#AND IT'S NOT FORCED OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS CHAPTER WAS SO GOOD

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Two

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Chapter One

The Beast. An awful nickname, one nobody deserved. Admittedly, Charles knew little about her. He knew little about the current Formula Two drivers in general, but knew nothing about The Beast. Still, he doubted the nickname was fitting.

He couldn't help but look into her. Max pressed kisses along his shoulder as Max did his all important research.

"I don't like it," Max mumbled as he kissed across Charles's shoulder. "Sounds dangerous."

Charles waved him off and continued to read, learning what he could about you. A good racer, that was clear. Vicious, adrenaline driven. Like Max, Charles couldn't help but think. But then he scrolled down.

'The Beast attacks fellow F2 Driver, 'Ollie Bearman'.

You had attacked Ollie. Why had you attacked Ollie? Charles clicked on the video and let it play.

It began, just after they'd gotten the muzzle back over your mouth. Ollie was on the floor, hand bleeding hand protectively in front of his face. His blood dripped through your muzzle, dripped from your mouth. You looked positives feral as you stared down at him. A terrifying sight.

But you couldn't be that feral, right? They wouldn't keep you in Motorsport if you were that dangerous.

Max grabbed his chin, forcing Charles to look away from his phone screen. "Charlie, promise me you won't go trying to adopt this one like you did Oscar and Ollie," he said, blue eyes staring into Charles's.

Cupping his cheek, Charles leaned forward and kissed Max's nose. "I can't promise anything, Max," he said and settled down against them.

Max released a sigh. He laid down next to Charles and wrapped his arms around him, unwilling to let him go. "Charles, please," he said, suddenly sounding so serious. "Promise me you won't go near her."

He didn't reply. Max laid awake, aware that Charles was awake, too. Awake, but not talking to him. "Charles," he tried again. But Charles moved further away from him.

***

The lock slid into place and you were left in the dark hotel room, food in front of you. "Tomorrow is a big day," your handler (manager, she preferred to be called. But she really was your handler) called through the door.

You knew that, knew how big the next day was going to be. A chance to drive for Ferrari, in the place of Carlos Sainz. It would be your only chance to drive for Ferrari, you knew. There was no way you weren't going to fuck it up.

You ate slowly, thinking too much. The collar was still around your neck as you ate, and you were hyper aware of it each time you swallowed. It had always been tight, a warning to behave or deal with the consequences.

Your muzzle was on the bedside table. God, you hated that thing. It had been too tight for years, stained with blood. Your blood, Ollie Bearman's blood (you felt bad about that one. Ollie didn't deserve it, and you hadn't meant to bite him. He really was the sweet pup everybody saw him as. He just got caught in the crossfires of you and Théo Pourchaire), the blood of others.

Your food was finished, plate empty. Moving it to the door, you raised your hand and knocked. It was pulled open as you hopped back and looked at your handler. "How're you feeling?" She asked and she shrugged your shoulders, picking at your skin around your nails.

Your handler walked further into the room. She shut the door, put the plate beside your muzzle on the bedside table, and grabbed your hairbrush from your bag. "C'mere," she said and sat on the bed.

You did as you were told and came to sit in front of her. She brushed through your hair, humming as she did.

She was the closest thing you'd had to a mother. Ever. Kind and caring, making sure you actually took care of yourself. She cooked for you, brushed through your hair, used your shock collar when you put somebody else in danger.

You sat there, your eyes falling closed as you listened to her humming. You wouldn't hurt her, couldn't hurt her. She was all you had in this world.

She got you into bed before you could fall asleep. Your finger hooked beneath your chock collar and pulled, but it was so damn tight. A whimper left your lips and you struggled to fall asleep.

A Ferrari driver. You were going to be a Ferrari driver. It wouldn't be forever, but long enough. Maybe after this you could give up this dream that wasn't your own. You didn't know what else you would do if you were to give up this life, but you wanted to find out.

***

The entire Ferrari garage was anxious. Fred was anxious, the engineers were anxious, the social media team was anxious. Charles was anxious.

You were anxious.

Charles's research the night before hadn't prepared him for the first sight of you. His knee had been bouncing as he waited, thumbs tapping across his screen as he texted Max. Max was panicking, he knew. He didn't trust Charles, didn't trust him to protect himself in front of the driver nicknamed 'The Beast'.

You didn't deserve that nickname. After seeing the video of you attacking Ollie, he still didn't think you deserved the nickname. It was too close to somebody else he knew, to the way they were before someone showed them what love was.

You and Max were one in the same. He remembered when Jos would force Max to wear a muzzle, back when they were in the lower divisions. But that wasn't because Max was a danger. No, that was to keep him quiet, submissive in front of Jos.

If he could help Max, then he could help you.

But then you walked into the garage. The Ferrari shirt was on your body as you strode into the garage. Nothing looked out of place, nothing but the shock collar and the muzzle. It didn't look right on your face, biting into your cheeks and obscuring what he was sure was a gorgeous smile.

The woman who followed you into the garage introduced you, told everybody else your name. They all knew your name, but they were going to call you 'The Beast'.

For a moment, Charles wondered why you weren't the one speaking. But then he realised, you couldn't speak with the muzzle as tight as it was. He stood up and walked over, holding his hand out towards you.

You looked towards the woman that had followed you in. She gave you a nod and you finally placed your hand in his, shaking it. Good dog, he almost expected the woman to say to you.

You dropped his hand but you kept staring at him. You knew who is was. Charles Leclerc. The Prince of Monaco. Ferrari's golden boy. You had raced against his brother the year before. Arthur was smart enough to stay away from you. It didn't stop him from giving you a polite smile whenever you walked past.

As Charles tried to speak to you, and got answers from the woman behind you, your manager, your handler, he could feel eyes on him. Max, he knew immediately.

Max couldn't concentrate on whatever Helmut Marko was saying to him. He didn't care, anyway. Not when Charles was standing so close to somebody called 'The Beast'. Admittedly, the video made you look so much worse than this. The video didn't show you trembling like you were now. It didn't show you cowering behind the woman that followed you into the garage.

But he had seen the bite marks on Ollie's hand, had seen the damage you had done. You could so quickly do the same thing to Charles. He edged away from the Red Bull garage, stopping himself from running towards the Ferrari garage. His body was ready to go at a moments notice.

"Is the muzzle necessary?" Charles asked as he stared at you. You hadn't looked away from him, your eyes hadn't left his gaze.

No! You wanted to scream. Please, please, please get it off me!

But you couldn't say it. Couldn't speak with just how tight the muzzle was, wouldn't speak even if you could. But you couldn't trust yourself, you knew. If the muzzle was taken off, you couldn't stop yourself from lashing out, from feeling like that was the only way to protect yourself.

Your pathetic whimper got to him, though. His gaze softened and he reached towards you.

Immediately, Max was moving towards the Ferrari garage. "Fuck," he hissed as he ran.

Charles unlatched your muzzle. The way you were looking at him, looking so sweet and innocent, he couldn't help but pull the muzzle away.

The muzzle hit the floor, and you lunged for him.

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[dekustowel]

[12: that time she met the parents]

synopsis - in light of a major controversy that causes his fan support to dwindle significantly, katsuki bakugou is forced to do anything possible to garner back the affection of his fans before the announcement of the year's hero rankings. katsuki has two options: either "date" japan's most-adored social media star, in hopes of her amazing reputation bringing up his, or kiss that #1 spot goodbye. it's a no-brainer what he chooses. and it shouldn't matter at all, right? it's a fake relationship. nothing more, nothing less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist | previous | next

*there’s a written piece of this chapter*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes quickly darted up from your phone catching on to something that would leave anyone that bled red speechless.

now to make something perfectly clear - you never thought katsuki bakugou was ugly.

not in school, when you'd see him in the hall. bakugou was unapproachable in his own right - and believe it, your friends tested that theory often. there was an unspoken beauty about him, said in a whisper from lips that knew they would never meet his.

he was not ugly when you lived separate lives and only saw him on billboards and your television screen. there are enough people in japan with bakugou's face plastered across their shirts, their rooms, and their bodies, that you could never deny his beauty had only amplified over the years.

you could always appreciate that the boy wasn't ugly.

'not ugly' isn't how you would describe seeing him today, leaning against the nicest car you've ever seen, with a grimace that would make anyone smart enough turn in the other direction.

today, katsuki bakugou stands tall and striking, with blonde hair that catches the light just right, framing a face carved with sharp, almost ethereal features. his eyes, a vivid and unsettling shade of red, holding an intensity that made it hard to look away. he's definitely a little more than 'not ugly'.

when the fuck did you start noticing details about his fucking eyes?

you pushed down any semblance of a reaction to the masterpiece before you as you wearily approached him.

"you look good," was not supposed to be said out loud, but your body's doing all kinds of weird gymnastics today, so you accept that you've said it and search his crimson eyes for a response.

katsuki doesn't dignify what you just said with a response.

instead, his eyes rake over you in what appears to be fucking disgust, as he opens the car door, feigning any illusion of a gentlemanly bone in his body.

you're barely able to get all your limbs safely in the car before bakugou slams it closed and walks around to the driver's side.

it's going to be such a long afternoon.

the car ride is mostly silent other than the low hum of an unrecognizable artist playing over the radio.

you take a moment to look at the interior of katsuki's car. black, like his fucking soul, and absolutely spotless. leather seats, probably so it's easier to clean the blood of his sacrifices off of. manual, because bakugou obviously wants you to know he's better than you in every way.

he probably never even stalls.

you laugh to yourself before your eyes zero in on his radio.

he listens to music, like the rest of us. this shouldn't surprise you, he's human. but it's an insight into the katsuki bakugou novelty. and your next move lines up with all the other impulsive ones so far for the afternoon.

you reach over and turn up his radio to just about max volume.

I thought that I was dreaming When you said you loved me

"you like Frank Ocean?!" you just about yelled, causing katuski to jerk the wheel a little bit.

"are you fucking insane, don't do that!" he scolds, turning down the radio to a more manageable volume, "and what's it to you?"

"i love Frank Ocean."

"not very uncommon, most people do."

"i guess, i just didn't realize you fell into the category of most people," you look out of the window as the sunset cascades down one of musutafu's nicer neighborhoods, "it's refreshing. you're human."

"get out of the car, y/n." you hadn't noticed the car come to a halt in front of a particularly nice house. it looked like the kind of house that loved poured out of. the sort of house that contains and produces well-rounded, delightful members of society. how katsuki bakugou lived here his whole life, you don't fucking know.

"so, this is where you grew up," you mutter, folding your arms over your chest, and leaning against the car door.

"what's it to you?" he snaps, his voice cutting through the air just as the driver-side door slams shut with a hard thud, matching the edge in his tone.

"nothing," you say, letting a smirk slip as you stand upright. "i just didn't know you were a little rich kid," you add, your tone light but taunting, a crooked smile playing at your lips as you glance his way

"have you realized im god's favorite yet?"

you laugh a little at his comment before mindlessly slipping your hand into his as he walks by. bakugou stops, turning to you with—well, it's hard to place his reaction—you've never seen it before. it’s agitation.. but softer?

it's convoluted, like everything involving katsuki bakugou.

"what’re you doing?" he demands, his gaze fixed on your interlocked fingers. despite the edge in his tone, he makes no move to pull away, his hand staying right where it is.

'holding your hand?"

"why?"

"for your parents, so we look like a couple?" you ask, voice midly irritated as you start to pull your hand away, "do you want me to let go?" But just as you begin to slip free, his grip tightens, holding you in place. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the warmth and solid feel of bakugou’s hand, more comfortable than you'd expected.

his grip is firm as he drags you toward the front door, his strides confident and unfaltering. meanwhile, your stomach twists with nerves, each step making you more aware of how close you’re getting to his parents’ house. you try to keep up with his pace, but your pulse races, and you find yourself squeezing his hand a little tighter—hoping he doesn’t notice just how nervous you really are.

"callm down," he says simply.

you swallow, the anxiety tightening in your chest. "what if they don’t like me, katsuki?"

he scoffs. "doesn’t matter, ‘cause we’re not actually dating, idiot."

unhelpful.

you don’t even look at him, too consumed by the dread pooling in your stomach.

this was a bad idea. im going to kill Mina. this was a terrible idea.

"hey," he says more gently, an arm slipping around your shoulders. a warmth spreads through you, chasing away the knots of fear. "relax," he murmurs.

you glance up, eyes wide. "everyone likes you. just calm down, all right?"

you're barely even able to process the interaction you were just a part of before the front door comes swinging open, presenting the clear explanation for bakugou's good looks and charm.

she really is a milf. fuck.

"jesus, katsuki! it's fucking cold, you're gonna just stand there gawking at her and let her catch a fever?" the woman, who you can easily assume is bakugou's mother, beckons for you both to come inside.

"the pictures don’t do you justice; you’re absolutely breathtaking," she beams, pulling you into a warm embrace. as you bask in her warmth, her eyes sparkle with mischief. "but why are you with my son? you could do so much better, sweetheart."

"thanks, mom." bakugou deadpans.

"shut it, twerp. im talking to your girlfriend," his mom snaps back, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"matsukawa, come meet your future daughter-in-law!" she calls out, her voice echoing through the room. A deep blush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you nervously scan the space, trying to steady your breathing.

your gaze accidentally locks with bakugou’s, and in that fleeting moment, something in his expression takes you completely off guard. there's an intensity there, a mix of vulnerability and warmth that absolutely floors you.

but as quickly as it happens, he turns away, leaving the moment hanging in the air.

completely unacknowledged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

FUN FACT: Mitski and Matsukawa already googled everything they'd need to know about y/n before Mitski messaged Bakugou. they already liked her! they really just wanted to see their bratty son ;)

thank you for reading!

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[sodapopwrites]

the first sign of fall chapter six: so start over

college au, the batboys and reader are bartenders, also the guys play hockey

pairings - eris vanserra x reader, azriel x reader

summary - things slowly start to mend after eris talks to his brother, and azriel talks to you.

word count - 3k

a/n - sorry this took me so long to write!!! i was super busy, i just moved and had to get all my voter registration stuff in order before tonight! i hope this brings a little distraction from the dreadful anxiety of election day. it certainly worked a little for me. also guys theyre starting to work towards happiness. i think when the series is done i might write blurbs for it. because her and eris make my heart hurt a little. anyways i hope you enjoy!

read the rest of the series here!

 Eris couldn’t get you out of his head. He had tried, by taking that girl to the halloween party instead of you. But now. The idea of forgetting you was almost laughable. Your words echoing through his ears constantly. 

I miss you. 

You missed him. You had Azriel in the palm of your hand and you missed him. He thought of your flushed cheeks and your tousled hair. The bite mark that had been fading from your skin, the way you had brought your hand up to cover it the second he noticed it. The way Azriel had leaned against the porch rail and nodded at him. A silent bow out. Eris wondered what exactly you had said to him to make him give up the chase. What exactly the two of you had discussed. Whether it was a fight or a teary eyed goodbye. He couldn’t make himself not care. About any of it. About how he wished he could have wiped the tear tracks from your face. About how he wished that he could have smoothed every crease of worry from your skin with a kiss. But he couldn’t. Not then. But now? He didn’t know. 

He was walking to campus now. The leaves almost fully fallen from every branch. The harsh sterility of winter starting it’s approach. It felt like he was retracing steps. Steps he had once taken with you. Like his feet were leading him somewhere that he wasn’t fully aware of until he stopped outside the coffee shop you so often frequented. He looked through the slightly fogged windows. Towards the window booth you and Lucien so often liked to share while you studied. You weren’t there. It’s not like he was surprised, he knew you worked thursday evenings anyway. But his brother was. Lucien sat alone at the table. Flipping absent mindedly through the pages of an all too large book, that he was probably reading for brownie points more than anything else. Eris looked at his feet, as if trying to will them to take him somewhere else, before he sighed and pushed open the door of the coffee shop. 

He made his way to where his brother was sitting and wrapped his knuckles on the table. Lucien sighed and looked up. Shooting his elder brother a nonplussed look before letting his book fall closed before him. He leaned back in his chair, looking Eris up and down, and crossing his arms. 

“You look like shit.” 

“You know for someone that used to copy the way that I dress that’s a wild thing to say to me.” 

Lucien scoffed, “I didn’t copy the way you dressed, I was forced to wear hand me downs for a ridiculously long time….which is funny considering that our family could have afforded to buy me new clothes.” 

Eris smiled and shrugged, “Maybe it’s because you were dad’s least favorite.” 

Lucien frowned a little and shrugged, “I’m gonna let you be rude to me only because you’ve clearly let yourself go.” 

Eris let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, almost perfectly mirroring Lucien’s stance. The brothers studied eachother. Neither of them saying anything. Eris chewing his bottom lip, trying to find a good way to phrase what he wanted to say. A good way to bring you up without making it seem like it was the only reason he was talking to Lucien. As if on cue Lucein let out a small laugh, leaned forward, the legs of his chair clicking loudly against the floor, 

“She’s not doing great either.” 

Eris let out another sigh. He didn’t want you to be doing poorly. He wanted you happy and content. Really he did. But there was some comfort in Lucien’s admittance. Some small relief that maybe you were just as unhappy being apart as he was. But the grimace that rippled across his features was evident nonetheless. Lucien continued at the pained look on his brother’s face, 

“Really. I don’t think she’s brushed her hair in a couple days. I’ve never seen her look this disheveled on purpose. She stopped coming to class.” 

