#YOU are looking at the triangle and the old man fucking. embrace it.

[normalenjoyer-png]

i need to be annoying about a certain brand of comments on nsfw art but i have class

[fenharel-is-so-swell]

A Cold Welcome Home

Zayne x You(MC) x Caleb

-----a/n: okay y'all, this is essentially one of my first ever fics. I wrote a few DA fics when I was 17 or so, but nothinnnn since. This is very unedited and I'm very rusty. It was all written at 4:00am last night lmao so, yk, blame it on the sleep deprivation. All the "I'm sorrys" in the word to my moots that have never seen me do the seggs stuff on main. Idk how to format writing at all on here, so hopefully that gets better for if I post the actual full smuteroony.

This is also my first time writing second person so, apologies if the tenses get funky as I figure it out. I will hear nothing about my liberal use of pipsqueak, in a country full of Neanderthals I wear that shit with a fucking badge of honor.

-----Draft intro word count: 1.3K (what I have written beyond this totals 3.1k)

-----warnings for this draft: mdni, smut, jealousy, soft-ish non con?(I mean, there are assumptions of interest), blow job, grief mention, spoilers, cursing, defo some angst here, many incomplete and run on sentences bc i love themmmm

-----about: You don't know how you would have gotten through the year without Zayne, the loss of Caleb and Josephine nearly undid you. Though, if there is a silver lining to be found it's that it pushed you two closer. So close, in fact, you have some apologies to make after you "mistakenly" get him drunk with liquor filled chocolate. Unfortunately for you both, Caleb is back and (?)better(?) than ever.

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You knew one thing for certain—Zayne was going to combust. Well, in reality, Zayne was going to do whatever the opposite of combustion was once he finally noticed the figure darkening his doorway.

A shaky breath slipped from between your parted lips. Caleb was at the hospital. Caleb was in Zayne’s office. Your mind reeled, tumbling through curses at Y’vonne. You glanced at the wall clock that read 2:25 in the morning. You realized that the old security guard that manned the desk at this hour likely had no clue who Caleb was. Had no clue he was dead -- that you had grieved him. The old baton wielding fucker absolutely didn’t realize you were busy apologizing to Zayne for the stunt you pulled with the chocolate. Lavishing the bulge in his snug slacks with your tongue, savoring the raspy moans that slipped from the slackened O of his mouth. Desperate, pleading, pitiful, gentle sounds you’d worked so hard to get him to produce. He was so very guarded and always in control. He was just beginning to soften up, to believe you wouldn’t despise him for not being perfectly poised, that one mistake wouldn’t hurt you or make you hate him.

You begged Caleb not to let Zayne know he was back. To let you deliver the news. You just wanted one more night of unguarded eyes, sloppy, needy fucking, and gentle dreamless sleep wrapped in Zayne’s cool embrace.

But the love triangle that never was still infused its bitter jealousy into everything. You felt it in the possessive streak knotted through Caleb’s every action upon his return. It was whispered in the slurred drunken fear of failure, of loss, in Zayne’s more vulnerable moments. You placed your hands on Zayne’s thighs, staring up at him, your guilt and apology laid bare in your gaze. The soft adoration in his expression maimed your soul, the raw reverence was humbling as much as it was heartbreaking. Hazy with desire his eyes flitted over to the open door to his office.

You felt his world shift. Like those videos you’d seen online of incomprehensibly large glaciers cracking. Giant chunks falling from the larger mass so slowly it almost looked gentle. Crashing into the waters below with strangely soft bellowing splashes. Zayne’s heart cracked. The warmth in his gaze hardened over. His brows twitched between surprise and outrage. Nothing could ever be the same. You shifted back on your knees. Letting your bum rest against your heels, your gaze turned towards Caleb.

Your lips were dry, your face a sticky mess from the saliva drenching Zayne’s pants. Your tongue flicked out, wetting your whisper “You promised.”

Caleb chuckled; the sound was cruel. You’d noticed it when he first…resurrected. A strange edge existed within him now, something that sat discordant with the warm memories you had of the boy you grew up with. A round face with too big front teeth, his peach fuzzed mouth smeared in chocolate ‘stolen’ from the free sample tray at the convenience store down the street, the gangly teen who held your hand in that haunted house and only laughed a little when you screamed, the man who was a dutiful pilot and only slightly unreliable surrogate grandson to Josephine. He wasn’t that Caleb, not entirely at least. It wasn’t the same.

“Oh come on pipsqueak, you know it only counts if it’s a pinky promise.”

Zayne finally reacted with something other than shock. His gently voice just reaching your ears. “Stand up, darling.”

You sighed. “I can’t.” Your ankles had started screaming from the angle, but Caleb’s evol didn’t let up. You had felt it fall over you the moment he entered the room, its gentle oppression a sweet agony. It was so familiar; you had missed him so much.

The way he used his evol was yet another change you had noticed. His evol used to soften the blow if you slipped out of a tree you were climbing, or to lighten your backpacks on the way to school. Now he used both aspects of his control in equal measure. Lessening gravity’s grounding force to make it even easier to trap you in the pretty cage of his arms, toss you around, keep you at his mercy. He liked to make the pressure punishing and indomitable when he wanted you to just sit still, when he wanted you restrained. Though, in all of your memories of that year where it was the three of you, you recalled that he never once softened Zayne’s fall. He never lessened the weight of his books or kept him upright as he balanced when you three would tip toe along the guardrails. That kindness was seemingly reserved for you. You felt stupid for assuming he’d afford any such saccharine sweetness to Zayne now.

Zayne stood, placing himself in front of you. You noticed his evol creeping up his hand, his back pin straight as he struggled to maintain control.

“You let her grieve.” Zayne’s soft tone was a condemnation.

“And you were more than willing to be her shoulder to cry on.” Came Caleb’s sharp retort.

You sighed weakly. “Can we please not do this?” Your fingers twitched, itching to reach for Zayne’s hand, to resonate and soothe his evol.

“Oh, I have a lovely idea instead pipsqueak.” Caleb’s lips spread into a wicked, playful smile. He pulled the lone rolling stool in Zayne’s office from the corner of the room. Scooting it towards you both.

Caleb had a feeling he’d find you two like this. While catching up you had mentioned Zayne a few too many times. He dug around a bit and identified the nature of your relationship. It made something sick burst to life in his gut. While he was dead and gone you were sidled up to Josephine’s second favorite, the only person she told to look after you. It made him want to claim you, to own you, to possess you, to fuck the memory of anyone else in the world out of you. You were his, you were always his. You would always be his; you pinky promised.

Zayne shifted his stance, ice spread from under his shiny black dress shoes. it bit into your knees as it reached you. The pain was a familiar distraction.

Caleb waved a dismissive hand. His grin was still plastered on his face. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Zayne scoffed, but something grotesque twisted deliciously in your gut.

With panty liquefying horror you realized you wanted to punish him; you wanted to punish Caleb. You wanted him to hurt as much as losing him had hurt you. The way he waltzed back into your life as if everything were okay, as though your life and desires should cow to the threads of a deeper love, of a darker attraction, that were building before he ‘died’. It infuriated you. You had to pick up the pieces. Zayne helped you pick up the pieces. He made sure you weren’t being overly reckless on missions, that you still had someone to come home to, that you could find out the deeper cause of all of this pain. He soothed the ache, and from his quiet constant love your own blossomed.

Caleb chuckled again beckoning Zayne to look at you. Finally, finally, those cool green eyes met your own and widened a bit in shock. Whatever he saw in your gaze made him break his unrequited stalemate with Caleb. He dropped to his knees before you, gathering your face into his hands he schooled his features into a blank canvas. His eyes bore into your soul.

“You want this.” He stated.

It wasn’t a question as it was obvious that your desire, no matter how twisted, was written all over you. Your slightly huffed breaths, your pulse thrumming visibly in your neck.

With a small nod, Zayne stood. He leveled a look at Caleb and spoke as he slowly undid his belt. You nearly wept at the sight. The way his hands always calmly, methodically, tortuously took their time disrobing both of you.

“Though my lectures are normally booked months in advance. I suppose I have time to teach a bit of human anatomy.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

[ckret2]

Okay, so - Cowboy Tie-dye Goth Bill. Fancy-Ass cowboy gear, perfectly seasoned black hats and boots with gold studs stolen from name brand luxury leathercrafters. Battle jacket with triangles sewn in in fucking gold wire, tie-die silk patches on the vents and elbows. Shirt with colors not seen since the seventies that will make your eyes bleed to look at, eyes hand-painted on then bleech-and-dyed over so they're staring at you from beyond the veil. Paisley leggings. Am I envisioning this right?

(for the recent arrivals, this is referring to this post.)

i was picturing black suede/leather jackets/pants with fringe, over tie-dye t-shirts.

Like a leather goth has been slit open throat to groin and a bunch of rainbow guts spilled out. "Escaping explosion at a paint factory" look.

... but then throw in a bunch of ostentatious gold eye of providence jewelry, and rave-approproriate homemade jewelry.

So uhhh kind of like thisss.

So, cowboy tie-dye goth raver old man.

