in’?” He peers at you with a curious expression on his face, kneeling down to sit beside you.
You smile at him, clapping your shoes together to create a loud noise. “Hear how hard these are? I’m going to bash them against this mat to soften them up.”
“Bash them?”
“Yup. Like this.” You proceed to smash the sole against the mat repeatedly, enjoying how Nanami gapes at you, shocked. You giggle at him, handing him the other half. “You can help me with this if you want. It’s a nice form of stress relief, right?”
He reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Sounds like a good opportunity to play some music.”
You scoot closer to him. “You should play something by Black Flash,” you request, smirking at him.
“Really? You want to hear something from us?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiles at you, a subtle blush surrounding his cheeks. “Okay.”
For the next half hour, you whack your shoes to the beat of the music, listening carefully for the smooth bass, knowing it’s Nanami. He watches you test them out with Black Flash still playing in the background, stretching and swiveling in them to mold to your feet properly. Usually, you’re alone or with your troupe doing this, and it’s as uneventful as you’d imagine. But with Nanami, this ordinary task is special. You appreciate him being so interested in your passion, even if it is vastly different from his own. You would have never expected the mysterious skater boy from your class to be holding your ballet shoes in hand or clapping politely as you stand on pointe for him, impressed by your skill. And you would have never expected yourself to fall so head over heels for him.
~~~
The spring recital is a massive success. Mei Mei bows in front of the standing ovation, holding a fresh bouquet of flowers in her hands. She points at the orchestra in the pit, giving them her unending thanks. You glance over at Nanami, looking professional and handsome in his black-tie attire, though you can’t help but miss the typical baggy jeans and basic tee he usually wears.
Backstage, exhausted but still buzzing with excitement, you all remove your makeup together, discussing the after party. “Are you coming with us? Or are you planning to go out with your boyfriend?” Your friend, Hana, smirks at you through the reflection in the mirror, wiping off her eyeshadow.
Before you can respond, the other dancer beside you scoffs. “Isn’t he a punk or something? What would your parents say if they knew you were dating him?”
Her blatant rudeness shocks you, and you’re unsure how to respond, blood gradually boiling with anger. Luckily, your friend does. “What the hell are you talking about, Kimi? Do you even know him?”
She barks a crude laugh. “I mean, just look at him. He’s always wearing those baggy clothes. You’re telling me she,” Kimi points to you, “will ever get with a guy like him?”
Your friend glares at her, ready to argue, but you interfere, mustering the courage to speak up for yourself, and for Nanami. “He’s a great guy who’s been nothing but sweet and kind to me. Not that it matters, but I happen to like his clothes. And you know what else? I like Nanami, so yes, I would get with a guy like him. So, I would appreciate it if you kept your judgmental attitude to yourself from now on.”
Conveniently finished removing your stage makeup, you pack your bag, turning your back to her, giving Hana a passing high-five on your way out.
~~~
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to go there like this?” You sit in the passenger seat of Nanami’s car, dressed in leggings and a comfortable t-shirt, an hour after your performance. He met you outside the theater back in his usual get-up with a dozen roses in his hands, congratulating you. After, you went out for burgers, it was then that he invited you to watch Black Flash tonight at one of the local venues downtown.
“Of course. You look great, as always,” he answers, grinning at you. “Are you sure you want to go to this? I know there’s probably an after party you’d much rather attend – ”
You interrupt him gently, smiling. “I’d much rather be here than anywhere else right now.”
When you arrive to the venue, Nanami leads you through the crowd, acknowledging some of the workers as he passes by, making his way backstage. There, you meet his bandmates: Gojo the guitarist, Geto who does lead vocals and guitar, and Shoko, the drummer. They all greet you politely, teasing Nanami for “finally bringing a date to the show.” He blushes, ignoring them, quietly setting up, tuning his bass.
By the time Black Flash is ready to perform, your new friends direct you back to the audience to watch them. You maneuver your way through the throng of people, taking your spot near the front, wanting a good view of them, especially Nanami. When the MC announces their name, the crowd goes wild, hooting and hollering for them as they walk across the stage, waving at their fans like true rockstars. Your chest fills with adrenaline, heart pumping with excitement, attention focused on Nanami as he stands to the left, guitar hanging low with the strap wrapped around his shoulders. He glances up, searching the audience until his eyes land on yours; he smiles at you, giving you a small wave with his free hand, the left cradling the neck delicately.
As soon as the music starts, the bass reverberates from the speakers and up the soles of your feet, electrifying every nerve in your body. You recognize the song they’re playing; it reminds you of the week before, when you were bashing your pointe shoes against the hard mat, nodding your head along to the music. You’ve since added Black Flash into your daily playlist, listening to it often, imagining Nanami grooving with the bass nestled in his hands. His talent is other worldly; just a few hours ago, he was decked out in a suit, performing in an orchestra, and now he’s out here, rocking the stage with his fellow bandmates. Your pulse quickens, exhilarated by the familiar music and the realization that your little crush on Nanami is much more serious than you originally thought.
~~~
Nanami skips the band’s invitation for a late-night bite to take you back to campus. In the car, you ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to go with them? I can find another way home easily.”
“I’d much rather be here than anywhere else right now,” he says, repeating the same answer you gave him earlier. You smile, holding each other’s gaze a second longer before he starts driving.
You babble on and on about how impressive the show was, how completely starstruck you became by the end of it. “The bass really comes through when you’re playing live! I felt it in my soul, especially during ‘Overtime’. I think that might be my favorite song.”
He pulls up to the parking lot down the street from your complex, turning off the ignition. “I’m really happy you came tonight. I know you must be tired.”
“Are you kidding?!” you exclaim, shifting in your seat to face him. “I got a second wind as soon as you started playing! Yeah, my feet are a little sore, so I’ll definitely need to ice them tomorrow morning, but oh my gosh! That was truly amazing! I can’t believe I got to see Black Flash live in concert – ”
He leans into you, interrupting your rambling with a soft kiss on the lips. His hand slides around the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper, and after the initial shock of it all, you melt into him, mouths moving seamlessly with each other. You only stop to catch your breath, pressing your forehead to his, whispering his name. “Nanami.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, breaking apart from you, burying his face in his hands. “I should have asked if it was okay with you first. I just…I lost control because you’re so sweet, and so beautiful, and I – ”
“Nanami,” you say again, smiling at him. You pull his hands away from him, brushing your lips along his skin, kissing him softly on each knuckle. “I liked it. I like you.”
He swallows thickly, eyes widening at your confession. “You do?”
“Can I make it any more obvious?” you giggle.
He lets out a relieved laugh, cheeks rounded with happiness, nuzzling his nose to yours. “I really like you too. I’ve liked you from the start.”
#nanami kento#kento nanami#nanami kento fluff#nanami fluff#kento nanami fluff#nanami x reader#nanami x you#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#y2k karaoke party#milestone event
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hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p7
chapter 7: we crashed and burned
warnings - none at all
series masterlist
The Silverstone crowd roared as the grid lights went out. Y/N, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, launched off the line with a blistering start. Having lived in the UK for most of her life, it was her home. This was it. Her home race, her first real shot at a win.
However, qualifying hadn't been kind. A gearbox glitch had left her in P4, frustration gnawing at her. Up ahead, Lewis, the ever-dominant force, sat comfortably in P1. The radio crackled in her ear, Liam's voice calm and collected. "Keep your head down, Y/N. We'll get our chance."
Y/N gritted her teeth, focusing on the race ahead. From the very first corner, she displayed her aggressive driving style, surgically carving her way through the pack. A risky overtake on Bottas here, a daring move on Ricciardo there – Y/N was on a mission.
By lap 15, she had clawed her way up to P2, breathing down Lewis's neck. The tension in the air crackled, the crowd sensing a brewing battle. Y/N pushed her car to the limit, matching Lewis turn for turn.
Lewis, frustrated by her relentless pursuit, made a critical error in judgment. He pitted early, a gamble that backfired spectacularly. Y/N, seizing this golden opportunity, stretched her lead. The Red Bull garage erupted in cheers as she crossed the finish line, checkered flag waving, a first-place victory secured.
The champagne shower was bittersweet. Yes, she had won, but the joy was tinged with a sense of unease. A clip of Lewis's furious radio message, broadcasted after his failed pit strategy, had gone viral. "What a stupid fucking move! She's a cheat, just like her brother!"
Y/N's smile faded. Her phone buzzed incessantly. Twitter was a storm of angry comments, fueled by Lewis's outburst. Tears pricked at her eyes. This wasn't how she'd envisioned her first win. The Lewis she'd known, the playful boy she'd shared video game afternoons with, was a distant memory.
The other drivers, sensing her distress, gathered around her, offering congratulations and words of encouragement. Max, ever the blunt one, scoffed. "Don't listen to that loser, Y/N. You earned that win fair and square."
Lando chimed in, his voice gentle. "Lewis will get over it. He just hates seeing someone else on the podium."
Y/N forced a smile, her voice choked with emotion. "Thanks, guys." But the victory felt hollow. The playful rivalry she'd secretly harbored a spark for had morphed into something toxic and consuming. As she walked away, a single tear rolled down her cheek, a silent testament to a shattered dream.
Fury simmered in Nico's eyes as he stormed into Y/N's garage. The radio message, the hateful words Lewis had spewed – they were a declaration of war, not just on Y/N, but on their entire family. He found Y/N huddled with Max and Lando, a brave smile plastered on her face.
"Y/N," Nico's voice was a low growl. "That message…"
Y/N waved him off, her smile faltering. "Don't worry about it, Nico. Lewis is just… Lewis."
Max scoffed. "Just Lewis? That was disgusting! You drove brilliantly, Y/N. You deserved that win."
Y/N offered a weak smile. "Thanks, Max. I appreciate it."
Across the paddock, Lewis watched the interaction unfold. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut as he saw Nico comfort Y/N, wiping away a stray tear that escaped her determined facade. The playful banter, the shared laughter of their childhood – it seemed a lifetime ago. He had let the rivalry consume him, turning a sweet memory into a bitter enemy.
Later that evening, Y/N exited the restroom, her face drawn. Lewis, who had been washing his hands, froze. He knew he owed her an apology, a genuine one. He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N brushed past him, ignoring his presence altogether.
"Y/N, wait," he pleaded. "I need to apologize for what I said. It was…"
Y/N stopped, her back stiff. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. The dam broke when Lewis spoke again.
"It was unprofessional and disrespectful," he continued, his voice low. "You are a phenomenal driver, Y/N, and you deserve every bit of your success."
She spun around, her voice trembling with unshed tears. "Don't you dare," she choked out. "Don't you dare act like you fucking care now. You and Nico… you fell out, you started hating each other so deeply that... you stopped being in each others lives. And I had to watch him lose a best friend, and in the process, I lost you. I cried for days when you stopped talking to him, Lewis. And you know what? You didn't even call or text me one time. Not when everyone on Twitter called me a nepo baby, not when I got into that crash in F2. Not when the entire racing community said that I didn't deserve a place because i was a woman. You were part my whole world. My. Whole. Fucking. Universe. And it was so easy for you to leave and cut me out. So no Lewis. I'm not giving in this time because as much as you claim to be Mister. Nice Guy I know your reality and it is the fact that you didn't care one bit."
Lewis felt the floor drop out from under him. He had no right to be surprised. He had pushed Y/N away, collateral damage in his war with Nico. The pain etched on her face mirrored the forgotten ache in his own heart.
"Y/N…" he stammered, his voice heavy with regret. But the words died in his throat. He had hurt her, pushed her away, and apologizing now felt hollow in the face of his past actions.
Y/N wiped away a tear, her voice laced with a steely resolve. "Save it, Lewis. The damage is done." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Lewis alone with the weight of his remorse.
credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs
taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life
🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️
leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!
#sir lewis hamilton#lewis x reader#lewis hamilton#mercedes#y/n#lando norris#charles leclerc#carlos sainz#f1 imagine#formula 1#formula one#red bull racing#max verstappen imagine#carlos sainz imagine#f1 x you#fia#female driver#nico rosberg#brocedes#sewis#ava speaks
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INVERSE
Rating: Gen
Relationship: Erica Sinclair & Lucas Sinclair
Notes: Post-Season 4, Erica Sinclair centric
“Erica,” says her mom, says her dad, says Lucas, and Erica doesn’t know how to say that it hasn’t occurred to her for a second to do things any other way.
READ ON AO3 HERE
this is a fill for my stranger things fic bingo square 'erica sinclair' - (if you wanna participate in the bingo, check out my pinned post!!)
“Erica!” says her music teacher and Erica doesn’t know why she sounds so surprised.
It’s not like she said anything that wasn’t true. She never does.
“Erica!” says Auntie Patrice and pulls her back by her collar.
Erica’s always thought that honesty is the good thing, the right thing, the thing other people would appreciate.
“Erica!” says Tanya on the playground.
She’s eleven and then she’s twelve and somewhere along the way it’s all changed. Her name become an exclamation she doesn’t get.
“Erica,” says her mom, says her dad, says Lucas, and Erica doesn’t know how to say that it hasn’t occurred to her for a second to do things any other way.
•
Here’s the thing: she isn’t trying to be rude.
Sure, she doesn’t care super care if she is, but it’s pretty much never her goal. Besides, shouldn’t it all be based on truth? Truth, justice, the American way. Erica can’t be the only one who pays attention to this stuff.
Sometimes it bugs her friends and they fight. They always make up in the end, but the days they don’t talk still suck.
She’s good in school, so her teachers don’t complain too much but when they have the time they tell her to be careful about running her mouth. Those days suck, too.
Her mom tells her, though – at night when she tucks Erica into bed even though she’s getting way too old for that – that she shouldn’t be anyone but who she is. That she shouldn’t let the world make her into someone else. (Erica doesn’t totally get it. How would that even work? There’s nothing in the world that she’d allow to change her, she’s sure. She doesn’t know where she’d begin.)
So, despite the chidings her mother doles out, Erica knows that she wants her daughter to be herself.
It’s a good thing, too, because Erica really likes being Erica.
•
The swelling of Lucas’ face still hasn’t gone down. Mom and dad fret over it, but the whole of Hawkins has been plunged into chaos and it’s easy to say that he and Erica and Max were in an accident when the quake hit. It’s not even that much of a lie.
Erica does most of the deflecting because her brother can’t be trusted these days. Not that she can blame him – although she still tries to give him grief. Can’t give up on everything normal.
But Max looks awful in that hospital bed, still and horrible. She’s meant to be her brother’s girlfriend who’s much too cool for him, on her skateboard, moving and teasing and fitting in at their house where she likes to watch TV. At least she used to before she stopped coming around. (Lucas never talked about that, at least not to her which makes sense. He still got those pathetic mooning eyes when she came up, though, so Erica knows it wasn’t his choice to break up. And he had hope the whole time. She could tell. He still has hope now and there’s something warm about it that Erica doesn’t know how to name.)
Yeah, Erica really hates that hospital room. It smells terrible, looks worse and there’s always some machine beeping in the background.
But there’s nowhere else to be. Lucas spends every possible moment in that room. The others come to visit when they can. They can only spare so many party members. Sometimes Max’s mother’s there but more often than not it’s just them, Max and Erica and Lucas.
A sick inverse of Saturday mornings spent on the couch where Lucas pretended not to be interested in her cartoons. Where Max would pretend like she didn’t enjoy her mother’s valiant efforts to feed her. Being a teenager involves a lot of pretending, Erica’s learned. It seems beyond exhausting.
Now it’s them playing checkers over Max’s hospital bed, commentating the whole way, before Lucas gets out Tolkien. They finished up The Talisman two days ago.
Today he hesitates. Doesn’t open his stupid Hobbit book and launches into reading.
There’s a heavy silence and when he speaks his voice is all torn up.
“I didn’t save her.” His fingers scratch at the cover, but his eyes are glued to Max’s still, waxy face. “We promised her we wouldn’t miss our shot but we didn’t—” He makes a choking sound like a sob.
There’s a twist in Erica’s chest, sour or like a burn.
“When she wakes up… I don’t know how she could forgive me.”
It’s the rawest Erica thinks she’s ever seen him. It’s unsettling and makes the biting feeling behind her ribs worse. She doesn’t want this to happen. Lucas is the big brother and big brothers aren’t supposed to fall apart.
They can be poked and prodded and provoked and they’ll yell and take their He-Man dolls back and they’ll lie for their sisters about the stain on the good carpet once threatened.
This isn’t right.
The helplessness in his eyes is contagious. It crawls up her arms, immobilizing her inch by inch. If Lucas doesn’t know what to do in this room, how is she supposed to know what to do in this room?
Her brother is broken in this moment, much like Hawkins. They have the same scars. Like he was torn apart with it.
So, she tells him the only thing she ever tells anyone: the truth.
“Well, that’s stupid.”
His head shoots up. He frowns but he doesn’t say anything. He’s listening to her, Erica realizes, like she has an answer he wants to hear.
Everything gets so weird when the world ends.
“That’s what Max would say, and you know it. Stop being stupid.” She’s standing on the opposite side of the bed from where he’s sitting. They bring their own water bottles because the hospital is overflowing still and can’t spare the glasses. Erica puts her bottle (pink to Lucas’ green, mom bought them together) back into their backpack. “You did everything you could. I don’t know how you guys survived ‘til high school. We all knew the risk. Max was never gonna let other people take the fall. It was a dangerous plan, but who else was gonna do anything?”
It's bitter in the back of her throat. She’d looked at the group of them, in that van, before they got to Creel House, and she’d felt cold inside. Everyone they had, everyone willing to fight, had looked so young. Unqualified. Inexperienced.
Child endangerment, she’d told Dustin and Robin an eternity ago. That’s all this town really is now. The evidence lies with them right here in this room.
There’s still something in her that’s constricted. Those words were all she had. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Lucas pushes back, if it’s not enough.
Slowly, she tears her eyes away from the lonely backpack by the side of Max’s bed.
Lucas has the tiniest smile on his face.
“Erica,” he says, and it sounds like thank you.
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The Insomniac's Diner
Happy Truce @half-deadmagicperson! I've been working on this for a little bit - honestly my ideas started to get so big that I might even make it longer. Just wanted to give you this chapter and wishing you the best! Hope you like it.
The prompt I chose was: Mr. Lancer discovers Danny’s identity in the most random way.
When battling insomnia, the last thing he expected was to be sitting at his favourite grungy diner on the outskirts of Amity, drinking what he presumed was coffee.
William Lancer sighed, clicking his pen absently as he reread his manuscript for the third time that night. Green eyes swept the page, hoping for a spark of inspiration to send his whirling mind into a buzz, spilling the story onto the page. He took another sip, scrunching his nose in disgust at the burnt taste.
“Fresh Cup there Lance?”
He choked, coughing into the cup in surprise. The diner owner stood over him, a smirk across her round face as she waited for an answer. “No, probably for the best Gloria. It’s a school night after all.”