Eris looked up at this, “I don’t want that.” 

“I know you don’t.” Lucien paused and rubbed his hand over his eyes, “Maybe you should talk to her.” 

“And say what Lucien?” 

“Well I heard that she uhm…somewhat bared her soul to you.” 

“She was drunk.” 

“I don’t think she was. I think most of the alcohol was vomitted up before she managed to actually talk to you.” 

He was right. Eris thought about the horrifying clarity behind your eyes when you had spoken to him. Your words soft and quiet, like you were almost ashamed to say them at all. Like you were embarrassed to admit that you had any doubts, any fear, at all. 

“I don’t know if we can go back to the way it was.” 

Lucien shrugged, a real, heavy shouldered shrug, and ran a hand through his hair. He opened his book again and said, without looking up from the pages, “So start over.” 

★ ★ ★

You and Azriel worked in silence. Diligently keeping up with the flow of customers, parrying snarky comments from Cassian, and handling the mountain of dirty glasses Mor would dump on the bar’s doorstep every couple minutes. It was good to be busy. You didn’t have to think about anything when it was busy. You could work steadily and make other people happy, without having to think about any of your own shit. You didn’t have to think about how you were falling behind in your classes, or the pained look in Azriel’s eyes everytime they fell on you, or the general hushed tones your friends were speaking to you in. Like you were a dog that had just come back from living on the street. Like you were something to mend slowly and carefully. Something they were scared to kick while it was down. 

“You wanna take your fifteen?” 

It was the first thing Azriel had said to you all shift. The silence and synchonization you two fell into finally benefiting you. You shook your head and tilted your chin in a motion that said why don’t you take yours. There was a lull in the rush. Finally. So he did. Tucking his apron under the counter and nudging Cassian as he walked towards the door. Cassian followed after shooting you an apprehnsive glace, as if worried that you wouldn’t be able to hold down the fort. A completely unfounded concern. But now? You looked like you hadn’t slept since Halloween and it made him nervous. But he followed Azriel out anyways. Not wanting to ask you if you needed help for fear that you’d bite his head off at the insinutaiton. 

Cassian watched Azriel pace up and down the street. His palms pressing into his eyes as he did so. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” 

“Why do you only like me when I’m sad?” Azriel looked to his friend while parroting your words. He had been saying them repeatedly to Cassian for the last week. Cassian refusing to really talk about it, this was something he thought Azriel needed to come to terms with on his own. But now. After eight days of this being the only thing Az was able to talk about…he finally cracked, 

“Well…Why do you only like her when she’s sad?” 

Azriel started at him. His arms dropping to hang limp at his sides. He looked dumbfounded at Cassian’s question. Like he never expected that. He should have. But he didn’t. He hung his head and resumed his pacing. 

“I don’t know.” 

Cassian huffed a breath of complaint and crossed his arms. 

“I think…It’s because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, sometimes you like playing the hero so much that it makes you a villain.” 

And with that Cassian turned on his heel and went back inside. He had been doing that alot lately. Dropping bombs and then leaving before Azriel could really respond. It was driving Az crazy. Cassian of all people should not be the one putting him in place. Their dynamic suddenly switched. Nothing in his life at this moment felt the way that it should. 

He slumped down. Sitting on the curb, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket and trying to enjoy one small peaceful moment before going back to work. But he heard the door creak open, fully expecting Rhys to come reprimand him now, he didn’t turn to look who was approaching him.

You sat next to him. Curling into yourself slightly. Your arms wrapping around your bent legs to shield you from the cold and from the conversation you had steeled yourself into having. He finally looked towards you, a little surprised that you were there in the first place. You spoke first. Like you always did. 

“I’m sorry. For the other night.” 

He started shaking his head before you could even finish talking. “You don’t have to be sorry. You were right. I have the horrible habit of trying to save you from good things.” 

“Well I know I was right. But I didn’t have to say it like that. Like you were the only one to blame.” 

He sat with the words. Rolling the cigarette between his lips as he thought, 

“I want you to be happy.” 

“I know” you whispered like you didn’t really believe it and he pushed forwards, 

“No. I want you to be happy. I want to see it happen and I want to see it stay.” He paused and heaved in a deep and settling breath, “Because we’re friends.” 

“We’re friends?” 

“I think it’s what we’re best at.” He scrunched his nose a little as he said it. Almost teasing. Like maybe it wasn’t too soon to make jokes. Like they could start to rebuild from here. You didn’t say anything in response. But you smiled, strained and tired, but a smile. So he kept talking. For once he needed to keep talking. 

“The reason I never said anything the first time. After you left. Was because I thought you didn’t want me to. I thought I was saving you from something. Believe it or not…I was also scared. That it didn’t mean anything. And at the time…maybe it did. It probably meant everything. But now? It’s been so long and I..” 

He leaned back, resting his palms on the cold damp concrete of the sidewalk, letting the sting of it set his nerves and solidify his ground, “I wasted my chance and now I think you need to take yours. Don’t stay silent again because you’re scared.” 

“We both wasted our chance. It wasn��t just you.” Again that hushed tone. The hurried flow of your words, like if you didn’t get them out as fast as you could, you wouldn’t get them out again. 

“I think it’s for the better.” 

You stared at eachother now. A silent understanding passing between you. A settling warmth. A forgiveness that’s been long awaited. The silent turmoil of the last two years of your friendship finally starting to ease it’s way back to a steady rhythm. 

“You should talk to him. Again.” 

It was your turn to shake your head in defeat. A motion that seemed to be very popular lately. Something to share with just about everyone you knew. 

“I don’t know if he ever wants to hear from me again. If we can ever go back to the way it was.” 

Azriel let out a huff of laughter and stood up, brushing himself off as he did so. He offered you a hand and hauled you to your feet. He grasped both of your shoulders and said very seriously, 

“So don’t. Start over. Do it better. You can save this one.” 

★ ★ ★

You were walking home from work. Trying not to let Azriel’s words go to your head. You can save this one. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Your eyes trained on the lights that illuminated the worn brick of the road. The golden illumination from storefronts and restaurants casting a warm glow over the red cobblestone. You zoned out a little as you passed your favorite coffee shop. Inside the employees were putting chairs on tables and sweeping up. The smell of coffee and baked goods still wafting out the half open door. It wasn’t until you ran directly into someone, your book and phone clattering to the pavement, and your bag swinging off your shoulder that you really started to pay attention. You leaned down to pick up your things. Muttering your apologies. A large freckled hand came to rest over yours as you scrambled to pick up your book before the thin glaze of rain on the sidewalk started to seep into the pages. A hand you knew all to well. Accompanied by a smell that overwhelmed your senses. Vanilla and roasting almonds. Firewood and burnt sage. It was like an assault on your senses. The softness of his skin, interrupted only by the small calluses left there from his hockey stick. The fiery brush of his hair over his forehead, his amber eyes burning their way through yours. 

You rose together. Standing straight wouldn’t stop him from towering over you. His smile soft and tugging at the corners of his lips. He looked good. Tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair out of order, his sweater crumpled and wrinkled more than he’d ever let it be normally. But the warmth of him. That was there. His eyes no longer cold and guarded. They were searching and alight with a strange sort of mischief.  

“You should really watch where your going.” He was quiet as he spoke. Teasing in tone. 

You nodded a little shakily, “Yeah. I uh. I probably should.” 

“I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you run into a lamp post or something.”

A pretty thing like you. Something he hadn’t said to you since he first started hitting on you. Something he hadn’t said since he didn’t really know you. You didn’t know how to respond. So you, almost unconsciously, nodded. God I must look so fucking dumb. It was the only thing you could think. You were surprised he had stopped to help you at all. Surprised he was even here. He only ever came to this coffee shop when he was looking for you. 

“Eris.” He said it so casually. Like it was the most natural thing to do. Reaching out to shake your hand. Without thinking you introduced yourself in return, grasping his hand as he shook it. No questions. Like it was the only thing to say. The only thing to do.  A grin started to spread across his face as he said, 

“You know. You should let me take you out some time. Protect you from any incoming road blocks.” 

He was looking for you. You realized it just as you were hit with a small wave of confusion. He was asking you on a date like he didn’t know you at all. He was starting over. Like something in the universe had given him the same inclination that you were given. Starting over. 

“I uh…I’d like that.” 

He nodded and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, “Good.” He whispered as that small fox like smile stretched it’s way further across his features. His freckles scrunching slightly with the bridge of his nose. He tucked his hands in his pockets as he started to turn in the direction of his house, the dead opposite direction of yours. He took one step before turning back around, 

“We’ll talk?” 

“We’ll talk.” You answered as fast as you could and with a small affirming nod. He mirrored the movement, pursing his lips as he did so. You looked at eachother briefly before you started to walk away. 

He watched as you did. Watched the way your shoulders relaxed a little and you ran your fingers over the hair he had smoother moments before. 

“I miss you too.” 

He called after you. You shot him a small smile over your shoulder, but didn’t say anything back. 

We’ll talk.

taglist:

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@the-sylver-dragon @scarsandallaz @fairydustblossom 

@lupinswolfsbanes 

@theflowerswillbloom @melsunshine @mad-katsuki @lilylilyyyyyy @blueeeeeshark

@tolietpaperwater @redr0sewrites @acourtofbatboydreams @hextech-bros

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter seven)

18+ 7k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, heavy dubcon, fingering, clothed/unclothed, dry humping. gif credit | fic directory | AO3

As promised, Homelander allows you an opportunity to say goodbye to the life you knew. After which, he does what he must to prove that you belong with—and to—him.

Days spent with Homelander are simultaneously long and yet strangely fluid, hours blending seamlessly into one another. Every day that he comes home, you endure the flip into what you’ve privately begun to refer to as “performance mode,” in which you’re playing the role of doting girlfriend.

So long as you maintain the idea that it’s a performance, you don’t have to think too much about how good the heat of his body feels against yours. You don’t have to question the ease with which you’ve taken to toying with his hair while the two of you watch television, or why you don’t mind it so much when he rests his head in your lap.

There was a day he came home early and caught you absently dancing in the living room while you tidied. That alone was embarrassing, but it was mundane enough of a thing to be brushed aside, to forget. Except that he wouldn’t. He’d fixated on it like a dog with a bone, and you’d had to endure his relentless teasing about it for the rest of the day.

“You act like you’ve never seen anyone dance before,” you’d said.

“I haven’t,” he said. “Not here.”

Your role here has many names: girlfriend, cook, therapist, maid, lover, and reinventor. It’s about more than just romance. It's a complete transformation of his empty, lonely world.

It’s what you must do to survive.

You learn quickly that he’s a creature of habit, favoring the same routine each day. He gets out of bed at the same time every day, showers for the same amount of time, and asks for the same breakfast that he does not eat. 

It drives you crazy to cook a breakfast only to find yourself emptying it into the garbage not an hour later, but the drastic and often unpredictable fluctuations in Homelander’s moods have made you reluctant to question or criticize him. 

Besides, what do you care if he eats your food? 

Caring is a creature with sharp teeth. It sinks its fangs into the deepest part of you and opens you up to deeper infection. Caring can hurt more than a punch, more than broken bones, more than anything that bleeds. Caring doesn’t break you clean. It’s a bone that doesn’t set, a cut that doesn’t close. Caring is to be vulnerable, to live as an open wound, and one thing you’re entirely certain of is that Homelander cannot be trusted with your vulnerability.

Yet you could not bring yourself to turn away from him. Not after he snapped at you, not after he screwed his eyes shut, not even as he began folding in on himself like a dying star readying to implode. Even though every primal instinct in you told you to run, your feet remained rooted.

You took him into your arms for the same reason you smother a flame rather than blow on it. In doing so, part of you has caught fire, embers continuing to burn.

The way he kissed you lingers on your lips like a ghost. His touches haunt every part of your tingling body, your fingertips numb with adrenaline as you pick up the containers from the coffee table. You can still feel the trail his hot mouth seared down your throat, branding your skin with the memory of his hunger.

He hadn’t embraced you so much as he’d clung to you, his hands testing every inch of the reality of you. He disappeared somewhere so deep in his own mind that it had shocked him stiff when you held him.

A panic attack…?

Strong hands settling on your hips break you out of your daze. Looking over your shoulder, you see Homelander’s smiling face. His eyes are bright and clear, his cheeks no longer streaked with tears. If you didn’t know better–know how easily and abruptly he can switch gears–you’d think you had hallucinated the entire thing.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, recognizing that expectant look on his face. Whatever he said, you didn’t hear it. “I was just thinking. What did you say?”

He huffs a little laugh. “Geeze, talk about a space cadet. C’mon, let’s get you airborne!”

Though your stomach flips, you nod.

I’ll take you flying again. You’ll be conscious this time around.

As soon as you have the containers of food safely tucked into a bag, he wastes no time scooping you up into his arms. The ease with which he lifts you is jarring; it’s less like being picked up by a person, and more like being strapped into a rollercoaster. There’s no sense of give in his strength, and all at once you’re shunted back to the memory of the night you were abducted.

It had felt the same way then, too. His arms coiled around you like steel, his chest a brick wall at your back. He’d held you then as gently as he holds you now. No matter how hard you thrashed, there was no give. 

No escape.

Your heart beats hard against your chest, apprehension tightening around your throat like a collar being pulled tight.

When will it stop feeling like this when he touches me?

The derangement of the thought strikes your addled mind belatedly. Never, you remind yourself. His touch should never evoke anything but the fear he’s earned 

A sudden rush of cool air from the door opening hits your face, the shift in pressure briefly paralyzing your lungs, halting your shallow breaths. You turn your face from it, nestling instead into the thick, textured fabric of his suit while you fight to catch your breath. 

Somewhere over the furious drumming of your heart, you hear him laugh, feel the rumble of his chest against your cheek.

He adjusts you higher up, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You’re more secure in his grasp this way, and admittedly, you’re grateful for it. 

“Relax,” he purrs in your ear. “I won’t let you go.”

Yes, he’s made that abundantly clear.

In an effort to gain some modicum of control, you slip your fingers into the front of his suit collar, gripping the fabric tight. It’s stiffer than you expected it to be, but it at least serves as a good handhold that way. His pulse can be felt in his throat, the beat of it fluttering against the backs of your fingers. It’s quicker than you expected it to be.

You wonder what in the world he has to be nervous about.

“Just give me a warning before you take off, okay?” you ask, focusing on steadying your breathing.

“Before I take off?” 

There’s a particular playful lilt to his tone that makes you uneasy.

“Yes.”

“Hm. Can we pretend I did that thirty seconds ago?”

You rear back to look at him, and before you can think better of it, you turn to look down. Your vision tunnels, the edges of it blurring as your eyes fight to adjust to the sudden distance between you and the earth.

The reality of it sets in. It was one thing to understand his capacity for flight in theory, what it would be like to fly with him, but nothing could have prepared you for this. There’s nothing stabilizing you but him, the plummet below a nauseating hundred storey drop. Against your every wish, your stomach starts to churn violently. 

Tucking back against him, eyes screwed tightly shut, you mumble, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Homelander sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s really gonna ruin someone’s day down there.”

“Shhh’up,” you slur, white-knuckling his collar with one hand, the other clutching the bag of food to your chest. “I changed my mind, take me back, take me back. Can we please just take the elevator and drive? I really don’t want to–”

“Hey, hey, relax,” he coos, tilting backwards, bringing more of your weight against his body. The movement only makes you feel sicker. ”Closing your eyes only makes it worse. Y’gatta adjust.”

You shake your head and swear you can feel water sloshing back and forth in your skull. “Take me back, please take me back.”

Warm lips press against your forehead, his breath wafting over your scalp.

“It’ll pass,” he says with the certainty of experience. “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

Trust him? The audacity of the ask is enough to make you temporarily forget your peril and look up at him through narrowed glassy eyes. 

“Why in the world would I trust you?” you ask through your teeth, emboldened by your incredulity despite the way the tension in your body makes your muscles tremble faintly.

His grin doesn’t falter as he asks in turn, “What’s your alternative?”

Your lips part on an incredulous breath, disbelieving that he would be so blatant about it. 

In the three days you’ve spent with Homelander, there have been both ambiguous and unambiguous moments of cruelty. Moments where you were certain he was rubbing your captivity in your face, mocking you. 

Other times he seems so desperately lost you can almost understand the way he clings to you. Times where his cruelty comes not from an understanding of what will hurt you, but a complete inability to comprehend that you’re a living, breathing person with your own complicated innerworkings.  

“You’re unreal,” you say, mystified by the enigma he presents.

“And you’re flying,” he says in your same tone, those ocean blue eyes glinting with self-satisfaction.

You take in a breath to retort, but pause. Though your grip on his collar remains tight, you’re no longer shaking. For a moment there, you’d honestly forgotten where you were. Leaning against him like this, with more of your weight supported on his wrought iron frame, you don’t feel quite so much like you’re precariously dangling.

Though your heart is still racing, and your mouth's as dry as sand, you don’t feel immediately ready to eject your lunch anymore.

“Don’t look down this time,” he tells you, towards the horizon. “Look out.”