Black cowboy hat and boots completely optional, I think he'd go "haha this is cool" and pick up a cowboy hat for the novelty if one were in front of him but on a day-to-day basis 95% of the time he'd keep wearing his top hat and dress shoes. If anyone tries to tell him that the top hat makes his outfit completely absurd on top of what was already a pretty absurd outfit, he will tell them that they, personally, are why the world needs Weirdmageddon.

Fringe jacket conversion into a battle vest isn't out of the question—ask him "do you want pyramid studs" and he'll say "yes" before hearing the last word—but compared to the usual black white & red skulls-and-heavy-metal decorations, Bill's would be the Party Cannon of battle vests.

(And if you don't understand that reference, please, I beg you, google deathfest party cannon.)

Mabel starts stringing kandi beads onto the fringe and Bill considers it an improvement.

To be clear, this is like, final evolution Bill Embraces Human Fashion. You will probably never see him like this. He has to achieve ✨⚠️Peak Bill⚠️✨ Fashion and become comfortable with that before he can even THINK of beginning to embrace Not Bill Fashion.

[entraptism]

My takes on Masters of the Universe: Revelations, because Why Not (SPOILERS!)

Can't believe how emotionally attached I am to Orko. I don't remember a single episode from the old cartoons, but I remember the little guy being the first character that gave the "I wish I'd thought of that" feeling, his design is just so good! When he first showed up I was like "there he is! There's my boy!", when we saw him all frail and sick I teared up, and when he died, lets just say I had to stop and go play with my dog for a while. Seeing a Beloved Childhood Character(tm) die is just not something that happens every day.

Okay, with feelings out of the way, lets tackle Big Thing One: this series so far has barely been about He-Man. Not a bad thing, there's a whole world of characters to explore, Teela was basically the main character and her and Lyn had great (still unfinished) arcs that I'm happy to have be the main focus of the show. BUT. I really hope that's not the end of Adam. Boy deserves so much better than that shitty death. Bring him back and kill him a third time if you have to, but let him have a proper heroic death, he deserves as much. He's a good boy, and even though he basically only had one episode of character development (episode 1 doesn't count because there's nothing to develop, as it serves as a tie-in between the changing world of this show and the static world of the old one),it was good stuff, and him choosing to forego paradise only for his reward to be to be backstabbed immediately, not getting to fight The Fight? Feels bad. Even if it's just for one episode, for a final showdown with Skeletor, I hope he comes back in some manner, he deserves as much.

Big Thing Two: the way this show 100% embraces all of the ridiculousness of the old stuff and juggles it alongside taking itself 100% seriously is amazing. I'm honestly speechless at how the writing, the visuals, and the acting all converge in this incredibly serious world of characters with all sorts of issues, which is full of weird technology, those outfits, and those names?? Amazing. I especially adore Lena Headey's acting, oh my god. To voice a character who calls herself Evil-Lyn, who wears that helmet, and to do it so gloriously? Incredible. Also, the Lord of the Dead who Feeds of Fear is called Scare Glow. What.

Onto smaller stuff: They referenced the Horde! I'm sure it's just a throwaway line, but still!!!

Speaking of, they said He-Ro and Grayskull fought together, yet they also both wielded the sword of power??? I'm confused about that one.

Andra is preciouss and amazing and I love her so much. She seems to be a new character (though maybe not? idk) and she's a nice addition. It's unclear if her and Teela are friends or if that's just what historians will say about them but either way their dynamic is fun, though the intentional visual parallels implying that she's to Teela what Teela is to He-Man got me scratching my head a bit. Like I can't tell if they're supposed to be an established couple or best-friends-to-lovers or unrequited, because I also got some weird love triangle vibe from Adam-Teela-He-Man. Honestly, hopefully this isn't something that will be explored too much in the show (edit: not because I have any problem with any of the couples mentioned, just because I don't think a heavy focus on romance would fit well in this story). I'm not coming at this as a shipper, just observing the tropes and visual language used.

The only real place were i was like, "yes, They Are in Love!" was the Sorceress and Man-at-Arms. No idea if that's a thing or not but god I hope it's explored more because it has this whole Star-crossed lovers vibe that I just really dig.

Also Lyn get your shit together but ALSO the way she puts on a mask the moment Skeletor comes back is SO good, again both the visuals and the acting worked really well together and it's so clear, without it being said outright, that she's very much NOT done with her newfound independence. I wonder if she'll change her name to Misunderstood-Lyn.

Skeletor canonnically is evil because he's an incel, amazing.

I feel the need to reiterate that Andra is precious and I love her.

Roboto, yet another example of "yes, we will keep the stupid name and the questionable design. Yes, we will also explore the nature of this mechanical replication of a living man and possibly make you cry about it". I am STILL salty that Teela didn't call him "brother" at the end.

throwaway thought but remember the creepy cyborg girl? that shit will keep me up at night.

I kinda wish Adam hadn't been "the only one" to choose his "lesser" form, I wish Himbo Paradise had like a small group of twinks living there in harmony with the himbos it would have been so nice and wholesome to see the one who feel like they were their true selves with the power and the ones who feel like they were their true selves without it co-exist in harmony because yeah, they're different, but they all died for the same noble cause and they just get each other in a way no one else can because of shared experiences. Also some of the "lesser" ones might not be twinks, just not He-Man levels of buff. But mostly I like the idea of a himbo-twink solidarity utopian society it makes me smile.

And now for a segment I like to call, The Horny Corner:

There was some good stuff in Himbo Paradise but tbh not really my thing.

Andra is Precious, yes, but she's also so Pretty???

Teela has (presumably, unless this is all or at least partially misdirection) Good Genes, like the Sorceress and Man-at-Arms are both very very fine wine. Especially Man-At-Arms like sir please don't ever put that dumb helmet again you look so good without it?

Lyn's hair! I gasped the first time we saw it! So pretty!!!!

And of course, Teela. Oh my fucking god. Oh my god. jesus fucking christ. oh my god. fucking shit jesus fuck oh my fucking jesus fucking christ. god in heaven. holy fucki ng shit.

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

False God- Sean Wallace

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: A violent, smutty NSFW Sean Wallace fic. What if that last day ended differently? What if Sean made it out with his wounds? And what if there was someone from his childhood who haunted him just as much as he haunted her?

Subject: Sean X Y/N

Growing up, Sean Wallace and I were one in the same. We liked the same jokes, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut the same way- in triangles- and our only real difference was that I was an American. Our fathers, both legendary crime bosses in their own right, were great business partners and made each other filthy rich. We were dangerously similar.

Until we weren’t.

I’d been in America when Finn Wallace was murdered, and I’d stayed in America during the aftermath. My father had cared deeply for Finn, but the world we lived in was fucking brutal, cold, and my dad would never risk my well being by allowing me to go to the UK to be with Sean.

Hearing about all of it had been a nightmare, though. Hearing about murders and the carnage, communities and families wiped out when Sean locked the city down. My heart ached for the boy I once knew and feared for the man that was, and then, just as quickly as it all blew up, the flames went out. All was quiet.

Sean Wallace was dead.

Or so the world thought. My father, who had an in with Billy and Jac, knew the truth. The Wallace family had connections within the police force- cliché, right?- and when a few of their own found him lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from his fucking face, they quickly pronounced him dead at the scene. I didn’t know the ins and outs, didn’t care to, because the life I lived now was so far from the life I was forced to live as a child. All I knew was they got him out of there and Sean Wallace, as London knew him, was dead.

I needed him to stay that way.

It had been nearly a year since then, nearly a year since I last had the nerve to ask my dad about him. I think he knew how I felt, knew I had gone to great lengths to distance myself from him and my mother and the hellish, brutal life they created. But that didn’t mean my dad didn’t love me. I knew he did in his own, twisted way, and I knew he caught on to the hurt I felt whenever Sean’s name was mentioned.

So he stopped mentioning it.

Billy and Jac were stateside and living under different names, that much I knew. I had yet to see them, but I knew they were close enough to drive to because my mother had made sure to mention in her last email that their “home was beautiful and they think it was quite rude of you not to come around and visit, Y/N.”

It was bullshit. Billy and Jac didn’t feel any type of way about me, we were never close. That was reserved specifically for Sean and me. And look how well that turned out.

I was haunted by the ghost of a man I didn’t even know anymore.

He was labeled as a terrorist and maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. I could never scream from the rooftops how much I fucking loved him because that’s crazy. Because who could love a terrorist? Who could love a man that had murdered, cheated, stolen to get his way? And if I did love him, what kind of woman did that make me?

It was a thought that had been in my mind on replay all day long, the musings drifting into the night as I drove towards my childhood home. I had made the agreement with my parents- namely my father- that once a month I would return home for dinner. It was nearly a two hour drive but one that I committed to because if I didn’t I knew they would show up at my apartment. And what twenty-something year old woman wants her parents showing up at her apartment unannounced?

The gravel ground under my tires as I pulled my all black BMW into the driveway. It was already dark and I knew my mother would have something to say about me showing up late, but at least I showed up. Sure, I was still wearing the navy blue pantsuit I’d worn at work all day and I usually changed whenever I had dinner with them, but my mind was occupied tonight. By thoughts of Sean. By thoughts of Sean getting his face blown off. Did it hurt? Did he remember? Would I ever know?