Gloria tutted, settling in across the man in his booth. “This is the third night this week dearie – anything the matter?”
Lancer sighed again. “Not sure – you know I’ve been dealing with this for years.”
“Well, yes, but it seems like it might be a little more regular now,” Gloria replied, humming slightly. “In all the years I’ve seen you William, this ranks top three. Is it the book again? The teens at the school? Don’t tell me it’s the g-“
“Shh!”
Gloria and Lancer turned to the wide-eyed cook behind the counter. “Don’t jinx it Gloria. He might show up again?”
Curiosity bubbled through Lancer. “He?” He queried.
Gloria shrugged. “It’s been a week, I doubt he’ll show up again. Besides, all he does is show the card anyway.”
Lancer frowned. “The card?”
Gloria pointed to the wall of frayed photos under a large sign labelled Friends of Dale. “The All-You-Can-Eat one. It’s the card where that person and anyone in their family can eat for free after completing the Dale’s challenge in one sitting.”
“The one that’s everything on the menu topped with a fudge sundae?”
“That’s the one! It’s been 6 years since anyone even tried.” Gloria fidgeted with the menu on the table. ‘Anyway, this kid keeps showing up here at random hours of the morning and asks for the same thing: Three pancakes topped with whipped cream and a coffee with an expresso shot and 7 sugars.”
Lancer gagged. “7 sugars? At that point why drink coffee?”
“You’re missing the point Lance,” Gloria tapped the menu card, attempting to gain his attention. “This kid, he’s like…. I don’t know. But he’s high school aged.”
Lancer bristled. “One of my students?”
Gloria shook her head. “Don’t think so – unless you have a student with white hair who can fly.”
The pen dropped from Lancer’s hand as the man’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Gloria smiled mischievously. “You heard me.”
Lancer grabbed his pen, clicked it a few times then set it on the table. “How long does he stay?”
Gloria stood up, smoothing out the front of her uniform while she eyed the rest of the diner. “Depends on the day. Often, I hear him muttering about a curfew. If our parents made our curfew after 2am on a school night I’d question their sanity.” She frowned, nodding her head to the left. “Gotta jet. But you’re in for a treat.”
Puzzled, Lancer traced Gloria’s steps across the checkered floor.
“The usual?” Gloria asked warmly as she approached the booth furthest from the door.
“Yeah – and if you have ice and a first aid kit, I’d appreciate it.”
Lancer’s blood ran cold as Phantom’s voice softly echoed through the diner. He peered subtly over his booth, barely making out the gray hoodie with a tuft of snow white hair poking out of it. Vaguely, he heard Gloria tell him she couldn’t fork over the first aid kit but took his order down. She walked back towards the counter, locking eyes with the teacher and mouthed what suspiciously looked like Told you in his direction.
Lancer stared back at his manuscript, mind reeling at this new development. Phantom here. How long? Have they every been here at the same time? Why?
“You look confused.”
Startled, Lancer jumped out of his seat, spilling coffee over the first page as the young ghost materialized across from him.
Danny Phantom winced, frowning at the mess. “Shoot, sorry.” The boy grabbed papers and suddenly the coffee fell through the table and onto the floor. Once the table was solid again, he picked up the manuscript, made them into a neat pile and handed them back to the man. “I should know better.”
Lancer stood, gaping at the boy now joining him at the booth. “It’s… alright…” He sat back down gingerly, eyeing him warily. The gray hoodie, he realized, was from an old spirit wear campaign from Casper High that was discontinued in the 80s; Lancer swore he saw them in a stock room in the basement a couple weeks back. Phantom’s gloved hands were in his sleeves, the left pressed down on his right. Green eyes stared back, confusion and a bit of concern shining back at him. “Long night?”
The spell was broken; the teen groaned loudly, shrinking into his seat. “It always is. Seriously, I thought I’d never get away from Technus’ babble. He’s almost as bad as T-a friend of mine.” Gloria came over, giving the boy his food, a bowl of ice and coffee and left the pair with a hint of smile. “What about you? Didn’t think teachers stayed up until 2am on a school night.”
Lancer laughed. “Try being a teacher in America. Trust me, I’m not up because I want to.” He watched the boy take a piece of ice, wrapped it in a napkin before pressing down on his arm. Ignoring the action and the wince that followed, Lancer continued. “I’ve struggled with insomnia over the last 10 years, sometimes I can get through it, sometimes… I embrace it.”
“Some would say neglecting sleep is bad for you,” the boy quipped.
“Some haven’t had the nights I’ve had,” he retorted.
Phantom hummed, taking a bite out of the first pancake with his left hand. “Not like I can’t relate,” he muttered. The ghost’s eyes flickered to the stack of papers. “What’s that?”
A soft smile graced his lips. “Just a little bit of writing.”
Phantom hummed again, this time bringing his head to his hand thoughtfully. “Like a book?”
“Exactly that. I figured if I couldn’t sleep, I’d at least work on it a bit.”
“Did it help?”
Lancer laughed sardonically. “Nope.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “And I have to cover at least one extra period tomorrow. Any chance your escapades destroyed part of the school tonight?”
The boy flushed green. “Hey! I don’t intentionally destroy buildings! I can’t pick where I’m thrown!”
Lancer chuckled. “I was joking.” The pair sat in silence, Phantom continuing his meal while Lancer drank the rest of his burnt coffee. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him. “How long have you been coming here?”
Phantom shrugged. “Apparently this place has a bunch of …. What did Frostbite call them…. Essentially faultlines,” He made a face. “Not quite that. Anyway, a bunch of these faultlines the run under this diner that deter ghosts from coming here. It’s like a ghost truce space – some of our powers don’t work. We’re hardwired to avoid it.”
Lancer’s face twitched. “So… like it’s haunted.”
Phantom smiled mischievously. “You get it.” He stretched, taking a sip of coffee before settling in again. “Anyway, found that out a couple months back and remembered that I had the card so I’ve been coming here when I need to fuel up.”
Lancer nodded, making a mental note to ask about it later. One never got this close to the ghost hero without a ghost fight, let alone know a bit about him. His curiosity was peaked, brimming with wanting to learn everything he could about the visitor. All the questions suddenly left him as he saw Phantom add more sugar to his coffee. “Eventually, that’ll stop being coffee.”
Phantom chuckled. “Good. It’s gross – I only use it for the caffeine anyway. I still have at least another hour to go before I can actually go home.”
Lancer glanced at his watch; 2:30am. “I don’t envy you,” he said softly.
The boy’s eyebrow quirked upward. “Who would?” he asked honestly.
Lancer frowned at the response but before he was able to think hard about it, a new bulletin flashed across the TV, completely stealing the boy’s attention to the conversation at hand.
“Shoot,” he said with a frown. He downed the coffee in one go and floated into the air. “Gotta run – maybe I’ll see you around sometime Mr. Lancer.” He flew up through the ceiling and then the diner was silent again.
Lancer barely managed to wave, frowning at the bizarre conversation.
“Harmless right?”
Lancer jumped out of his skin as Gloria snuck up behind him. “Hell House Gloria, anyone ever suggest you might be a ghost?”
Gloria chuckled, giving him the bill. “You know you love it.” She started to clean the table, frowning slightly. “Huh, poor thing must have been in a rush.”
“Seemed so – why?”
Gloria flashed the membership card his way. “He left this behind. I’ll just keep it until he shows up next.”
Lancer grew pale. “Gloria – are you sure that’s his card?”
Gloria’s eyes sparkled. “Yes – why?”
“Because I recognize that name,” he said softly.
Gloria smiled in understanding. “You teach those kids right? Little one should be high school bound by now.”
He nodded.
“Well it’s his card – no doubt about it. Not stolen either, I did the test and all. It’s him.” She shrugged, turning her back as she pocketed the evidence. “Don’t think too hard about it – it’ll keep you up at night.”
Lancer sat frozen, his curiosity wrapping around such an absurd theory that he couldn’t shake. There was no way. No possible way this could be true and yet –
The card said Fenton.
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Curtis Everett, Outta my mind by Monsune
"You've been haunting me for forty days and forty nights
I been waiting for the right time
To let you know that I been lookin' for you all of my life
Feels like walkin' on a landslide
Let me take you, take you down"
Sun In Your Eyes
Warnings: none
Character: Curtis Everett
Summary: You return something important to your neighbour.
As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3
“Tanya!” You shriek, “ew, that’s enough.”
You stick out your tongue over the top of your bottle. She can be so crass and her account of her last fling is hardly wholesome. She giggles and you can’t help but join her. God, you missed this.
“I’m gonna get to school and be a mile behind you, Yaya,” you sigh and take a swig of the Corona.
“Nah, you’ll catch up,” she winks as she leans back, her pink bikini top low on her cleavage, the bottoms skimpy and barely clinging to her hips. “Guys love the cute ones.”
“Cute,” you pout and look down at yourself. Excuse her, you’re wearing a two piece. The halter top and match high rise bottoms are a blue and white checker print you particularly adored.
“Ah, you know I’m the bad girl of the bunch, bestie,” she tilts her head back, basking in the sun as it glistens on her mellow skin. “I told you we should’ve done this at my place, no fun without a pool.”
“We have a pool,” you scoff and point to the kiddie pool by the fence.
She snickers and flicks you off. She lays back full on the lounger and flips down her sunglasses.
“Good thing your mom doesn’t count her Coronas or I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Don’t be such a downer,” you chide as you take another deep gulp. The sun is hot and vibrant and the beer isn’t helping how it makes your head swim.
“You’re a terrible host,” she drains the last of her bottle and wiggles it in the air, “I’m in need of a refill.”
You stand and huff, dramatically trodding over in your flip flops, “and you’re a prize guest.”
You laugh and take the empty. Tanya’s funny. She talks a big game but she’s bent over backwards time and time again. She plays the bitch but has the biggest heart you know of.
“Maybe you should have some water?” You tease.
“Bring me some water and I’ll make sure to cool you off,” she threatens.
You snort and leave her. She fans herself with her hand as you peek back from the sliding door. Your gap year couldn’t end soon enough. Each day you regret your indecision and the months spent trying to pick a program all while pushing face cream down at the boutique.
As you pluck a fresh Corona from the lower shelf, the doorbell nearly has it slipping from your grasp. You set it on the counter and go to see which neighbour is there to tell you to turn your music down. You inch open the door and peek out, surprised at who awaits you on the other side.
“Hey, Curtis,” you greet awkwardly as you hid behind the door, “mom’s away with Dawn.”
“Ah,” the syllable rumbles in his chest. His lazy blue eyes meet yours as he brushes a hand over his buzzcut. The front of his grey tank top is soaked in sweat and streaked with oil, “no problem. Um, I lent her a wrench, I was just hoping to get it back.”
“Oh? I wouldn’t know… uh, yeah, let me see if I can find it.”
“Thanks,” he tucks his thumbs in his pockets and looks over his shoulder.
“Er, you wanna come in? It’s hot out here.”
“I’m fine,” he shrugs.
“Okay, well, you’re more than welcome,” you let the door open a little more, “I’ll just go check the mess drawer.”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t make a move to come inside. You leave the door open and skirt away to the kitchen. You pull open the junk drawer but there’s only duck tape and a pile of outdated bills. Hmmm. You flutter over to the closet behind the bathroom and sort through the box of old frames and cassettes. Shoot.
Oh, wait.
You rush back into the hall. Curtis’ shadow looms in the doorframe but you pay him no heed as you turn and head back to the sliding door. You let yourself out as Tanya rolls onto her stomach.
“Where’s my beer?” She pouts.
“Coming, just gotta…” you trail off and disappear into the shed. Got it.
You grab the wrench and hurry back across the yard. Tanya mutters, ‘typical’, but doesn’t complain further.
You bounce down the hall in triumph, forgetting yourself as you present the prize. “Here! Sorry, mom’s not really the organized type.”
“No problem,” his cheek dimples as his eyes flick up to meet yours.
You cross your arm over your stomach, suddenly embarrassed. Oh gosh, that must’ve been a rather ungraceful entrance. You hold out the wrench and he takes it slowly.
“Thanks. You get a pool or something?” He wonders.
“Just getting some sun,” you trill. Curtis isn’t usually that talkative. You only ever see him hiding behind his motorcycle, clunking away with his tools.
“Enjoying some beer?” He asks.
You give a guilty grin, “maybe.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you,” he spins the wrench in his hand. “I like that colour.”
You look down again and play with the loose strings that trails from behind your neck. You raises your shoulders sheepishly.
“Thanks, Mr. Everett.”
His cheeks colour slightly and he once more runs his hand over his closely-trimmed hair. He gives his own attire a self-conscious look. He tugs the bottom of his tank and peeks up at you again.
“Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess,” he mutters, “well, uh,” he examines the wrench in his hand and tilts it towards you emphatically, “thanks.”
“No problem.”
He turns and marches to the top step. He pauses and turns back as you ease the door towards the frame. You stop as he shifts back on his heel.
“You can call me Curtis, I don’t mind.”
He sets back on his path and you watch him trod to the curb. As he peers back and forth down the street, he rolls his shoulders and wiggles the wrench in his hand. He tosses it and catches it before he continues on. He must really need that wrench.
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Learning to Live Part 8
summary: Javier wanted to show you a good time and take you to the farmers market. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated how much attention you both would get in such a busy place.
pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader
rating: E (18+!!! Soft!Javier Peña (like so soft and sweet), Car sex, unprotected P in V (wrap it up!), creampie, hand job(s), dirty talk, praise, body worship, (1) bite, feelings, lots of kissing, fluff, teasing, Protective!Javi, Protective!reader, emotions, small town drama, feelings of insecurity, food mentions, whirlwind romance.) If I missed anything, please dm me!
word count: 16k+ (I’m sorry! A lot happens!)
A/N: Hello! I finished the full chapter, and I think it’s better all together, so here it is, and I hope you like it! There was a lot to cover, which is why it’s so long. Thank you so much for the continued support and loving these two! It means the world to me! ❤️❤️❤️ I don’t know how many chapters this whole fic will be, but we’re not even halfway through my outline. So, still, more to come! I do have a Spotify playlist for this story on the series masterlist if you wanna check that out. As always, this is dedicated to my bestie @juletheghoul and thank you to my incredible beta @invisibleismyname.
Comments and reblogs are appreciated and I do my best to respond to them all!
Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist
It was a beautiful morning, the sky clear and blue. Javi was driving his truck, you sitting in the passenger seat, holding his hand on your thigh, heading to the farmers market. An oldies station was softly playing, and the air conditioning was cranked high to stave off the already considerable heat outside, even though it was only nine in the morning.
You were excited to spend the day with him and see more of the town. Your first week in Laredo mainly consisted of getting your apartment figured out, starting your new job, and learning where places were. You hadn’t gotten to really explore, and now you had an inside man to show you the spots worth visiting, and Javi said the market was one of them.
You weren't entirely sure why there was a nervous fluttering in your tummy. Maybe it was because you ran into his ex the last time you’d gone out in public for a date, and she unceremoniously spilled his secrets. You didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable like that again, and he’d told you that practically the whole town knew who he was and about his checkered past. You didn’t care what anybody thought about you or your relationship, you were happy, and that was all that mattered—what would bother you, was if anyone decided to do what Lorraine did at the restaurant and put Javi into a situation like that again.
You squeezed his hand in yours, so big and warm, engulfing your smaller one.
He looked over at you, wearing his aviator sunglasses and smiling.
You were willing to fight an entire town for this man.
You wouldn’t let anyone be disrespectful to him, and you knew he could stick up for himself—he was an adult man almost in his forties and had been dealing with this for years—but he was your boyfriend, your partner, and you knew he’d do the same for you. You had each other's backs; you were positive of that.
“What are you wanting to get?” He asked, eyes moving back to the road. “I know you wanted flowers.”
You smiled.
“Someone has spoiled me with flowers.”
He chuckled, looking at you again.
“And I’ll keep spoiling you,” he said with a wink.
You giggled, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it.
“Probably fruits and veggies for sure. I’ll have to see what else there is.”
“I’ll get you whatever you want.”
You laughed.
“You’re not paying for my stuff. That’s ridiculous.”
He was staring straight ahead, and you saw his mouth turn down in a frown. He glanced over.
“I want to,” he said a little quieter, and your heart clenched.
“You may purchase a couple of reasonably priced items,” you said.
He smiled again, nodding.
“Okay.”
You chatted a little more, and before long, the truck was parked, and the two of you were walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.
The farmers market was located downtown in a large park. Big leaf-covered trees towered beside the wide concrete paths that the booths lined the edges of, and red brick retaining walls separated the grass from the walkways. It was a beautiful park, notably very green with the contrast of the red bricks.
The place was already busy, and you’d never seen so many people in one place the whole time you’d been in Laredo.
You saw Javi stiffen out of the corner of your eye, his hand tightening around yours, and immediately you were moving into his side and hugging his arm against you.
You looked up at him, his lips in a straight line, jaw clenched.
“You okay?” You asked.
He looked down at you, and you saw his eyes soften a little behind the darkened lenses.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, squeezing your hand again, his attention moving back to your surroundings. He said the words, but you didn’t quite believe them, making you frown.
The two of you should have been lost in the crowd of people—just one insignificant couple amongst dozens of others, and yet you saw the curious looks and heard the whispers as you both walked by, catching mentions of Javi’s name. He hadn’t been joking about everybody knowing about you; the townspeople were apparently a bunch of gossips.
You stopped at the first stall advertising farm fresh eggs at a very reasonable price, the person manning it greeting you with a big smile and nodding at Javi, their attention moving to new people that walked up next to you.
Javi leaned down.
“You want some of these?” He asked quietly.
You tipped up on your toes so your face was closer to his ear when you whispered for only him to hear.
“We do need the extra protein with the way you fuck my brains out. It’s like you’re determined to wreck my pussy.”
He sucked in a breath so hard he choked on his spit and started coughing, covering his mouth with his arm.
Your free hand rubbed against his chest.
“Sorry!” You said.
He calmed down after some seconds, his face a little red and eyes wet.
Javi got the attention of the person who greeted you.
“Three dozen, please,” he said, voice a bit hoarse as he grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, and you laughed.
Javi carried your purchases in a canvas tote bag you’d bought with the eggs in one hand and held yours in his other as you went from stall to stall.
You noticed he had his guard up and seemed to be on alert, eyes scanning the crowd, a hand always on you, keeping you close to him. He had a serious look on his face, lips dipping in a frown, the crinkle between his eyebrows more prominent. His demeanor was so different from how he was when you were alone, and it was a bit of a shock.
Was this how he was normally?
Intense, reserved, grumpy.
He was polite with others and replied when spoken to, but his answers were short and to the point, offering a forced smile if the occasion called for it, and it just made you miss his real smiles. The happy, genuine ones, so you made it your mission to try and get him to relax a little.