Hesitantly, you turn your head to follow his gaze.

The view is surreal.

The afternoon sky is a clear and vibrant blue that the maze of steel buildings below reflect, giving the entire city an oceanic hue. Hundreds upon hundreds of windows lit with warm lights dot the way like fireflies in a field.

In the distance, the sun has fallen low enough that it casts a golden glow across the water. It refracts the light in endless shimmering waves. The spectacle of it is enough to make you forget that this isn’t some fantastical world, that you live here.

Never could you have fathomed seeing the world like this with your own eyes.

“Fuck me,” you murmur, slightly dazed.

Homelander barks a laugh. “What, now?”

Ignoring him, you tentatively let your gaze drift lower. From this distance, all you can see of the lives below you are faint black dots, the flow of them reminiscent of an ant colony. The same loud bustling streets that you used to walk every day are silent from this vantage point, giving the city an uncharacteristic sense of calm. It’s the world–your world–as you’ve never seen it before. 

“See?” You feel the heat of the word against your temple as much as you hear it, his lips brushing along your hairline. “I told you it was worth it.”

You tear your attention from the cityscape and bring it back to Homelander.

While you’ve always distantly acknowledged that he’s attractive, he’s undeniably beautiful like this. Bathed in the glow of golden hour, his skin looks Midas touched, and the blue of his eyes is even more vibrant, the light giving them an almost crystalline appearance.

All over again you’re struck by the fact that, whether you want him or not, he’s inexplicably yours. Your captor, your roommate, your warden, your boyfriend, your gilded cage. You’re only where you are now–soaring above the city beyond the confines of that penthouse–because you found it in yourself to be all the things he wants you to be. The more you give, the more you get.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

This is survival.

“You were right. It’s beautiful,” you say, relinquishing your grip on his collar to instead slip your arm around his neck, leaning in to press your cheek to his in a make-shift embrace. You feel his surprise in the slight hitch of tension in his body before he relaxes back into you.

“Can I ask you something? Something about us. Or… about me, I guess,” you say, staring at the world from over his shoulder. Only now has your pulse begun to calm enough that you can properly hear yourself over the rush of your own blood.

His flag of a cape billows in the wind behind him as he flies languidly through the air, giving you something near to focus on. 

“Sure you can,” he says, feigning ease that doesn’t quite ring sincere.

He doesn’t like it when you ask too many questions, or start poking holes in the idyllic little fantasy you’ve been living for him.

“Why did you choose me?”

There’s a pause while he mulls over the question, the droning winds around you filling the empty space. Your stomach gives a small flip as he shifts, changing his flight path, making you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, said the wrong thing.

You draw back to meet his gaze, but his expression doesn’t betray any kind of upset.

“I’ll show you,” he says, the words punctuated by a wink, though the gesture doesn’t exude his usual self assured bravado. Based on the tension in his jaw, you get the sense he’s actually masking a buried nervousness.

Within minutes, you’re soaring over a part of the city you recognize with stark familiarity. Seeing your route to work from this angle has a surreal quality to it, like remembering a dream in vivid detail. It’s difficult to fathom that less than a week ago, this was your life.

Drifting to the ledge of a nearby building, he sits on the edge of it, adjusting you on his lap. While the height remains dizzying if you think too much about it, you can’t deny that the warm strength of his arms have given you a firm sense of security. 

“I used to come here a lot during my downtime. Between meetings and location work,” he explains, taking in a deep breath.

You do the same, cool air filling your lungs. It’s warm out, but the altitude brings in enough of a chill from the ocean to offset the late afternoon summer heat.

“I got familiar with this spot. The people, their routines,” he says, head lightly bobbing side to side.

“You saw me,” you fill in as understanding dawns.

“Yeah. I saw you,” he echoes, following the walkways below as if he’s tracing your path to work in the same way you are. “Every day.”

“You were really out here every day?” you ask with a lilt of surprise, looking at him. “I never saw you before.”

“People almost never do. You’d be surprised how rarely people ever look up.”

You hum quietly. Already you feel isolated from the world below. Nothing more than an observer. Knowing him as you do now, you can only imagine how outside of it all he really feels. 

“Do you ever… go down there? Not as Homelander, but just as yourself.”

“I am Homelander.”

“No, no, I know, but…” You falter, wanting to be delicate. “You were someone else first, weren’t you?”

His gaze turns distant, no longer focusing on the streets below.  “No.”

You think again of the young boy in the empty room holding back tears, and your heart grows heavy in your chest. That child–and the man he grew into–had to have had a name once, didn’t he? It’s unfathomable to think he didn’t. Homelander isn’t really a name. It’s a persona, a product patented and sold by Vought. 

To have a name is to exist in people’s minds and hearts as a whole person. Whether the name is a gift or a choice, there is soul in a name. More than just an identity, a name is a love language. Be it a given name, nicknames, pet names, to name something is to love it. 

Names begin in the heart, form on the tongue, become shaped by lips and cradled by voice. They're an intimacy not only of the body, but of the mind and soul.

Surely he has a name beyond the hero’s title of Homelander.

Project Odessa.

You take in a breath, the question poised on your tongue, but Homelander speaks first.

“I don’t remember when, but you started to stand out. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. I wanted to know more, so… I learned more. And I saw that you were lonely,” he says, but you’ve learned to read between the lines when he tells you things about yourself.

I was lonely.

“You needed someone.”

I needed someone.

“Someone to take care of.”

Someone to take care of me.

“I wanted to save you.”

I  wanted you to save me.

“And I did.”

He looks at you then, his expression difficult to parse. There’s a challenge in his gaze, as if he’s daring you to contradict him, but that defiance isn’t enough to cancel out the fragility that always seems to linger when he admits to any sort of genuine feeling.

“I saved you,” he reinforces, voice quieter, firmer.

Sitting hundreds of feet in the air, you’re reminded that this isn’t a normal conversation.

This is a matter of survival.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

“Thank you.”

The tight line of his lips relaxes, spreading into a smile. It radiates the same sort of satisfied pride that he always gets when you show him gratitude for all he’s done for you.

To me, you correct yourself, fighting to keep those lines from blurring. When you look at your life through his eyes, you cannot deny that it looks small. Inconsequential. Lonely. Sad.

None of that changes the fact that it was yours. That it is yours. That he had no right to take it from you when he had every opportunity to ask to be part of it.

The worst part is that, given the choice, you’re starting to feel like you would have said yes.

It’s a conflicted kind of relief when he closes his eyes and presses his lips lightly to yours. The heat of his mouth–the instant memory of his tongue, his teeth, his roaming hands–sends a hot rush through you, but unlike last time the kiss is fleeting and chaste.

“Aaaalrighty,” he says, his voice suddenly full of vigor and performative boom. It’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself a headache with how quickly he’s prone to switching gears. “Let’s get this grubhub goin’.” 

He pushes off of the ledge and your stomach lurches the way it would at the start of a rollercoaster, a drop followed by a sudden lift. Your arm tightens around his neck while his smile lingers, clearly pleased by the clinginess this has imposed on you.

You don’t have to tell him where to go. He knows exactly the alley to land in, sinking between buildings to the very back, as not to be observed by the bustling crowd below. You’d grown used to the noise of the crowds, but after several days of quiet, the clamor of New York is borderline deafening. It makes you wince and reflexively press on one ear, plugging it while you adjust.

Regardless of the noise, you feel an instant relief when your feet hit the ground. Homelander’s hands linger on your hip and your elbow, steadying you.

“Well?” he prompts. “You glad we flew?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” you say, huffing a quiet laugh. “I very much almost lost my lunch, but… yeah, I’ll admit it was worth it,” you say, checking on the containers of food packed away. 

You’d considered hiding some kind of message amidst the food, but it felt too risky. There was too good of a chance that Homelander would check, and if he did, you wouldn’t have made it this far at all.

For all you know, he did check. You’re still not certain if he really has x-ray vision, or if that’s an invention of Vought’s for the movies. Better safe than sorry.

Maybe you won’t need a hidden message. Maybe you’ll be able to get across to John, without saying a word, that something isn’t right.

“If you wait here, I’ll be–”

“What, I’m not allowed to meet your friends?” he interrupts, hands on his hips.

“Oh, uh.” You blink, holding his gaze uncertainly. “I didn’t… think you’d want to.”

Homelander waves his hand dismissively.

“If he’s important to you, he’s important to me,” he says, slipping an arm around your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Besides, next to children, the unhoused are our most vulnerable population,” he says, sounding entirely too much like a politician with a list of talking points. “Anything could happen to him. I can keep a close eye on him for you, make sure he doesn’t get into any unnecessary trouble.”

His smile is too wide, too wolfish, and with a terrible chill you understand the words for the threat that they are.

If John causes problems for him, Homelander will remedy them.

Am I making a mistake?

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “Okay… Sure.”

Despite how heavily Homelander’s words hang over your head, you very nearly take flight yourself with the swell relief that hits you when you see John sitting at the end corner of the alleyway, hands busy with a Rubik’s Cube. He’s an imposing looking man in his late thirties, bearded and tall, but he’s never made you feel unsafe. He’s kind, and most importantly, he’s familiar.

You take in a sharp breath of excitement, his name on the tip of your tongue, but a crimson leather clad hand clamps over your mouth and pulls you back into the shadow of the building. Homelander pins you back against him, one hand keeping you quiet while the other slips around your middle, locking you in place.

Did he change his mind, or was this all just a game from the start? Your wide eyes prickle with tears.

“Ground rules,” he says, voice low in your ear. “We’ve been together for a couple of weeks, but for your own safety, it’s been kept a secret. You quit your dead-end job and traveled to Europe with me, from which we’ve just recently returned. Got it?”

Huffing shallow little breaths from your nose, heart racing, you nod.

“If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.”

You close your eyes, every beat of your heart a painful jab. His voice has the same cool hollowness it did when he warned you not to lie to him. It’s him, and yet simultaneously sounds like an entirely different person.

“Nod if you understand.”

A beat, and then you nod.

“Good girl,” he says, his smile audible in his praise. His hand slips away from your mouth and he kisses your temple, straightening out your clothes. His arm slinks around your waist, hand settling heavily on your hip. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

Rattled, you rub the tears from your eyes and take in a steadying breath, trepidation replacing your excitement. Dread pools in your stomach, the tide of it rising with every step, but you still manage to smile once you’re in earshot of your friend.

“Hey, John,” you call gently, lifting a hand to wave when he meets your gaze.

John does a double take, glancing up once, then twice, recognition flipping to confusion, and then rounding back to delight. He smiles broadly from beneath his wiry beard, pushing off of the wall he’d been leaning against.

“I’ll be damned,” he says as he approaches you. “You had me worried! I was beginning to think y–” he stops himself, belatedly noticing Homelander at your side. His eyes widen a fraction, and then his brows furrow.

In his myriad of expressions, you recognize yourself. That first night you woke up, how confused you were by where you were and who you were with. The whole thing felt like a dream, and John looks as though he’s wondering if this is one, too.

As a New Yorker, seeing Homelander–or any member of the Seven–in the flesh typically means one of two things: you’ve stumbled onto a promotional event, or trouble is close at hand. 

“Is everything alright?” he settles on asking, the priority of his concern for you instantly warming your chattering heart.

“More than alright,” Homelander answers when you take too long, flashing a winning smile. He gives your hip a squeeze, prompting you.

You clear your throat, lifting the bag off of your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, yes, I’ve just–I’ve been away,” you say, already tripping over the lies catching in your throat. 

If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.

Thanks to you, John’s life rides on this conversation, and he has no clue. You kick yourself internally, desperate to get your shit together for both your sakes. 

“It was really impromptu, but, uhm, I didn’t want you to worry, and I have news, so I–” you flash Homelander a look, as if to say let me sell this, and he reluctantly withdraws his arm. “I asked Homelander if he’d come along, because I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me,” you say, forcing out a little laugh.

John hesitantly takes the bag when you offer it, but he’s looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, his eyes occasionally darting over to Homelander, who continues to stand akimbo behind you. “Believe you…?”

“That I’m dating Homelander,” you say, pulling your lips back in what you can only hope is a convincing smile, and not just a manic show of teeth.

“Oh,” he says, looking no less puzzled.

The whole situation is bizarre beyond words. That you would come to him, an acquaintance that you’ve known only through habit, through the quick conversations you’ve had in the transitional spaces between work and home, seems insane. That you would care that he knows or that he believes you’re dating New York’s premium hero.

Of course he won’t see that you’re a hostage. Why the hell would he? 

You feel out of your mind the same way you did sitting on that stupid couch, punching in website after website after website. It’s futile. You’re outside, you’re right in front of another person, someone who would be just as horrified as you are to know the truth, and yet you can’t say a damn thing.

This will always be true. Whether you’re standing in front of a stranger, an acquaintance, or your dearest loved ones, your truth will put them in danger.

All because of one lonely little boy.

Your smile holds firm, but your eyes well with tears.

“I quit my job,” you say, fighting back the sob threatening to choke you. “So I won’t see you anymore. But I, uhm–I just wanted to say goodbye. So, goodbye,” you say, moving to turn away before your emotions betray you any further, but John catches you by the shoulder, his touch light and painfully human. 

“Hey, you take care of yourself,” he says, looking to be shaking off the shellshock from what you’ve presented. “Y’always seem to be taking care of other people and their problems, so… Take care of you, too. If not for yourself, you’ll do that for me, yeah? For old time’s sake,” he says with a smile, giving the bag a little shake.

You stare at him, the confession of it all sitting heavily on the tip of your tongue. 

Help me! you want to shout. I can’t do this alone. I can’t take care of this myself. I need help. It’s too much. I’m scared.

You start to move towards him, and his opposite arm opens, as if ready to embrace you.

“Lucky for her,” Homelander interrupts, hoisting you suddenly into his arms and out of John’s reach, shattering any potential illusions. “She’s got me to take care of her now,” he says, his Hollywood smile stretched instead into a thin sneer.

“Great to meet’cha, pal,” he spits, voice devoid of any actual camaraderie. Tears burn in your eyes as his fingertips dig into you, his grip like a vice, like chains slipping back around your limbs. “Enjoy the food.”

Anything John might have said in response is swallowed up by the rush of air parting around him as Homelander shoots up into the sky, leaving your world in the dust, and any hope you had with it.

The flight back to the penthouse is quiet.

Homelander flies faster than he did on the way out, itching to be back within the safe, predictable confines of home. You’re tense in his hold, but both of your arms are wrapped around his neck, your face tucked in under his jaw, and he takes pleasure in that, at least.

It’s a miracle he didn’t rip that filthy fuckers arm off for the way he grabbed you, for the way he tried to pull you into his arms.

God damn pervert is what he is. 

You’re too naive to see it, but he isn’t, and there wasn’t a fucking chance he was going to let the guy cop one last feel before you were spirited away for good. The thought alone is enough to set his teeth on edge, to make him consider paying the son of a bitch a little visit anyways.

He grits his teeth.

No one touches his things.

It sets off something primal in him. A gnawing, feverish compulsion to claim you so thoroughly there could be no doubt that you’re his. He wants to fuck you, to mark you so obviously that no other man will ever touch you like that again.

By the time he lands on the concrete slab of his balcony, you’re shaking up a storm. He maneuvers inside without putting you down, as you’ve made no move to let go of him. 

Something isn’t right. 

He rubs your back, mimicking the patterns you make when you rub his, pausing when you suddenly make a choked noise that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

What the hell? He did exactly what you asked him to. You’re supposed to be happy.

He carries you to his bed, a dozen versions of the two of you reflected back in the surrounding mirrors, and sets you down gently. Your arms slide loose from his neck and fall limply to your sides. Bending down, he cups either side of your face and brings your gaze up to meet his, perplexed to find your eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey,” he says softly, swiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb as it falls. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You shut your eyes and make a sound he can’t make sense of, something between exasperation and agony. Though you try to pull out of his grip, he holds you in place, refusing to let you run from this. 

From him.

“No, no. Look at me. I did what you asked,” he says, impatience slowly wringing the gentleness from his voice.

Your eyes are red and glassy, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and over his thumbs. 

Christ. 

This is a far cry from what he had in mind when he thought earlier about how you’d make it up to him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, taking hold of his wrists. “I just want to go home.”

His expression falls, brows furrowed in confusion, dismay, anger.

“What’re you talking about? You are home. You’re happy here. You have everything, you–I’ve given you everything,” he says, though a voice in the back of his mind reminds him that isn’t true. 

He hasn’t given everything. Not yet. He’s been holding back. You both have, and now you’re both suffering.

Enough, he thinks. Hasn't he been deprived long enough?

Haven't you?

You try again to pull away, but this time he pulls you forward, pressing his lips to yours. You make a sound against his mouth that sounds like surprise, but all that matters now is the thrum of your skin against his.

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” he says between kisses, following you as you pull backwards, his knee hitting the bed as he crawls over top of you. He lets his hands roam, learning you in the way he’s been aching to since the day he decided that you would be his, and that he would be yours. 

“You have no idea how fucking good I can make you feel.”

Pleasure has always been his greatest comfort. The ability to shut down his brain, to quiet the voices and focus solely on the physical. He needs it, and now more than ever, he can see that you need it, too. 

He kisses your jaw, your cheek, kisses the wet streaks from your skin and licks the salt of them from his lips.