My father met me at the door. Six foot three and wide like a linebacker, the man was not to be messed with. He was no nonsense and the only people he smiled at were me and the people he was going to shoot right before he shot them. You can do what you want with that information.

“My little angel,” he said and reached for me, taking both my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. It was a simple gesture but one he did every single time. It was the one constant my dad ever provided me. “How was the drive up?”

“Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight, but I ended up getting out a bit later than I thought I would.”

He swung an arm around me as we made our way through the marble foyer, my heels clacking against the floor. “My art gallery owner. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows. He was feeding me bullshit, both he and my mom wanted me in the family business more than anything, but from the time I could voice my opinion I let them know. No. I would be taking no part in the family business.

Not that I didn’t know my shit. I knew my way around a gun shop and had a better shot than half the men my dad hired to protect us. I hit harder than my first two boyfriends and let everyone know that my last name was still my last name and not to fuck with me. I knew I was untouchable.

That didn’t mean I was embracing the lifestyle.

“Yeah, business is going great, I even hired someone part-time to help out.”

“Background check?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Of course.”

“Family ties?”

“Her name is Mindy and she’s from a farm in rural Kansas.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows, one of the rare times my father ever looked shocked. “She doesn’t even know what our last name holds, does she?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

He laughed his hearty, deep chuckle and stopped us at the bar cart outside of the dining room. As always, he grabbed two tumblers and threw a handful of ice in each before adding to fingers of whiskey. Our favorite. One of our few commonalities. “Proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.”

I was about to ask him how his week was when my mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony. She liked to drink her wine out there at night, before dinner. Just one glass, but it was a ritual she followed religiously. Her voice was somewhat raspy, a little cold, and I could hear her laughter as though it was wrapping around me like a vine.

But that was the thing; my mother drank her wine outside alone. That was her time. So who was she laughing at?

I glanced over my shoulder at my father to find him looking as though he was at a loss for words. It was so rare that he was speechless, a man of his stature always held a level of composure that was sometimes shocking. But not this time.

“Dad, wha-“

“You’re going to want to finish that drink, angel.”

My blood ran cold at his words. His tone was low, suddenly serious. The lighthearted moment from before was gone, something dark and heavy in its place.

I should have listened to him and finished the drink because as soon as I turned around I was met with the coldest, most pristine set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that I once swore I would drown in someday.

Sean Wallace was standing eight feet in front of me. It was the first time we had seen each other in years, the first time I’d seen him since he was… dead.

His face was… fucked. Marred by the bullet that ripped through his left cheek on that fateful day. The skin was raised, almost burn-like, and left a medium sized indent in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical face. His left eyelid held a little lower and it looked like he tried to cover up the other, minor scars with the facial hair that littered his jaw and around his mouth.

But even with the new, broken face, Sean Wallace was still the most breathtaking man in the room. His suit was impeccable and fit him like a glove, the stormy gray matching the storm that seemed to be raging in his eyes. His tie was a navy that matched my own suit and it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing. It felt like that bitch was having the time of her life watching me suffer.

“I…” I started, unsure of how to finish.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I know this” he held a hand up to his face “is a lot to take in.”

I already shook my head, my stomach turning at the thought of him thinking he was ugly. “No! No, I… I, I’m, I wasn’t-“

“Best private schools in the state and she still has that damn stutter.” My mother’s cutting voice ceased my own and I bit at the inside of my cheek. She came around the corner in all her glory, designer dress, perfect manicure and not a hair out of place.

She made me fucking sick.

“It’s nice to see you.” I finally managed to get the words out, although I didn’t know if I was talking to Sean or my mom.

“Jesus, Y/N, you couldn’t even change first?”

“I think she looks great.” Sean’s voice caught everyone off guard and even my mom turned to look at him. “Beautiful, really. You always looked great in a suit.”

I knew he was referring to my high school graduation. Sean was two years older and had flown in to see me graduate. My mom, ever the lady, was determined to force me into a nightmare of a ball gown while I wanted a simple, chic suit. Sean had been there for the entire screaming match, laughing at my mother as she tripped over the dress she had been hellbent on making me wear.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged my lips and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return and said nothing else.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I felt my dad’s hand on my back as he ushered me into the dining room. My feet felt like stone blocks were attached to them as I walked, feeling Sean directly behind me with his eyes burning holes into my suit jacket.

We all sat in silence with the ghost of my past sitting directly across from me. Sean made no secret that he was staring at me and it reminded me of the ignorant young boy I once knew. Sean knew he was handsome, powerful, and could easily get his way. He held himself with the confidence of a man who had everything and it seemed a gunshot to the face didn’t change that.

“You’ve managed to stay under the radar.” I noted as one of the maids poured red wine into my glass.

“Y/N!” my mother scolded.

I raised my eyebrows and didn’t glance in her direction, my eyes holding Sean’s. “What? Are we supposed to sit here and pretend everything is normal? You want me to ask him about the weather?”

“Y/N…” my father’s tone held a warning in it.

“No, she’s right.” Sean spoke up as I took a hearty gulp of wine. “Facial reconstruction had me laid up for a bit. Reconstructing an entire cheekbone can be tricky. And expensive.”

I nodded. “Especially when the entire cheekbone belongs to a dead man.”

The room fell quiet with even the staff scurrying to disappear. My mother was glaring at me and I was sure my father was too, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my entire childhood and teen years caring about and loving Sean only for him to cut me off when he became Finn’s minion and then fake his own fucking death a few years after. He got so caught up in the Wallace life, in the life I thought we both hated, that he forgot about me. And I was angry about it.

“I deserve that.” His accent was the same as always. Smooth. Elegant. The best that private school could buy. “I should have reached out sooner as I knew my siblings were in touch.”

My mother, the martyr, was quick to reassure him. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re alright.”

She was so warm with him, a complete contrast to how she acted with me. It was a constant reminder that she always wanted a son and ended up with me instead.

My father opened his mouth to speak when his right hand, Marcus, walked in with a phone in his hand. His face looked pinched, stressed, and my father immediately stood. “Excuse me.”

Sean nodded politely and turned to my mother, but she was already standing and following behind dad, sensing his stress.

“Should we be concerned?”

I shook my head, my eyes still trained in the doorway. “I doubt it.”

Things were quiet then. Too fucking quiet. So quiet I felt like I was suffocating. I took a sip of wine. Then another. Another until my glass was empty and the bottle was taunting me from the center of the table.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I was instantly defensive.

His smile was small, but it was there. “You always were a shit liar.”

“You were always a good one.”

His smile disappeared then and I was soon sitting across from the gangster that was always lurking underneath. Sean could do cool, calm, and collected. But he could only hide the angry, arrogant Wallace traits for so long. 

“I… can’t remember the last time we were face to face.”

I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Christmas. Six years ago. Kingston.”

His smile- God, that fucking smile- reappeared. “You threw a drink in my face.”

“You called me a spoiled fucking twat.”

“You were acting like one.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. My early twenties were filled with vodka soda fueled arguments and boyfriends that my family- and Sean- hated. I was so different, that girl doesn’t even seem real anymore.

I was about to respond when I heard shouting coming from down the hall. My father’s office.

Sean and I stood at the same time, both of us sensing a certain level of danger. My father rarely ever shouted, it had to be something catastrophic for him to raise his voice like that.

Entering the hall, I quickly grabbed my bag next to the bar cart and produced my glock before tucking it into my waistband. Sean watched me silently the entire time. He was getting a little too comfortable with staring at me.

“Always prepared.”

“Family business, right?” I shot back at him over my shoulder as we neared my father’s study.

“No, no, fucking No! What do you mean they’re all dead? An entire fucking warehouse of people and they’re all fucking dead?”

My heart stopped in my chest. That was… impossible. The warehouses were untouchable, no one knew where they were unless they were part of our inner circle. Our microscopic inner circle. Which could only mean one thing…

It was an inside job.

“Fuck.” I spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/N, something’s happened.” My mother appeared in the doorway as we approached.

“Who did it?” I asked, getting straight to the point. “Any ideas?”

My dad was seated behind his wooden desk, a desk so large it was fit for a king. When I was a child I would spend hours in there reading on the stuffed leather couch while he worked silently. It was one of the few places I felt “safe” growing up.

“Kensington’s dead.” Our eyes met.

Rodger Kensington was my father’s longtime business partner and someone who was like an uncle to me. He’d been there at my prom, my graduation, and when I took my first steps. He was… family.

“Shit.” Sean’s word was quick and quiet, but then I remembered he knew Rodger too, and he knew what this meant.

“What about Sherry? The kids?” I was desperate to make sure their little ones were alright, they were all so young.

“They’re fine. They weren’t home, they-“

My father never got the words out as one of the staff walked in. I had turned at the sound of him entering the room, just barely meeting his eye as he raised his arm, a small handgun pointed directly at the man whose home we were in.

“Y/N!” My mother screaming my name like that would haunt my nightmares for months after.