You were at a stall with artisan soap bars, holding one up to your nose as you smelled it. You were hit with scents of amber, patchouli, Madagascar vanilla, something floral, and some citrus. It smelled pretty good, and you lifted it towards Javi.
“Do you like this?” You asked.
He leaned in, breathing it in.
“Smells good,” he replied with a nod, but he was still frowning.
You moved up on your toes, and he bent his head so you could speak in his ear.
“If I got it,” you whispered. “Can I wash you with it? Just imagine my hands all over your body, maybe I’m behind you with my hand at your front, wrapped around your—”
“Cielito,” he interrupted in a rough tone. He turned his head to kiss your forehead. “Get it.”
You kissed his cheek, and he gave you a tiny smile that you counted as a win.
The flowers at the next stall were gorgeous, your eyes taking in the vibrant rainbow of colors neatly displayed.
“Which ones?” Javi asked.
You looked up at him, and the tiny smile had gotten a little bigger, which meant you had to get some—it would make him happy.
You smiled, turning to look at the choices.
“The pink peonies.”
He leaned into your space.
“I can name maybe three of what we’re looking at. Which ones…?”
You giggled.
“Sorry,” you said, reaching to grab a small bouquet and showing him your choice.
“They’re pretty,” he said, lips curving up a little more. His hand left yours as he juggled the canvas bag to get his wallet from his pocket, quickly paying. He put his arm around your shoulders as you both started walking, joining the many others walking down the path.
He’d forgotten how many people came out for the farmers market.
It was a big deal for their community. Everything sold was grown and made within two hundred miles of Laredo. It happened every second Saturday of the month, and it seemed like the whole fucking town was there to show their support.
It should be a good thing, everybody coming together and supporting the local vendors, but for Javier, it meant being in the spotlight, people watching him and Cielito with looks ranging from curiosity to pity. He felt like he was always the talk of the town, either because of what happened seventeen years ago with Lorraine or, more recently, with Colombia; his life was constantly a hot topic of discussion.
He’d gone from Javier Peña, the man who left the Mayor’s daughter at the altar and became a social pariah, to Javier Peña, the man who helped take down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel and was now considered Laredo’s golden boy.
His accomplishments overshadowed his past sins—to most of the people. He was called a hero by many, still hated by some, and there were the ones who didn’t give a fuck one way or the other but ate up all of the news about him anyway.
All of the interest in him made Javier avoid town functions like the fucking plague. He didn’t like the hero-worship, never thought he deserved such admiration for the shit he’d done in South America, and then there was the opposite he experienced, too; the dirty looks, the sneers, the outright animosity. He had to change barbers because his old one was Lorraine’s uncle, and he’d been told he wasn’t welcome upon his return.
He’d kept to himself since coming back. He worked, ran errands, and drank alone at the bar and in the comfort of his father’s house. Javier hadn’t been seen with a woman and turned down any advances because he knew his reputation preceded him, he knew the women offering to buy him drinks only wanted one thing, and he was tired. He wanted more than just sex; he wanted connection, passion, an actual relationship, and by some fucking miracle, he’d found what he was looking for in a beautiful woman who simply wanted to help him pick out some produce.
But now he was being seen in public with her, a sign that something was going on between them, and he was pretty sure the town was collectively having flashbacks to seventeen years prior. The pitiful looks stung him the most, knowing that people felt bad for Cielito like she was making a big mistake being with him. Doubt was beginning to creep into his brain that maybe she was, maybe he wasn’t good for her.
He felt his frown deepen, and suddenly arms wrapped around his middle, Cielito’s head resting against his chest, her flowers at his stomach, and he relaxed a little, his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer to him.
Javier wanted to spend time with her, take her places, show her a good time, and be a normal couple, but being in a busy place like this made him wish they were back at her apartment or even the booth at El Mercadito—he hated all of the attention and felt awful that she had to deal with it. The people, the looks, the whispers, all of it had him on edge and alert, wanting to keep her safe from it all—shield her, protect her. He worried everything would be too much, and she’d end things, realizing he wasn’t worth all the trouble.
They were coming up to another stall after browsing only a few before.
“Ooh, this looks fun,” she said, unwrapping herself from him, and Javier missed her immediately.
He watched her pick up a bottle of red wine on display, the winery located a few towns away.
“Thoughts on wine?” She asked, showing it to him.
“I prefer whiskey,” he said with a shrug.
The man selling came over to them, Javier not recognizing him, and started going through his sales pitch about how the one she was holding was a sweet wine with hints of cherries and strawberries and other things he didn’t understand. He’d never been a wine drinker; he preferred stronger liquor.
“Did you hear that, Javi? It’s versatile.”
She was looking at him with big eyes and a smile.
Someone else got the vendor's attention, and he politely excused himself.
“What does that mean?” Javier asked.
“You can drink it with food or by itself. Do you like wine?” She asked.
“I never drink it.”
He saw her eyes brighten, a smirk lifting on her lips, and he knew whatever she was about to say probably wouldn’t be appropriate with people around, and he felt his heart begin to speed up.
“So,” she started, looking around, the others close by in animated conversation, and she leaned close, lowering her voice a little. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want to get wine drunk and fool around on the couch?”
He was reminded of the previous things they’d done in her living room, his throat going dry, want beginning to stir in his belly, and he had to keep himself from groaning, huffing out an amused breath instead. His lips turned up in a small smile.
“Get the wine, Cielito.”
She grinned at him, her face lighting up, and he felt his heart stutter at how beautiful she looked. It took a couple of minutes for her to make her purchase, and he placed the bottle in the bag he was holding, taking her hand with his free one as they started walking.
“When was the last time you came here?” She asked him.
He looked at her, seeing her curious expression.
“Fuck,” he sighed. “I don’t even remember.”
He hadn’t been in recent years.
“It’s a really nice place,” she said, leaning into him. “I love looking at all the different things, and it’s such a beautiful day to walk around outside.” It was still morning, and the heat wasn’t overwhelming, the tree branches overhead offering shade. Their gazes met. “I’m having a great time being here with you.” She smiled at him, and he could see it on her face that she was telling the truth, and his eyes widened.
“You are?” He asked, not able to keep the surprise from his tone.
Her forehead crinkled, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s not too much?” He asked slowly.
He knew she was seeing and hearing the same things he was. The older couple behind them were talking in hushed voices, but he’d heard his name and the wife say, that poor girl.
Cielito’s expression relaxed, a smile on her lips.
“Like I told you on our second date, I don’t care what people say about me. As long as I’m happy and you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
He smiled a little bigger and felt some of the tension in his body release.
“I’m happy being with you,” he said truthfully, bringing their joined hands up so he could kiss the back of hers.
Her smile got bigger.
“Then fuck ‘em.”
He chuckled lowly, leaning down to kiss her temple.
“I’d rather just fuck you,” he said for only her to hear.
“You’re insatiable,” she laughed.
He smiled.
“Only for you.”
All it took were her words to have his earlier doubts and worries slipping from his mind, replaced with thoughts of how much he adored her and how lucky he was to have her.
They approached a table laden with little glass sculptures of animals and plants, the woman running it looking vaguely familiar, but Javier couldn’t recall her name as she greeted them with a friendly hello.
“These are really beautiful,” Cielito said, smiling at the vendor.
“Thank you. I make them myself.”
Javier listened as the two women spoke for a few minutes, his eyes on Cielito, watching how genuinely interested she was to hear about the other woman’s craft. He felt himself soften a little, warmth filling his chest. He was feeling better knowing she was having a good time, and he was glad she chose to ignore everyone and just enjoy herself.
She ended up buying a glass tulip, the stem green, and the flower yellow. It was packaged up safely, and Javier happily took it when it was handed to him to put in the bag.
They walked hand in hand to the next stall selling raw honey.
“Well, if it isn’t Javier Peña!” The owner, an older woman in her early seventies, said in a strong Texas drawl.
“Hi, Mrs. Moore,” he said, giving her a smile.
The older woman’s hair was completely white, and she was wearing a brightly printed blouse in a fun pattern, with a denim jacket. She had always been fond of him and his family, and had been a friend of his mother’s.
“Who is this lovely woman with you? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Pauletta Moore,” she said, sticking out her hand.
Cielito shook it, introducing herself.
“It’s nice to meet you, dear. A gorgeous couple!” Mrs. Moore’s attention moved to him. “Javier, you’ve gotten more handsome with age! When I saw your picture in the paper about all that stuff you did in South America, I could not believe it was the same young man who helped me build those bee boxes when you were what, nineteen?”
“I was twenty,” he said, turning to Cielito, who looked at him. “Mrs. Moore went to church with my parents, and she wanted to start beekeeping—”
“Something to keep me busy in my retirement,” Mrs. Moore added.
“And she asked around if someone could help her build the boxes—”
“And Javier’s wonderful mother offered his services.”
“She didn’t give me a choice,” he said with a chuckle.
“Such an incredible woman,” Mrs. Moore said. “I miss her dearly. She made the best tamales in Webb County, if not the entire state of Texas! But I’m happy she sent you. I used those boxes for years.”
He knew he probably looked a little surprised.
“Really?” He asked.
He’d had to go to the library and check out books on how to build them.
“Yes! Had to expand when I really started selling. I’ll always fondly remember you coming over in your white tank top and jeans, hammering away.” She looked at Cielito. “You are one lucky girl. He’s aged like a fine wine. Look at those arms!”
He felt heat crawling up his neck, clearing his throat as Cielito giggled.
“They’re good arms,” Cielito agreed, letting go of his hand to rub her own along his forearm. “And I know I’m very lucky.” She looked up at him, grinning, and he smiled back.
Mrs. Moore grabbed a jar of honey from the table.
“Take some honey!” she said, holding it out to him.
“Oh, Mrs. Moore, I couldn’t possibly—” He started.
“I insist, Javier,” she said, pushing it towards him. “It was with your help I got my start. Take it as thanks.” Her tone stated she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He carefully accepted it from her.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Anytime, and don’t be a stranger!”
He chuckled.
“I won’t.”
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Moore!” Cielito said.
“The pleasure was all mine.”
Javier put the honey in the bag and retook Cielito’s hand, pulling her away from the booth. She started speaking when they were further down the path.
“I’m pretty sure if Mrs. Moore was thirty years younger, she would have definitely come onto you.”
He groaned, and she giggled.
“You’re just so handsome,” she continued. “And your arms are apparently lady kryptonite.”
He looked at her, and she was wearing a big toothy grin.
“Yeah? Do you feel the same?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“You know how I feel about them,” she replied with a wink.
He leaned down to speak in her ear.
“That’s right, you think it’s sexy when I manhandle you,” he whispered. “You like it when I pull out, flip you over, and fu—”
His sentence was cut off when she turned her head, kissing him, a surprised sound coming out of his mouth.
“We are in public,” she murmured against his lips.
He kissed her quickly, pulling back to look at her.
“You started it,” he said with a smirk. “The eggs, the soap? Teasing me.” He looked forward, seeing the next booth. “Want some food?”
“I could eat.”
They arrived at a little pastry place, the table containing trays of different flavored croissants and danishes, all from a bakery in town. The owner running the stall was the cousin of a guy he’d gone to school with who Javier didn’t know too well; he was pretty sure his name was Mike—he saw he was right when he spotted the man’s name tag.
“Good morning,” Mike greeted.
“Morning. What would you like?” Javier asked Cielito.
“Hmmm,” she said, appraising what was in front of them. “Would you want to share an almond croissant?” She asked, looking at him.
“Yeah. That sounds good,” he answered. He turned his attention back to the owner. “Can we get one of the almond ones, please?”
“Sure thing, Javier,” Mike replied, getting a piece of parchment paper, grabbing the pastry, and handing it to Cielito. She let go of his hand to take it.
Javier moved the tote bag to his left hand, pulling his wallet from his back pocket with his right. He snagged two ones and handed them over.
“Keep the change,” he said.
“Thank you!”
He put his wallet away, his arm moving to rest on Cielito’s shoulders as they walked a little down the path and stepped to the edge in an empty space between stalls, the brick retainer wall next to them as she stood in front of him.
The croissant was golden brown and had slices of almonds and powdered sugar on top. He watched as she held it up to his mouth; Javier opened and took a bite. It tasted buttery and nutty, with sweetness from the sugar and filling. He’d never had one before; a little too fancy for him, but he had to admit it wasn’t bad, nodding his head as he chewed.
“What do you think?” She asked, biting into it.
“It’s good,” he said after swallowing.
She brought it back up to his lips, and he bit into it again.
It went like that until the pastry was finished, each of them taking bites until finally, Javier told her to have the last of it, loving the little smile she gave him.
She tossed the used parchment paper in a nearby trash can and returned, her hand reaching up to his face.
“You got a little sugar right here,” she said, rubbing her thumb against the side of his mouth, and he watched, eyes transfixed on her as she brought it to her mouth, her tongue licking away the powder. He gulped, feeling heat under his skin that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
She smiled, eyes sparkling.
“It looks like I missed some,” she said. “Come here.” She beckoned him to lean down, and he did it, immediately bringing his head closer to hers, his heartbeat racing.
She got close to him, his face an inch from hers, as her fingers lightly grabbed his chin to turn his head at an angle. Her lips touched the spot her thumb had, kissing it first, then her tongue licked over the small area, Javier’s eyes closing for a second as a tingle went down his spine. He wanted to kiss her, and the urge became too much; Javier quickly turned his head to capture her lips with his. He was delighted by her surprised sound, his tongue tasting the sweetness on her lips as he kissed her, swallowing her moan when he deepened it. Her hand cupped his jaw, and Javier didn’t care if anyone saw—they were in their own little bubble, enjoying one another for the moment, kissing until they needed to breathe.
They finally parted, looking at each other with smiles on their faces.
“I liked the croissant,” he said.
“Good. I’m kind of thirsty.”
He straightened up, looking down the path at the booths as people passed by, until he spotted one, turning back towards her.
“Lemonade?” He asked.
“Lemonade works.”
He took her hand, and she followed, moving with the crowd of people, until he got them to their destination, standing in line behind a small family.
They got to the table and the person running it was one of Lorraine’s many cousins; he watched her face sour when she realized who her next customer was. Her eyes moved from him to Cielito and back to him.
“Javier,” she said in an icy tone.
He sighed.
“Hi, Tammy.”
He really hoped she wouldn’t make a scene. Cielito squeezed his hand.
“What do you want?” She asked.
“Just one lemonade, please.”
She glared at him and aggressively grabbed a paper cup from the stack, eyes on his as she moved in front of the big glass spigot jar that held the bright yellow drink.
He let go of Cielito’s hand to get his wallet, taking out the dollar needed to pay and stuffing the billfold back into his pocket.
She was back in front of them after a moment, her attention moving to the woman next to him.
“Word of advice, sweetie,” Tammy started, tone sickly sweet. “I wouldn’t grow too attached to this one. He’s the love them and leave them type, and really good at the leaving.”
His eyes widened, blood rushing in his ears as his stomach dropped.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
As soon as he saw Tammy, they should’ve gone somewhere else, and he was kicking himself in the ass for thinking she’d be civil. It made no fucking sense to him why this family was so adamant about making his life hell—Lorraine had moved on, married a rich and successful man, and had a family, for Christ’s sake. He wished they’d all let it go, it happened seventeen years ago, and they acted like they were trying to make him suffer for all of the time he’d been away.
He was about to speak when Cielito beat him to it.
“Word of advice, sweetie,” she said, using the same sickly sweet tone. His head turned towards her, seeing her glaring at the other woman. “Mind your own fucking business. But seeing as you’re advertising fresh-squeezed lemonade when in reality you’re using a powdered mix—” Tammy sucked in a breath. “I can tell by that artificial yellow color,” she waved her hand at the glass. “Also, the canister is literally on the ground behind you, barely shoved behind that sign proudly declaring you’re only using the freshest lemons. Where are the lemons, Tammy?”
“Right there,” Tammy said.
Javier looked at the table, seeing a basket with unnaturally shiny lemons.
“Tammy, sweetie,” Cielito continued. “Some more advice: If you’re trying to fool people, use real lemons.” He watched as she plucked one of the fruits up, moving the flowers she was holding to the crook of her arm so she could use both of her hands to split the lemon in two. It was made of foam, and she tossed the pieces onto the table. “As I was saying, mind your own fucking business, but it’s pretty fucking clear you’re bad at that, too. So, keep your falsely advertised lemonade and have a nice day.”
Cielito grabbed his wrist, leading him away, and Javier got one last look at Tammy seeing her face bright red, mouth open, and eyes wide, and he couldn’t help smiling, wanting to do nothing more than kiss his girlfriend on the mouth.
When they stopped walking, they were standing at a food cart, and he wasn’t paying attention; his eyes focused on the amazing woman next to him. He knew she ordered something, her hand leaving him as she dug around in her purse one-handed to pull out a dollar and turned towards him to carefully take the one he was still holding. She exchanged the money for a clear plastic cup containing a golden liquid, and she looked at him.
“Follow me,” she said.
She didn’t even have to ask. He was her shadow; he’d follow her anywhere.
They ended up in another empty spot by the small wall, her standing in front of him, their eyes locked on one another, and he was in awe—this woman who always stood up for him with zero hesitation, even when they’d barely known each other, she was ready to fight for him. He felt his features soften, the smile still pulled up on his lips, and he just felt so much adoration for her it was squeezing his heart and making his chest tight.
She held the cup up to him, and he saw her lips move like she was saying something, but his brain didn’t process the words.
“Sorry?” He asked.
She smiled at him—her lips softly curving up, and a knowing look in her beautiful eyes, like she could read his thoughts.
“You want the first sip?” She asked again.
He shook his head.
“No, mi Cielito. You first,” he insisted.
Her smile got bigger, taking a gulp and sighing when she finished.
She passed it to him, and he was surprised when he took a drink, not expecting the taste.
“Beer?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, handing it back to her. He looked at his watch. “It’s not even eleven.”
“People drink beer with brunch,” she said with a shrug, taking another sip.
“Brunch implies we’re eating something more substantial than cereal and pastries.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to make us something when we get back to my apartment.” She smiled.
At the mention of her apartment, he felt a pulse of excitement flow through his body, ideas of the things he wanted to do to her once they were alone. He needed to show her how thankful he was, how much he cherished her, and how happy he was to be with her. He stepped into her space, fingers tipping her chin up, eyes locked on hers.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” She asked softly.
He looked at her lips, wet from the beer, and he saw her tongue peek out to lick the bottom one, him mimicking her actions as his gaze moved back up.
“Sticking up for me,” he rasped. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.” She was speaking quietly for only him to hear. “You’re my boyfriend, and I won’t let people treat you like that. And even if you weren’t my boyfriend, I still would have told Tammy off for being rude and a liar. She has to be related to Lorraine.” She made a face, and he chuckled.
“Her cousin.”
“Is her whole family a bunch of dicks or something?”