“I can make it go away,” he murmurs, undeterred by your hands pushing against his chest. You have a nasty habit of fighting what’s good for you. 

“I’ll make you happy if you’d just let me.”

Your clothes put up less resistance than you do, the designer material tearing with ease. He swallows up your gasp with another kiss, slips his tongue into your mouth and grazes your teeth with it, daring you to bite.

Your pulse thunders in his ears, but not even the acridity of the fear coursing through you can hide the sweet heat of arousal seeping from between your thighs.

His own body aches in kind, cock throbbing needily behind his cup. His mind has already started to fog, the sting of rejection soothed by the need he can feel building in every part of your body. 

You want him. You do. He can feel it in the drumming of every climbing throb he hears your body give.

“All this teasing, this tension, it can all end. We’re so close to what we both want now, what we both need.” His hand slips lower, forcing your legs apart enough to drag his middle finger over your cunt through the satiny fabric of your panties, savoring the way it makes you shudder.

“I don’t want this,” you say, hardly sounding convinced of it yourself.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me, ” he says, taking his hand away only to bite the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off with his teeth and tossing it aside. He moves it right back to your pussy, pressing in firmly to finally feel the hot, soaked patch of fabric against his bare skin. 

“Look who’s all wet.”

“Why are you doing this?” There’s a tremble running through your voice, through your body.

He huffs an incredulous little breath.

“I’m doing this for you. For us. I’m doing this because you don’t know how to let yourself be happy,” he says, drawing back to look at you. You’re beautiful like this. Eyes glassy and vibrant, skin hot under his touch. “All you have to do is let go, and I’ll make all the bad stuff go away.”

You don’t respond, but he knows by the look of you that he’s struck a chord. He kisses you again, and this time, you don’t try to turn away. Instead, both of your hands slip into his hair, and to his elation, you kiss him back.

He moans against your lips, shifting onto his side next to you so that he can better maneuver his hand, bringing his fingers up to slip them into your underwear, letting out a low sound for the feel of your velvety wet cunt under his bare fingers.

“Keep breathing,” he reminds you, acutely attuned to every inch of you, including when your breath catches. “That’s it… Good girl.”

The last thing he needs now is for you to pass out.

He kisses a trail down from your shoulder to your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts before he kisses an apology into the soft skin, only to suck a mark at that same spot. He spreads your own slick from your cunt to your clit, massaging it between his middle and index finger.

You suck in a ragged breath, you whimper, and in that sound he knows he finally has you hook, line and sinker.

That’s when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror above. You shudder, turning your head away as if ashamed, but he won’t let you hide from this.

“Ah, ah, none of that. No shame in this. It’s a tale as old as time, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his middle finger slowly into the silky clench of your pussy. 

“Boy meets girl… Girl falls for boy… Boy fucks her brains out,” he half laughs, half rasps, hooking his leg over yours both to pull your legs wider apart, and to give himself your thigh to grind against.

He angles his thumb to rub your clit while his finger crooks, stroking inside you until he finds that delicate, puffy little bundle of nerves he’s been taught to look for. More than just by the feel of it, he knows he’s found it when your hips jerk suddenly, and you look at him as though he’s just invented the spot.

“I told you,”  he rumbles, kissing you slow, wet, hungry, “that I would make you feel good.”

He adds another finger, fucking you with them slowly, his pace building gradually. He imagines how it’ll feel to have his cock where his fingers are, and he nearly comes in his pants at the thought alone, his hips jerking against you.

“Look at yourself,” he sighs, his other hand cupping the back of your neck. “Look at yourself,” he says again, harsher this time, and your eyes snap up to the mirror above you.

You’re a mess, clothes torn apart and splayed under and around you, hickeys forming where he’s abused your skin with his lips. You’re fucking yourself down on his hand entirely of your own accord now, one hand fisted in his hair, the other in the sheets. Your tears have dried and there’s only sweet, mindless pleasure left in your eyes.

He’s never known a pain he couldn’t fuck away. He knew you’d be the same.

“So fucking perfect for me,” he coos, breath hitching on his own mounting pleasure. Your pussy squeezes his fingers, the lewd cacophony of pleasure filling the room the closer you get to the brink.

“Homelander,” you keen, voice fractured and sweet as sugar. 

He kisses his name from your lips, licks up the honied taste of it while he fucks you deeper, faster, his pace never once faltering, not even as you begin to thrash against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to get closer or further, but he holds you tightly in place, gritting his teeth against the pleasure while he shamelessly humps your leg.

Your shallow breaths take on a pitchy sound as you writhe, as if part of you is still fighting him, fighting your pleasure, but in the end, it’s a battle you lose. Your cunt locks up like a vice around his fingers, your orgasm throbbing inside and out, your clit fluttering against his thumb.

You’re robbed of breath, of sound, and of sense as you come, capable of nothing more than a silent cry as pleasure–the pleasure he gave you–wracks your body.

He fucks you through it, relishing the way your quivering cunt squeezes his fingers, greedily pulling him back in on every thrust. It’s too much–you’re too much–and he loses himself to it, giving a ragged gasp as he comes shortly after. His eyes roll back, pulse after pulse of sweet pleasure filling his cup with liquid heat.

“I love you,” he gasps, nearly choking on the words, rocking against your still-trembling form. “I–fffuck, I love you, I love you so much.”

He’s languid but no less ravenous in the way he kisses your chest, your throat, your jaw, your mouth, all while his fingers rock lazily in and out of your cunt. Still coming down from his own high, he doesn’t stop until you’re grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand away, pleading your overstimulation with nothing but soft noises. 

He licks his fingers clean, intoxicated by the feel, taste and smell of you. A shiver runs through you, and it’s only then that he realizes he forgot to shut the balcony door behind him.

Too enraptured to move, to risk breaking the spell your bodies have cast over one another, he drapes his cape over your naked body, tucking you in against his chest.

Satisfied that he’s made his point, that you finally understand the gift he’s wanted to give you all along, he wraps both arms around you and nuzzles against the top of your head, pressing a kiss to the crown.

While ending your first tryst sticky and wet in his pants wasn't his ideal scenario, he'll take it. The weight of you in his arms, the taste of you on his lips, more than makes up for it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the words slurring together slightly. He strokes your back, holding you close as the tremors subside. He gladly takes credit for the way your breaths even out, for the way you sink into his arms, the resistance wrung from your muscles. 

All that’s left now is bliss. 

“That’s my girl.” And you are, without a shadow of a doubt, his.

[yourabsolutemother]

At Sundown

poly task force 141

A/N: I’m not good at narrative writing. Give me a book and I'll write a 12 page essay in two days on it. But narrative? I'm screwed. So a little constructive criticism is welcome. Also I’m using a translator app for their accents, I’m so sorry if they’re stupid hahahah

CW: Military inaccuracy, accent inaccuracy, possible lore inaccuracy, typical a/b/o sexism and classism, cursing, slightly suggestive, reader almost has a panic attack, crying, Price is upset and gets a little mean, Simon is just his mean self, slight mention of PTSD

Chapter overview: Reader has a stressful day at her job and her beta roommate does little to help. Price’s instincts are going haywire and the pack can’t figure out why.

=====

It’s the end of your shift, you work as a waitress at a bar and grill that is near your house. You mostly work during the rushes, when the small restaurant is packed with a line out the door. The restaurant you work at is open until 4 am all week, that's when they kick people out so they can clean up after a long day and get ready for the lunch rush. It’s not the best food around, but the bartender is good and it is a popular spot for business meetings. The place is dirty, but for some reason, the patrons don’t seem to care. If they don’t care, you don’t care. You’re just here to make money to survive.

They don’t exactly like you here, mostly because you are an omega. No one here really talks to you, except sometimes the beta host, but he didn't want people to think less of him by seeing him talking to the only omega in the building. You wish you could get a better paying job, but this was the only thing that paid above five dollars an hour in a 30 minute radius. This place didn’t even really want to hire you, but you begged them. It’s your last resort and you don't regret it one bit. It's hard to get over everyone saying things like. ‘No wonder this is the best job omegas can get. It's all they can handle’. No matter what you do or how hard you work, it's never good enough.

You bust your ass everyday that you work, which was most days, always kind and never showing up late. You have hardly used any of your sick days or vacation days. The only time you call out is when you’re in heat, and no one works when they’re in heat or in rut. But every time you have to call out for that reason, you’re always met with groans and stupid questions like ‘can’t you just put it off for another week?’ As if you could control something that naturally happens.

You know how to do every job in the building, other than cooking, and you have worked in all of the stations at one point in the time that you have worked here. You’re certain that you did every station correctly and efficiently, but you still can’t get them to pay you more for everything that you do. You don’t know what else there is for you to do to make them like you, even a little bit.

You can’t complain much, you have it pretty good. One of your omega friends was telling you one day about how his work wouldn't let him take time off of work for his heat. They made him go to a pharmacy and buy heat suppressants with his own money so that he could work. And then they threatened to fire him if he didn’t continue to take them while he worked for them. He has a very privileged job and makes a lot of money, even if it's only at a restaurant, so he was basically forced to continue taking them.

You thank scent blockers every single day of your life, not knowing how you could manage without them and their seemingly magic effects. Sometimes you had the occasional table with the people who wouldn’t wear scent blockers, wanting to flaunt their status. You hate it, it makes it hard to do your job. The omegas and betas don’t affect you, it mostly just annoys you because of the smell lingering around you and the table for the next few hours. It made people complain to you like there is anything that you can do about the smell. You can’t really use scent blocker on a scent that's already in the air. But what would you know, you’re just an omega afterall.

But, when alphas came in, it was a whole other story. Their scent was always so strong, leaving no room for question or confusion. Their scent would stick around you, the tables, their menus, and really anything they touched for the rest of the day. You can’t blame any of them though, scent blockers burn your nose which is why you never wear them.

It’s easy to tell when you are doing good and when you aren’t. The alphas scent would make your legs weak if they were pleased, if you weren't so scared of them. But if they were upset about something, it was like a punch right to the gut. You always step up your game when you smell their scent souring, acting purely out of a panic response, but sometimes it wasn’t in your hands and there was nothing you could do about it. That didn’t stop you from trying your best, nonetheless.

Right now, you are carrying a tray of hot food across the dining room, eyes not focusing on any of the tables just in case there was an alpha sitting at them. You hate having to look at alphas, only doing it when you have to, like when you are serving their table. Their gaze was always so intense, making your head swim as it tried to decipher why they were looking at you. You aren’t as good as most omegas at reading alphas, some say you’re too naive and will figure it out once an alpha forces you to figure it out. That’s exactly why you avoid them, if you aren’t around them, then you don’t have to worry about reading them and them getting upset because you can’t. If you ever ended up with an alpha, you promised yourself not to fall for one that would treat you as second class. You didn’t want an alpha that thinks an omega is only good if their instincts are good.

Making it to the table without too much trouble, the smell of two sour alphas enters your nose. You hold back an instinctual whine, nervousness filling your chest as you set their food down in front of them. “I’m very sorry for the wait, the kitchen is backed up.” You explain, smiling to try and relieve some of the tension. On the inside, you are panicking, playing out scenarios of what could happen in your head. You can only hope they are accepting of your situation. You waited with shaky hands and bated breath.

The alpha on your left waves his hand dismissively at you, his hand almost hitting your arm as a scowl formed on his face. That action alone is enough to make your heart drop in your chest. “That's enough, omega.” He practically spits, his tone filled with venom. Your mind raced with possibilities, it made you wonder what you had done wrong other than their food taking a bit longer than normal. Of course they blamed you. It always ended up being your fault.

The alpha on your right tosses their collective trash at you, somehow you manage to catch most of the unexpected projectiles with your shaking hands. You bent over quickly, picking up the trash on the floor and placing it on the tray in your hand. “This is why no one hires omegas anymore.” The alpha spoke to the other, speaking like you weren’t standing right there. “Especially if it's a woman.” The other response, a stupid cheeky grin on his face.

You stand up straight, forcing a smile. “Is there anything else I can get you two?” You ask, watching as they both silently pull their wallets out, shoving their cards into your hand. You place them on the tray, holding back the urge to sock both of them in the eye. “Give yourself a nice dollar tip, Hun.” One purrs, intentionally putting you down. You’re an omega at the end of the day after all. You smile and bow your head slightly as a silent departure, turning on your heel and weaving through the crowd back to the kitchen.

“Thanks so much, alpha.” You practically growl under your breath, your hands starting to shake more now that they couldn't see you. “I’ll be able to buy that gumball I've been eyeing all day.” you continue quietly, sarcasm dripping from your voice as the doors to the kitchen come into view. They always say it like they believe that one whole dollar is going to get you anything. 

When you first started, you thought they were being kind and maybe were just down on their luck with money. But then you started paying attention to how much their bill actually was, most of them wouldn't have a hard time tipping at least three dollars. Most of the alphas that came into the restaurant ate a lot of food, they were big, strong men that needed a lot of calories to keep their physique. Their totals usually came out very large, a tip of three dollars wouldn't even be close to twenty percent.

You sigh in relief once you get back inside the kitchen, ignoring the kitchen staff on the other side of the window as they basically screamed at each other. Going over to the computer to start closing out their tabs, you feel a presence behind you. You immediately recognize the smell of the owner, who is staring down at what you were doing with a critical eye. His arms are crossed over your chest as he pushes his scent out to intimidate you. It works and you are practically trembling by the time he walks away, finally leaving you alone.

You continue to mutter annoyedly once he was out of earshot, closing out their checks and not bothering to give yourself that tip. You’d rather not get one then accept money from those pricks. You put their receipt in the holders and make your way back to the two grumbling alphas, probably complaining about how long it was taking you.

You force a fake smile on your face, trying to keep your souring scent low as you place their receipt in front of them. “Come back soon.” You wish them well. They just ignore you as they throw more trash at you and sign their checks. They stand up and head towards the bar in the middle of the restaurant, making a last minute decision to get a drink before they leave. You shove their small trash into the pockets of your apron and leave the rest for the busboy.

You get back to the kitchen shortly after, doing a few tasks you have to do before you leave. You couldn’t stop thinking about those two alphas, of course they had to come in right at the end of your shift and ruin the rest of your night. You walk over to the coat rack and grab your coat and purse, putting them on before clocking out. You walk out the back door and go to your car, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible before the alphas change their minds. The others can deal with it, you’ll deal with the fallout next time you work if they end up needing something else from you. Just another day in this hellhole of a job.

The parking lot is cold and dark, the ground wet from a recent thunderstorm. You aren’t paying much attention as you start to cross the street, not noticing the car coming right for you until the driver slams on its horn and zips right by you. You gasp out and hold tightly onto your coat as you watch the car speed out of the parking lot. They’re probably drunk. You didn’t sleep well last night because your new neighbor was up all night pacing in their room. You kept hearing people coming in to check on him, talking with gruff voices that you could hear muffled through the wall. Although, you could hardly hear what they were saying. You didn’t want to intrude on their privacy.

You are glad that it happened though, because you now realize that you can’t be as loud as you once used to be while in your room. That house has always been empty since you moved in not long ago, but on one ever came by or even visited so you assumed that it was just vacant for some reason. That was until you saw four big military men moving in, you assume they’re on leave for an unknown amount of time. Your room is the furthest down the hall from the stairs, a bathroom next to you separating you from your roommates room and an office across that ensured your solitude. You were used to being able to be on the louder side, no one was close enough to hear it. But now, your neighbors are and you have to be careful

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive home is quiet, only the sound of your car that is hardly running because you don’t make enough money to pay rent, buy food, and do literally anything else. Someone had stolen your radio, which you find odd because what is someone going to do with a beat up old car radio? Omegas were used to belonging to an alpha that took care of those needs so they never really needed money. Most jobs that omegas had were just so they had somewhere to be while their alpha was at work. But you are working for yourself, sometimes your roommates help you out, but you hate having to ask them. Omegas that didn't have a pack truly were lost, most benefit from being part of one. This being said, you didn’t have enough money to buy a new radio, so you sat in silence.

You are too afraid of alphas to even consider being part of a pack, only if there was no alpha. Packs with no alphas were a rare sight, hardly ever making it work in the long run. Alphas are natural born leaders, even if they are unsure of themselves, it’s their instinct to always do what they think is best. Sometimes, what they thought was necessary was cruel. Which is why you avoid them, they’re unpredictable and much more powerful than you.

Due to your status, alphas are able to control omegas in a sense. If they use their tone just right, it scratches something in omegas brains that almost forces them to listen. It's instinctual, there's nothing you can really do to stop it. But, if an omega is too scared of the alpha, too fearful for their own life, they can ignore the instinct. The instinct to stay alive is much stronger. Though, alphas hardly use their commanding tone, funnily enough because it strains their voices to do it.

It sounds like the gears in your car are grinding together, the sound becoming obnoxious as you drive. It always takes your car an abnormal amount of time to get going and it chugs up hills, not being able to catch the necessary gear to make it easily up them. You have to let your foot off the gas most of the time for it to be able to change gears, even though your car is an automatic. You gave up a long time ago trying to make your car smell nice, it always smelled like burning oil, meaning there was a leak somewhere. Probably an expensive one, wish is why you haven’t done anything about it.