A single shot rang out and my ears rang, a gasp leaving my lips as I reached for the gun in my waistband. But it wasn’t there.

The man was dead, a gunshot to the temple with crimson blood spilling all over the Italian wood floors. And then there was Sean, standing at my side with my gun pointed straight ahead, a dead look in his eyes.

It was all dangerously quiet and I could hear my own heartbeat, but only for a moment. Because as soon as I took a single breath, shit hit the fan.

My mother released a blood curdling scream, Marcus rushing to her side and grabbing her as she collapsed. My father, stoic, stood and walked over to the wardrobe near the window, swiftly pulling out guns and rounds of ammo. More security rushed in and I stood next to Sean, everything moving in slow motion. I could hear voices, hear my dad barking commands at his security who acted like his soldiers.

“There’s blood on my shoes.”

“What?”

What? Did I just say there was blood on my shoes? But it was true. My expensive cream suede shoes had blood splatter on them and I was ninety percent sure there was bone fragment near my heel.

“Blood. On my shoes.” My voice sounded far away.

Sean was suddenly in front of me and tucking my gun back into my waist while everyone shouted around us. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Bought them at the store on fifth, yeah?”

“How the fuck did you-“ I stopped, putting two and two together. “Have you been watching me?”

Sean’s face changed then and he straightened his shoulders. Our height nearly matched but only because of my heels, and I knew his gesture was dominant, authoritative. “I promise we can talk about that later, but-“

I pushed past him and walked towards my father who was barking orders into a phone. “Did you have Sean keep tabs on me?”

“Y/N, this isn’t the time for you to complain about your independence.”

I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk the same way I had watched him do it so. Many. Times. “Answer me!”

My father, all six foot three of him, stood tall and looked over me even with a desk separating us. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“What the fuck is going on that you hired someone to watch me? That you hired Sean to watch me? What aren’t you telling me?”

He paused for the briefest of moments while everyone moved around us. I could hear safeties being turned off, my mom screaming down the hallway, and feel Sean standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I’ve known for a bit that someone on the inside was giving information to Merkov brothers. Rodger and I spent months sifting through the weeds trying to figure out who it was. We had a break last night, I was going to tell you everything-“

“Four black SUV’s were spotted five miles from the property. Moving quickly. We need to go.” Marcus had appeared in the doorway sans my mother, his face wiped of anything sort of emotion. In fact, Marcus may have been the most emotionless man I had ever come into contact with. I would even venture to call him heartless.

“Shit.” My dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I promise I will tell you everything, angel.” He looked at me, the desk separating us. “But right now you need to go and it can’t be back to your apartment.”

“Dad, I…” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t go back to my apartment in the city, there was most definitely a hit out on my family, including myself, and Sean Wallace was back from the fucking dead. My day was going from bad to worse, my life blowing up in a twenty minute time span.

But I knew my last name, knew the weight it carried. I knew I had a certain responsibility to handle my shit and handle it well, with my shoulders back and my chin up.

“Where am I going?”

He was already on the move and I was on his heels, following him down the winding hallways of the home I grew up in. It was the same house that was sure to be shot to shit as soon as those SUV’s showed up.

“Harbor House.” He barked over his shoulder. “You can drive down there in the charger. Tinted windows. Marcus, have Anthony load a bag into the car. Ammo, guns, everything she’ll need.”

“No one knows where Harbor House is except us.” I reminded him. His business partners may have known about the warehouses and my father’s permanent residence, but Harbor House was for family and family alone.

“I’m not taking any chances, Y/N, not with you. Sean will accompany you and you’ll stay there until you hear from me. I’ll call-“

“What?” I cut him off. “Sean’s not coming with me.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” He repeated.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sean cleared his throat behind me and I refused to look at him. I knew he was offended by what I’d said, but quite honestly I was offended by everything he had done since stepping foot in my parents’ home that day.

“This isn’t about what you need or want, Y/N. He’s going with you.”

I was about to fully lose my temper when shots rang out through the house. I reached for my glock and turned the safety off, immediately ducking behind a marble pillar with Sean’s hand on my elbow, holding me still.

There was yelling and gunshots, some of the housekeepers screaming bloody murder from the second and third floors. There was no way those SUV’s were already on the property, no way. It had to be someone else.

Someone had burned our entire fucking family.

“Dad!” I yelled as a bullet whirred past my head.

“Y/N, go! Now!” I could hear him but I couldn’t fucking see him. Marco was beating the shit out of a man dressed all in black, ripping his gun away and firing off a round into his chest. The smell of blood and gunpowder burned my nostrils and I winced.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“Sean!” My father shouted. “Get her the fuck out of here! Get her out now, kid! Now!”

I glanced over at Sean, warning him with my eyes not to touch me, but it was too late. He ripped the gun from my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me backwards.

“Sean, no!” I screamed, trying to pull away.

“We have to go, Y/N.” He dragged me down the hall while I fought him the whole way , dragging my feet and scratching at the suit clad arm wrapped around my waist. He finally stopped at the side door at the end of the hall and yanked it open before tossing me in.

I stumbled across the cold concrete of the garage and caught myself against the car I was supposed to be leaving in.

Sean locked the door behind him and turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “In.” He motioned to the car.

Still the same, bossy man he always was. Without responding, I turned and made my way across the expansive garage, shoving a table out of the way and yanking open the drawers of a metal cabinet.

“Y/N!” Sean was losing his temper and we were losing time.

“You took my gun!” I finally screamed back, practically growling at him as I picked up twin Berettas and tucked them into the back of my waistband. I grabbed a rifle to throw into the backseat, and one more Glock since Sean had unceremoniously stolen mine and left me empty handed.

He was staring at me as I made my way back to the car, his chest heaving. God, he still looked good. A gunshot to the face only amplified how rough and beautiful he was. Dumb fucking asshole and his dumb fucking face.

I grabbed the keys from the wall and tossed them to Sean who caught them with one hand.

Show off, I thought to myself sullenly as I got into the passenger side, my heart leaping out of my chest. I was about to leave my parents to potentially die. My childhood home was being torn apart, half the staff that knew me since I was a child were now lying dead in the same house they’d dedicated their lives to. It made me sick.

“Just focus on driving.” I told him as the garage door began to rise. I could already see the shadows of feet on the concrete leaned halfway out the window, my nine millimeter raised. One shot to the knee and a man fell, a second shot between the eyes and he was done.

The second man was smart, moved off to the side and just out of aim, and Sean floored the gas pedal while I kept watch.

“Your left.” I said quietly and pointed the gun in front of him, sending shots flying out of the driver’s side door, taking out the second man who had been waiting for us.

“Three of them in front of the gate.” Sean nodded towards the gate at the side of the property, all of them holding assault rifles and aiming at us. “Duck.” he commanded with the car still in reverse.

“What?”

“Duck.” I felt his hand grab at the back of my head he shoved me down, my forehead nearly knocking against my knee as he picked up speed. A loud blast blew out the back windshield and then there was a loud, violent thunk.

His wide palm was still resting on the back of my head, grip so tight it made my scalp prickle in a way that annoyed me. My body had no business getting turned on while in the midst of this shit.

When the tires squealed against the gravel and we went surging forward, I sat back up. I could see smoke coming out of the windows, bullet holes in the brick and mortar. It was a fucking war zone and we were on our way out, leaving behind my family and any shred of sanity I had left.

Fuck.

* * * * * *

The ride to Harbor House was almost completely silent. Sean, ever the Brit, would curse out other drivers every now and then even though ninety percent of the mistakes were his own. Maybe I should have insisted on driving, but at the time the only thing I could think about was whether or not my parents got out.

Although we were never close, I didn’t wish death on my parents. Sure, I resented them for bringing me up in a life of chaos and violence and I’m well aware they caused me a lifetime of trauma, but that didn’t mean I wanted them dead. Definitely not murdered.

It was nearly midnight by the time we arrived. Harbor House was in an exclusive neighborhood and every home had a gate. It had been years since I was last at the house, but it held the only fond memories from my childhood. Harbor House and the Wallace house always felt like home to me. Strange that I was sitting next to a Wallace and not a single shred of me felt comfortable or at home. It was strange, when we were kids he was always my safe space.

I punched in the code and black iron gates opened up, promptly closing with a loud clang behind us. The property itself was a sprawling estate with a two floor home as well as a large yard, pool, and separate guest house. It was on the edge of a cliff and overlooked the Atlantic. Isolated. Safe. Private. The kind of place my family relied on to keep us safe.

“Pull the car into the garage, we’ll get a rental tomorrow.” My voice was monotonous. I felt so drained of every emotion other than pure exhaustion. I was covered in blood, my clothes smelled like gunpowder and sweat, I needed a hot shower.

Sean silently pulled into the garage and killed the engine. We sat there quietly for a moment, so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. If he had any blood on him, I couldn’t tell. From this angle he looked every bit the GQ model. It was only when he turned his face to look at me that I got a glimpse of the mauled left half and got angry all over again.

I was angry at my parents for birthing me into this.

I was angry at whoever burned us.