“Her brother’s decent, but he’s the exception—the black sheep of the family.”
“Okay, so a bunch of dicks. Noted.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
“Stop thanking me,” she said in an exasperated tone, smiling. “You would have done the same.”
That was true.
The need to kiss her was back, eyes back on her lips, seeing how inviting they looked. He gave in, closing the distance and slanting his mouth against hers, and he smiled when he felt her melt into it, kissing her harder.
He nipped at her lip and gave her one last kiss.
“Let’s finish our morning beer. I’m getting… hungry.” He said the last word in a deeper register and saw her pupils dilate, making him smirk.
“Then we better get our shopping done,” she said, moving her head to speak in his ear. “I’m feeling hungry, too, and not just for food. You ruined my panties.” She kissed his cheek before stepping back.
Javier groaned, a spike of arousal shooting down his spine at the memory of what they’d done in the kitchen earlier. She stood in front of him, eyes on his with a sly smile, lifting the cup to her mouth, and he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, drinking her in—admiring the way her dress fit her figure and accentuated her breasts, knowing how she looked without any of the clothes on. The thoughts and images in his brain had his body going hot, and the reminder that she was standing there with his come still inside her, had blood heading towards his dick. She was driving him wild, and he wanted to be alone with her and away from all of these people. The quicker they finished, the quicker they could go.
There wasn’t too much beer left, and Javier gently took it from her hand and gulped the remaining liquid down, tossing the empty plastic into the nearby trash. He grabbed her free hand.
“What do you need to buy?” He asked.
“Bread, vegetables, and fruit,” she replied.
“Okay,” he nodded. “We’ll get those things and go.” He pulled her along, on a mission to find those items and get them going. She giggled behind him as he led her down the path briskly, passing people until he found a place selling bread.
He recognized the woman running the stand right away.
Anna Martinez was in the same graduating class as him in high school, and they’d been on friendly terms, very friendly terms. She looked almost the same as she did in high school; laugh lines were the only thing showing her age. She still had the curly brown hair that went past her shoulders and lips painted red in the same shade she wore when they were teens. She now had a gold band on her left ring finger and a kid who probably wasn’t even ten that looked like her spitting imagine filling a paper bag with pastries for another customer.
On the table were loaves of bread, cookies, and pan dulce, Mexican pastries, laid out in front of them. Anna smiled when she looked up and saw him standing there.
“Hey, Javi,” she said. “Haven’t seen you since Danny’s wedding. Knew you’d come back to town, been keeping busy?”
“Hi, Anna. Just working on the ranch.”
She gave him a once over, nodding her head.
“I can tell,” she said with a wink, still smiling warmly when she looked over at Cielito. “You must be the woman everyone is talking about.” She stuck out her hand. ”I’m Anna.” Cielito shook her hand, introducing herself. Anna pointed at the child next to her. “That’s my daughter, Erica.” The child waved and returned to work, refilling a tray with sweet breads. “It’s lovely to put a face and name to the mystery woman Javi was seen around town with,” Anna said. “You know, I heard from a credible source you had a wonderful interaction with Lorraine.”
Cielito laughed.
“I don’t know about wonderful, but it was something,” she said.
“Oh, it was definitely wonderful. It’s good somebody put her in her place. That whole family thinks they rule this town, and it’s tiring.”
Javi sighed.
“It really is,” he said.
Anna looked sympathetic, and he quickly changed the subject.
“How are the kids? Your husband?” He asked.
She smiled.
“Kids are great, doing well in school and their sports. Alejandro just got a promotion at the bank, so that’s been amazing! How’s life treating you, Javi?”
He looked at Cielito, feeling himself smile.
“Life’s really good,” he replied. “Things are looking up.”
“I’m glad to hear that! Now, what can I get you both?”
Cielito and Anna had a friendly discussion about the bread, leading to Cielito choosing two loaves to buy and paying. Anna gave her the change, the bread safely in their tote bag, before getting a small piece of parchment paper and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie, holding it out to Javier.
“Here’s a cookie, Javi. For old time's sake. A strong man like you deserves it,” she winked.
“Let me pay for it,” he said, moving his hand towards his pocket.
“No voy a dejar que pages (I won’t let you pay).”
“Lo insisto (I insist),” he said.
She looked at Cielito.
“Tell your man to accept the damn cookie.” She shook her head, muttering. “Dios mío, que terco este hombre (So stubborn this man, my god.)”
Cielito laughed.
“You heard her. Take the cookie,” she said.
He reluctantly accepted it.
“Muchas gracias, Anna,” He said.
“De nada (no problem).” Her eyes moved to the woman next to him. “Keep him out of trouble, and don’t let him take you to the lookout.”
He felt his ears heat, clearing his throat.
“I’ll do my best,” Cielito said.
They started walking away from the booth, Javier passing her the cookie.
“For you,” he said.
“I’m not eating your cookie.”
He sighed.
“We can split it?”
She smiled.
“That is acceptable,” she said. He broke it in two and handed her half.
He had to admit the cookie was pretty good. When they’d finished eating, he took her free hand into his, lacing their fingers as they walked towards a stall with vegetables and fruits.
“What did she mean by not letting you take me to the lookout?” Cielito asked.
His eyes went a little wide, looking away from her.
“Uh, something stupid happened there years ago. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said.
“Well, now I’m curious.”
He sighed again.
“Just high school kids being dumb.”
“Oof, the stupid things I did as a teenager.”
Aside from the Tammy fiasco, you were having a great time and ignored the looks and whispers, just happy to be with Javi, flowers in one hand, his own in your other, walking and talking to him. You could see that needling away at his walls had worked. You saw the stiffness in him slowly disappear, caught glimpses of the smiles you liked, and it made you happy to see him loosening up.
“It’s time for you to use the knowledge I bestowed,” you said, the two of you standing at a large booth with crates upon crates of colorful produce displayed on many tables. You let go of his hand, pointing at some tomatoes in front of you. “Find us the perfect tomato, babe. I’ll make you my version of a BLT for lunch.”
He looked at you, eyebrows furrowing.
“What’s your version?”
“A secret you will soon discover when we get back to my place,” you said with a smile.
He nodded, looking back at the vegetables, staring them down with a serious look, like he was trying to intimidate them into speaking. You smiled, because it was the same expression he had the first time you saw him at the grocery store. He picked one up, feeling it in his hand, and you noticed how easily he held it, the large heirloom tomato fitting in his palm. He pressed into it gently to test it.
“Too ripe,” he said, putting it down, and you smiled big, watching with rapt attention. He picked up another, going through the same motions and setting it back down. He looked for a second and picked up another, holding it in his hand, and inspected it before testing it with his thumb. He nodded to himself, holding it out to you. “This one.”
You took it, and you couldn’t wrap your fingers around it, checking it out and lightly pressing into it, the color of it bright red and unblemished. You looked up at him, and he was watching intently.
“Are you positive this is the one you want to go with?” You asked.
He frowned, looking unsure.
“Yeah..?”
You smiled.
“Congratulations, Javi. You picked the perfect tomato.”
This was when he gave you the biggest, happiest, genuine smile that took your breath away, when his dimple appeared and his eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Really?” He asked.
“Really! I’m so proud.”
He chuckled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips.
“What else do we need?” He asked.
“Arugula, avocado, and I’m looking at the fruit—need to get some for pies and maybe pastries.”
He ducked his head to whisper in your ear.
“For apology baked goods?” He asked.
“Yes,” you laughed.
His voice went a bit deeper. “Do you still feel my come?”
You softly gasped.
“Am I dripping out of you?” He continued.
“Javi,” you breathed.
Your cunt clenched at the reminder, reveling in the delicious ache in your core. He really had ruined your panties, the wet fabric sticking to you.
He went on, his breath tickling your ear.
“Thinking about how easy it is to lift up that pretty dress and wreck your tight—”
You turned your head, cutting off his sentence with your lips.
“Again, we are in public,” you said against his mouth.
He kissed you a little harder.
He pulled back. “Can’t wait to get back to your apartment,” he said with a smirk. He kissed your forehead. “I’ll get the avocado, and we can leave when you’ve gotten the rest.”
Javi was carrying two bags in his hand, keeping his other free to hold yours, while you held the flowers—it was the only thing he’d let you carry.
The two of you were heading toward the truck when some jewelry caught your attention, and you dragged him over to take a quick look. The person working the booth was a beautiful woman who, based on her looks, was a little younger than you. She ignored you, turning her attention to Javi.
“Hi, Javier.” Her tone was extremely flirty as she twirled some of her blonde hair on her finger. Your eyebrows were in your hairline, looking down to double-check that you were still holding his hand, and there it was, his fingers laced with your own.
“Hi, uh…” He didn’t know her name, and you smiled as your eyes moved to the handmade jewelry in front of you—all of the pieces made from silver, with intricate engraving work, and some with precious stones.
“Rebecca. The Wilson’s oldest,” she said.
“Right,” he said. You glanced at him to see he had a fake polite smile on his face, so different from the ones he had given Mrs. Moore or Anna.
“You’re looking really good,” she said and reached over the table to touch his arm, and it froze you in place at how bold she was being. You felt like there was a rock in the pit of your stomach, the tendrils of an unpleasant feeling beginning to form inside your chest.
“Thanks,” he replied, his voice tight and clearly uncomfortable with the attention. He moved closer into your side, Rebecca’s hand dropping away.
“You know all that stuff you did in South America; I’d love to buy you a drink sometime and thank you properly,” she said suggestively, practically eye fucking him.
Your body tensed up, feeling your blood boil at this woman’s blatant disregard for you. You’d seen the looks women gave Javi at the bar on your first date, and even while you’d been out today; you knew others found him attractive—you sure as fuck did, and you wouldn’t be bothered by mild, fun-flirting, that was harmless, like the interactions he’d had earlier, but this was different. This made you angry that someone would be so hurtful.
Insecurity was clawing in your chest, making it feel tight, because why would Javi choose you over someone so young and beautiful? You were beginning to spiral, feeling the emotions starting to overwhelm you.
“I’m not interested,” Javi said sternly, the polite tone gone. Your head whipped toward him, seeing that he looked angry. “And I clearly have a girlfriend—a fucking incredible one at that, and she doesn’t deserve this kind of disrespect.” He looked at you, and his face softened. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
You nodded, letting him pull you away.
You were both quiet as you walked back to the truck, his hand holding yours tightly.
His words played over in your head on repeat. I’m not interested, and I clearly have a girlfriend. Being seen together, holding hands, and showing public displays of affection didn’t indicate the nature of your relationship. With Javi’s past, most people would probably assume it was a fling or nothing special—but he’d announced it, and made sure they knew you were dating and that it was serious. Sure, he’d only said it to Rebecca, but the townspeople were a bunch of gossips, and you had no doubt the news would spread like wildfire. You were shocked with how easily he proclaimed it, and elated, just so fucking happy that he was so committed to you, and you felt silly for having any doubts.
Javi opened the truck's passenger door, leaning in to put the bags in the backseat, and turned to gently take the flowers from you, putting those in the back also. When he faced you again, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him, kissing the top of your head.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said softly.
“It’s okay,” your muffled voice replied.
He loosened his hold, a hand tipping your chin up to look at him.
His forehead was scrunched.
“It’s not okay,” he said. “It was fucked up and rude.”
“Maybe she didn’t know?”
He huffed out a breath.
“The whole fucking town knows. She knew. I was holding your hand, it was obvious, and she didn’t give a fuck.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Yeah, it was fucked up, and I didn’t care for it.”
“I know, Cielito.”
“Like Mrs. Moore talking about how handsome you are and your great arms? That was fine and fun. Or Anna being flirty and insisting a strong man like you needed a chocolate chip cookie? That was okay; she acknowledged we were together, and you got a free cookie.”
“That I tried to give you.”
“That we split.”
He sighed.
“I’m sorry. Just really fucking sorry you had to deal with all that and everything that happened today.”
“You can’t control what other people say,” you said with a shrug. “So, there’s no reason to be sorry. You also can’t help that you’re just so damn irresistible women lose complete common sense when interacting with you. Except for Tammy.” You made a face.
He chuckled, smirking.
“You seem to do pretty well with my irresistible charm.”
“It takes a lot of effort—like so much. Your neck looks so fucking good in that shirt, all I can think about is lick—”
He kissed you hard, interrupting your sentence, a moan slipping out of your mouth.
“Let’s head back to your place,” he said, pulling back, eyes full of promise.
“Okay,” you nodded.
You got into the truck, and Javi kissed you, before he shut the door and walked around to get into the driver’s side seconds later. You moved to the middle seat, wanting to be closer to him. He held your hand, resting them on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic. The music was softly playing, the air conditioning blowing, and you leaned your head against his arm.
All of the negative emotions had been replaced with happiness, contentedness, need. You were still thinking about what he’d said to Rebecca.
“You told her I was your girlfriend,” you said.
“Of course I did. That’s what you are.”
You turned your head, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at his profile, admiring the curve of his nose and lips.
“I mean, I know we’ve labeled our relationship to each other, but telling others, I don’t know, makes it feel more real? We’re serious enough that we’re comfortable with people knowing.”
“I’m very serious,” he said without missing a beat.
Your heart sped up.
“What do you mean by that?”
He glanced over at you.
“If I don’t fuck this up.” He looked back at the road. “And you’re still happy with me in the future. Hopefully, you’d consider taking my last name.”
Your eyes widened.
“You’re interested in the possibility of getting married?”
His eyes met yours briefly, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowned.
“Yeah? Is that not something you want?”
“I’m okay with marriage,” you reassured. “It’s just surprising to me that after what you’ve gone through, you’d even fathom the idea.”
Javi sighed, hearing the creak of his hand tightening on the steering wheel.
“I’m not against it. My parents were my example of what a healthy marriage should look like. If I marry, I want it to be with someone I genuinely love, who will stick with me through thick or thin, and not put up with any of my shit. And I want to have the choice on marrying—not doing it simply because it’s the right thing to do.” He looked at you again, eyes softer, vulnerability shining in the dark pools. “I want to marry for love, not duty.”
“That’s how it should be,” you nodded, a small smile on your lips. “And I want the same things. If I’m tying myself to someone for the rest of my life, I need to like them, love them, and know they feel the same.”
He smiled, facing forward again.
“I’m glad we have similar wants,” he said.
“I am, too,” you said, grinning.
You were leaning into his side, your left hand holding his, and you moved your right one across your body to rub it against his jean-clad thigh.
“So,” you started. “If this all works out, your goal is to one day make me Mrs. Javier Peña?”
He chuckled.
“Yeah.”
In the past when you dated, things were a bit more casual. You saw the other person once a week, and talked on the phone maybe one or two times between seeing each other, but with Javi, the two of you had packed basically a month of dates into a matter of days. It was a bit unconventional, but there was something between the two of you that you’d never felt with anyone else—a strong connection, and the fact you could see a future with him—that you wanted a future with him.
You could picture him meeting your family and friends, and knew they’d all like him, because he was charming and fun to talk to when he was comfortable. It made you sad that he couldn’t be like that all the time in the town he’d grown up in—that the people put him on edge, and only a few got to see what he was really like without his walls up. All this to say that talking about the future didn’t scare you—you knew he’d be a part of yours, and it made sense to figure things out and see if you wanted the same things.
“What else do you want?” You asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Kids? No kids?”
He tensed, throat bobbing, and he wasn’t looking at you, but you could see his eyes had widened, and you bet they looked a little panicked.
“Uh… I… I don’t… I’m not….”
Yep, panicked.
You squeezed his thigh.
“A topic for later discussion,” you said, throwing him a line. You started rubbing your hand up and down his thigh again, moving up and inward, feeling it tense, and going back down.
He looked at you.
“What… Uh… What about you?”
You saw his throat swallow.
“Kids or no kids, I’m happy with whichever.” You said truthfully. “It’s a big decision I’d want to make with my partner, and I’d want both of us on board, you know?”
“Yeah...”
Your hand was still moving, doing a circuit up and back down, over and over again.
“Pets?” You asked.
“What about them?”
“Yes or no.”
He visibly relaxed.
“If I had the space, yes,” he said, looking over at you and smiling. “A dog.”
“Not into cats?”
Your hand went further up his inner thigh, and he sucked in a breath before you moved it back down.
“Allergic,” he answered breathlessly.
“That is a damn shame.”
“Do you want pets?” He asked.
“I love animals,” you said. “I always envisioned having a dog and cat one day, but I can live without a cat.”
He looked at you and smiled.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. Dogs are wonderful.”
Your hand was still moving on his thigh, and you were feeling bold—everything he’d done and said while you’d been out and in the truck made you want him so badly that you decided to test the waters, finally moving your hand between his legs, and rubbing at his groin.
“Cielito,” Javi groaned, squeezing your hand he was holding. “What are you doing?”
“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” you said.
You could feel him becoming interested under your touch.
“I… Fuck, I don’t want you to stop.” You heard his hand tightening around the steering wheel again, his words making your cunt throb, a heady rush of arousal coursing through you and making your ruined panties even wetter.
You kept moving your hand, his jeans the only barrier keeping you from touching his cock.
“Okay,” you smiled.
He was half-hard already, his pants beginning to bulge under your ministrations.
“What else do you want?” You asked.
It was taking him a moment to respond as you kept rubbing, seconds passing.
“A house,” he finally said.
“A house is good and would have the space for your future dog. I’d like a house with a little garden to plant flowers and vegetables. What else?” You asked.
He was fully hard quickly, and you moved both of your hands to the front of his jeans, undoing his belt and pants.
“Wha—” His word cut off into a moan when your hand wrapped around his straining cock, flushed, with precum beading at the tip, and throbbing in your grasp.
You let go to lick your palm before you started stroking him, your saliva and his arousal easing your movements, feeling the hot, velvety skin under your palm, solid in your hand.
“What else?” You asked again.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “It’s hard to think with your hand around my dick.”
You stopped, and he whined.
“Is it hindering your ability to drive?” You asked.
“No, no, keep going,” he urged, eyes on the road. “I’m taking care of it.”
You didn’t know what he meant, beginning to move your hand again, up and down, flicking your wrist on the upstroke to make him moan.
You were working him over, getting him to the point that precum was steadily dribbling, making your hand glide wetly.
Javi was panting out breaths mixed with gasps and moans, his eyes never moving from in front of him.
“You never answered my question,” you said.
“Uh, what?” He asked thickly. You saw him swallow. “Oh. Fuck,” he groaned. “Uh… happiness.”
You were aware that he’d made a couple of turns you hadn’t expected. You looked out the window, not recognizing where you were—no houses or businesses—the area looked like they were planning to turn it into a neighborhood, but right now, it was completely empty, just streets with no sign of civilization for miles.
You turned your attention back to him, admiring his profile, the curve of his nose, and parted lips.
“You deserve happiness,” you said. “After the life you’ve had, I want you to be happy. Anything else you’d want?”