There is not much you can do about it right now, you brought it to a mechanic and they gave you a quote that was astronomically out of budget. It was also probably a bit higher than it would be if you had been an alpha or a beta. Mechanics always give omegas a hard time because they’re easy to take advantage of. One time, you went to the mechanic with your roommate, who is a beta, and they charged her fifteen dollars less than they charged you for an oil change.

You can see your house from the entrance of your neighborhood, relief filling you as you get closer to your safe place. But as you pull into your driveway, the now familiar smell of alpha fills your nose, coming from the house attached next to yours. It was a mix of tobacco, patchouli, vanilla and mahogany. It makes your skin form tiny goosebumps all over your arms and legs. An odd mix of smells that somehow all complimented each other. But despite your body’s initial reaction, you can't help but feel panic rise in your body. There were two and it smelled like one of them was not in a good mood at all. It had been like this for a few days, you coming home to smelling angry alpha.

It hasn’t gotten easier in the days following them showing up, you are constantly scared out of your mind that you are going to end up meeting these scary smelling alphas. You wonder why they are constantly upset, you know they had at least one beta since you are able to smell him through your shared wall some nights. It only makes you more jittery with the uncertainty that you feel. You can tell that your scent is souring.

As you sit there in your car, trying to get your things together while moving pretty frantically, something catches your eye while you’re taking the key out of the ignition. Your eyes widen and the back of your neck tingles slightly as you see someone inside their car who was also, assumingly, coming home from work and about to get out of the car.

You’re frozen in place and all you can think about is what could happen, all the things that could happen to an omega when faced with an angry alpha. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as panic filled your body. All you could smell were the two alphas, it felt like it was flooding every inch of your nose. You felt like you’d never be able to forget their scents. You can’t tell if the person in the car is someone you need to look out for or not, but you don’t want to stay long to figure it out.

It is a tall man you can tell, you can’t tell their status yet and you aren’t about to go up to him and ask. Your vision isn’t the best and you don’t have your glasses on, plus having to look through two windows. Actually getting a good look at him felt impossible. It looks like he has a mohawk, in his mid to late twenties. He looks like a rough guy, a five o’clock shadow covering his face. His muscles stretch in his shirt because of the angle he's sitting at. He seems distracted by a laptop he has in the car. You can’t help but wonder why he has a computer in his car like that.

You panic, looking away to gather the rest of your stuff quickly, you book it inside. The slam of your car door probably immediately gave away your location, but you can’t care less about that now that you’re close to the house. You already have your key out when you get to the door, quickly slotting in the key and twisting to unlock it. You push open the door, your breath quick, hoping that the man didn’t see you. Closing the door behind you, you scurry to set your stuff down, wanting to get as far away from the smell of alpha as you can get.

A sigh escapes you as you reach the safety of your home, relishing in the familiar scent of your two roommates. You take a deep breath as you try to rid your nose of the lingering angry alpha scent. You lock the door behind you and hang up your coat and purse, which you had thrown your keys in, making your way towards the living room where you can hear the tv going. There, one of your roommates, and long time friend, Jasmine sits watching some show you don’t care about. Her long body is splayed out on the couch seat as her arms rested on the back, facing away from you as you enter the room.

Today is one of her days off, so she is just relaxing. From what she tells you, her job is very stressful. She says that she has to deal with angry alphas all day who are constantly on the edge of fighting. Something about being a mediator of some kind. It makes you wonder how many times you coming up to the table has stopped a fight from breaking out. Or how many times the alphas weren’t actually mad at you, but at each other. Fights broke out all the time at the restaurant you worked in, nobody ever did anything after they were broken up, which is why a lot of business meetings are held there.

“Welcome home, Hun.” She calls out, looking over her shoulder to see you walking towards her with a relieved look on your face. “How was work? Smells like it wasn't too good.” She asks, the following words referring to the lingering smell of angry alpha coming from your clothing. The tone of her voice is soft, like she's trying not to break you. Her head and eyes follow you as you make your way around the couch, hands immediately reaching out when she smells how stressed you are. The beta instincts inside her head tell her to help calm you down.

You let out a sigh and sit down next to her, leaning your head on her shoulder, leaning into her comfortable embrace. You can smell her calming cinnamon scent, reminding you of the cinnamon rolls your mom used to make when you were younger. “Why does everyone blame me for the issues that the kitchen causes?” You ask rhetorically in a whine, trying to relax in her reassuring hold. You just want to be able to relax in the betas presence after a stressful day at work. It was almost like a ritual at this point. You come home stressed, she works her magic, and you go on about your day feeling a bit better than before. Tonight seems to be the exception.

 A laugh comes from Jasmine, making you whine in embarrassment despite her hand comfortingly playing with your hair. “Stop laughing..” You mutter, playing with the strings coming off a tiny rip in your black pants, smelling her scent getting stronger as she continues to try and calm you down “I’m sorry, puppy.” She says through lingering giggles, pushing her knee against yours to try and lighten the mood. “It's just that complaining about your waitressing job is such an omega thing to complain about.” She continues to laugh, her head falling back slightly and her hand in your hair stilling, making you pout. Her words felt like she only thought of you as an omega, not seeing the person below the status. Her scent does nothing to help your stressed mind, no matter how hard she tries to project it.

You stand up and let out a frustrated sigh, Jasmine's hold falling from you. Her eyebrows furrow slightly and you have to look away so you don’t feel bad for standing your ground. Jasmine was the only person you are comfortable enough with to do it. “You’re being mean,” You mumble, walking away to your room which resides upstairs. Jasmine turns her head to look over her shoulder at you as you walk away. “Aw, come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” She calls out, not receiving a response back to you. She lets out a slight groan, making a mental note to make it up to you later as she turns her attention back to her show.

Once you get upstairs, you walk down the hall towards your room while tears gather in your eyes. You just feel so stressed out and everything is so overwhelming, you just want to curl up in your bed. Just wanting to forget about how worthless you felt in a world that doesn’t appreciate omegas for the treasure that they are. You hope that you can keep your emotions under control until you are in your room.

You pass by Jasmine's room first which was obviously empty, then you pass your other roommates room. Their door was closed, you don’t bother asking them for help, they just moved in and you barely know them. You open your door and quietly shut it behind you, toeing your shoes off as you start to sniffle. You let out a few whimpers and shuffle your shoes with your foot off to the side and out of the way, starting to let the tears fall down your puffy cheeks.

You keep your crying down to whimpers and sniffles, occasionally letting out a sad whine. You remember hearing your neighbor last night, you don’t want them to hear you crying. Your room starts to really smell like sour oranges, like drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. You took your shirt, pants, and shoes off, shuffling to bed and curling under the covers as you cry your stress away. Eventually your breathing evens out and you are reduced to sniffles as you slowly fall asleep. To be fair, you were still feeling the emotional side effects of your heat which ended three days ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny sits in his car after having to go into a weekly training session, the superiors demanding they stay in peak physical condition even while they are on leave.  Their superiors make them alternate weeks doing it together and doing it alone. They say they want to make sure they can still handle themselves when they aren’t together. Dysfunctional packs aren’t welcome in their field of work, always being forcibly split even if they had been together before joining.

He’s filling out his activity sheet that they have to email to Price every week, so that he could send it to their superiors, when your sweet orange scent fills Johnny’s nose. He’d been smelling you since they arrived, through the wall of his bedroom unluckily. He thanks the gods that he isn’t an alpha and can control himself better. Your scent would have driven him crazy by now if he wasn’t a beta. There was a tinge to your scent, smelling like oranges that had been left in the car for too long. He glances over at you, seeing you quickly getting out of your car with a panicked look on your face. He watches as you slam your car door and book it inside, he can practically see the trail of dust that follows in your wake from how quickly you moved. He wonders why you were so stressed out.

He wishes he could have seen more of you, only being able to see a glimpse of your face before your hair fell in the way. You looked so small and fragile as you scurried away, Johnny felt his body tense at the sight of an omega in distress. He wishes for nothing more than to wrap his thick arms around you and wash his scent over you as you relax in his hold. But by the looks of how you ran away like that, it isn’t really an option. He wonders what's got you so worked up. His brain immediately went to the worst possible scenarios. The thought of you having an abusive alpha crosses his mind, making his chest tighten.

He knows that there are no alphas in the house attached to his, at least he’s never smelled one. He knew there was you, the omega, and there were two betas. He assumes you three are a growing pack since it was originally just the one beta and how there are two new additions. The three of you being roommates never crossed his mind, almost like his brain was keeping him from getting attached to you. He couldn’t have you if you already had a pack.

He wastes no time sending the sheet to John and gathering his things so he can head inside, he has little to no patience waiting for what's his. He eagerly gets out of the car and goes inside, he's excited to see his pack after a long training day. He pushes open the door and the first person he sees is Kyle, who is in the kitchen cooking up dinner.

He goes up behind the slightly shorter beta and wraps his arms around his torso, shoving his face into Kyle’s neck to breathe his coconut scent in deeply. It always made his mouth water, having to swallow a few times so he doesn't drool. Makes him crave a pina colada. Johnny feels his muscles relax as he watches Kyle cook, his chin and nose pressing against the crook of his neck. He starts to sway slightly, relishing in the feeling of his bonded beta being close. “Mised ye..” Johnny mumbled against Kyle’s skin. Kyle responded by leaning his head against Johnny’s.

A deep growl comes from the entrance of the kitchen, making the hair on the back of  both of the betas' necks stand up. “No’ going to gree’ your alpha?” A gruff voice grumbles from the archway. Johnny smiles and turns to see Simon, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Simon is big on respect for alphas, though he isn’t too strict about it and is never mean about it. There is a dark glimmer in Simon's eyes as Johnny lets go of Kyle, Johnny placing a gentle kiss to the side of his head to soothe the whine that slips from Kyle’s throat. Simon tilts his head up and sniffs the air, only being able to smell coconut, this makes him growl lowly again.

Johnny practically bounds over to Simon, squeezing him tight in a bear hug despite how angry he looks.. “O course ah'm gaun tae, LT.” He holds back laughter at the older alpha's recent possessiveness. He purrs as Simon's arms wrap around him, similarly to how he had just done Kyle. “Ya smell like scen’ blocker.” Simon states bluntly as he buries his nose in Johnny’s mohawk, trying to catch a whiff of the freshly cut grass he is used to smelling. “Shower, now.” Simon orders, his tone holding authority as he pushes Johnny away gently by his shoulders. Simon may be rough and it seems like he isn't happy, but the pack has learned that it's just the way he loves. Johnny doesn't waste any time getting upstairs and to his bathroom, passing by John’s office.

“Pup.” A frustrated sounding alpha calls from inside, making Johnny turn on his heel to peak his head into Price’s office. “Whit’s botherin ye, alpha?” The scot asks, knowing exactly what the pack leader needed. Comfort from his beta. Price looked exhausted, dark bags under his eyes and cigar buds all over his desk. There was so much smoke in the air that his office was hazy, and it reeked of tobacco. His gaze lifts from the paperwork and meets Johnny’s, his eyes are fiery. It isn’t often that Price is in this kind of mood, but when he was it was for good reason.

Price’s nose cringes as the smell of scent blocker enters his nose instead of cut grass. The scent blocker mixes with the Patchouli and strong tobacco scent, making Price growl loudly. “Go shower firs’.” He grumbles, turning his attention back to the mound of paperwork on his desk. “Aye.” Johnny responds before slipping away. He could feel the frustration radiating from Price's office, leaving feeling a little bit worried for the alpha.

Johnny snickers slightly at his two alphas, finding it funny how much they hate smelling scent blockers inside their home. He hurries to his bathroom, now that he has orders from both of his alphas, stripping his clothes off so he can get in the shower. He knows better than to keep Price waiting when he obviously needs a betas touch.

His shower was quick, years of military training taught him to do so easily. He steps out of the shower and wraps one towel around his waist while he uses another to dry his hair. He leaves the bathroom to be met with the smell of sour oranges, almost causing him to double over when his instincts kick in. He lets out a strained groan and sits on his bed, holding onto his knees as he tries to calm himself. He can tell your crying, the smell of your stress seeping through the wall. Your scent was so strong, there was no reason he should be able to smell it as well as he can. His chest tightens knowing that there was nothing that he can do to help you, he wonders why your pack wasn’t doing anything to help you.

There is a sharp knock at his door and the scent of pine enters in nose. It’s Simon. Johnny knows that if Simon comes in here and smells an omega in distress, things won't go very well. Especially when that omega smells so close to his beta. “hold on noo, big fella. I haenae even had the chance tae put on ma clothes.” He calls out, having to hold back the panicked twinge in his voice. He stands up quickly and throws on the closest clean clothes that he could reach, the colors completely miss-matched.

“Hurry up.” He could hear Simon bark from the other side of the door, sounding like he is pressed right against the door and very frustrated. It bothers Simon when members of his pack don’t allow him access to their space, but he knows they deserve to be alone sometimes so he never pushes. Only sometimes when he’s being extra possessive and needy. Simon just needs to know what's happened to feel secure, to know that everything is okay and he has everything under control. But today he seems very pushy about it compared to other days.

Johnny goes over to the door and slips out quickly, not wanting to open the door wide enough that your scent would hit Simon too hard. He looks slightly up at Simon while holding, afraid of his reaction. A million things can happen in the next few seconds. Simon’s eyes darken slightly, his muscles tensing under the tight shirt he has on. “Ya still smell like omega.” Simon grumbles, pulling Johnny closer to sniff him. A slight growl left Simon's lips, his nose cringing at the unfamiliar smell and sour twinge to it.

Johnny fills with anxiety, hoping that Simon doesn’t realize that the smell is coming from his room. Or even worse, thinks that he’s hiding an omega from them all. His scent shifts from smelling fresh to smelling like it rained right after the grass got cut and it got all muddy and weird smelling. A low grumble emanates from Simon’s chest. “Relax, beta.” He almost snaps, his eyes shooting daggers into Johnny’s. “If you needed me to scen’ ya to finish up the cleaning, all ya had to do was ask.” He grumbles, his rough voice sounding softer now as he grabs Johnny’s wrists. All Simon thought of the situation was that Johnny trained near an omega and still smelled like them.

Simon rubs Johnny’s wrists against the scent glands on either side of his neck, his eyes sharp underneath the balaclava as he stares at Johnny. He always felt like Simon was staring into his soul, like he could read his mind. Simon takes his time, making sure by the end of this that Johnny would reek of him. His vanilla and mahogany scent covering his beta, just the way he likes it. He drops his wrists and leans into Johnny, doing his best to rub his scent into his neck and the side of his face. “Mine.” He growls lowly in Johnny’s ear, his hands moving to hold his hips. Simon pulls him closer, pulling him into his chest. “Can’ have ya smelling like a needy omega.” He grumbles.

Simon was weird about omegas. To Johnny, it seems like Simon thinks they’re too much work, not worth the trouble. But it’s not the case in reality, he just can’t see the benefits of having any one new in their already seemingly perfect pack. The truth is, alphas benefit greatly from having an omega to take care of. If you set expectations of your pack dynamic, like that there will be long periods of time that the omega will be without their pack, omegas aren't too much to handle. Alphas need to treat omegas with care for them to be happy and healthy, and Simon is not the most caring person. Johnny thinks that he’s scared and won't admit it, to them or himself.

Johnny rolls his eyes at Simon, which earns him a sharp smack to the back of his upper thigh. “Don’ be getting feisty now, Price needs to see ya.” Simon reminds the smaller beta, finally letting him go so he can take care of the pack alpha. Johnny can't help but notice the way Simon’s eyes watch him longingly, wishing he was able to command Johnny to stay with him.  Johnny can immediately sense this, shooting a smile to Simon. “Dinnae go thinking I forgo’ aboot ye, Si. A’ll come see ye whan A’m duin.” Johnny reassures the moody alpha, his hands resting comfortingly on his forearms before he slips away.

When Johnny got to Price’s office, Kyle was already coming out. He reeked of an alpha in distress. Johnny was immediately filled with dread. If Kyle couldn’t do it, neither can he. Kyle has always been better about this kind of stuff and now they were replying on Johnny to fix it. “Whit’s gotten intae him? Ye couldn’t help?” The scot asked, worry bubbling underneath his eyes. Kyle looked just as worried as Johnny was, scratching at his nose to help rid of the stench that Price was giving off. “I don’ know, he won’ calm down.” Kyle breathes, his eyes softening as he quietly closes the door so he can speak to Johnny a bit more privately. “He’s no’ righ’ in the head space righ’ now, I think there's something wrong with his alpha. Bu’ ya know how old military men are, he’s denying there's anything wrong..” Kyle speaks in a hushed whisper, not wanting Price to hear them talking about him.

Kyle's words don’t help to calm him down, it makes his head fill with endless possibilities of what could be wrong with Price. Kyle senses the stress on his fellow beta, his bonded beta, and pulls him closer. His hand runs though the hair at the base of his mohawk. “You’re gonna do jus’ fine, Johnny..” Kyle reassures him, projecting his calming coconut scent over the stressed beta. Johnny doesn’t know how Kyle is able to do it so well, but he is immediately calm. He takes a deep breath of the coconut and nods softly. “Aye, ye’re right..” He sighs out softly, filling the tension leaving his body.