I was angry at Sean for disappearing from my life in favor of violence. But I was so fucking angry that he had let it go so far that the world thought he was dead.

I almost wished he was.

“There’s five bedrooms. I trust that you’ll find one far away from me?” I phrased it like a question but we both knew it wasn’t.

He gave a curt nod.

The house was exactly as I remembered it. It even smelled the same. Hardwood floors, light walls, French doors leading to a beautiful deck. A kitchen so modern it would make Gordon Ramsey cream his pants. It was the homiest home my family had. It was my haven.

Only now Sean was here to cast a shadow over it.

“There’s plenty of clothes in all the guest bedrooms. My parents like to be prepared for every emergency, you know that.”

Sean nodded as he closed the door that connected to the garage. He locked it and was quick to set the code. The code that he definitely shouldn’t have had.

“How did you-“

“Your father.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “My father gave you the codes to Harbor House?”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing. “He gave me the code for the gate too, but I was polite enough to let you do it. That’s something, innit?”

He was being a smart ass, pushing my buttons on purpose simply because he could. Or because he’d had enough of my attitude. Either way, I wasn’t having it.

“You must be so fuckin’ proud of yourself. You still have an in with my father even after the shit you pulled in London. My father, Sean, not me. You don’t have shit with me and you made that perfectly clear.”

He squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sat on the edge of a beautiful cream colored sofa. I couldn’t wait to sink into it tomorrow with a good book.

I quickly fingered at the straps on my heels and kicked them off while mentally preparing for whatever speech he was about to throw my way.

“I’ve really had enough of you talking to me like I’m some shit person. Enough, Y/N.”

I stood back up, hating that I was smaller than him now as I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs. “If you hate my attitude so much then leave me the fuck alone and let me take a shower in peace.”

* * * * *

My shower was hot and relaxing and everything I needed. As soon as the steam surrounded me, I was able to calm down a bit, and once the hot water hit my skin I was able to sigh in relief. Washing off the blood and grime left me feeling like a whole new woman.

So new, in fact, I briefly forgot about the bane of my existence showering down the hall.

Sean. Showering. Sean in the shower with water dripping down his chest and into that perfect V of his hips. Sean’s hot, wet body pressed against mine. Sean’s-

“Can you not?” I said to my reflection as I ran a brush through my hair. Even when I was angry at him, violently angry, it was impossible to deny that he was attractive.

We never hooked up, not even when we were young. But there was always something there. We flirted. We toyed with each other. We got into nasty arguments. People noticed, my friends made comments. I always ignored them and played it off and said it was because we knew each other forever and just connected that way. They all argued that it was more.

I ignored them.

After changing into a comfortable pair of loose cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt, I made my way downstairs. The windows were open and I could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side. My favorite sound. It gave me peace. It soothed me.

The kitchen was empty and I grabbed a bottle of red wine with every intention of drinking the entire bottle. After pouring a rather large amount into the pristine crystal stemware my mother bought, I threw my head back and took a long, large sip.

Ugh. That’s better. I closed my eyes and took another sip, getting lost in the sound of the waves and the dark, cherry taste of the wine. A moment of peace after all the bullshit I had to endure tonight.

It was only when Sean cleared his throat that I realized I wasn’t alone. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing black sweats and a white t-shirt. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. If this had been a few years ago I would have been aching to curl up against him.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” I said as I grabbed my glass and bottle, preparing to go out back.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” His words cut like a knife to my retreating back and it made me pause, not yet turning around. “You fucking told me you were done.”

I knew what he was referring to. The last time we spoke had been over the phone, maybe four years ago. It had been a normal night with normal conversation and normal “I miss yous”. Sean had truly been one of my best friends and closest confidants. And then the conversation turned ugly when he informed me his father was sending him out on a seriously violent, potentially fatal, mission. Our argument had gotten vile and I said horrible things. He did too, including telling me to “stop acting like a girlfriend because you’re so fucking lonely”.

That had been my breaking point. He reminded me so much of Finn then. He dressed like him, spoke like him, became a carbon copy of him, and I was having none of it. So I had told him to fuck off and lose my number, to never call me again, to pretend I was dead.

It was the one time Sean listened to me and the one time I wished he hadn’t.

To this day, I got embarrassed when I thought about what he had said to me. The way he screamed and the way he humiliated me. Maybe I was lonely, maybe it came off as clingy, but my intentions were always good and I never thought I was a burden to him. But after that last conversation I spent years telling myself that’s exactly what I was. A burden. I checked in too much, my double texting him probably got on his nerves. Constantly complaining about our families when I knew how fortunate I was to live such a lavish life made me sound spoiled, he got tired of it. I spent years convincing myself there was no possible way he missed me and I didn’t miss him either.

“Do you even remember our last conversation?” I turned slowly to face him. “Do you remember what you said?”

He took a step forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- you. I’d been out drinking with my father-“

“And then turned into him?”

“Oh, fuck off then.” He shook his head, his frustration evident as he rounded the marble island in the kitchen. An expert, he seemed to know where everything was. The glasses. The whiskey.

“I’m not wrong.” I defended myself.

Sean laughed and the sound was hollow, sarcastic. He took a sip of whiskey before turning to me with a cold look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t wrong that day either. Was I?”

I scowled at him to mask the absolute hurt I was experiencing. My heart ached. He’d known he was hurting me. He didn’t care. He remembered and he didn’t care.

“Oh, fuck you, Sean.” I whispered before quickly pushing through the french doors and stepping onto the deck.

“Oi!” Sean shouted as I slammed the doors behind me, taking off down the steps, wine glass in hand.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Sean was hot on my heels.

“The conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I felt long, thick fingers curl around my elbow and then he was hauling me back against him. “You say what you want to say and then think we’re done. We’re not.”

I ripped my arm back and shoved my finger in his face. “I’ve waited four years to say this shit to you!”

“So have I!” He shouted back, the vein in his neck becoming prominent. The female part of my brain wondered what it would feel like to run my tongue along that vein, feel it pulse against my mouth.

Wrong time, I thought to myself and shook my head. “You fucked off for four years, faked your own death, and now I found out my father has had you following me. I don’t know what kind of weird, stalker fetish you’ve developed, but it’s really not doing anything for me.”

Okay, maybe that last part was flat out bitchy, but at that point I didn’t care.

I drained my wine glass while I waited for his response.

“Would you like to tell me about your fetishes?”

“Sure, they all involve watching you bleed out.”

“Should have been there a year ago then, yeah?”

I didn’t have a response for that. I zeroed in on the left half of his face, the scar on his cheek. His cheekbone curved differently, probably because it was handmade, and his scar disappeared into his stubble. He looked so vastly different from the Sean I used to know. He was hardened by life, by Finn’s life. Thirty and angry and alone and legally dead.

I ached for the Sean I once knew, but this wasn’t him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A little more than three months.”

“Three months?” I was shocked. I’d had a tail for three months and I didn’t even know it? How embarrassing.

“You wouldn’t have known.” It was as though he could read my mind. “I’ve always been better at it than you.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him, so instead I walked past him and back up the stairs, making my way back into the house to refill my glass. I knew he was following me, knew that the alcohol in my bloodstream was making me feel bold, more bold than I was sober.

Sean closed the French doors, the lock clicking with a tone of finality. I was too aware of it.

“You were shit as hide and seek when we were kids.”

“So that makes you a better spy?”

His tone was serious when he responded. “I was never spying on you. I didn’t have access to your flat. I didn’t follow you around with that ugly wanker with gray hair.”

“Leave Beckett out of this.”

“Beckett?” It was the first time his face had resembled something other than anger. He looked amused. “You’re dating a man named Beckett?”

I cocked my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “We actually aren’t discussing my dating life, we’re talking about my stalker.”

“Stop saying that. It was to and from work. Only when you were out in public.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I finally shouted. None of what happened today was okay. Sean, my dad, the shootout. None of it was okay. “You don’t get to keep up with my fucking life when I have to pretend you’re dead!”

“Lower your voice.” Sean took a step forward.

“Fuck off!” I shouted even louder than before. “You don’t get to just come back and bark orders at me. This isn’t London, Sean!”

“Enough.” He took another step forward and I backed up, reaching for my wine glass.

He was so calm, so fucking collected while I was beginning to fall apart. I hated him for it. Fuck Sean Wallace, I wanted him to hurt the way I did. So, without thinking twice, I hurled my glass at him. Sean barely dodged it, whipping his head to the side as it soared past him and landed on the floor in a million little pieces.

He was a blur as he flew across the kitchen, growling as he slammed my back up against the wall. I cried out as searing pain sent shock waves down my back, but I was too angry to focus on it. My hands instantly went into fight mode and my fingers caught the tip of his nose as I swiped at him, but he pulled his head back, out of my reach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He roared in my face. “Are you bloody mental?” His hands circled my wrists and he pinned them at my sides, effectively halting my movements.

Stuck between Sean and the wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Let me go.”

“The fuck I will.” He squeezed my wrists harder.

“Sean.” I shoved myself against him and he did the same thing, his face even closer than before. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. God, he was a sight. “Fuck. Off.”