The truck swerved to the side of the road, coming to a complete stop, Javi throwing it into park and tossing his sunglasses onto the dashboard. His seatbelt was quickly undone and practically thrown over his shoulder in a clatter as his upper body turned towards you. His big hands came up to cradle your face as he looked you in the eyes.
“You,” he said, crashing his lips against yours.
You moaned when he pushed his tongue into your mouth, sliding it against yours, kissing you desperately. Your tongues tangled, teeth clashed, noses bumped—you could feel that he wanted you just as badly, and it lit a fire in your belly, arousal burning brightly.
His hands moved down your body, quickly undoing your seatbelt and grabbing your ass, hauling you into his lap, your hand coming off him in the move.
You were straddling his thighs, his mouth on yours while his hands pulled your dress up your hips, bunching it there as you tangled your fingers in his hair.
“Fucking need you, baby,” he growled against your mouth. His palms were back on your ass, moving you forward to grind your covered core against his hard cock. “Feel what you do to me.”
As he rubbed against your clit, you moaned, sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
“Can I—?” He asked.
You didn’t need him to finish the question; he could have whatever he wanted.
“Yes,” you gasped.
Your mouths detached as you sat up, positioning yourself over him, Javi pulling your panties aside, and you started to sink down, watching his face, seeing his eyes close and lips part, that pained expression, committing to memory the wrecked look on his face, as you both groaned in unison.
“God,” you sighed once you’d bottomed out. He was stretching your walls, filling you perfectly, and making your cunt flutter around him. “Feels so fucking good.”
“Ride me, baby,” he rasped, eyes blown wide when he looked at you. “Take what you want.”
You rolled your hips, feeling him so deep, a moan slipped from your throat, and then you started moving, riding him the way he asked. You leaned in, kissing him hard as your hands moved to his shoulders for leverage, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, helping to move you up and down.
His mouth moved to your jaw, kissing along it as you bounced on him, the tension building in your stomach, working yourself up, getting closer to your sweet release, and you were relishing in the noises he made against your skin—moans, grunts, and gasps as he kissed down the column of your throat, peppering it with kisses, bites, and licks. You still had marks from the first night in your apartment littered across your neck and chest, and you loved them—reminders of the glorious things he’d done to you.
You were losing yourself to the pleasure, his cock hitting all of the right spots, and the slick sounds between your legs spurring you on.
Javi’s hand came up to your front, tugging the neckline of your dress and the cup of your bra down to free one of your breasts. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, Javi pulling the freed one into his warm mouth, making your back arch, pushing your chest into his face. He groaned around the bud, laving at it before his mouth moved to the skin of your breast, sucking hard.
He was thrusting his hips up to meet yours, a hand on your ass to help move you, mouth back to sucking on your nipple, and now his free hand was snaked between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. You were close, everything winding you up so tightly it felt like you were on the cliff's edge, feeling your inner muscles tightening.
“Come for me,” Javi ordered in a gravelly tone that sent electricity down your spine, and his hand was pulling your face into his, kissing you messily as you tipped over the edge, shattering. He swallowed your shuddering moans, your body tensing, clenching hard around him, and breaking your rhythm. Euphoria washed over you, spreading through your body and limbs in heated waves.
His lips left yours.
“Good fucking girl,” he rasped.
You were aware of both of Javi’s hands grabbing onto your ass, using his strength to work you up and down him as he chased his high and worked you through your aftershocks.
His head moved to the crook of your neck, grunting against your skin, feeling his hot breaths. You knew he was close when he started moving faster—your body going up and down in quick succession, until one last downstroke, where he held himself sheathed deep inside. His teeth sank into the soft skin of your shoulder, making you whimper from the pleasurable pain, as he came with a deep, rumbling groan that you could feel vibrating against you, his cock pulsing, filling you with his spend.
You were both panting, his lips on the same spot, sucking the heat to the surface of your skin, the flesh feeling tender, before he was moving to your neck as your highs ebbed away. His lap was a mess, you could feel the wet denim under you, and your panties were in a similar condition.
Your hands moved into his hair, tugging on it to bring his face to yours in order to kiss him. It was languid, sweet, his tongue slipping past your lips and making you moan softly.
His arms wrapped around your back, pulling you into him, so your fronts were flush together, and you continued to kiss, both of you wrapped up in each other—lost in one another, until there was a need to breathe, and you were pulling apart, resting your foreheads together.
A thought came to you, and a giggle escaped your throat.
Javi pulled back, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown on his kiss-swollen lips.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You lied.”
His eyes widened.
“About what?”
“You told me there were two places where we’d fuck, but apparently, there are three.” You started laughing.
He made an amused sound, mouth turning up in a smile.
“I also said I’d fuck you anywhere, so technically I didn’t lie.”
“We’re going to get in trouble for public indecency.”
“No, we won’t.”
“Your dick is inside me, and we’re in public.”
He smirked.
“My dick is inside you, and we’re somewhere nobody will find us.”
Your brow rose.
“How can you be sure?”
“Abandoned development, or at least it’s been tied up in legalities for a long fucking time. Nothing out here and no reason for people.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“Javi, do you have a list of places where you can have sex around town?”
“I lived with my parents until I left for college. I wasn’t fucking girls at home with them there. I had to get… creative.”
“I’m amazed you never got caught.”
He grimaced.
“No,” you gasped. “Someone found you?”
“Once. The lookout. But the cop let us off with a warning.”
You sighed.
“We’re so going to get in trouble for public indecency.”
He pinched your thigh lightly, making you jump a little and laugh.
“No, we aren’t.”
“We better not,” you leaned in to kiss him.
Javi’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, slanting his lips against yours.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured.
You knew that was true.
“I know,” you said, breaking the kiss to look at him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Sticking up for me.”
You could see it in the way he was looking at you, the liquid pools of his eyes on yours intently, his lips turned up, and his face relaxed—you could see the devotion, the tenderness, and it made your throat feel tight at being the recipient of the look.
“You’re my girl,” he said evenly. “And I’ll always stick up for you, Cielito. Zero hesitation. They can talk about and treat me however they fucking like, but you? No. I won’t stand for it. I’d take on the town—no, the entire fucking world to protect you. You’re the only person I care about. Period. Everybody else can go fuck themselves.”
“Oh, Javi,” you gasped, moving forward to press your lips against his hard. “I feel the same,” you murmured, and he kissed you harder, deepening it, both of you feeling something at the moment that you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your souls.
You were breathless when you parted, smiling, and you leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.
“It’s us against the world, babe.” His smile got bigger. “Wait, I’m not the only person. I mean, your dad’s gotta be up there, too.”
He chuckled.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Good. Haven’t met him, but I already adore him for helping raise such a great man.” You gave him a quick peck on his mouth. “I gotta say, you’re excelling at this boyfriend thing. You’ve made your girlfriend very happy.”
“Yeah?” He asked.
“Absolutely. Now let’s get out of here before your public sex luck really runs out.”
Javi laughed.
He was holding the driver’s side door open for Cielito to get out of the truck parked in his usual spot at the back of the lot under the big tree.
“I really messed up your pants,” she said, eyes locked on his crotch. “I’ll wash them after lunch.”
He looked down, seeing the dark wet spots and drying evidence of their activities from minutes before.
He sighed, looking back at her.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I have a change of clothes.”
She grabbed the bags from the backseat and the flowers, Javier immediately taking the totes from her as she got out of the vehicle.
She leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“It’s fine. I need to do laundry anyway.”
He put both bags in one hand, keeping them positioned in front of his waist, covering himself as he shut the door, and took her free hand, letting her pull him along towards the apartment complex.
They made their way across the parking lot and down the concrete walkway, coming upon an elderly woman standing outside the door next to Cielito’s, her grey hair in a tight bun, a green watering can in hand as she tended to the potted plants under her window. Her head came up, eyes behind glasses, looking at them as they approached.
She smiled warmly at Cielito.
“¡Hola, preciosa (Hello, precious)!” She greeted.
“Hi, Mrs. Hernandez. It’s a beautiful day.”
“Sí. It is.” She glanced at the bags, and Javier pressed them closer to his body to ensure she couldn’t see his lap. “Did you go to the farmers market?”
“We did!” Cielito held out the pink peonies to show her. “It was wonderful.”
“¡Qué bellas (how lovely)! It was nice seeing you!”
They moved to Cielito’s door, her hand leaving his to get into her purse to grab her keys.
“You too, Mrs. Hernandez!” She said, her attention moving to unlocking the door and opening it, heading inside.
“Adiós, Señora Hernández.” Javier gave the older woman a friendly smile.
He watched her eyes narrow, glaring at him, and his face fell.
“Adiós, Javi,” she practically spat out his name. “Sin-vergüenza (shameless),” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she turned back towards her plants.
Javier sighed.
We were so loud she knows my fucking name and hates me. Great.
He stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, locking it.
Javier heard the kitchen sink running, assuming Cielito was taking care of the flowers, and toed off his shoes next to hers by the door. A long, grey wooden console table was against the wall in the entryway, a glass bowl sitting on it that she had discarded her keys in. He got his own out of his pocket and set them with hers, along with his wallet.
He paused, eyes stuck on their things together. Javier hadn’t realized how comfortable he felt in her apartment, putting his stuff with hers without a second thought. He looked over at his boots sitting in their spot next to her row of shoes like that’s where they belonged or his leather jacket hanging with her coats on the wall. She’d welcomed him into her home and life, carving out spaces for him to occupy, their lives mingling together tangibly and intangibly. It all seemed like it was supposed to be like this, and wasn’t it? It sure as fuck felt like it, seeing her keys with the colorful keychains next to his plainer set or his black jacket amongst her coats in shades of deep purple, blue, and grey, and all of it just made sense to him—they made sense, the two of them being with each other; their differences, similarities, and imperfections somehow fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
He couldn’t help thinking about the day and how she’d made him feel better being out in public, and getting him out of his head. He actually had a great time, aside from the glaring mishaps, but even those just brought them closer together.
A smile crept up on his lips at the realization that every day his feelings for her grew stronger and stronger, and he knew she felt the same, reassured that they had similar wants for the future. He was happy with her—truly happy, and sure things were moving quickly, but it felt right, and he wasn’t going to fight it.
“Javi?” Cielito called.
He turned his head, seeing her standing at the kitchen doorway, looking at him inquisitively.
“Yeah?” He asked.
“Is everything okay?”
He started walking towards her, still carrying the bags in one hand, and when he reached her, his free hand pushed some hair away from her face, and he leaned in to kiss her.
“Everything’s great,” he said when he pulled back, looking her in the eyes.
“You sure?”
He sighed.
“Mrs. Hernandez hates me.”
She giggled.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She does. You should have seen the way she looked at me. If looks could kill, I’d be deader than a fucking doornail.”
Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, and she looked concerned.
“Oh, Javi. I’m sorry, we’ll just have to be… quieter.”
He felt his lips quirk up.
“But I love it when you scream my name—tells me I’m fucking you right.”
She laughed.
“Well, you’ll have to figure out another way to tell.”
He leaned in to kiss her, swallowing her moan when he nipped at her bottom lip and kissed her harder.
“You do get really wet,” he murmured against her lips. “And when you come, your pussy chokes my dick and soaks me.” He kissed her one last time, leaning back enough to look at her. “Can you keep quiet, though? Or will I have to cover your mouth?”
“Fuck,” she breathed.
“Do you want me to cover your mouth if you’re getting too loud?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
He smiled, kissing her again.
“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want the bags?”
She giggled, lightly patting his cheek.
“Come on. I’ll show you,” she said, kissing him quickly before heading into the kitchen.
She showed him where everything went, and gave him a quick lesson on how to store the different types of produce. He felt bad she had to reorganize her fridge to fit the three dozen eggs he’d gotten, but she reassured him that with the baking she had planned, and stuff she could make them to eat, they’d go through them in no time. It all was put away, the glass tulip residing on the table with the record player, and she held the soap in her hand, looking at him with a beaming smile as they stood in the kitchen.
“I’m going to take a quick shower before I make us lunch,” she said.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s a good idea. Can I, uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Can I join you?”
She grinned.
“You have an open invitation to shower with me any time.”
“I do?”
“Definitely.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek before grabbing his hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s get cleaned up,” she said, leading him out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom.
She’d put the soap in the shower and turned on the water to warm it up; the moment she turned towards him, his mouth was on hers, swallowing her surprised sound as his hands cradled her jaw.
He felt her touch his chest and move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one with practiced ease as they kissed until she pushed his shirt open, his hands leaving her face to shrug it off.
They parted, her eyes moving along his bare torso, her fingers sliding along his skin, touching him softly before she leaned in and kissed right over his heart.
She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he gulped.
“You’re so fucking handsome,” she said.
His body heated as she kissed all over his chest, and he moaned when she flicked her tongue over his nipple, his cock twitching in his pants as it began to harden and his fists clenched.
Her hands were on his hips as she moved lower, sinking down to kiss his ribs and stomach. Javier felt a little overwhelmed with the attention, not being used to receiving such worship, and that’s what this was—he could feel it with every press of her lips, the tenderness, and affection, the genuine adoration that she felt for him, making a pleasant shiver move down his spine.
And he knew she was doing it simply because she wanted to; she wanted to kiss him and show her admiration for his body without it being anything more than her appreciating his existence—no intention or expectation that it’d turn into something sexual, and it was a lot for him. He’d never had someone care for him like this, or kiss him so reverently, and it made his chest squeeze so fucking tight that he almost couldn’t breathe.
He loved it, couldn’t get enough of it.
Javier felt like he needed to say or do something, reciprocate, and make her feel the way he was—worship her in the same way, and he found himself pulling her up to stand, crashing his mouth against hers as he grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it up, their lips parting as he got it off her body and tossed it to the ground.
His eyes trailed along her body, taking in her standing in nothing but her panties and bra, a matching set of red lace, and his throat went dry, his tongue wetting his bottom lip.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said.
His eyes zeroed in on the visible mark on her shoulder from earlier, larger than the other hickeys littered on her body, and his stomach dropped.
“Shit,” he said, hand reaching out to touch it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her eyebrows knit together.
“You didn’t hurt me. It’s just a little bite.”
“Cielito, it’s going to be a big bruise. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
She cupped his cheek.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad or in pain. I like it when you mark me. Sure, I won’t be able to wear sundresses for a little while, but that’s okay. Don’t stress.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly.
“Are you sure?” He asked, frowning.
“Yeah, babe. Now let’s get naked,” she said with a wag of her eyebrows.
He chuckled.
“Okay,” he said.
He undid his pants and pushed them off while she got her bra off, their pile of discarded clothes getting larger as he pulled off his socks.
He felt arousal burn in his belly when he caught sight of her come-soaked underwear.
“Fuck, baby, we really did ruin your panties.”
She laughed.
“Yeah, we did. I told you I needed to do laundry. The amount of undies I’ve gone through this week has been ridiculous, and I solely blame you.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, you’re not.”
He smiled.
“No, I’m not.”
They were both naked, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the shower, the hot spray hitting their sides.
“Can I wash you?” He asked.
She gave him a toothy smile.
“It’s sweet of you to ask. Of course.”
He grabbed the loofah and the body wash she liked, getting it nice and sudsy.
This was when he reciprocated the things she’d done to him.
He kissed her softly on the lips, moving to her jaw and down her neck, pressing a light kiss against the bite mark on her shoulder. He went lower, littering every piece of satin soft skin he came across with kisses.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered against her, hearing her suck in a breath, and it spurred him on, pulled him deeper under her spell as he continued peppering kisses over her chest, on her breasts, and down her stomach. One of his hands was on her hip, holding her still as he bent down, covering every inch he came in contact with his lips, wanting her to feel his admiration, his affection, how much he liked and wanted her.
He didn’t know how long he did it for, but she spoke, her voice pulling him from his trance.
“Javi, baby, I don’t think this is washing,” she said.
He chuckled against her skin, biting at her hip before he stood up.
“Sorry,” he said, kissing her on the lips.
“It was nice.”
He nodded. “Can I wash you now?”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
He smiled and got to work washing her with the loofah, going over the places he kissed and everywhere else until it was time for her to rinse off. She quickly shampooed and conditioned her hair before turning to him.
“My turn?” She asked.
“Sure,” he said.
He ducked his head to give her better access to his hair, and sighed when her fingers moved against his scalp. It just felt so fucking good, his eyes closing as his body relaxed under her ministrations; he needed to touch her, his hands landing on her hips. She had him wash out the shampoo, and then it was time for the conditioner, Javier melting under her touch. It was over too soon, his hair washed and rinsed, and he watched her grab the bar of soap they’d bought that day. She worked it in her hands to get a thick lather before she started rubbing at his skin. Javier sighed again as she moved all over his front, getting him nice and soapy before she moved to his back.
“Hey, Javi?” She asked, standing behind him.
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember when we were buying this at the farmers market, and I mentioned what I wanted to do to you?”
He swallowed hard, imagining her hand on his dick, and he felt himself getting hard at the thought.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Can I?” She asked, kissing his spine.
Javier shuddered.
“Fuck.” He was hard as a rock now. “Yes,” he said thickly. “You can.”
She pressed her body against his back, her arm moving to his front. He felt the groan vibrate in his chest when her soap-slicked hand wrapped around his dick.
“God, I love the sounds you make.” The huskiness of her voice sent a wave of pleasure to his dick. “Does it feel good?”
His head was tilted down, watching in fascination as her hand started slowly stroking him, seeing how his cock looked in her hand, her fingers unable to fully wrap around his entire girth, and his dick twitched.
“Does it, Javi?” She asked again.
“Yes,” he gasped.
The soap made everything slippery, her hand working in a steady rhythm until she twisted her wrist on the upstroke, and Javier’s mind went blank, moaning loudly.
“You feel so good in my hand,” she said. “So big and hard. I love when you stretch me open—you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
He felt pride swell in his chest, and his dick twitch at her words. She sped up, and he felt every nerve in his body alight with each stroke of her hand and flick of her wrist. He knew he was gasping out moans, feeling himself getting close.
She had done this enough times that she knew what he liked, and he was overcome with what he was feeling; her hand wrapped around him, her body pressed against his, the sound of her voice, all of it pushing him closer to his orgasm.
“I’ve got you, Javi. I’m going to make you come—make you feel good.”
He loved every moment, letting her do what she wanted to him, his hips bucking into her grip.
Her other hand was resting on his stomach, his muscles beginning to tense under her palm as his body thrummed.
“Are you going to come, baby?” She asked.
“Fuck,” he said breathlessly. “Yes.”
She picked up in pace, making Javier gasp out breaths. He wanted to touch her, needed to feel her skin, and his hand moved back behind him, grabbing onto her hip.
His eyes slipped closed, everything building up.
“Come for me,” she ordered.
Her words did it, making him fall apart with a shudder as pleasure coursed through him, and her name fell from his lips, ropes of his come spilling onto the shower floor, her hand milking him dry.