Johnny pulls away from Kyle's hold and faces the door to Price’s office. He feels Kyles hand on his lower back as he takes a deep breath and reaches for the handle. He pushes open the door and slips inside, being hit quickly by the musky smell of tobacco stinking up the room. It’s hazy in the small space, cigar wrappers littering the ground. The smell of tobacco is so strong, from the cigars and from Price, that it makes Johnny want to cough.

“Alpha..” Johnny speaks softly, walking over to Price who was hunched over his desk. Johnny’s hands brush over his back and grip his shoulders. “youre puttin tui much stress on yersel, sir. war supposit tae be on partial lea.” He reminds the frustrated alpha, starting to roughly massage Price's shoulders. “This doesn't luik lik partial lea tae me.” He points out, letting his scent wash over the frustrated alpha

Price straightens out and lets his shoulders relax so that Johnny could get to his tense muscles better. “Somethings no’ right, pup.” He grumbles, his hand gripping the pen tightly in his large hand. It looked like he was about to break the plastic in half. Johnny imagines how it would set Price off to be covered in ink, so he gently takes it from his hand.

This causes Price to growl softly, a small warning. “Give i’ back, now.” He grumbled, his shoulders growing tense even under Johnny's magical hands. “nae can do, cap’. You're gonna break it.” The scot whispers gently in Price’s ear. “Are ye hungry?” He asks, pressing his front to Price's back as best he can with Price sitting in a chair as he changes the subject. “A smellit Kyle's cuikin whan A cam in.  A think he made soup.” He persuades, leaning down to place small kisses to the side of Price’s head.

Price doesn't say anything as he stands up and makes his way to the door of his office, roughly grabbing the doorknob and swinging the door open. Johnny is surprised by the sudden movement, not expecting it to be so easy to convince him to leave his cave. His hands fall from Price and he stumbles back a bit, being forced to make room for Price’s movements. The smell of his frustration fills the hallway as he stomps down the stairs, Johnny following close behind. A growl erupts from the living room as Prive passes by, coming from Simon in response to the intrusive scent. “Fucks up with you?” Simon asks, his bright blue eyes glaring at Price sharply. Simon tends to struggle when Price’s scent is as strong as it is, which makes it hard for him to remember they’re on the same team, on the field and as a pack.

Price glares back at Simon, huffing a little bit as Simon gets on his already agitated nerves. His fists clench at his sides, having to focus on not lashing out for no good reason. “Watch it, Ghost.” He almost growls, he tone commanding like he was on the field. Simon backs off when he hears his call sign, knowing not to press anymore. Sometimes, they struggle with their shared pack. There is a long silence as the two alphas stare at each other, both aware of the fine line they are walking

Price is the pack alpha, calling all the shots and making all the decisions for the wellbeing of the pack. Simon is an alpha of the pack, but does not have any proper authority as to what happens. The only thing Simon can do to have any say is to talk it out with Price, who always listens but can’t always promise Simon will get what he wants. While their relationship felt fragile, they still worked around it and found their own ways to be vulnerable around each other.

Johnny and Kyle look at each other, a similar look of worry. They aren’t used to feeling so unsure of everything, their alphas feeling so unsure of everything. All they can do is project their scent out to try and cover Price's burnt tobacco. “The food is already on the table.” Kyle broke the uncomfortable silence. “Your favorite, Alpha.” He continues, holding onto Price's arm as he guides him to the dining room.

They eat dinner in tense silence, Price’s eyes watching all of them as he eats, his gaze protective and observant. Simon meets his eyes everytime Price looks at him, realizing something together. Something is missing from their pack, they just can’t seem to put their fingers on it.

[felikatze]

I think Happily Ever After and The Cage both explore some similar topics in inverse ways and once again the Prisoner and the Damsel are twisted mirrors of one another

Pristine Cut spoilers and discussion of abusive relationships below. One suicide mention but it's STP what do you expect tbh

Compilation of rant I went on on discord 👍

prisoner and damsel are very much always parallels since u take the same path to get to them so they're both versions of the princess that you the player Trust, right. and the Greys are a betrayal of that trust if you kill them, and all that. obvs w the prisoner being reluctant trust and the damsel being unconditional because Knife.

but HEA and Cage are both about being Trapped. In Cage, the Princess has seen the same thing happen twice now, she's disillusioned, she's never going to escape. It will be The Same Thing, Forever.

WHICH IS. THE EXACT SAME AS HEA. The Princess believes she is never going to escape. That it will be Just This, Forever. And both of them believe that it *has* to be Just This Forever even if they don't *want* it to be.

Both of this is shown through an Externalized Force. in Cage, that is the Princess' body, which she has conceived as separate from herself. The body simply acts as it must, which she has no input over. Ignoring, of course, that she can *make it stop.*

And that's the same way HEA can't imagine she'll ever escape the Smitten! She's afraid and scared of change, of the torches going out!! But she wants it more than anything!!

Yet these two routes are foils for each other, too. Bcuz in Cage, it's the Princess who enforces the pattern, and in HEA it's the Hero. (part of him, anyways.) What's interesting here too that both of the routes result from a breakdown of communications.

I said in my big long rambly Cage post, but Cage route doesn't happen bcuz Fate, it's bcuz the Princess wants the Hero to carry her head out and he just *doesn't get it.* He just didn't understand what she wanted.

And the leadup to HEA, everyone in Hero's head is upset because they can't communicate to the Princess what is freaking him out, and Smitten tries to... well... show her, I guess.

(Post-rant addition: Hey, both the Prisoned and the Smitten kill themselves to get their points across. Add that to the parallels tally!)

also like abusive relationship metaphors on both ends tbh. Smitten doesn't respect Princess' autonomy at all. I think part of that is the end of Damsel means he doesn't think she *has* any interiority when it's Hero + Paranoid/Opportunist who want the Princess to be a person instead of a doll, which causes her to be a Person Again in HEA. But Smitten is, again, just so stuck on the vision of Damsel who no longer exists.

+ you could also read Damsel chapter in the context of HEA as just seeing that this is the first person who could conceivably save her so she is leaning in HARD to the romance angle because she sees it as the best way to finally get out. Got herself into the romance out of desparation and now she's stuck and regretting it.

So TLDR Smitten doesn't actually respect Princess as a person and just wants her to be this perfect image he has of her, and we see also in HEA how he literally restrains Princess + Hero and deliberately scares Princess when she even dares voice her own opinion. Smitten sucks so bad in this one and it's shit of him but also thematically interesting and again a good escalation of his character.

Cage on the flipside is the typical "I can't help myself" excuse. See, *she's* not at fault here. It's her *body* doing this! Really, nothing could change this. And u see the rebuttal of that angle from the Hero's dialogue options ("You're making a choice. You're choosing violence *right now.*)

No matter how often she says she's just a head, she's still the one who physically restrained the Hero (wow, just like the Smitten!), it's her who refuses to listen to anything the Hero has to say (wonder who that reminds me of), and it's her who is hurting him, on purpose, to feel better about herself.

the "good" endings to these chapters (as much as there are no wrong endings) meaning leaving with the cage's head / dancing with hea under the stars, both of these only occur once Hero/HEA are finally heard and acknowledged. Cage is so rattled that the Hero didn't bring the knife that she finally actually listens to a single word he's got to say and the two can break out, and the final torch in HEA only goes out once Princess says "I'm so tired of this." and has the courage to say what *she* wants and is *listened to.*

in conclusion (x2): STP good 👍 i love you missus the cage

[lbxbx]

Accidentally Yours 2 | JJK

Pair: Jungkook x reader

Summary: revenge never tasted that good when you decide to get back at the man - who ran you over - with the worst punishment he could ever get, and despite all the grudge, maybe some time after, the grudge will gradually turn into something else..?

Genre: e2l, biker jk, series ( a long one.), smut, fluff, angst.

Chapter Warnings: truly cranky oc, douche jk, heavily medicated oc, mentions of sugar babies.

Taglist: @binniesbabe @ennvf

Mood board 1 | Mood board 2

You were informed that by 8 in the morning you’ll be discharged and ready to go home, there wasn’t any need for you to stay for the rest of the day but they just wanted to make sure that your lab tests and other scans are perfectly fine. Natty was an awfully great help but still you wouldn’t tire her with things you could ask Jungkook to do.

“This is your prescription of meds, buy it so you can drive me home.” You hand it to him along with your card, of course you won’t let him pay for it.

He’s hesitant when he grabs the paper and card, feeling a little uneasy that he’s kind of forced to do this, he absolutely regrets getting his bike in the first place, you’re like a nightmare to him.

“Alright.” He leaves the room which leaves Natty piercing his entire figure. “Aren’t you exaggerating this?”

“It wasn’t my idea to begin with, plus he doesn’t have another option, i could so easily just file a lawsuit and he’ll spend at least a year rotting in jail.”

Nat helps you rise before dressing you in the easiest thing you could fit in right now, nothing too extra just a dress with a heavy jacket over it, even if it was freezing cold outside, you wouldn’t risk putting on a pair of pants or leggings.

“Thank you.” You take a second to breathe, you’re still not 1 day post your injury so you’re still not used to being this immobilized, you were sleeping the entire night and the medication they gave you made the pain a little manageable, but right now the pain feels intense and the muscles around your injury are very stiff considering the entire area is swollen.

“Are you okay?” Nat rubs your back, you nod and force a smile, even when you feel a little frustrated and anxious, getting up from bed was always easy but right now it’s a little overwhelming. “I’m alright. Did you get my car?”

“Mhm, it’s parked near the gate so that you don’t have to get rolled in the chair for long.”

Her words felt extremely heavy, you find it hard to accept that you’re going to be have to rolled on a wheelchair.

Gosh, if anything this makes you resent Jungkook even more.

“Are you ready?” Nat asks before supporting your lower half and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Yes, slow please.” You manage to get up and balance on one leg, your injured leg brushes against the floor and you feel as if there’s an electric jolt shocking your entire body which makes you curse on the inside.

Nat helps you turn and sit on the wheelchair before adjusting your leg ever so slowly so you’re comfortable which you know you won’t be for at least the next few months.

You hear a couple knocks on the door and it’s another wave of anger possessing you when you see Jungkook carrying the bag of meds and chewing on a pretzel loud. “Here’s your meds.”

“You.” You breathe again fighting every ounce of anger inside of you, if you could walk you could easily beat his ass up.

He pauses and hardly swallows the bite in his mouth when he sees the look on your face, luckily Natty stands between you two and grabs the bag of meds away from him. “Did you get everything? Shit y/n that’s a whole lot of meds.”

The bag contained at least eight kinds of pills, regular OTC painkillers and other ones that are only used on prescription, two kinds of antibiotics, a muscle relaxant, calcium pills and vitamins. and other drugs that you’ll need along your healing process.

“Let’s just go home.” You clench your jaw and take one quick look at your surroundings, making sure you haven’t left anything behind.

Once you get to the ground floor, you can’t pinpoint what exactly you’re feeling, but it’s a hint of embarrassment combined with so many things, you hardly needed assistance over anything and now you’re being pushed on a wheelchair? You hated being vulnerable.

Jungkook on the other hand watches Natty unlock your car and wonders do you actually own two cars? This one being far more luxurious than the one he saw you riding last night. His jaw drops when Nat opens the car door and he checks out the leather interior.

“One step at a time, ready?” Natty grabs your arm. “Jeon? A little help?”

“Oh — shit yeah, sure.” He takes a step closer and in one quick swift he effortlessly carries you into his arms and puts you into the passenger seat, your leg brushes against the middle console and the jolts of lightning strikes again making you almost curse out loud. “You dumb fu—“

“I didn’t mean to i’m sorry.” He practically didn’t, he was a little too distracted with your car. Natty buckles you in and hands Jungkook the keys. “You drive.”

Jungkook feels overwhelmed and surreal, is he actually going to drive this car? It feels Exhilarating just the idea of him getting behind the steering wheel, “You do have a driver’s license right? Like for cars?” You interrupt, “i don’t want you running someone else over with my car.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and shuts the door to your side and gets into the car, his breath hitches when he turns on the vehicle and his hands finally land on the steering wheel. “So are you secretly rich or what?” He asks shamelessly, whatever went through his brain he just blurted it out. Natty almost chokes on her own spit when she stares at Jungkook. “Just shut up and drive.” At this point you’re exhausted and you miss home, and honestly as soon as he takes the last turn leading to your building it evoked so many feelings inside you.

You were never hospitalized for any reason, and this entire thing that happened last night was really traumatic to you, the stay at the hospital was really stressing and what’s stressing you more is the unstoppable pain that you know you’re not going to have any medical supervision around you to make it easier, and honestly Natty can’t stay here the entire time and of course you can’t trust the man sitting next to you right now.

Considering Jungkook knows where you live he parks right at the entrance of the building and you are welcomed with the gate keeper and his wife holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers. “Welcome back Miss y/l/n. We hope you get well soon.” They rush towards the car and even grab a hold of your hand to rub it. “We’re truly sad about what happened, did you send the guy to jail?”

You side eye Jungkook before forcing a smile to the guards. “I may.”

“Let us help you out—“

“No, don’t mind it really, just get the elevator please.” You gather enough courage to try and move but your leg hurts non stop and you need to take anything to kill the pain like right away.

“Natty lock the car and Jungkook?”

“Yeah?” He’s still distracted running his hands over the buttons of your car

“A little help.”

“Of course.”

-

Day one was a burning hell, not only you were in scorching pain, and it wasn’t only your leg hurting, it was radiating all over your entire body, you were prescribed medicine to numb the pain and it did help, except you were drowsy all the time. If you were on the couch you’d find yourself drifting to sleep, and no matter how hard you try to fight the sleep, you felt your eyelids closing, and your head heavy, your body craved sleep for hours and at this point it doesn’t matter if you’ve eaten anything or not, hence your trips to the bathroom have decreased significantly, so you’re either on the couch sleeping, or in your bedroom, sleeping also.

As for the intruder who you’re trying to make the most out of, he’s at your place most of the time and you still can’t judge if he’s helpful at all or not, and it still doesn’t feel like revenge and when your pain sharpens you feel the urge to break his leg too and finish him. You want to be angry and sometimes you wanna use your voice and be loud but you physically can’t.

Him on the other side, he’s lurking around your place when he shows up, finally finding out that you were in fact filthy rich, every inch in his body is itching with curiosity wanting to know what on earth do you do for a living.

Tonight you were sitting in your living room in front of the fire place, your mental and physical well being is not doing so well tonight, nausea hits again along with pain, this time you know you can’t hold back the vomit. Even your cat Coco is alert and she’s hovering around you.

Not to mention the minute Jungkook walked inside your house she was hissing at him non stop, almost as if she knew how much you resented the man.

Jungkook’s holding the bag of meds looking through the pills with slight panic. “Didn’t they give you anything for nausea?” He’s about to lose his mind and he gets really iffy and hates hearing anyone hurl or vomit. “What do i do?”

“I don’t know perhaps watch the road?” You bite at him and karma bites you right back and you gag, he quickly thinks before emptying the meds out of the bag and hands it to you.

Nothing managed to escape your stomach because there wasn’t anything there to begin with. “Shouldn’t you call your friend?”

“And what are you here for? “ you gag again and cough,

“She could be a better help than I am.”

You pull out a tissue and clean your mouth before falling back against the couch. “I fucking hate you.”

Coco jumps right onto your belly and crawls next to your head, her paw landing onto your hair, you hold her closer and rub her back, “I’m alright Coco don’t worry.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and disgustingly holds the bag to throw it into the bin. “I think you should get something to eat.” He suggests before mumbling to himself. “And take your meds and get back to sleep.”

“What did you say?” You were skeptical and you thought you heard him say something

“I said you should get something to eat.” He looks you dead in the eye before pointing to his own ear. “Listen.” He enunciates.

Honestly one look at the man and you’re genuinely cringing, his general attire is all baggy and dark, his hair is either frizzy and curled up or covered in a beanie that you’re assuming it stinks. Thankfully he didn’t get really close so you can smell him, and now you’re not the one to judge, you’re day two without washing up and you desperately need a shower.

“Your friend got you a pot of soup this morning while you’re sleeping.” He mentions before taking a quick glance around. “Don’t be mad but i kinda had two bowls because it smelled incredible—“

You

Were

Cranky!

You were never mad over food but he’s pushing all your buttons at this moment, everything about him is making your insides boil even more than before. And now the soup that was brought home for you is two bowls less than it actually is.

Okay, breathe, you need to breathe.

The angrier you get the more your pain feels worse. “You did what?”

“I had some of your… soup?” He unsurely speaks. “Oh so i guess you’re mad.”

Your eyes scan the room quickly before they land on your crutches that are way across the room leaned against the wall, if you could walk you would’ve shoved them right up his—

“I’ll go get you some.” He rushes and the moment he’s out of your sights you immediately feel yourself calming down, you kind of wish you just put him into jail or something instead of having him right there in front of you almost the entire time.

Fuck your pain is getting worse and all through yesterday not a single complaint about the pain escaped your lips but for now, you’re groaning and screeching, your hand collecting the blanket that’s been covering you into your fists. It feels like the bone is penetrating your skin and constant waves of stabbing pain are felt through your entire leg.