His eyes zeroed in on my mouth as I enunciated the words, nostrils flaring slightly. My breasts were pressed against his chest and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, because suddenly we were staring each other eye to eye and I couldn’t look anywhere else. I was drowning the way I always imagine I would except this time I didn’t want it. I wanted no part of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” I whispered softly.

“Or what?” Sean’s remark felt snide and childish, something I would have happily said to him had he not leaned down and slid his lips over mine. It was a light touch, so soft I barely felt it. But I still gasped because it was Sean’s lips touching mine and I hated that I liked it so much.

At the sound of my sharp intake of breath, he smirked. “I fucking knew it.” And then he smashed his lips against mine, not letting up on the grip he had on my wrists.

Sean’s tongue pushed past my lips and slid against mine, weakening my reserve just a bit. He tasted good, his scruff scratched against the edges of my mouth and I reveled in it, loving how rough he felt.

He fucking engulfed my mouth, taking complete control of the kiss and demanding that I give him more. Forgetting the position we were in, he let go of my wrists in favor of cupping my face, wide palms against my cheeks.

I should have pushed him away, should have told him to leave, but the simple truth was that Sean Wallace knew how to kiss. He kissed like a man, held my face, stroked rough thumbs over my cheekbones, and swallowed my moans. He crowded me, stood so close our torsos were touching while we made out against the kitchen wall. Our tongues touched, teeth clashed, and when I sucked Sean’s bottom lip into my mouth the groan he let out was guttural. Animalistic.

But the noise was enough to bring me back to reality and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me as hard as I could.

Sean stumbled back and caught himself on the counter. He was just as caught up as I was, his eyes wild, cheeks flushed red.

“You’ve got some nerve.” I cleared my throat and wiped my mouth, still tasting him on my tongue.

“Me?” He had the audacity to smile, still clearly fired up. “You were the one sucking my lip like it was my cock.”

My cheeks felt hot. The way he said cock with the accent and the smirk… it murdered me on the inside. It absolutely killed me how good it sounded. “You wish.”

“Every fucking night.” Sean stepped forward again. “I think about you sucking my cock every. Fucking. Night.”

His admission left me breathless. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. The thought of Sean laying in bed at night and thinking about my mouth wrapped around his dick lit me up. I was hot everywhere.

“Sean-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He crowded me again, this time wrapping one arm around my back and pulling me against him. “For once in your life, please, Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

Cupping the back of my head, Sean kissed me again. I wanted to fight him, wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would only prove him right. I really did have a problem with shutting the fuck up.

So, I kissed him back. I gave it my all, twining my arms around his neck and leaning against him. Sean tongue fucked my mouth as though he’d been dying to for years, and after his admission I wondered if he had. His body felt warm against mine and feeling his fingertips glide along the exposed area of my lower back made my knees nearly buckle.

He smiled against my mouth and before I knew it, Sean was sliding both hands down, gripping my hips and hoisting me in the air. My legs locked around his waist instantly, ankles crossing at the small of his back while he carried me through the kitchen.

Our mouths never stopped touching. I’d been waiting years to kiss Sean. I’d been waiting years to slap the fuck out of him as well, but right now the only thing I cared about was keeping our mouths fused together for as long as humanly possible. I felt drunk on him, on the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

I didn’t realize we were in the living room until Sean sat down on the couch with me straddling his lap. I took the opportunity to pull back slightly, his lips chasing my own, and I smiled at the way he leaned forward. I cupped the right side of his face, loving the way his scruff felt against my soft palm. He truly was beautiful, the red-brown hair and beard, the plump mouth that spent more time scowling than smiling. His freckles, God, when we were young I could have spent hours counting them.

And then there was that scar. That brutal, obvious scar. The trauma his body must have gone through made me sick and when I reached up to run my fingers over the jagged, raised skin, Sean was quick to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Don’t touch me there.”

But I wanted to. So badly. But it was clear in his reaction, in the stiffness of his body, that he was serious. Of all the limits Sean DIDN’T have, touching the left side of his face was one of them and I had no choice but to respect it.

“Fine, how about you touch me then?”

It was all the incentive Sean needed and he flipped me onto my back, hovering over me with one hand braces on the back of the couch. Our eyes held as I slid my hands down his chest, his heartbeat pulsing under my hand as I slid lower, lower still until I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. He leaned back, only for a moment to rip the shirt off his head and send it flying.

Fair skinned with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I itched to lick the V that disappeared into his waistband. He may have been injured, but he hasn’t been resting this last year. Sean didn’t have the body of a man who rested, he had the Jody of a man who was constantly pushing himself. He was strong in every sense of the word and it made me pathetically, desperately wet for him.

“Your turn,” he said against my lips, fingers playing under my shirt and sliding along my ribs. “You’re so fucking soft.” He whispered against the skin of my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I reached down to cup him through his sweats. Jesus… Christ. “You’re so fucking not.”

Sean laughed then, but I was dead serious. Either Sean was hiding a gun in his pants or his cock was just that fucking solid. And… thick. Even through his pants I could tell. I squeezed once and he let out a guttural groan, the sound sending shock waves between my legs. I wanted that sound on a loop for the rest of my life.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. “Fuck me…” He trailed off, cupping one in his hand and giving a firm squeeze as he settled his eight between my legs. I could feel him against my clit even with barriers of clothing separating us.

“I always wondered what your nipples looked like.” He licked one gently and my back arched hard, my whole body tightening. “They’re so much better than my imagination.”

Sean fastened his mouth against my nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud while I writhed underneath him. My nails scraped through his shirt hair, digging into his scalp and holding him against me. He said he had wondered what they would look like, but I spent the better part of a decade wondering what this would feel like.

Fuck, it felt good.

Sean’s hips ground against mine as he moved to my other nipple, hands roaming felt over my body, gripping my clothes thighs and sliding up my sides. Tracing along my collarbone, fingers tugging at the nipple that wasn’t getting any attention.

I felt like a horny teenager, aching to have him inside me as fast as humanly possible. My nails raked over his shoulders and he gave a delicious growl in return, leaning up and hovering over me again. 

“I’ve thought about your mouth on my cock for ages, but right now the only thing I want is to be buried inside you. That okay?”

I was modding before he even finished speaking. Fuck a blowjob, fuck foreplay. I didn’t need that with Sean, not now. Right now I just needed… connection. I was almost desperate for it and it fucking terrified me.

Sean leaned back on his knees and hooked his fingers into my pants, tugging them down in one swift move and leaving me completely naked and sprawled out in front of him. His eyes raked over me and my breath hitched in my throat. He could see… everything.

“Fuck me… this body was fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling my brows. “A bit cocky, yeah?”

“No.” His face was serious, eyes focused as they raked over my breasts, my hips, my legs, zeroing in on the spot between my thighs. Sean slid one long, thick finger over my slit and I cried out, my body stiffening. “I knew you’d be bald here.” He repeated the motion. “Been dying to see that tattoo on your thigh for ages.”

I’d gotten the tattoo when I was 20 and officially moved out of my parents house. It was one of those stupid young decisions, but I didn’t regret it. It was a snake that wrapped all the way around my right thigh, the snake’s tongue permanently engraved on my inner thigh like an invitation. Or a warning.

“And?” I asked inquisitively, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down my stomach.

“And I think this body was fucking made for me.”

His lips came crashing down on mine again and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, loving the way his hip bones pressed into my thighs. He littered kisses over my cheekbone, an oddly sweet gesture, and then absolutely assaulted my neck, licking and biting and nipping at my collarbone until I cried out.

I reached down, yanking at his sweats and pushing them down his thighs with my heels. I was fucking dying for Sean Wallace to be inside of me, I couldn’t even breathe because I wanted him so badly. Needed him, needed to know what it was like to feel him.

“Sean.” I gasped as he braced one hand above my head, the other one gripping his cock and lining it up at my entrance. I gripped his bicep when he pushed the tip in, my nails digging half crescents into his skin.

“Sean.” I repeated his name, this time somewhat panicked because what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to fuck him?

“Remember when I told you to shut the fuck up?” Sean’s eyes met mine and he gave one sharp, hard thrust and was suddenly inside me so deep I swore I could feel him in my cervix.

I didn’t even have time to gasp, my mouth fell open in a silent scream and Sean’s groan was something I’d think about for months. He was so deep I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, looking up at him completely frozen.

“Oh, fuck.” He finally breathed out. “That’s right, so good you can’t even speak.”

“I… hate you.” I finally managed, leaning up and catching his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging so hard he let out a groan of pain.

“You don’t hate me.” Sean pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back inside me, giving me no warning or time to breathe. But the yelp I let out was enough to make him smirk.

Cocky bastard.

Fine, I could play. Tightening my legs around his waist, I raked my nails down his back and watched his face change, jaw clenching tight. I licked his collarbone before sucking the skin there. I sucked hard and didn’t stop until I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and yank me back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re not the fucking boss right now.” He practically growled the words, not letting up on the grip on my hair. He pumped in and out of me, my scalp pricking with a weird, pleasurable pain that left me moaning for more.

Sean’s thrusts got harder and I cried out when he hit that spot, so deep I could feel him everywhere. “Sean!” I cried his name, my breath hitching in my throat.