“So good for me,” she purred.
His body slumped, blissed out, and panting.
Her hand slowed to a stop; Javier opened his eyes and saw her come and soap-covered fingers still around him.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
She let go of him, feeling her move behind him, rinsing her hand clean, and a moment later, both of her hands were rubbing against his stomach, her body pressed against him as she kissed his back.
He melted into her embrace as he came down from his high, basking in the soothing touches, with a deep sigh escaping his lungs.
Eventually, he turned in her arms, Javier’s hands pulling her into him, leaning down to kiss her hard. She moaned against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue inside. He moved her, walking her back up against the shower wall.
“Shit,” she hissed against his lips. “Cold wall.”
“Sorry,” he murmured, kissing her again.
He pulled back to look at her; her lips a bit swollen, and out of breath.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said.
She smiled.
“You’re handsome, yourself.”
“Let me eat your pussy,” he started bending down, wanting to get his mouth on her.
Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up.
“No, no,” she said quickly, and he paused, looking up at her.
“You don’t want…?” He asked with a furrow of his brow.
She had a reassuring smile on her lips.
“I’m good.”
He stood back up.
“Are you sure? Because I’d really fucking love to.”
She giggled.
“Remember what you said this morning about the whole you don’t always have to reciprocate? It’s a two-way street. Sometimes I just want to make you feel good without needing anything in return.”
He frowned.
He had said that, and he understood where she was coming from, but at the same time, he really wanted to eat her out.
“Okay, I get it,” he said. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
She giggled again, pushing up on her toes to kiss him. His hands were resting on her hips.
“You’re very adorable, and I love how ready to go you are.”
His lips curled up in a smile.
“It’s you—can’t get enough. Haven’t had this much sex since, fuck, maybe my twenties? I would have passed out by now if we hadn't relaxed last night.”
She laughed.
“I’ve never in my entire life had this much sex. It’s very new and exciting, and really fucking good.”
“Yeah?”
“Javi, I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve made me come.”
He felt his chest puff out a little.
“Good,” he nodded.
“God, you’re so smug about it. I love it.”
He smiled.
“Good,” he said again.
“I’ll let you know if I need an orgasm or two later on,” she said with a wink. “Right now, though, I am starving and want to make you a BLT.”
“I can’t wait to try your version.”
Her face brightened.
“I hope you like it! I worked on the recipe a bit and think what I’ve created is very good.”
He kissed her quickly.
“Then let’s go make lunch,” he said, hand moving down to grab her ass.
She laughed.
“Okay, handsome.”
The shower was turned off, and she got them towels, both drying off, Javier finishing before her.
“I’ll need to take care of my hair,” she said.
“Of course,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Do you want me to grab you some clothes?” He asked.
She smiled.
“Can you get me a t-shirt out of the second drawer in the dresser and underwear from the top?”
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Do you have clothes to lounge in?” She asked.
“Clean jeans?” He replied.
She made a face.
“You don’t own pajama pants or sweats?”
“No?”
“Underwear?”
“Yes?”
She looked surprised.
“Do you wear the underwear?”
He smiled.
“Yes? When I’m working,” he said with a shrug.
It was more comfortable doing his work on the ranch.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You worked yesterday, and there were zero undies on your body when you came over.”
He chuckled.
“I like that you noticed. It’s because I was coming over.”
The realization hit her, and he laughed.
“You don’t wear underwear when you see me for easier access to your dick!”
“That’s one reason,” he said. “Also, less laundry. I don’t like wearing them unless they’re necessary.”
She shook her head.
“We’re going shopping tomorrow.”
He frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“If we’re hanging out, I want you to be comfortable. So, we’ll get you something better than jeans.”
He felt his chest squeeze. It was like the body worship all over again, having this clear evidence that she cared about him. His throat got a little tight.
“You, uh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Plus, if you’re in sweats or pajamas, you’ll be comfier to lay on when we watch movies.”
He liked the idea of that.
He nodded.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
He bent his head forward to kiss her.
“I’ll grab your clothes,” he said when they parted.
“Thank you,” she replied.
He left the bathroom, walking naked into her bedroom.
His duffle bag was on the floor by the door, and he stopped there first, grabbing what he needed and slipping on his clean pair of jeans, not bothering to button them.
He went to her dresser, pulled open the top drawer, and stared at her underwear. Eyes roving over the lace, silk, and cotton in various colors and patterns.
“Cielito?” Javi called.
“Yeah?” She asked.
“Sexy or comfy?”
He heard her laugh.
“Dealer’s choice.”
He pulled out a lacey white thong and, imagining her in it, had blood rushing south.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He put it back, looking at the choices. He’d only seen her wearing lace, but she had a good selection of cotton and a few silk pieces. She had talked about being comfortable. He nodded to himself, grabbing a lavender pair, and shut the drawer, the shirt already in his other hand.
Javier walked back into the bathroom, seeing that she had just finished her hair. She smiled at him, happily accepting the offered clothes. She held up the underwear.
“I see you went with comfy. I’m surprised. I was honestly expecting a thong or none.”
He watched her put them on, setting the shirt on the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“No underwear was an option?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“No underwear is always an option, but I’d prefer to wear something,” she said, straightening back up.
“Will you wear a thong at some point?”
She giggled.
“For you? Yes.”
He smiled.
She grabbed the army green shirt, taking a good look at it, her face scrunching up in confusion.
“This didn’t come from my dresser,” she said slowly, looking at him.
“It’s one of mine.”
Her eyes went wide.
“You want me to wear your shirt?”
“I brought you a couple.”
“You brought me shirts to wear?”
“Yeah? Just some old ones I had laying around,” he said with a shrug.
He’d gone through his clothes at home and realized he owned nine t-shirts, bringing her two of them.
She moved forward, throwing her arms around his neck, the shirt in her hand, and leaned up to kiss him.
“This is sweet,” she murmured against his lips.
He wrapped her up in a hug, holding her close to him as he angled his head, the kiss getting greedier, deepening it and pulling a moan from her when his tongue curled against hers.
Her body is soft against his, her presence surrounding him, keeping him in the moment, and not wanting to stop kissing her, until the need to breathe became too much, and he finally had to break away from her, sharing panted breaths as they looked at one another.
“Will you wear it?” He asked, words coming out breathless.
She nodded her head.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
He smiled, releasing her from his arms, and watched her put it on, his eyes moving along her body as he took in how it fit on her.
Fuck, she looks good.
This was the best idea he’d ever had. There was just something about seeing her in his clothes that did something to him, and he loved it. He pulled her back into his arms, slanting his mouth against hers in a searing kiss that had a surprised sound escaping her throat, his hand trailing down her back, feeling the material under his fingers until they were on the soft cotton of her underwear, grabbing a handful of her ass and making her squeak against him.
They were breathing hard when they separated, looking at each other with smiles.
“Thank you for the shirt,” she said.
“No problem.”
“You hungry?” She asked.
“Starving.”
“Let’s eat, then.”
He followed her to the kitchen, watching her move about the space with practiced ease, opening the fridge, cabinets, and drawers, and setting different things on the counter for their meal. He asked how he could help, and she’d handed him vegetables to wash—tomatoes, arugula, and an avocado. He took the task seriously, washing them under running water while Cielito got a pan out and placed it on a burner to heat up.
He finished with the produce, and she handed him a bread knife to cut one of the loaves they’d gotten at the market.
Javier eyed all of the ingredients laid out on the countertop. There was a little sealed container that had something that looked like mayonnaise in it.
“I’m trying to figure out your secrets,” he said as he started slicing the bread.
She came over to him, standing behind him at his side as she put her hand on his with the knife.
“I’m going to teach you a secret, if that’s okay?” she asked, looking up at him. He nodded, letting her move his hand. “Don’t push down on the bread—you want to saw lightly back and forth.” She demonstrated the knife easily moving through the loaf with hardly any effort.
“Okay, I can do that,” he said. “How thin do you want the slices?”
She thought it over for a second.
“Maybe a little thicker than regular sliced bread.”
He nodded, and she moved back over to the stove, cutting open the package of bacon.
He went to work, slicing a piece on his own.
“That’s perfect!” She said, beginning to put the meat in the pan.
He smiled at her.
“Have you figured out my secrets?” She asked.
He looked at her.
“You’re not using the usual things I do for a BLT.”
She laughed.
“No, I’m not. The container has garlic aioli that I made earlier this week,” she said, pointing at it. “I use that instead of mayo. No iceberg or romaine lettuce; I go with arugula for an added pepperiness and then the slices of avocado.”
He cut another piece of bread.
“That all sounds good,” he said.
“It is!”
“How much bread do you want?” He asked.
“Enough to make four sandwiches,” she replied.
“Got it.”
He was comfortable and relaxed, happily doing the task set before him, listening to Cielito hum a song he wasn’t familiar with under her breath, between bits of small talk. He smiled to himself, that this was his life now, spending his Saturday afternoon making lunch with his girlfriend after they’d spent the morning going to the farmers market. It’d been a day, but even with the bad, it had been really fucking good so far, and he was happy to spend his weekend with her, doing whatever she wanted.
He had the bread finished, and the remaining loaf wrapped up before she was done cooking the bacon, and he found himself coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her middle, resting his head on her shoulder. Her hand not holding the spatula, set on top of his as she let out a contented sigh.
This was one of those moments he’d dreamed of—hugging her while she cooked, the two of them making another meal together. He pressed a soft kiss behind her ear, and she turned her head, having to lean back a little to get their lips to meet in a misaligned kiss that he felt her body relax into.
She looked him in the eyes.
“Are you happy?” She asked softly.
He smiled, nodding his head.
“I am. I really fucking am.”
She smiled back at him.
“Me too.”
She sighed softly.
“Is this crazy?” She asked.
His eyebrows knit together.
“Is what crazy?”
“Like this,” she said, waving the spatula. “How happy we are—how quickly we’re moving?”
He was quiet for a moment, thinking about how to respond.
“Do you feel it?” He finally asked.
She now looked confused.
“Feel what?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, just that it feels… fucking right. Do you feel that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I don’t think it’s crazy.”
“You sound very sure.”
He sighed and pressed a kiss against her forehead.
“Growing up, my pops told me he knew my mom was the one the moment he saw her. She was laughing across the room, and he just felt it in his gut, and they were happily married for over thirty years, until the day she died. I never understood what he’d meant—I had never felt anything like that before. Love at first sight is a fucking joke, and I don’t buy into the true love bullshit, but I think it’s possible there’s a person out there who complements you—accepts your flaws like you accept theirs, and you just work, and your lives fit together? I don’t fucking know,” he said quickly. He took a deep breath. It sounded a lot dumber out loud than in his head. “It sounds fucking stupid, but what I’m trying to say, is I think I get it now, that gut feeling? It all just makes sense, and I think you’re my person.”
She didn’t speak, her eyes on him as his heart raced in his chest.
He probably sounded fucking insane. He opened his mouth to tell her to forget what he’d said, but she spoke first.
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she said softly. “What you said makes sense to me—it is a gut feeling, and I like the idea of there being a person out there who complements me, and it makes me really fucking happy that you’re them, and I found you.”
He felt his dimple when he smiled.
“I’m happy you found me, too.”
She smiled just as brightly, her free hand coming up to run her finger down the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss the tip of it.
“I really fucking like you, Javier Peña.”
“I really fucking like you, too, Cielito.”
And he turned her body to kiss her properly—slowly, sweetly, their lips moving together in sync, like a rehearsed dance, until he nipped at her bottom lip, deepening it, and the fingers of one of her hands carded through his hair.
Javier had never once felt lucky in his entire life; he’d felt pretty fucking unlucky with all the shit he’d been through, but standing here in this kitchen, kissing Cielito, Javier couldn’t help but think maybe he was the luckiest man on the entire fucking planet—everything somehow led him to this point, and the only way he could explain it was pure luck.
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#Pedro Pascal#javier peña x reader#javier peña#Javier Peña/you#wheresarizona writes#learning to live series
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Title: I'm not going anywhere [art]
Link: Click Here To View and Comment
Artist: extremely_unfocused
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-Twitter: FurybornGod
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Title: I'm Not Going Anywhere [Fanmix]
Link: Click Here To View and Comment
Artist: AtTheEdge (cerseisdaughter)
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Title: I'm Not Going Anywhere
Link: Click Here To View and Comment
Author: BrendaChenowith
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Rating: Mature
Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply
Words: 158k
Summary:
Emma Swan worked hard for everything she had in life. She didn’t have much, but what she did have, she earned. Which was why she should have been excited when she finally reached her first day of college. But instead of feeling proud of all she had accomplished, she contemplated dropping out before she even began.
Regina Mills loved her job. She loved standing in front of a class of students and lecturing them about history, which had always been her passion. But not even her love of teaching could erase her past, and instead she lived as a shell of a person, pretending to be the strong and independent woman who commandeered a classroom with ease, when in reality she was anything but.
Everything changes the night they meet in the most unlikely of places, sparking a friendship almost immediately.
Can two broken and destroyed women help each other heal and pick up the pieces from their checkered pasts, or are they too damaged to become whole again?
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Remember - writers and artists spent months creating the fics and art you enjoy, so it would mean the world to them if you commented to tell them what you liked! A creator who feels appreciated is a creator who is more likely to write or create art again in the future!
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[22.49] dad!wooyoung (ft. reader)
⇀ touring has always been hard on him because he misses his family. it sucks that they're apart
⇁ i was supposed to post this on woo's birthday but shit happened irl and i wasn't able to post but i still wanna share this timestamp
Standing on a stage in a foreign country as the whole arena sang him happy birthday made Wooyoung's eyes tear. His heart was so full, he felt loved and appreciated. And heck, he's basking in the attention.
Though he was clapping along whilst his members sang and jumped excitedly next to him, he couldn't help but scan the faces in the audience. He had hoped to see the most important person in his life, the woman that matters to him most. His mom. And it would be nice if you and his five year old daughter, Woohee would be there. Woohee is on top of his priority list and technically she's not a woman yet. She'll never be. Wooyoung decided once the girl popped out of you that she'll be daddy's little princess forever. Age be damned.
Once the song end, people cheered loudly and Wooyoung took it as a cue for him to prepare to speak. He shuddered into his mic with a wide grin on his face. "Uh..." Wooyoung started, unsure of what to say first, "I just wanna say that I'm very glad to be here, I'm very thankful to be able to spend my birthday with every single one of you here. This birthday is rather different because this is the first time I'm celebrating without my family. So tonight, I'm very glad that you all can be my family," and the crowd went wild at Wooyoung's sweet words.
"Daddy," a cute little voice called out.
It was a voice that Wooyoung knew so well. The voice that greets him every morning and the voice that can crumble his entire composure simply by asking, "Cookie, please?"
Wooyoung whipped his head around, trying to locate the source and in hope see his daughter. Finally, his eyes fall onto one of the double large monitors on the sides of the stage. On the screen, Woohee appeared on the couch, wearing something that Wooyoung obviously bought her; a Bathing Ape jacket, a Bathing Ape shirt, and a checkered skirt with her long straight hair pulled into pigtails. Wooyoung couldn't help but grin widely as he watched Woohee giggle and wiggle in her seat while you scold her lightly, telling her to stop wiggling and sit still. He was so fixated on the mischievous glint in his daughter's eyes as she shook her head teasingly at you that he didn't even realize that the audience was cheering.
"Hi daddy," she finally called out. Wooyoung couldn't help but wave at the screen, wishing that his baby girl is with him at that moment. "Happy birthday! I love you! I miss you!" she waved happily to the screen. It was short but sweet and it made Wooyoung miss her so much more than before. He hadn't realized how much he missed her exactly until he saw his growing baby in front of him.
"Mommy, I want birthday cake," Woohee said, switching her focus on you who's behind the camera. "No baby, we gotta wait until daddy comes home to get a birthday cake," you reasoned. Woohee immediately pulled her bottom lip into a pout that much resembled Wooyoung's. With big eyes and batting eyelashes, she tried to make a case with you, "But cake..." "Well, you can help daddy pick his cake!" "But now..."
"Wow, Woohee is so much like you, Woo," Yunho teased, taking his eyes off the screen to look at his friend. Much to his surprise, Wooyoung was crying. He was wiping at his eyes and his bottom lip quivered. Realizing this, his members panicked and immediately tried to console him. Well, some of them anyways. San, Mingi, and Yeosang took it upon themselves to troll their crying friend at the back.
The crowd broke into chants of 'don't cry' in hopes that they could console Wooyoung. But he still couldn't stop crying. He tried waving at people to tell them he was fine, but the tears still streaming down his face didn't convince anyone.
It wasn't until people broke into a thunderous cheer, very different to the consolation cheer they were doing, that the eight people on stage started to look around, confused.
From backstage, Woohee came running down wearing the outfit in the video and launched herself to hug her dad's legs. Wooyoung were so shocked that he could only stare at the grinning little girl confusedly. "Daddy, don't cry," she said to her frozen dad.
Seonghwa took it upon himself to lift the little girl into his arms so she could wipe her dad's tears away. "Look at that, Woohee, daddy's being a crybaby," Yeosang popped up from the sides to poke at his best friend's face teasingly, making Woohee giggle.
It took a while, but Wooyoung's brain finally restarted as he began chuckling to himself. "Hi baby," he said, taking his daughter from Seonghwa's arms into his. Woohee happily wrapped her arms around Wooyoung's neck to give him the biggest hug she could muster. As they hugged, Wooyoung turned around slightly and spotted you backstage. It was rather dark and crowded, but he could spot you anytime, anywhere.
Once Woohee pulled back, Wooyoung tapped her nose with his pointer finger gently, making the girl laugh, "You really surprised daddy there," he pointed out. Woohee nodded excitedly, "Yeah, yeah! Cake ahjussi said that-that-that we should, uhm... We should, uhm... Do something special for you!" she blabbered on quickly. Wooyoung furrowed his eyebrows at her in confusion, "Cake ahjussi? Who's cake ahjussi?" he asked. Woohee furrowed her eyebrows, wracking her brain to explain, "Uh... The ahjussi from your work! The- the- the- the ahjussi who bought daddy dinner after concerts," she said, hoping Wooyoung would understand. San laughed out loud when he heard what Woohee said, making Wooyoung confused even more. "Did you guys hear what Woohee said? She called KQ's CEO the cake ahjussi!" San told the crowd, causing everyone to burst into laughter at the adorable mistake Woohee made. Wooyoung can only chuckle at his daughter and leaned to give her a big smooch on her cheek to which she reciprocated with an equally big smooch she could muster.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,"
Wooyoung was once again surprised when he saw Hongjoong rolling out a cake from backstage as Hongjoong and Mingi tried to make sure that the candle won't die.