You’ve been through pain before but nothing was like what you were experiencing right now, you closed your eyes shut and tried to breathe the pain away but it was useless. “Shit”

And before you know it your eyes well in tears even when you did your best to hold them back, “Please god, make it stop.” You breathe again, the echoing pain is truly overwhelming and it’s something you’ve never felt before.

Jungkook walks out of the kitchen holding a bowl of soup, he thought he heard you saying something, “You called?” But his mouth falls when he actually sees your tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Your crying grows louder, the sound a mix of frustration, fear, and when you look at Jungkook a pinch ( if not more) of anger is in your voice too.

Jungkook stands a few feet away and he’s completely frozen in guilt, the hot bowl in his hands may have burned him but that doesn’t matter now. He watches you in silence, his doe eyes wide with regret, his hands even start shaking.

“It’s getting worse every second.” You sob again, your fists tightening around the blanket.

Jungkook swallows hard his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this— I—“ He steps forward hesitantly, torn between wanting to help and fear he’ll probably make this worse. He takes a couple steps closer and takes a seat on the floor next to you, “Listen to me, you need to have some soup so we can give you the pain killers, okay? You can’t have it on an empty stomach.” He puts the bowl onto his lap before offering you a spoonful, “work with me y/n, just a couple of bites and i’ll give you the pill.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow that supported your head and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, your head shakes left and right before you breathe. “I can’t take it anymore, just call someone or take me back to the hospital—“

“We are not going there.” He puts the bowl down onto the coffee table before looking you in the eyes. “The doctors said it’s okay to experience the pain, if you’re not eating before your pill then you’re on your own i can’t do anything more than what i’m already doing.”

So he’s gonna leave you twist in pain even when he’s the reason for all of this?

So you had to give up and take a few spoonfuls of your soup before finally taking the meds that were prescribed after your meal.

And not even 20 minutes after, you were in deep sleep like nothing even happened.

And Jungkook finally has his moment of peace and silence in front of the fireplace, he gets back up to head to the kitchen and puts the bowl into the dishwasher before grabbing himself a beer and looking around the house. He finds Coco making her way into the hallway and watches him move around, before carelessly stretching and falling asleep next to your pair of taken off socks, or sock actually. “Good girl.”

You’re in deep sleep that even if someone shot a grenade next to you, you wouldn’t even flinch. So this is probably his opportunity to take a look around your very spacious place.

He looks around, some of his friends own penthouses but yours was very high end and cozy at the same time, the view to the city was incredible and the materials and decor used around your place are really mesmerizing, a couple stairs up and the first door he sees he opens it, apparently it’s your bedroom and it had the same view, his jaw drops when he gets into your walk in closet and sees the amount of expensive jewelry and clothes that are stacked there, he’s never seen anything like this before.

A couple more steps towards the end of the corridor he finds another room and he’s a little taken back when he realizes that the door to this room was locked, he finds it a bit strange that even when you live on your own you still lock some doors, unless you’re keeping something inside that mustn’t be seen.

His tongue runs on the side of his cheek before he takes a tour around the rest of the house, checking out the guests rooms, the entertainment center and the wine seller slash bar, finally finishing off with the terrace, it’s freezing cold outside and it’s snowing so it’s impossible to go outside, but from what he can see is that you probably have people over occasionally, the pool that is currently closed and the barbecue grill along with the patio furniture is why he assumed that. It must have cost you a fortune!

He takes another trip back to the kitchen before opening the cabinets, his stomach is starting to growl.

You on the other hand, you want to wake up— scratch that, you need to wakeup, you’re seconds away from peeing yourself and you know your trip to bathroom will take at least 10 minutes on the way.

It feels like someone superglued your eyes shut because they weigh a ton! You have to pee and it’s urgent.

“Nat?” It hits you seconds later that Nat isn’t staying at your place tonight, once you see Jungkook walking of the kitchen with his cheek half full and a bag of flaming hot Cheetos in his hand. “Oh no, you’re up?”

You wouldn’t risk rolling your eyes because you know you’ll fall back to sleep. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Listen woman, i heard you vomit a couple hours ago i don’t think i can hear your stream. We’re not there yet.” He smacks chew on the cheeto in his mouth and honestly you wish your crutches were closer once again. “You know what Jeon i don’t want you here either for the record, maybe putting you in jail would’ve been easier.”

“Yeah, i’m starting to think so too.” He huffs and puts the bag of cheetos down on the coffee table, he inches closer and stretches his hand to help you but you cringe and look up at him. “Your fingers have cheetos on them—“

And before you even finish he doesn’t think twice before putting his finger into his mouth and licking it clean. What a pig.

“Just go wash your hands.” You whine and he just stands there. “I thought you wanted to pee.”

“Yeah, wash your hands first Jeon, i’m not touching you when your hand is full of spit mixed with cheeto.” Just the idea is making you about to hurl out your insides.

“But i’m not done with my chips yet.”

Your insides are boiling with anger and you’re looking for something to throw at him but you can’t find anything. “You can get back to pigging on the chips when I'm done, you even invaded my pantry for crying out loud.”

He takes one last glance at you covered up with your unreasonably over priced blanket before he heads over to the bathroom, you hear the water running and it does nothing but trigger your urgency even more. That’s it you’re not sure you can hold it in anymore, but you’re sure that washing his hands shouldn’t take that long.

“Jeon hurry.” You breathe and relax trying to distract yourself but you’re starting to get cold sweats.

A couple minutes after he walks back and finally supports you to get up. “Alright rich girl, one trip to your bathroom and I just found out that hermes now make bath towels.”

“Shut it.” You find it hard to talk when you’re focusing on your bladder and walking slowly.

“Like do you really have to buy an expensive towel for your guests to dry their hands? How rich are you?”

“It’s not that expensive.” You take one step at a time, your throbbing pain feels a little further away since you took your painkillers not long ago.

“Yeah? Like how much?”

“I don’t recall, probably 300 bucks a towel or something-“

“For a stupid towel? rich people are really dumb.” He scoffs. “What exactly do you do for a living?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re ever going to get to the point where you find out personal shit about me.”

“Yeah, sure. I get to hear you vomit and take a piss but I don’t get to find out what you do?” He exclaims, “Besides, I practically stay here the entire day, you haven’t mentioned work not even once.”

“Yeah, because you’re a stranger.”

“But hey really, what do you do? you have expensive slippers for your bathroom too for the love of god.”

You stop for a second, trying to make something up. “I do stock and online trading.”

“Is that lingo for drugs or money laundering?” He did sound serious when he asked the question, which made you turn your head towards him and squint your eyes. “And you called me dumb.”

“No for real, what do you do?” You finally get to the bathroom, he helps you inside and stands behind the door waiting for you to pull down your pants so he can walk back in and help you sit on the toilet.

It really makes you feel uneasy, but you have to get used to it.

He stands outside while you do your job with his arms crossed. “So is your father rich?”

“Nope.” You’re taking your time on the toilet seat, and Jungkook is still curious wanting to get an answer. “Are you someone’s sugar baby or something? People are doing this kind of shit now.”

“Can you shut up for a second?” You need to have your moment of peace and quiet, and Jeon fatass still itches for the answer that you’re not going to give.

-

It’s right after your second trip to the bathroom when you fall into deep sleep onto your bed, it’s still early in the evening but you called it a night. It’s really exhausting having to deal with someone like him but you can’t let him get away with things easy.

You were generous enough to offer him one of your guests' rooms considering he had to stay with you in case you needed anything, but the night is still young to him and he cannot and will not stay still if it costs him his life.

If he’s not in his room he’d be in the kitchen digging into your pantry, checking out your canned goods and stash of potato chips and chocolate bars, his jaw never stopped moving from the minute he stepped foot into your house.

If he wasn’t being a pig in your pantry he’d be doing pushups in front of your television, his music playlist playing out loud which you wouldn’t worry about because your walls can block any noise.

If he wasn’t doing pushups he’d be holding your bag of meds, emptying them all out into one of the pill organizers Natty got you, he got a little too distracted reading your vitamin leaflet, which he ended up taking a pill for his own. And he finally fell asleep right after taking one last walk around your house, making sure the lights are out and the kitchen is clean.

——

The next day you were up earlier than you thought, your painkillers altered your sleeping schedule, you would regularly sleep for eight to nine hours, but after your pills, you can stay asleep for at least twelve hours straight and you’d still wake up wanting more.

Your morning routine went well with the assistance of Jeon fatass who was kind enough to help you wash your hair and brush your teeth, your friends are visiting this afternoon so the least you can do is smell nice.

It was only Seokjin and Yoongi coming to visit and Natty followed right after with Hoseok, they were all kind enough to get you both flowers and gifts, some even got you a home cooked meal.

“I hope you get better quick, there’s this snow bombing festival happening in Austria and we have to go there, it’s right up your alley!” Seokjin rubs Coco’s back as she lays in his lap, she’s really familiar with your friends.

“I thought we were attending the cherry blossom season here this year since we missed it last year.” Hoseok was kind enough to debone the chicken thigh that’s been soaking in hot soup, giving you small bites every now and then. “Since y/n would still be fresh out of her injury, I bet she won’t be able to hike for a while.”

“Not with your allergies,” You giggle and playfully hit his arm which makes him laugh and quickly give up on his idea.

Jungkook has been sitting around, his legs crossed, listening to your conversation and feeling totally out of place, all this rich people talk didn’t make sense to him. One second you’d mention the next trip on your schedules, the minute after Yoongi talks about the insanely expensive watch he got, and how he almost lost it while sky diving in Jeju.

“What about you Jungkook? Have you traveled somewhere?” Natty can sense his discomfort and she was kind enough to be inclusive and try making him fit in since he’s going to be around for a while. But he’s pretty sure he won’t, and he honestly didn’t care if he doesn’t.

“Mhm. Yeah.” Jungkook crosses his fingers onto his own lap. “Last summer, it was extravagant.”

“Oh yeah? Where to? It has to be somewhere cold, I know people who can’t handle the summer heat here in Seoul.” Seokjin still massages Coco’s neck before looking at Jungkook, everyone’s all ears willing to find out where he went.

“Busan.”

And it feels like he cracked one of the funniest jokes ever, Hoseok almost falls onto the floor laughing, and Seokjin’s tears even roll onto his cheeks, Natty almost chokes on her own spoonful of soup, and Yoongi just cackles.

Only you’re sitting there watching him with a straight face. You had some assumptions on this man and you know they may be right. It’s been a couple of days since you met him, and you already know that he’s nothing like he claims he is.

“But hey for real, where’d you go?”

Jungkook laughs subtly before repeating his answer. “Busan. It’s my hometown.” He mentions it as a matter of fact, which leaves your friends’ mouth wide open and they listen attentively, waiting for him to say that he was joking.

“One of my favorite cities of all time. And it’s like a four hour drive.”

Once the attention is diverted off of him, you still follow him with your eyesight, seeing him scratching behind his ear and grabbing out his phone from his pocket, it was only until now you noticed he has a fully tatted sleeve. his piercings caught your attention first the day before, but the tattoos.

You had one yourself on your upper thigh, but his arm seemed a little too much to you, you were never the person to judge people, but Jungkook? What was there to not judge?

[causenessus]

I HIT 30 TAGS BC THIS WAS AN AMAZING CHAPTER AND HAS ME SO PUMPED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER EGGY!! PLEASE THE CLIFFHANGER I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (no pressure at all!! also omg I cannot tell you how much I missed maneater <3 like ig I just realized it but I just LIVE for how iwa and yn banter THIS IS LOWKEY MY FAVORITE SMAU YOU'VE WRITTEN EGGY EXCEPT I CAN'T SAY THAT BECAUSE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS MY FAVORITE THING EVER BUT THIS IS SO GOOD!! AND AS U CAN TELL I HAD MORE TO DAY BUT TUMBLR WOULDN'T LET ME BUT THIS WAS SO GOOD <33)

THE MANEATER CHAPTER SIX: phantom

masterlist

divider credits to roseraris

extras!

akaashi was in yn's room trying to lace up a leather corset for like twenty entire minutes

he said i am a better friend than oikawa and i am going to prove it

sometimes yn goes through these periods of getting worn out from her job (staying up all night on her feet and drinking and then going home to get just a couple hours of sleep before she gets back up again to work on her mixes)

for the most part she's able to maintain a routine that works well for her but occasionally it just catches up to her and brain stops working like normal

iwaizumi has another job at the velvet bar from @causenessus's smau tonics which you should absolutely read if u havent already

maneater goth night playlist

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @iheartpinky @mollyrolls @yogurtkags @yuminako @michivrse @19calicos @sunnyskiezzzz @bailey-reeds @staileykout @kitskasoboring @loverlunaire @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @karasyuu @aquariarose @torkorpse @wave2mia @southernfrogprincesd @mfcherry @adorerinn @soulfullystarry @jaynawayna

[buwheal]

I bet you would hurt your back, carrying around that million dollar smile like you do.

[mrpenguinpants]

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!!!!

I see a lot of ads for Reverse 1999 but I didn't realize it came out global! I've been wanting to look at it bc it looks SO COOL

-Lucky

I'm dragging my barely alive corpse through the mud. I think I posted about reverse 1999 like- 4 months ago. Oops. But if you did play it, thoughts? To be honest, it's a super pretty game. Characters look nice, the animations are fucking great, and I really like the art style. Everything else is pretty fucking meh for me.

[halfelven]

love random not even logged in readers just dropping their 'constructive criticism' on your 100k+ story that you're putting online entirely for free. this is just a rant btw

"You obviously have a great talent and I think you should work on honing it some. As much as I’ve enjoyed the story, there are a few things that stand out that you might consider looking at. I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven? It doesn’t flow smoothly because sometimes we have these wonderful character vignettes, like Illumi and Kalluto on a road trip or Kite/Leorio/Gon/Killua in an apartment where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats, like Kalluto and the spiders. In addition, it contributes to confusion because sometimes we see established characterization turned on its head. Especially the weird way everyone all of a sudden just sort of was OK with Kalluto being a spider and then working with Illumi when they just went to all that trouble to escape him? It all kind of feels forced and not natural. You know?

Anyway, I’ll definitely keep reading and look forward to seeing what happens."

first: love you trying to sound legitimate with your "in addition" like this is some kind of writer's workshop. second: in what way would I, the writer, think that an incomplete part of my story in which the reader does not yet know most of the main motivations (they are only hinted at so far) feels forced and not natural when I know what's happening, where it is going (and where I haven't had other readers comment with confusion about that part)

and moving on. don't do this. also like i said this is a wip in and no, no one is cool with Kalluto being a spider and no they're not cool working with Illumi, really. it was already established that some of them /have/ been working with Illumi before this~ he's someone that they know. like have you never been in a seriously dangerous situation that you just have to get through before you get back to what you want?*** also at this point Chrollo's real motive hasn't been entirely revealed.

Killua keeps changing his mind about what he's doing because he's a scared kid whose self-hatred is destroying him from the inside out. the POV is so tight that I have to keep dropping reminders that what is stated in the narrative is often not true! Illumi's POV, for example, keeps showing Killua as really loving him and being happy he's around but struggling with a desire for freedom, while with Killua's POV he's terrified of Illumi most of the time. like how is that not obviously a distorted POV where you can't trust the narrator?

"where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats"

this part is especially irritating because it's like yeah that's how I want to write it? this isn't a published novel. I don't have to commit to making sure every scene is important to the plot. I can spend time writing a full scene about someone drinking a glass of water and then 13 chapters in a row that are for moving the plot forward. I didn't even tag it as a novel... I did tag it for unreliable narration and I keep getting annoyed that people keep ignoring that.

"I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven?"

it's both??? it's neither??? it's a fanfic??? why do I keep getting comments lately where people are expecting me to adhere to like fucking publishing standards. this keeps up and I will write a chapter which is entirely about a minor character drinking a glass of water. watch me. I'll write one about phinks drinking a glass of water and you'll like it*

"Overall, the story is good and presented a compelling alternative to CA. Look, each fan has their own opinion on CA and I know I didn’t like it. I think it was a product of what Togashi was going through as he began to experience health issues and then finding himself right back where he said he wasn’t going to be mentally after he ended his earlier manga. We can never know for sure, but it certainly had a “watch it all burn vibe” to it near the end. I honestly believe he wanted it to end with the finality of Gon’s suicide as a capstone statement, but was probably convinced to go a different route, which kinda of left a jarring feel in the narrative and culminated in a rather unsatisfying end to Gon and Killua’s journey. Despite that, I am very reluctant to read fics where the events of CA are erased or grossly modified and honestly yours is really the first long AU/alternate timeline I’ve enjoyed"

okay first of all, I love the CA arc. but I had to split a point off where Kite was going to survive. why do you have to leave this whole paragraph about how you think Togashi was or wasn't going to go with the CA on my fanfic? I didn't even write this as 'oh look at my alternative to CA bc I hated CA' I don't really look forward to hearing comments about how random people didn't like so and so aspect of the story that I'm basing my story off of. I've never written fanfic for a story that I didn't like (except for some things that I don't have published I wrote at a request for friends for a fandom they were into that I wasn't really) and yeah I've wanted to 'fix' aspects (like tolkien's treatment of women for example) but I am not looking for your 'this is what I hated about the source material' comments on my stories

tired of getting comments with little 'oh I didn't like your style at first but now I do' or 'here's how to fix your story!' unsolicited advice from people who aren't better writers than me (I don't even want it from people who would be better writers than me on stuff I'm just doing for fun and for free)

when did stuff like this become normal? at least don't be a coward and be not logged in so you can't even get a response notification. like girl they aren't cool with it! why do you think everyone is on guard standing around like they're in a fucking hostage situation? how do you see such wildly different interpretations from different character's POVs and think it's not intentional? what part about Kite watching Killua like a fucking hawk makes you think he's going to let Illumi take him after this?

like if you've never had to smile and pretend to be cool with your abuser (pretend to love them) or someone who was threatening you to keep someone else safe then good for you! it fucking sucks! also don't know how to explain to you what a child who is growing up in an extremely isolated abusive situation goes through (though I keep writing about it in this story you should catch on...) but it's a million back and forths with emotion and feelings--especially if their abuser does (to in some way or to some degree) love them. and it is often blaming themselves. I'm not letting my years of studying human psychology and child development go to waste here**

is this story perfect? no but I'm not gonna hire an editor for a fanfic. and everyone's interpretations of characters will be different. especially with child characters who are going through huge changes in the world around them and their personal lives. part of the appeal of fanfiction is 'who would they become if this happened instead?' *sorry I keep writing about starving and not having clean drinking water but I will never stop because that's what I grew up with and it's hell. also phinks drinking water would be compelling since I assume he'd have harder access to clean drinking water

**hunter x hunter is also one of the only stories I have encountered with characters who have backgrounds as fucked up as mine and Togashi's interest in human psychology really stands out.