He let my hair go in favor of those perfect ducking fingers wrapping around my throat. His thumb pressed firmly under my jaw, I had no other choice but to look at him as he fucked me into oblivion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned, pressure on my throat tightening just a bit. “Thought about you every fucking day.”

I was instantly thrown back into reality. Everything that happened that day. The shooting. Sean coming back from the dead, all of it.

“Nope, stay with me.” Sean commanded, sensing my disconnect. He slowed his thrusts leaning down to lick at my lips lightly. It was oddly erotic and I found myself whimpering for more. “That’s it, relax for me.”

“I…” I started desperately. “I can’t. Sean-“

He squeezed my throat harder and I suddenly gasped, my air being cut off. “Relax.” His voice was oddly soothing. “You can still breathe.”

I shook my head.

He paused his thrusts, once again settling deep inside me with my legs splayed. “Yes, you can. I’m not squeezing that hard. Breathe.”

I took in a breath. It was shallow, but it was there. Letting it out slowly, I repeated the motion, Sean catching on and thrusting every time I exhaled. It all felt different like this, barely able to breathe and dripping wet onto the couch. I’d never wanted someone more and I was terrified, I’d never been “handled” the way he was handling me, treating me like I was his.

“Been waiting years to feel you come on my cock.” He groaned when he released my throat, leaning back on his heels and looking down at where we were connected. “God, you’re soaked. Made a proper mess all over me.”

I moaned because at that point words were not possible. My stomach felt tight, I felt like I was going to cry or laugh or scream. I felt like I was going crazy.

And then Sean rubbed his thumb over my clit, watching me jerk, and I knew I was done for. He did it again and again, giving me shallow strokes while he rubbed the little bundle of nerves that were certainly going to send me into a tailspin.

“Sean, please.” My back arched and I shouted, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

“Come all over my cock so I can watch you lick it off after.”

My mouth fell open and I screamed his name, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Sean lean over me and wrap an arm around my back.

He picked up the pace while I clung to him, whispering in my ear about how he’d wanted it forever, how this was his, how I was his. It was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than rake my nails through his hair and whisper his name over and over again in his ear.

“Fuck.” Sean’s groan was long and low, stroking into me one, two, three more times before holding himself still, his climax hitting him as hard as mine hit me. 

His arms shook as he held himself over me, eventually collapsing onto my chest in a huff. We sat there silently, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff side lulling us. Sean’s right cheek was pressed against my breast and his dick was still inside me. He was as close as he could possibly be but I somehow wanted him closer. I wanted to fucking absorb him into my body, keep him there forever and enjoy the weight of him on me.

“Sean?” I whispered, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the back of his neck and delighted in his shiver. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

He lifted his head then, searching my face for some sort of emotion, but I forced myself to remain stoic. It took Sean fucking my brains out for me to realize how much I missed him. How much I fucking loved him. But I couldn’t tell him that, I couldn’t give him that much power over me.

“Today was the first time in a year that I was thankful that bullet didn’t kill me.” Sean’s words were honest, quiet.

We didn’t say anything after that, we didn’t really need to. In that moment we were safe, together after years of being apart, and now all we had to do was wait for word from my father. Until then, I was going to enjoy whatever time I had with Sean and I prayed I would never have to pretend he was dead again.

[kayr0ss]

Hands that Remember [AO3 Link]

[Horizon Zero Dawn, Elisabet Sobeck Lives, Found Family, Mother-Daughter Feelings, GAIA is recovering, Ereloy]

Summary: Aloy saw the recordings, felt their grief over the death of their culture - the loss of their identity. Ted Faro had blown away the light meant to guide humanity through darkness - but she was willing to risk it all to take it back. To bring APOLLO back.  It wasn't the first time that the world asked her for a miracle, but it bargained with a miracle of its own: This time - she didn't have to do it alone.

[Wherein Elisabet Sobeck returns, GAIA is recovering, Erend is done waiting around, and Aloy discovers a family she's never had before to help lift the weight of the world off her shoulders.]

---

Chapter 1: Resurfacing

It was endless.

The dust and sand reminded him of the canyons north of Meridian—but it seemed harsher.  Endless, expansive. Flat. He’d lost sight of All-Mother Mountain days ago and soon even the icy northern peaks of the Cut had fallen behind the horizon. All that was around him were rocks and packed earth.

Clouds of dust rose from under his footsteps, caught in a wind swooping over from further west. He wondered if they would reach the end of the world before the end of this desert. Did it just… stop? Was there an edge where everything ceased to be, a void down below ready to consume anything unfortunate enough to travel just a bit too far?

He grunted at his thoughts. Way too poetic. Been hanging around too many Carja these days—and not enough ale to drown out all the needless chatter.

What was Aloy doing out here anyway?

Still, he pressed on with gritted teeth, pulling up the fabric of his scarf above his nose. There was shelter up ahead. The faint purple glow he was following led him straight down its path: a ruin of the Old Ones full of rusting metal and crumbling rock. There were a few trees in the vicinity, tall and shooting straight up from the ground as though they were arrows.

“Must’ve taken shelter here,” he grumbled to himself.

It was a short trek to reach the threshold of the ruins. There was an archway holding a dilapidated sign, looking as if a strong kick to the base would be enough to knock it over. For a minute he entertained the thought, but what for?

A pile of metal junk lies near the perimeter of the building—one of those rectangular containers, similar to those dumped by the Old Ones in the scrapyard near Free Heap. The building itself was covered in vines and… flowers? That’s when he noticed the grass by his feet. It was lush and green, much like in the Embrace, and where plant life thrives it means—

“Water.”

He picked up his pace, falling into a jog. The journey had taken a toll on him. He was glad to have kept some empty water skins on hand—a fresh refill and his store of dried meats would be more than enough to last him the walk back. It was a small comfort against the mounting restlessness that clawed at the back of his mind, the feeling that he was never going to catch up with her at the rate he was going. He wondered if he’d tracked Aloy down this far west only to have her meet him on the road—already on the way back.

At least he hoped she was. Coming back, that is. He shook his head. Not the best time to think about that.

Further inspection revealed no machines in sight. Odd. Did Aloy clear the way already? Or was there something else, something that kept them away? The thought was unnerving, but he kept his hammer stowed away at his back. Couldn’t pick up any threats, anyway. No mines either, he nodded to himself. Stalkers could be ruled out.

He looked up towards the building. It was worn down, only the haunting twisted metal of its skeleton left standing, rubble littered at the base. “Probably fed a whole thunderjaw into a forge to build this one.” He chortled. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself. Right. Water.”

He followed the way to a patch where the growth was thicker. “Huh.” He paused, frowning. There were purple flowers arranged in a triangle too perfect to be natural. Some sort of stone seating structure was in the center and—

“Fire and spit!” he sputtered out, war-hammer pulled at the ready while he awkwardly regained his footing after nearly tripping. For some reason, even in the heat of battle he decided he didn’t want to step on the violet blooms that seemed so dainty and beautiful.

Was that… a person?

His frown deepened, brows knitting together as he looked over some sort of machine suit. It reminded him of the material Aloy had crafted over standard Nora leathers. He gently prodded at the suit with the end of his hammer’s grip. No movement. The overgrowth consuming it was an indication that it’d been sitting there for, well, a while.

He stepped in a little closer, laying a hand along the suit’s shoulder to dust it away. Cold. He recoiled.

Cold as death.

For a second or two he considered scavenging the strange machine-suit for parts, but quickly dismissed the thought when he realized there might be someone… inside. He stepped back, putting down his hammer. Oseram were delvers, not grave robbers.

I should probably go. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling intrusive and out of place, but one last look over the suit made him shake his head. Was this their home? He tried to imagine what the ruins might have looked before. Like Meridian, perhaps?

The person looked peaceful. Content. But it looked like a lonely way to go.

“You, uh…” he set a heavy gloved hand on the suit’s shoulder. “Have a good rest.”

The stillness didn’t last for very long. As he lifted his hand a cloud of cold, frigid gas began to leak from the small slits along the suit’s shoulders and joints.

The focus Aloy gifted him began to buzz, in sync with the deep onset of frantic panic at the pit of his stomach. By the forge did he break something? He stumbled backwards, hand coming up to tap his focus. Purple lights sprung to life—a spattering of odd blinking symbols and words that were enough to disorient him. Circles of light hovered highlighted portions of the suit, bringing up numbers and flashing words—counting down with urgency.

[WARNING:  Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Atmospheric Seal Compromised]

"Seal?" What was that supposed to mean? He frowned. Too sober for this.

A disembodied voice buzzed into his ear—eerie and inhuman, like how the Shadow Carja’s god HADES sounded, except not quite as threatening. A woman’s voice.

[Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Oxygen Supply—Depleted. Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Potable Liquid Tank—Depleted]

There was a chilling pause.

[External Personnel Detected. Assessment: User of FAS Standard-Issue FOCUS Unit Number ZERO-ONE-ONE-THREE - Assistance Required. Please attend to personnel within UTS Unit Zero-Alpha-Psi.]