Once again, the arena was filled with people singing happy birthday to him but this time, with his family there with him. As he gaze down at the little girl who was happily clapping along to people singing as her gaze fixated on the flickering fire on the candle (or so he thought. In reality, she just wants cake) and then he looked at his members surrounding him, even managing to get a peek at you popping your head from backstage, and finally to the fans he has who were able to spend his special day together whilst representing those who couldn't make it to the arena that day, he felt... lucky. Right at that moment, he felt like he was the luckiest person alive.
As he leant down close to the cake, he closed his eyes to make a wish. To him, it was obvious what he wished for beyond anything else at that moment. And when he blew his candles, he genuinely wished that his hopes come true.
That the happiness in his life would last forever.
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The Hot Dog Scene (Migration Patterns Preview)
I feel like I have to include this to provide closure to those invested in my Hot Dog Discourse. It's a first draft so it might look different when the book comes out next year, but like...here it is. The Hot Dog Scene.
Edgar lingered. He looked tired in a positive way. Tired like how a person feels after they stop shouldering as much of their unimaginable burden. His eyes locked with Tenzin and he twitched an attempt at a smile.
“You want to get a hot dog?” Tenzin asked him.
He blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Or chili fries, maybe? I’m probably going to get chili fries.”
“It’s the place next door,” Jude told him. “It’s good. They make a great Seattle dog.”
Edgar furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”
“Polish sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese.”
“They also,” Tenzin’s stomach lurched again and she sighed inwardly. “They also make regular hot dogs that humans can eat.”
Apparently all it took was the concept of a new type of hot dog to immediately start lifting Edgar’s spirits. “It’s – good?” He asked. “I never thought...I couldn’t even imagine that to be a thing that existed.”
Jude got this devilish look on zir face that Tenzin hated. “You’ve had a bagel with cream cheese and lox, right?”
“I suppose I have.”
“It’s the same idea! If Riley’s working the counter ask them to add grilled cabbage with a sprinkle of jalapeno brine. You won’t regret it.”
A slow, warm smile blossomed over Edgar’s face. He was excited, genuinely excited, despite the looming life-changing circumstances hanging just above their heads. Earlier today he was questioning if Scott would still love him under a new set of pronouns. Now all of that was rendered unimportant thanks to the promise of a singular, five-dollar hot dog.
It was childlike in a way that struck Tenzin right across the face. She knew then why Scott fell for him so instantly. Why Katy considered him family.
She bopped him with the corner of her briefcase and nodded towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
“Right now?” Edgar looked uncertain. “Don’t you still need to..?” Eventually his anticipation for a new flavor overtook whatever hesitation he had. “Uh – yeah! Yeah, okay. Cool!”
The hot dog place was dingy, yet clean. The checkered tiled floors were scuffed in the way that implied a heavy amount of foot traffic, while the furniture looked brand new. Tenzin and Edgar took a seat at the counter by the large window after they ordered.
Tenzin got a bite to eat here whenever she was in the area because it was a weird enough eatery to stock RC Cola. She sipped at the rim of her mug and enjoyed the icy, sweet fizz. Beside her Edgar watched out the window with the straw of his own glass held between his teeth.
“It’s interesting,” Edgar began.
Here we go. “What is?” Tenzin asked hesitantly, wiping her mouth with a napkin from the nearby dispenser.
“RC Cola is more sour than I expected. It’s not bad – I like how smooth it is. It’s like…” Edgar took a drink from the straw and analyzed it carefully. “Cinnamon, maybe. Some kind of orange or lemon, and – it’s crazy, but I almost get a hint of rose. It reminds me of kombucha.”
She didn’t even realize that Edgar got the same soda as her. It looked like he enjoyed it, though with much more thought than Tenzin tended to give to anything she ate or drank.
“Do you do that all the time?” She said. “Do you just analyze everything you taste?”
Edgar shrugged. “It helps me appreciate it.”
“You never just eat something just to eat it?”
He looked close to embarrassment, but something changed at the very last moment and he doubled down. “It feels more mindful to...know what I’m eating. And why I like it. How it makes me feel. I mean, growing up I didn’t always get – I don’t know. I like to be grateful for things like this.”
Tenzin let out a stifled laugh. She worried Edgar would take it personally, but when he spoke again there was a smile in his voice. “Do I sound like a crazy person?”
“You sound like a birthright.”
She looked at him sitting beside her. Edgar was newly relaxed – more so than usual, especially with it just being him and her on their own. He smiled easily with his eyes shimmering in a soft gold glow, one that held its potency without trouble. This might’ve been the first time she saw him use his abilities with total control. He looked in that moment like any other witch town member. If she noticed him in the Mess Hall she’d take him to be a new employee she just didn’t get a chance to meet yet.
And he was reading her now. Reading her like Regina used to when they first met. Or was he? Growing up Tenzin would see her mom’s eyes glow momentarily in moments of high emotion. Regina told her it was an empty gesture, a reflex that couldn’t actually gain any real information. Not from Tenzin. Not anymore.
Edgar wore another beaded bracelet around his wrist that she didn’t notice until now. It was done up in multiple colors, just a repeating line of black and gray and white and green. She recognized the Agender pride flag as one of the gender identities Scott, and by proxy Tenzin, were informed of in their childhood.
That must’ve been one intense conversation between Edgar and Jude. Tenzin was grateful she didn’t have to be the one to navigate it.
“You never showed her your work,” Edgar said, eyes pointed down towards Tenzin’s bag.
“Mm,” Tenzin quickly put on an indifferent demeanor. “Don’t really need to.”
Edgar raised his brow. “Really? We drove all this way.”
“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s exactly what Jude’s thinking right now. So when I go ahead and ignore most of what ze told me to do, ze can’t get that upset,” Tenzin raised her drink to punctuate her point. “Because we drove all this way.”
“Clever,” Edgar said.
He said that with both sarcasm and admiration. Very recently she described Edgar as her brother. He technically was in at least a few senses. Absolutely not in many others.
When they met Tenzin was so crazed by her Knight’s Bond that she elbow struck him off his feet and could’ve easily beaten him to death. She cleaned the blood off his face once she healed him and he sat so carefully, not even wincing at the sight of his own blood.
It could be that he was used to the sight. The smell. The taste, even. Enough so that it didn’t surprise him anymore.
I won’t let anything put you in danger, she told him when he lingered in the car before meeting Regina. Tenzin meant it, too. She couldn’t explain why and even now the reasons confused and aggravated her.
The cashier that took their order came by with two baskets with hot dogs and fries. The teen placed one in front of each of them, muttered a weak bon appetite, and retreated back to the register.
Edgar’s attention was fully enraptured by the meal. He looked down at it and grinned. His eyes were massive and bright with shy excitement. Tenzin wonders how something so tarnished could be cleaned to glimmer so brightly.
It is unfair for Tenzin to feel an echo her feelings for Scott reflected in a separate human being. It just wasn’t right.
She took a french fry from the pile in her basket and bit into it. It was hot, but no too hot.
“How is it?” Edgar asked, hushed and eager.
Tenzin ate another fry. “Uh – good?” She attempted. “It’s...crispy. Salty. Made of – potato.”
Edgar picked up a french fry. It was a french fry. It was the first result in a stock image search of the word french fry and did not deserve remotely as much focus as Edgar was giving it.
“You know what I don’t see a lot of?” He looked at Tenzin but didn’t give her time to answer. “Waffle fries. Why do you think that is?”
He’s supposed to be the normal one, Tenzin thought in stunned silence. He’s supposed to be the one that got to be a regular human being.
Edgar didn’t look like he noticed her silence. “I think they’re harder to fry. That’s just my theory though. I never got to work a deep fryer,” he ate the fry in his hand and smiled. “Ooh, it’s fresh.”
He took a sip of his soda and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands in private anticipation. Edgar Gallows was the origin of Scott’s agony for his entire life, and now the guy was revving himself up to eat a hot dog. Treating it like he was about to land a perfect back flip on the first try. How did the events of Tenzin’s life lead up to this of all things?
She watched Edgar tenderly handle his Seattle-style hot dog, a title of which sounded deeply questionable since Tenzin had been to Seattle for business and didn’t see anyone slathering their processed meat with cream cheese. She wasn’t sure if it was an actually style native to the city as a whole. It was far more likely to her that some pervert thought himself clever and decided to make Washington worse as a result of it.
Edgar bit into the end and chewed. His focus was refined and laser sharp, but Tenzin knew she could’ve left the restaurant right now and he wouldn’t notice her absence until she was halfway home.
An entire conversation was being held with himself through the slight twitch of his brow and narrowing of his large eyes. The gold returned in a soft shimmer, showing just how much emotional stimulation Edgar was getting from just one bite.
He’s...reading the intentions? Tenzin truly felt one misstep away from losing her mind. Is Edgar reading the intentions of his hot dog?
She smiled deliriously thinking about it. Then, softly, she began to laugh. Eventually the sound was loud enough to attract Edgar’s attention. He swallowed and smiled sheepishly.
“’S good,” he said.
Tenzin tried to speak and could only laugh. She held her hand over her mouth, lolled her chin down to her chest, and laughed even harder. By the time Tenzin finally got a hold of her senses Edgar was already halfway done with his hot dog. He ate calmly and paid little mind to her hysterics. Edgar remained perfectly satisfied with the situation he was in.
“It’s really good,” he clarified while she caught her breath. “It’s probably top – top five. In my list of hot dogs.”
“It’s not even number one?” Tenzin’s voice was hoarse from laughter and she was forced to drink some cola to dull the burn. “Ah. Ah man. What a shame.”
“No, it’s good!” Edgar grinned. “I always love to try a new food.”
He looked happy. The affection Tenzin felt for him in that moment was stark and disorientating. It was something long-sleeping in her chest suddenly startled out of hibernation.
This was her brother. No. Yes. Maybe. The answer didn’t matter as much as Tenzin’s new conviction. Edgar was here now, after all this time, and there was no point resenting him for things he didn’t know, understand, or have any control over.
Scott was willing to die in his search for Eddie. If he didn’t find Edgar when he did, he likely would be dead. Or worse. But none of that happened, and now the two of them could sit together and eat a strange and slightly sacrilegious hot dog.
Edgar went back to happily eating. Tenzin decided to join him then, and she picked up the soft bun and bit into the sausage. She tried to focus on what she was eating. It was – crispy? Crispy, but not crunchy. It tasted like cooked meat and tangy cream – so creamy meat, but not like that because that sounds terrible.
It was okay.
#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing community#writing#authors of tumblr#queer writers#actually writing#migration patterns#novel excerpt#book excerpt#writing excerpt#the hot dog scene#hot dog discourse
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Passenger (Preview)
Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust
Summary: In her time tramping across the United States, Charlie Wanderlust has found life on the road to be challenging, but rewarding. When she makes enemies with a powerful figure, a bounty is put out for her capture. Din Djarin, a long-haul trucker and occasional bounty hunter, takes the job as a means to gain financial stability. Their paths cross, and as a result, the winding route of their lives are forever altered.
Tags: Modern day The Mandalorian AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn, road trip yeeeeeeehaw, dog grogu sorry, long-haul trucking, hitchhiking/tramping, 2nd person POV, will one million percent be shoehorning my anti-fascist/anti-policing agenda up in this bitch (and if you have a problem with that I do not care), title from “Passenger” by Deftones (which is one of my favorite songs and a big inspo for this series)
Notes: Hi, friends. This is something I’ve been working on for a long time and I think I am just about ready to put the full first chapter out, but here’s two scenes as a preview for now. Please let me know what you think, I appreciate feedback!
—
At 7 AM, just as you’re rolling your sleeping bag up, a knock sounds at the door, then the doorknob jiggles.
You jump to your feet and approach the noise, hollering, “Yeah?”
“It’s Jim.”
You unlock the door and swing it open to find the lumberjack bartender standing there with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He’s wearing a new flavor of flannel long sleeve, this one checkered black and red, tucked into his dark blue jeans. His reddish brown hair is damp and slicked back, pale skin tinged pink by the cool air. Or rosacea. Or both.
“Good morning,” you greet and step back to let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thuds of his heavy leather boots echo across the barebones efficiency apartment.
“I got you a coffee,” he says and sets one of the cups on the kitchen counter.
“Thank you so much, Jim,” you smile and meet his eyes. In the bright light of morning, they gleam a rich golden brown that feels warm and inviting. You drop your gaze and tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind your ear, then clear your throat before returning to your sleeping bag.
As you roll it up, he tells you, “Figured I’d stop by and make sure everything went ok last night. You takin’ off this morning, then?”
“That’s what it looks like,” you tie your sleeping bag tight with practiced efficiency, shove it into your pack, then zip it closed while muttering, “On the road again.”
“Need anything else before ya go?”
This man’s kindness and generosity is almost overwhelming. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smitten with you. A concept that curdles your heartstrings.
“Um… well,” you sigh and raise your eyes to meet his, “If you’re offering, I could use a ride to the truck stop off I-89.”
“Sure thing,” he grins, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, “Ready to go now, or you wanna get some breakfast first?”
“I’m ready,” you stand with a grunt and pull on your coat. He watches you do this, and when you glance up at him, he looks away and strokes his bushy beard, then takes a sip of coffee.
Jim insists on carrying your bag out to his black pickup truck. You follow behind him, coffee in one hand, neck of your guitar in the other. The ride to Jolley Truck Stop is accompanied by a Sunday morning country music segment dedicated to Christian songs of the genre. The trees are all ripe with autumn colors, their leaves a gorgeous array of reds and oranges.
“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” you comment as you watch the scenery go by, “Look at that foliage.”
Jim chuckles, “We have a name for the types of folks comin’ around here to look at the trees in fall.”
“What’s that?”
“Leaf lickers.”
You swing your head over to look at Jim, who’s sporting an amused grin, then start laughing, “Leaf? Lickers?”
He snorts and nods, “Yes ma’am.”
“That’s ridiculous,” you shake your head and look out the window again, “Have any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”
“Church, then a Patriots game,” he answers, “Where do you think the day’ll take you, Miss Charlie?”
“Hopefully to Canada,” you murmur, “But we’ll see. Rule number six of living on the road: Embrace change.”
“Good rule to live by,” Jim responds, flicking on his blinker to turn into the truck stop, “I’ll have to try that out for myself.”
“You should, Jim,” you cast a warm smile his way, “Really, I mean it. There’s more to life than Milton. I think you’d like it out there.”
When his truck comes to a stop, he shifts into park, keeping an eye on you as you open the passenger’s side door and hop out.
You grab your rucksack and guitar, then tell him, “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish you the best of luck on all your future journeys, Jim.”
“It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he nods and gives you a wistful smile.
With this, you slam the door shut and approach the sidewalk next to the truck stop, then take a moment to organize your belongings. After verifying you have all the things you need in the most accessible locations, you secure your rucksack and guitar on your back. Jim’s truck rumbles in idle for a while, but you don’t turn around until you hear him pull away.
RULE #9: Do not get attached.
—
Din is 5 miles out from the last place on his list, Jolleys Truck Stop, when the CB radio crackles to life.
A voice cuts through, “Anyone see that blondie wandering around at Jolleys? Rusty Crawler, Over.”
“With the guitar? Interstate Blackbeard, Over.”
Din’s heart skips and his spine straightens.
“Aye-firmative, Blackbeard. She a lot lizard er what?”
“Negative, Rusty, she has party favors.”
He picks up his mic and asks, “Do you have eyes on her, Rusty Crawler? 38-91, over.”
“Do I ever, 38-91, wheeew,” the man jests.
Din looks over at the dog, who was jolted awake by the radio. He starts panting, his buggy black eyes darting around the cab, little nub of a tail wiggling with excitement.
“Are you ready?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question to his companion.
“Boof.”
“Good,” Din snorts in response, then turns his eyes back to the road.
#passenger#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x ofc#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian fic#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal characters#Pedro pascal#the mandalorian
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𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰
ten - the punchline
BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader
summary: Wanda and the rest of Westview need help. Y/N is willing to do whatever it takes - even if she’s hurting herself with that decision.
a/n: It had to happen at one point... we all knew it. Now, here it is. if you need a hug, please tell me - or just say how much you hate me for this - either is fine. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕
!Divider is mine. Please give credit when using!
word count: 4.5k
chapter warnings: fluff, perfect boyfriend/husband Bucky, action, Agatha ��, angst - oh god - so much angst
✶ 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ☾
(sorry the quality of the pic is so bad, but I couldn't find anything better once I finally decided on what I wanted)
“What are you doing?” Y/n laughed as Bucky lead her forward with his hands above her eyes.
“Just be patient and trust me. Don’t you trust me?” He smiled - she could hear it in this voice.
The sound of gravel kicking up sounded beneath their feet and Y/N struggled to walk straight. “No, no I do.” Another giggle ripped through her.
“Careful now, there’s a small step.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Just wait.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to. It’ll ruin the surprise.”
“Fine.” She huffed impatiently, but the excitement in her body kept on bubbling to the surface. Earlier today, Bucky had gotten the Harley ready for that little adventure the pair had planned instead of going to the Westview Talent show. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken a lot for the girls got to be convinced that Y/N was occupied that day. And not even Dottie came and asked if she could fill in at the Pastry buffet again. It seemed like the argument about Bucky’s surprise was enough to satisfy them.
Of course, back then, it had all been a lot less genuine. Sure, they had probably taken the ride still. But there would have not been any handholding or kissing. There would have been deep talks and reminiscing as it had always been up until that point so many weeks ago. But now? Now it was silent stares and meaningful touches, deep kisses and passionate sex.
Bucky had an actual surprise it seemed. And Y/N was excited. She had enjoyed the ride out into the field on the back of his Harley, her hands tightly clinging onto Bucky’s torso, her chin comfortably resting on his shoulder as the warm winds brushed over her face. She didn’t mind the never-ending summer in Westview. It really was beautiful if one were to think away the issues it came with. But Y/n had decided that she needed to enjoy the last moments here as much as possible - try to live them as if nothing bothered her - like there was an actual chance for happiness for her. Bucky’s confession had seemed genuine enough a week ago. And it was so much easier to just endure the fantasy Y/N had imagined so many times already.
“Are we there yet? How much longer?” Her hands were clinging to Bucky’s forearms in an attempt to keep steady, but the ground was very uneven. Y/N trusted Bucky though. He would not let her fall.
“Sweetheart..,” Bucky slightly scolded, “just a few steps.”
Sweetheart. Another thing that made her heart go up in flames. Bucky had started calling her sweetheart after the meeting with Agatha and Vision. And even now, only a few days later, Y/N couldn’t possibly imagine a world in which that name wasn’t reserved for her from his lips.
“Okay, okay,” she took a deep breath and sighed.
After another moment, Bucky finally removed his hands. “Ready? Open your eyes,” his soft voice whispered into her ear and when she did, Y/N’s jaw dropped. Her hands came up to cover her face.
“Oh my god...” She slowly moved forward before kneeling down and carefully bringing her hands over the soft grass. There was a checkered picnic blanket spread under a tree, and a small basket with flowers and food carefully placed in the middle.