***like good for you but that was most of my life and you sometimes just have to shut up and get through it. and no I will not put my notes in the right order bc I'm not being paid enough****

****I'm being paid nothing

[moonsidesong]

fair ways into magical turnabout. hate nahyuta a lot more than i remembered

[eorzeashan]

Funny you say that, Marr. So has Eight.

I'd also very much argue Arcann is definitely acting through passion: his fueled rage and hatred towards his father who he hardly worships. Unfortunately another flaw of KOTFE where they tried to make Zakuul be the grey area of the Force but there's no way to escape the confines of Dark and Light unless you are literally exempt from those forces.

AKA: a non-force user, or someone like the Voss.

Striking from the dark within is specifically what he does-- and Eight knew from the start he had no chance at freedom, never wanted it, never pursued it, and that drove his entire motivation for making himself invaluable to Jadus, who was power incarnate. The power to protect Intelligence and act with authority he didn't have.

The narrative here is notorious for being mostly relevant to Force-users, but the binding subplot really helps it along.

Gets dialogue option, slams [ATTACK]

Speaking through battle is the Echani way! I believe in this- I mean, fists!

THE BAD BITCHES IN THE GOLD EMBROIDERED LEATHER WITH HOODS ARE FIGHTINGGGG

Sidenote, I adore how it looks like he's taunting her with his free hand to come and get 'im.

Double-cheeked up on a Taungsday afternoon hella ass,

Darth Marr: The weapon you wield was built for a different war. A different enemy. It must change, as you have.

This section leads to building a rather junk-y looking gun that....brings to mind Splatoon metaphors, but given Eight's background and how an Echani chooses a weapon at some point that ultimately reveals who they are at their core, this part actually felt fitting.

I headcanon'd that Marr was more or less implying he was the weapon himself to be rebuilt and reforged, as he always has, and in turn, he needs to embrace that lost part of himself that would flourish in wartime like this.

I've already written about his family's vibrosword before, but in my mind's eye I've replaced the gun building section with retrieving that, and in turn, creating that Echani warrior/warlord alias he wears as the Outlander. I'm 50/50 on that sword's origins since I still like the idea of it not actually being anything special save for a tool in the right hands, but there was the background of his family on Eshan being vibroblade producers/swordsmiths who made this prototype that required a rather deft style to wield which they tried to make popular by inventing their own dueling style to accompany it but it fell out of favor over time with the surge of the Galactic War.

Eight either makes a cheap copy of it because it's a fake and an imitation just like him, or he takes a trip down memory lane and revisits his abandoned home to remember his roots, and the path he has to carve forward.

A blade is just a blade. What matters is what it is willing to spill blood for. Helluva symbol, though.

Eight: There's no limit I can't surpass...

Limit break protocol activated.

Eight: If you accept that death has no power over you, it stops being your enemy...and becomes your ally.

Eight: When that happens...you don't have to fight.

This part was so bittersweet. When the Shade Stalker matriarch came out, I realized through Eight's eyes that he saw it like Jadus: something terrible and fearsome through nature, and one that he felt a resonance with because of that. So he chose to acknowledge it. It's what lets him endure what drives others to madness. He'll never be afraid of the unknown again.

Replace death with fear, and it's the same meaning.

Darth Marr: Your alliance will collapse if you do not know yourself-- and the ideals you serve. Do you understand?

He does. Not in the way you're implying Marr, but he does. He has no self to know, and his ideals will never be his own, but that is exactly why he fights. He travels the galaxy to know the ideals of others-- to someday know himself, to reach that ideal that Keeper once saw for him.

[claire-starsword]

Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 2-8 & 2-9

A small twig cracked in the campfire.

The sun had already set, and the dark of the night spread around them.

"This is the Manual…"

Bleu had opened the ebony box, and stared at the Manual inside. It was a bunch of semi-transparent slabs, set atop the felt covering the box.

He furrowed his brows slightly at the dread he felt coming from the artifact. It seemed he was the only one feeling such pressure from those crystals, due to being a Sacred Dragon.

The moment he extended his fingers towards it, he felt a shock, as if his soul had been gripped tight, so he pulled away in panic. He shuddered, feeling like his soul could be crushed if he did touch it like that.

He felt that it was not meant to be held. But it felt different from something sacred.

"What's wrong," Karin asked, getting the wrong idea from how he acted, "if you can't take it out, I'll do it."

"Right, thanks," he gave the box to her.

As their hands touched, Karin instinctively noticed his fear. She gave a suspicious glance to the Manual. Its crystal sheets shined beautifully, and she couldn't see anything else to it. She took it out of the box with ease, and held it against the light of the fire.

"How is this called a book?" Zylo asked, tilting his head at the object.

It was more comparable to stone slates than a book. The three rectangular crystal slabs shone in all the colors of the rainbow as they reflected the light in a diffuse way. Maybe that was due to an irregular composition, or due to some unseen pattern carved in them. No one could figure out the exact reason. The only thing clear to all of them was that it was in no way a regular book.

"It looks like my crystals, but the shape and size aren't the same," Randolf said, taking a crystal piece from his pocket for comparison. The Manual was larger than a person's two hands placed together, while his piece was slightly bigger than a nail. It was absurd trying to compare them at all.

"Maybe the crystals and the Manual are pieces of the same material. Even if not, I think they were both created by the ancient gods in similar ways."

Krin had her face almost glued to the Manual, inspecting its surface, clear of any writings, as if about to lick the thing.

"If that's the case, then the Manual might be a key to activate something. Yes. That's likely. Very likely."

Pushing against Krin, Tyrin glued his nose on the Manual.

"Wait, don't put your face all over it. Krin, you too, stop that already."

Looking at how they were troubling Karin, Randolf took the two shameless researchers by the collar and dragged them away from her.

"It is a key, of course. The Manual was one of the keys used to wake Dark Dragon. That said, I wonder if the three sheets are all the same. Or if they're meant for different things," Diane mumbled, as she recalled the times where she fought alongside Bleu and Zylo. Her younger sister, the mage Wendy, was sat by her side.

"They might be different. In Parmecia, there's nothing like Dark Dragon. The Sacred Dragons only need the Manual to stabilize the Power of the Earth going out of control," Camallia answered the elf girl after a while.

"As a key, any door it can close, it can also open. Isn't that true, Krin of Rudo Village?"

"Yes, it's as you say, king of Bustoke. As I've told you in the past, the Manual is a double edged sword with the magical power to both seal and release," she gave everyone the same description she had once found within old records.

"A thing this dangerous must be resealed by us, mages of Manarina, as fast as possible, in the temple of Dragonia."

Camallia turned with a harsh glare to Tyrin at his words.

"Then, what about the Sacred Dragons of Parmecia? What about me and the mission I've come to the land for?"

"No matter the case, you don't have the right to take something of Rune to another land."

"…How close-minded. As a mage seeking the golden rule of this world, is this how you deal with such matters?"

"I like to believe we act with wisdom," Tyrin frowned, offended.

"Being wise by yourself in your own little world, is there any meaning to that?" Camallia retorted, not taking a single step back.

Sitting next to Karin, Randolf made a face as if saying "what a big mess this is".

"I'm in agreement with Camallia on this matter. We shouldn't abandon people in need."

Karna joined the conversation with an unusually serious face. No matter what anyone said, she was an exemplary priest.

"In the end, priests are too focused on their doctrine. They should look upon matters objectively like us, mages."

Tyrin gave a look to Krin and Wendy, seeking agreement from them.

"That's right. So speaking objectively, we should let Bleu decide what to do next with this Manual."

Krin's suggestion was not at all what Tyrin expected.

Everyone stared at Bleu, who had been quiet with a troubled face, and at the Manual in Karin's hands.

"You're unlucky, huh, Bleu? To get this troublesome thing pushed on you," Diane said without any sympathy or attempt to comfort him.

"That's not it, Diane," Zylo corrected her. "It is not being pushed on him. He's being trusted to deal with it. As a Sacred Dragon, the Manual is his heritage."

Bleu raised his head to look at Zylo.

'What should I do?' This plea for help was on the tip of his tongue.

Zylo saw through him, and stopped him before the words could come out.

"You have to decide it by yourself. It is your responsibility. No one can push their will onto you."

Bleu was troubled. But, no matter how much he fretted about it, he couldn't find an answer, a light on the end of that deep tunnel.

As a Sacred Dragon, should he seal to Manual to protect it, as per their ancient duty? Or should he risk it in the journey to Parmecia to save his kind? Or maybe destroying it right there was the correct choice.

After all, what did it mean to be a Sacred Dragon? Bleu couldn't even figure that out. Should a Sacred Dragon be someone capable of making these heavy choices? Of standing above the people and deciding everything?

The determination he had found before to cross to Parmecia had crumbled once he got here.

He felt that deciding things by himself was very risky.

If the Manual was stolen by monsters, destruction would befall the world. The only way to perfectly avoid that was to abandon his kind.

The truth is, it was possible to save the Sacred Dragons and then seal the Manual after that. However, that would require something from him. He would have to protect the Manual from all the devils…

Bleu had not found enough confidence in himself to do so.

Without help from the others, he hadn't even been able to protect Karin.

"Bleu…"

Karin understood his pain so much it hurt.

"Don't decide this as what a Sacred Dragon should do, but as yourself. Because before being a dragon, you are Bleu. I believe in you."

Zylo nodded deeply at Karin's words.

"I also trust you, that's why I'm leaving it all in your hands. You should trust your allies more as well. The reason one hero was able to seal Dark Dragon in the past is because he had many people by his side. By himself, he wouldn't have been able to do anything. When many people join forces, their power shine brighter. That is why we became known as the Shining Force."

Diane agreed with him.

Bleu looked back fondly at the times he fought alongside those two. Besides them there was Gort, and Alef, and so many other companions. And now too, he found himself surrounded by many allies. Finally, he thought back on the Silver Dragon's deep blue eyes. More people had been waiting for him far too long, beyond the ocean.

"That's right, if you put your faith in people, you can also ask them for help. You should rely on others, us, more often."

Krin's words hit the mark. Yes, to not rely on others was the same as not trusting them.

"Let's go to Uranbatol…" he declared, "we'll defeat the beasts in the coast, and cross the ocean to Parmecia."

Some breathed in relief, some nodded in silence, some made troubled faces, there were all kinds of conflicted reactions. But no one objected. The way ahead had been decided.

Tyrin still raised another small issue, but was reassured once Zylo told him he'd send a messenger to Otrant to communicate the situation.

"We'll return to Bustoke tomorrow. We came here pursuing the devils that had suddenly invaded, and ended up too far from our country. We cannot leave it empty like in the past. We also have to escort back the injured party from Manarina that we rescued."

Hearing that from Zylo, Krin knocked her hands together in realization.

"Being pursued by the forces of Bustoke, the devils hastened their pace. That's why we encountered them sooner than we expected."

"In the end, it turned out well for us. But, we can't let our guard down yet. We will search the region for monsters before heading back, but it might be difficult to get them out of hiding. Until you reach the Pao Plains, take Wendy with you for more protection."

The lively elf girl introduced herself to the group.

"Let's place a simple seal on the Manual to protect it along the way."

By her suggestion, the three mages prepared to seal the ebony box with the Manual.

The seal of Coeurl van Coeur.

It was classified as a simple seal. However, its strength could be increased depending on the materials used. The greatest one was dragon blood. In that case, it could also be called the Dragon Blood Crystal seal.

With Camallia and everyone else watching, the sealing ritual began.

Wendy took several drops of blood from Bleu, and inscribed the seal on the ebony box. She, Krin and Tyrin created enchanted chains with the Sacred Dragon blood, wrapping them around the box.

"With this, this box cannot be opened until it receives your blood again. Someone could still get to the Manual by destroying the box, but they'd be risking destroying the Manual itself with an attack like that."

Three blood stains marked the box, shining like small garnets. Wendy picked the box up and gave it to Bleu.

Feeding more twigs to the bonfire, the group heading to Pao Plains went to sleep.

"Will it be okay, letting just them go ahead?" Diane asked Zylo when switch night-watch turns with him. "I'm wondering about that devil, the one the priest called Ziduur."

"He was wounded, so he shouldn't strike again too soon. In the off chance he does, Wendy will be with them so there isn't much need to worry. Or, maybe you're itching to go with them too?" Zylo laughed knowingly.

"Oh, who knows?" She played dumb.

"We left Stetra and old Kokichi taking care of Bustoke, but we can't leave the country for any longer than this. Besides, if they didn't ask for our help, we shouldn't interfere. They have made their own decisions and will see them through by themselves. This is Bleu's journey, not ours. It's frustrating, but we don't have a reason to be in this new Shining Force this time. Besides, you still have a lot of things to do back in Bustoke."

"Please go a little easy on me, Lord Zylo."

Excusing herself gently, she left back to her own spot.

***9***

Bleu woke up in the middle of the night, and looked over all his companions sleeping around him.

They all had very different views, yet had placed their trust in him. He had to protect them.

Camallia had said it once. Sacred Dragons are the ultimate guardians.

In that case, what should he protect? It shouldn't be just the Manual, like his race had done so far.

But the Manual was back now.

Bleu took a look at Karin's face, sound asleep under his wing.

It should be his responsibility to protect her. But, if one day he had to choose between the two…

As a Sacred Dragon, and as Bleu, which one would he pick?

The black of the box in Karin's hands was as frightening to him as the darkness of the night.

>To Chapter 3

Translation notes:

As far as I can tell, "Golden Rule" as it's written in Camallia's line refers to the ethical principle of treating others as one wishes to be treated. But the way she says mages seek this rule of the world makes it feel more like some natural principle. I feel like I might be missing something in that conversation, but after days mulling it over I couldn't figure anything out, so i stuck as close as possible to the literal wording.

Karna uses the very formal pronoun "watakushi" when supporting Camallia, something she didn't even in the last time she got serious and formal about her convictions (before entering the dwarves' passage). She's really putting as much weight as she can on her decision here.

Again, the novel avoids using Max's name. I felt it didn't flow too bad here though since he's used as kind of an example only, so i kept the wording this time.

Would a japanese translation truly be complete without discussing the word 仲間 (nakama)? Of course not. If you have never read a shonen manga before, first of all good for you, and second, nakama is a very loose word that can refer to people in the same group, activity, or even just some category, like family or such. This means Bleu uses the same word to refer to his old allies, his current ones, and the dragons of Parmecia, since they are fellows of the same race. I could not find a way to keep the same wording so that paragraph is not as fun, but hopefully the meaning still came across.

I don't know why the author highlights Alef and Gort of all people. Alef and Torasu are some of the first members to join the force after Bleu, so that might be it, but I see no connection between him and Gort. I legit wonder if the author meant Torasu instead. But that's just speculation on a very short line.

The seal name. Boy was this a headache. "Couer" is "heart" in french, which makes sense for a blood based seal. Meanwhile, Couerl is... the name of a cat-like SF species, also used in Final Fantasy and the inspiration for D&D's Displacer Beasts. That, doesn't sound like it should be here, but I could not find another reading for that katakana, and maybe it's just meant to be similar words?? god knows what the "van" is doing here too, i'm been wrestling this name for two days, i'm just tired at this point, it's phoneme soup.

Stetra is the medicine expert that makes Lunar Dew for Zylo in the game. I think the english version doesn't name him, so now you know.

Kokichi being mentioned here contradicts the guide book epilogue where he went to live in Rindo instead. Between this and Earnest it's clear the novel did not consider that guide book for anything.

[musical-chick-13]

*evil laugh* Take THAT writer's block.

[hecksupremechips]

My biggest fear is that I’ll spend so much time beating myself up for not being good at writing that by the time I get the words down, all my passion will have run out and my ideas will have been long expired and I’ll have disappointed everyone by failing yet again to keep my promises