Y/n turned with a bright smile and watched as Bucky almost shyly shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you like it?” His head ducked and his hands disappeared behind his back.
“It’s so beautiful, Buck.” She jumped up and kissed his nose with an excited giggle and Bucky’s cheeks were dusted with pink when she pulled him down onto the blanket.
Her hands rummaged through the basket and with every item she pulled from it, her heart made a little jump. “Oh wow, you really would be a great husband. Look at this!”
“I had a lot of practice lately...” His voice trailed off as her eyes met his. He seemed so small all of a sudden, a flustered expression decorating his face - like a schoolboy talking to his crush for the first day. But there was no need to be nervous. If anything, Bucky should have known by now how much Y/N adored him.
“This is the most beautiful surprise anyone has ever made me.” She smiled genuinely but it only pulled a small smile from Bucky. So she scooted closer, her hands gently settling on his leg and arm. “Thank you so much. This means a lot.” A kiss settled the words she tried to say before Y/N pressed her forehead to Bucky's.
His hand came up to cup her face. “It was meant to say a lot, I’m not that good with-”
“I know. You don’t have to be.” And with that Bucky’s shoulders loosened a little. The confidence seemed to wash over him quickly, as he pulled her closer in a swift motion and captures her lips in another searing kiss. Bucky was amazing, and Y/n caught herself falling a little deeper with every glance she stole from his smile, or the small glimmer in his eyes when she reciprocated his. She felt safe and weightless yet again. Every time she was with Bucky, really. Luckily, he knew that by now. Even if she had not particularly told him yet, she was sure she knew.
“Should we try out those snacks you prepared?” Y/N grinned up at him as she moved in his arms.
“We can...” But Bucky shifted and pulled her into his chest with her facing the same direction as him. “Or we could just stay like this a little longer.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before his cheek smoothed against her. A sincere sigh eluded his lips as his hands rolled up and down her arms, letting the sun warm up their faces.
There wasn’t a lot of eating done after all. As the couple just enjoyed each other’s company during the perfect summery noon. An hour later, they still lay on the blanket - arm in arm - pointing up at clouds and various animals they claimed to have spotted in them. Bucky listened the whole time, and Y/N loved the little peace and quiet out in the field. His heart was steadily beating behind her and every single one reminded her of how tangible this all was. And she appreciated it just that much more for it.
Unfortunately, soon the sky started closing in with dark clouds. And even though Y/N could have spent another day out in the grass in Bucky’s arms and mindlessly making up stories and images in the sky, the picking up of the wind ultimately forced them to leave.
It had gotten a little cooler once the couple packed up and headed to Bucky’s Harley. And when they pulled into the by-now-familiar driveway, a piece of realty settled in Y/N’s mind again. Just like the beautiful day - this moment - this story had to come to an end. And it would be soon. At least that’s what Vision, Agatha, Bucky, and her had agreed upon the other day.
Y/n didn’t let it faze her though. She stood in the kitchen and watched the storm building from the window as the kettle whistled in the background. She loved summer storms. Something about the smell of wet soil and the phenomenon of humid air surrounding her made her feel good. I reminded her of the times in the compound when the whole team was having board game days because there was no going outside anyway. It reminded her of warm tea and deep conversations on window sills. It reminded her of annoyed faces because of the time they had been spending together and it made her heart feel squeezed.
Y/N filled up her mug. Something was different though. The sky wasn’t its usual grayish blue and there was no smell of rainy ground. It was just a little unsettling if she were honest. She shrugged it off for now. It would pass, just like every bad thought had the past week, and that was Bucky to thank for. He had done a great deal in distracting her from Wanda and everything else upsetting. And Y/N would never complain. She’d take a kiss over every mental breakdown, really.
When she walked into the living room to hand Bucky his tea, she watched as Alpine shot out her paw at the super soldier, a mean hiss following the action before the white cat sprung from the couch and watched him rather suspiciously.
“What was that all about?” The couch dipped with Y/N’s weight on it now, her body almost immediately finding its place against Bucky’s.
“I don’t know. She’s feisty ever since we got back. Did we forget to feed her?” Bucky’s arm closed in around her shoulders, the other holding the steaming hot mug.
“No, I gave her breakfast, treats, and snuggles just before we left.” She leaned down. “Al, do you wanna cuddle?”
But Alpine’s eyes just turned away. She didn’t leave, though, just sat there and almost sadly watched as the pair cuddled on the sofa. “Alright then, have it your way.”
It wasn’t long before the wind started picking up outside and branches started hitting the windows, making all kinds of sounds echo through the big house. Neither Y/N nor Bucky mentioned them though. They continued their conversation and enjoyed each other’s company. It was a nice way of ending the day, early - Y/N thought as her head rested on Bucky’s chest, his hand caressing her thigh and occasional kisses littering her head.
But then, almost calling through all the background noise, another sound was added to the stage. A high, almost human-like calling, and for a second, Y/N wondered if she was just imagining it all.
“What was that?” She asked and Bucky’s questioning face shot to the door when another wail was heard from outside.
Then Another. And another. It was pretty clear now that she wasn’t just hearing voices in her head. Bucky was alert again, his shoulders tensed and Y/n could practically feel the agent return to his body next to her.
A loud bang ripped through the house, a window had been shattered by a fallen tree and now the sounds were clearer than ever. These were definitely screams - cries for help. Children’s cries. A chill ran down Y/N’s spine.
The pair sprinted to the door but there was no chance either of them could have been prepared for what was beyond it. There was Agatha, floating over the street with Billy and Tommy on leashes around their necks.
Y/N must have been dreaming. This couldn’t possibly be real. But the look on Bucky’s face told her that this was very much reality. How could this have escalated so quickly? Just hours ago the world seemed fine. Agatha seemed fine. Why was she portraying the neighborhood maniac all of a sudden?
A searching eye wandered down the street but Wanda was nowhere to be found. What the hell was going on?
“Agatha, what are you doing?!” Bucky’s voice boomed over the whipping winds, his hand protectively holding onto Y/N’s wrist as if she were to fly away. All the while Agatha actually was flying. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part. Her outfit made her look like one of those scary Dementors from Harry Potter and her fingers were pitch black as if they dipped in tar. Billy and Tommy struggled to ring for air as their feet barely touched the ground, and Y/n felt her heart beating up in anger.
“I’m getting things moving,” Agatha answered unfazed, her hand seemingly tightening the strings around the kid’s necks.
“So you kidnapped Wanda’s children?!” It was questionable how a sane person could come to such a ridiculous conclusion. But then again, Y/N was pretty sure that she had established Agatha’s insanity by now.
“Well, I had to do something. Nobody else was.”
Bucky’s hands flailed in the air in frustration. “Not like that!”
Agatha just laughed and pulled on the strings a little more. The boys looked like puppets - unable to move without permission - and the fear in Y/N’s body rose infinitely. Bucky shared a look with her and once she looked past the slight panic in his gaze, her head nodded firmly.
“What’s the plan?”
“You will look for Vision. I will try to talk to Agatha.”
“What are you going to do? She’s lost it.”
“Those are my nephews,” Bucky winked as a small smile broke on his face, “I’m gonna do whatever it takes.” And then the pair parted ways to try and save the situation.
Y/n couldn’t help the small chuckle to escape her lips as she made her way to Wanda’s home, but there wasn’t a lot of laughing left when she saw the redhead approaching the scene behind the Black Widow furiously. It was too late, Y/N knew it, there was no chance she could keep Wanda from calming down now. But she tried anyway. The least she should do was buy Bucky a little time to handle the situation.
With a bright smile plastered on her face, Y/N fully channeled the Westview role she was destined to play from the start. She opened her arms and approached Wanda on the street.“Wanda! Hey! Oh my god, I need to show you something!”
But the woman was struggling to act interested as her eyes kept swerving to the scene behind Y/N. “Not now, Y/N.”
“No, come on, it's important just give me a little-“ Her hand reached out to Wanda’s shoulder but the woman smacked it away with a solid expression.
“I said no! What is going on there?!” She tried to step around Y/N but the Black Widow mirrored her movements to be in front of her again.
“Nothing, nothing. You know kids, they love to play the craziest games right?” A nervous laugh settled in the pause, but Wanda wasn’t having it. She zeroed in on Agatha and started walking towards her again. “No, Wanda, please- Wanda!” The last thing they needed was a massacre. This had to be settled differently. So, Y/N sprinted behind in an attempt to reach the scene before her.
She caught up to her after a couple seconds and planted herself between the two witches again. The short glance at Bucky had told her that the situation hadn’t really moved along to his liking yet. But it was no use. Wanda was determined to get to Billy and Tommy - which was understandable, but at the same time not the best idea right now.
Y/N tried again, her hands now raising in the air. “Just... wait a second okay. We can settle this without anyone getting hurt.” But Wanda’s hands were already glowing red. “I can help you. I will help you, okay. Just please calm down.” Y/N’s heart was pounding faster and faster - adrenalin and fear mixing in a dangerous combination but Y/N tried her best to stay grounded.
Wanda just looked past her at Agatha. She barely acknowledged her friend who was desperately babbling to keep her from using magic - in vain. Her hands were charged with energy. Y/N could practically feel it radiating off of her and it was scary. There was no way of knowing what she was to do now.
“Let my children go.” A thick Sokovian accent coated Wanda’s words. It was weirdly unusual after hearing her speak without it for so long, but it also reminded Y/N that there might still be an ounce of the old and reasonable Wanda left within. One that could actually negotiate a humane way to settle this situation.
Agatha just laughed and Wanda’s eyes flared up red. Oh shit.
“This is not the right way to go about this.” Y/N turned around with urgency in her tone. “This wasn’t the plan, Agatha!” She hissed but immediately regretted it. She might have just made it worse with this sentence as she felt the energy behind her become stronger and stronger.
“Plan? Are you working with her? Against me?!” Not good. Really, really bad. Bucky caught Y/N’s eyes - wide and scared. He didn’t move though, his hands were still on Billy’s shoulder, pushing him up to keep the string from cutting into his skin.
Y/N turned around again. But not even she would be shield-enough to keep Wanda from using her powers. “Wanda you don’t understand! This is all wrong. You need to stop before more people get hurt.”
“No!” She was wrong. There was no more reason left in the witch. Wanda thought this was real. She couldn’t distinguish her creation from reality anymore. It had become dangerous.
“You need to, please. You are hurting, I know. But this is wrong.” Y/N took a deep breath and willed down the stinging in her chest. Her eyes were burning, too. “You cannot bring Vision Back. You cannot bring Natasha back or anyone else. They are dead okay?! Dead! And not even you can change that.” The red energy flickered for a moment and Y/n thought to have caught a tear on Wanda’s cheek, but she shook out of it quickly, still bracing for the pending fight.
“Don’t do this Y/N. You wanted this. You wanted it, too.” It was the first time Wanda really looked into her eyes today and Y/N felt more anxiety than before. What did she mean by that? Wanda couldn’t possibly- “The hydrangeas, the husband, the grey company car. Don’t take this away from yourself. You don’t know what you’re doing!”
And bam. The world got quiet. Not a good quiet though. An unsettling one. The storm was silenced by the hammering of her heart. It was pounding in her ears, making her dizzy and nauseous. Everything was hazy and at the same time, a lot of things became clearer now. Wanda had known all along. Fuck. She could probably read the minds of everyone in this cursed town. She had known and she had used it against her friends. It wasn’t a coincidence - everything that lined up with Y/N’s dream was planned to a t. Calculated, viciously abusing everyone's naïveté.
And when it dawned on Y/N why she had been feeling so uneasy all the time, her heart sank with sadness and anger. Suddenly, she knew why it was all so familiar and why the house brought her so much comfort despite the little fears she had. It was Bucky. The whole damn thing reminded her of Bucky, Hell even the flowers in the garden were the color of his eyes - everything was. Wanda had modeled Y/N’s whole experience around the one good thing she had brought into Westview. How little did she trust her friend to actually be happy - to be able to feel free? She had invaded her privacy - her deepest desires which she had promised to never do. Wanda had promised all of them to never read their thoughts. To never act on it. To never manipulate her friends. But here she was. Shamelessly invading their privacy and making Y/N feel so unbelievably vulnerable.
“No,” she whispered aimlessly. “You don’t know what you are doing. Look at the people - they are miserable! Let it go. Let them go.” Y/N’s voice was calmer than she expected it to be, but there was no will to fight this anymore.
“I can’t.”
“Then I cannot help you humanely settle this.”
Y/n lowered her hands and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Sickening hatred licked up her throat as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat at the realization. There was no use in saving this - whatever it was. Wanda needed a reality check, and she needed it now. This dream - this twisted sick version of it anyway - had turned into a mission at that moment. And Y/N felt as though she was the last person to realize it. No wonder Bucky had always been on edge - always protecting.
So, when Wanda moved toward Agatha again, she just let her. Watched even, as the magic in her hands grew angry and red again. She looked up at Agatha again, determination in her eyes as she said words that even hurt herself. “Agatha, take the kids.”
“What are you doing?!” Bucky’s voice picked up, and his hands were still grabbing at the boys with shocked expressions.
He even moved to step in front of Wanda again, but Y/n stopped him. “No, let them. She needs this. We all do.” The words were bitter on her tongue.
“But Agatha is going off the rails!” There was chaos in his eyes - she’d never seen it before. Bucky was scared... and helpless. And if Y/N had had enough energy to care, she would have probably felt the same. But she knew that this was inevitable. The boys had grown onto both of them and Y/N could see how much Bucky cared for them. But even he had to realize that there was no other way. And there was only giving in the trust that Agatha wouldn’t hurt them. Because despite her obvious madness, she wouldn’t - Y/N had a feeling.
“She’s doing what should have been done so long ago. She’s doing what’s necessary to end this madness.” Y/N nodded sternly, finally making Bucky let go.
“You realize that we have no control at this point. That we have no way of calculating what’s going to happen from now on. This is just the beginning.” His shoulders sagged, expression defeated and disappointed all at once.
And Y/N just looked at the ground. “I know.”
Well, Bucky had been right about one thing: this hadjust been the beginning. Because right now, there seemed to be no end to the madness. Within an hour, the whole atmosphere had shifted in all of Westview. Y/N was standing in the town square and watched as people fell into panic. The storm - now stronger than before - had turned into a wild concoction of purple and red. For all Y/N knew, Wanda and Agatha were somewhere above them, fighting in the stormy clouds and making the world on the ground break out in chaos. The people of Westview were acting weird. They were snapping out of personality as if they were switching roles.
Screaming, crying, running. It was complete Mayhem.
Vision had finally joined the two avengers just when the mass seemed to have spiraled out of control. He had informed them that S.W.O.R.D. agents were waiting beyond the hex, ready to take the people away from the city before anything else happened. The static walls had started to crumble but the adrenalin pumping through Y/N’s veins prevented her from noticing the feelings it brought.
Every time the walls opened a little, and cars were able to get in, Y/n, Vision, and Bucky ushered more people to safety. Trying to navigate the madness, however, was difficult with all the noise and instructions being thrown through the air. And the fragile portals out of Westview didn’t help the situation, either. Every time a wall opened up, another leak closed. People were being chased around as if it were a stupid video game.
Everything was so surreal. And in her trance of ushering people out, Y/N began to think about Agatha again. Had she always been bad? Was she bad at all? There were so many questions.
Another thunder ripped through the sky and Y/N flinched and tumbled backwards until familiar hands caught her. Bucky.
He turned her around and let his eyes wander over her face and body. “Are you okay?”
“Ye- yes,” Y/N stuttered at the sudden wash of breath air in his presence. He nodded firmly and guided a woman in the direction of another car. Y/N just stood there for a moment and let the chaos pass by her. She was so concentrated on Bucky, the way his arms moved, and the warmth that slowly spread through her chest at the sight of him.
“Did you know Agatha was... like this?” She suddenly blurted out and when Bucky looked at her over the short distance she busied herself with pointing people in the direction out again.
“I had my suspicions after following her that first night here.”
“What did she do?”
“Just snooped around. But it was weird.”
Y/N nodded in understanding. She had always wondered what Bucky had seen that night. Now she knew, and it was a lot less exciting than she had expected. Then again, the time spent in Westview probably dulled her in reacting to weird things. There were only a few situations that surprised her anymore.
Another loud bang echoed above them and more people streamed toward them. The few Avengers kept as many people from getting injured as possible, but in the hustle, Bucky and Y/N got separated again, each of them seemingly focused on the job and ignoring everything else. The sky began to light up and the red static walls created gaps that became bigger and bigger - bigger than before.
And all of a sudden, Y/N had the feeling of having forgotten something. She was missing something and she couldn’t figure out what it was. It felt as though she were to remember something. A word, a name - something lingering on the tip of her tongue but not quite ready to form yet.
Triggering - that’s what it should be, but there was so much going on around her, Y/N barely registered any of it. The noises of screaming people were rushing in her ears and mixing in one echo that bounced around her completely empty head. Get the kids out, get the people out, keep everyone safe, don’t lose track of time. It was a mantra mumbled over the bouncing echo and the only thing tying her to reality. Because about everything else that was happening right now seemed far from it - reality that was. The static walls crumbling above her left an unimaginable shrieking sound - or was that the crying child to her left? Y/N couldn’t tell. She just ushered more people away from the town square and towards the cars taking them out.
And then, for a split second - as she was searching the crowd for more civilians in need - Y/N locked eyes with Bucky again. And it zapped through her like lightning. She remembered. It wasn’t her brain that was missing something. It was her heart that suddenly felt as if it were ripped out and trampled on by the hordes of people storming past her. It was missing the skip - the slight pick up in pace, the faint breathlessness, the explosion going off - there was nothing of those sorts. It wasn’t fully empty, no. It just wasn’t as excited as it always had been when she saw him.
Confusion checked her brain and made it hard to register what she was experiencing. And while she struggled to grab a clear thought in the turmoil of interior and exterior chaos, only one thing shone brightly and loudly before her inner eye.
Wanda had lied to her again. It had all been another lie.
𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓
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IRL Character sheet
I was chatting with friends about our various neurodivergences today and one friend in particular is staying over because life is kicking her in the shins, so I started drawing this and asked what else should be on our spectrum checker and she deadpaned 'existential dread' so here we are. Did one for each of us, but you can have your own template for personal convenience lol
That's me, drawing this as I lost the plot twice removed on what I was supposed to do! weee
Vincent insisted his recent Gortash obsession did not qualify as fandom brainrot, just brainrot, because he, and I quote "brainrots on his own". I have failed multiple times to get him into fanfic.
The template:
I hope you can appreciate the scientific accuracy of the thing
#autism#adhd#queer#coping skills#fandom brainrot#existential dread#character sheet#stat spread#graph made with love and science#use if you want#entirely based on vibes#poored all my artistic skills into this one
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