“What am I—?!” He looked around in a panic, feeling out of his element. Was it talking to him? This was the sort of thing Aloy was good at! “What am I supposed to do?!”

[Please attend to personnel within UTS Unit Zero-Alpha-Psi.]

“You already said that.” He grumbled back, frustrated. Does that mean this thing—this…Old One—was still alive? Upon closer inspection he could see it: frost crawling out of the vents. Cold. Still as cold as death.

He couldn’t believe it. Frozen in time.

[Stand-by for assisted reanimation.]

He reached out towards the blinking lights across the rectangular badge on the suit’s odd chest plate. It responded to his touch with purple lights blinking into living words floating across his fingertips. He gasped.

He recognized that name.

[Disengaging Cryostasis Protocol. Stand-by for assisted reanimation. Projection: ninety-three minutes to thermal homeostasis.]

--

“Captain, what happened?”

Voices. Too far away. Or were they nearby? Damn. She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t even open her eyes. It was cold. So fucking cold—colder than Nevada had any right to be.

“Get blankets! Anything! Beladga, got any shirts you can spare?”

Why was everyone in a panic? Had she fallen asleep in the control center? Huh. She didn’t recall Travis sounding nearly as gruff as that.

Travis? The others—

She… she had a job to do. A mission. What was it? Everything felt distant—disconnected. She vaguely realized she that she was shivering but why? She tried to call out but realized that she was physically unable to speak, her throat feeling dry as sandpaper. Coughing erratically, she noticed that she was partially intubated with a sort of breathing apparatus.

[Seventeen minutes to thermal homeostasis. Please prepare for disengagement of auxiliary respirator.]

An automated voice was buzzing into her ear through her focus. She could feel her senses turning, along with the slight mobility of her limbs. It seems she was being carried—or rather, being laid down onto something soft. There were footsteps. Movements. The voices were hushed, secretive and confused. There was a soft yellow light through the ambiguous blur of color that swam around her vision.

[Auxiliary respirator disengaging.]

The machinery abruptly detached the mask from her nose and mouth. The sudden brightness made her recoil, her face feeling exposed. She fell into a fit of violent coughing—as if she had forgotten how to breathe. It was painful. God, it fucking sucked.

“Take it easy now,” said the voice from earlier. It was a man. He—He was speaking with her through his own voice. How is that possible? No one could survive out here without a suit. The atmosphere was too—

A sudden wave of nausea overcame her.

Memories of her last excursion came flooding back: the bunker door failing to seal. Her last transmission to the Alphas. Project Zero Dawn. GAIA—the Swarm!

Coming home.

Dying.

I’m supposed to be dead.

“I—” she rasped out, voice hoarse and jagged. Panicked.

“Whoa there,” there was a steady hand on her shoulder, helping her turn to her side. She felt something press against her mouth almost forcefully. “Drink this.”

“We got to get her out of that suit, captain.” There was another voice, female this time.

“I think—” the captain, she assumed, replied “—I think we need to wait a few more minutes. The device is telling me that—”

Everything was fading into black again.

--

“—else to go follow her trail, or just hope she comes back. She has to… she needsto see this. I just… Oh. She’s awake, I think.”

There was some shuffling. Once again, she was offered water. It was sweet this time. Did they mix in sugar? She tried to ask but she was so, so tired and…

--

Sobeck Journal, 1-27-66

I wasn’t going to see any of it anyway.

Best I can do is hope, I guess. The landscape is barren now – I’m kind of glad the other Alphas don’t have to see it this close up. Stings. I’m half-expecting to hear Patrick patch me in via holo, asking why I haven’t dragged my feet to the conference hall for the scheduled status briefing. He’ll take good care of the younger kids, him and Charles both. ZD and the Swarm seem so small and faraway now that I’m walking away from it all. Quite literally. Hauled my ass all the way to Nevada.

Glad mom isn’t around to see the ranch like this. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine it: the tall pine trees, the grass. Maybe I’ll get to see things the way they were before on the other side… wherever that might be.

I’m tired.

Time to rest.

--

She woke up with a jolt.

“Hey.

He was still there, sitting on the ground across from her and looking just as confused as she was. Her vision was clearer now—and every detail she managed to catalogue drove a spike of panic and confusion deeper into the hollow of her chest. They were in a leather tent lit by a small gasoline lamp in the corner. They seemed to be in the outskirts of an encampment, faraway enough to not be disturbed.

“I’m guessing this is freaking you out a little.” He scratched at the back of his head, unable to meet her eyes. He pointed to a waterskin laid down beside her bedroll. “Maybe get some more water in before you speak? I’ve got some dried meats too. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten in… a while.”

On the matter of guesses, she had a vague idea what might be going on. It was equal parts terrifying and exciting and a hundred percent something she did notask for.

She had an unfortunately stellar track record for hypothesizing, though. Chances of her guess being wrong were dreadfully slim. The cold. The scenery. Even the clinical tone and instructions of her Ultraweave Suit’s reanimation module—a system she helped develop herself, back when the prospect of sleeping through the disaster was considered an option.

It wasn’t. Not consistent enough to use en masse—not enough foresight to secure species continuity.

She took a drink of water, willing to steel her nerves before panic caught up with her executive faculties. She needed to orient herself with wherever it was she woke up in. Hell, forget where, the real question is—

“When… is it?”

He blinked. “Uh, today?”

“What year is it?”

The man’s expression softened—a look that didn’t quite fit with the rest of his character. He was big. Towering—even while seated on the floor—with broad shoulders and a figure strong enough to walk around with enough steel to build a car door, apparently. “You sound so much like her.”

“I don’t follow.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming along. She needed to eat.

“Sorry I—” he scratched at his beard. “It’s the reign of the 14th Sun-King, Avad the Liberator.”

Kings? Again?

“I’m Erend, captain of the King’s vanguard.”

He paused.

“You’re Aloy’s mother, aren’t you?”

-

fin

-

A/N: I'd like to acknowledge Tototops for doing an amazing job beta-reading this! It's always a pleasure, and my writing is always pushed to grow better with every suggestion and correction you help me with. x) And to my friends Sleepy, @theguardiandragon1, @saltypyrotato, @tanuki-pyon and Fridge for listening to my HZD manic fever ramblings and helping me make sense of the plot I had in mind.

Just finished the game about two weeks ago and read a bunch of fanfic. I consumed Writerly's Second Dawn (which is absolutely amazing!!!!), which is my foremost inspiration for even attempting to write fanfic of this wonderful franchise. I base a lot of my characterizations and format of story telling in this fic from their work, and hope to do so in a way which is still true to the unique plot I've set for it. I am very excited to be trying something new and to learn and get better along the way. Hope you all enjoy. :)

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

[thekillerssluts]

We’ve Got A File On You: Win Butler

In a year when a lot of our plans have been on hold, Win Butler has been busy. In April, the Arcade Fire ringleader let us know that the band had been working on music shortly before lockdown, and then he let us hear some of it. Last week, on the night of the election, the band debuted a new song called “Generation A.” Apparently, Butler was one of the people who found quarantine more inspiring than suffocating. Just a couple weeks ago, he amended his previous hints with the update that he’s written “two or three” Arcade Fire albums thanks to having to stay still all year long.

It seems like there’ll be a whole lot of new Arcade Fire goings-on to parse sometime on the horizon, but that isn’t the reason Butler and I got on the phone one recent October afternoon. Butler’s not quite ready to talk about forthcoming music yet, aside from saying this era of writing gives him flashbacks to that which preceded The Suburbs and promising “The new shit is about some of the best shit we’ve ever done” as we say goodbye.

In the meantime, there have been some milestones this year: The Suburbs turned 10; Butler turned 40. There is, of course, a whole lot of rich Arcade Fire history between their early ’00s origins and now. There are too many high-profile collabs to dig through, too many pop culture crossovers to cover, in just one conversation. But before Arcade Fire’s next chapter begins, while we both had a moment of quiet at home in the year 2020, Butler and I took some time to dig back through highlights and surprises from across his career.

Appearing In Bill & Ted Face The Music (2020)

How did this happen?

WIN BUTLER: They were filming in New Orleans. I’m kind of the exact age where Bill & Ted really has a soft spot in my worldview. [Laughs] That was just like, yeah, of course I want to be in the Future Council. That’s the part I was born to play. No, it’s funny, it was just one of these random things that come through the email. Usually, it’s, “Nope, nope, nope, nope.” But this was, “Tell me when, tell me where, I’ll be there.” It was on soundstages. When we were filming it, Tommy Lee from Mötley Crüe was back there, and he sort of disappeared at some point. I got to bring my son, who’s six. He was hanging out and we were talking to Keanu about Canada and punk bands back in the day. It was a pretty sweet hang. It was a bright spot in 2020, let me put it that way.

You say you get these emails — is that random stuff they want Arcade Fire to do, or there’ve been other cameos you turned down?

BUTLER: Oh, no, it’s mostly random licensing or stuff that goes to the junk box. But every once in a while, it’s like, “Hey, that sounds like a nice way to spend the day.” I started out in film. I went to Sarah Lawrence College in New York around 2000. I had really wanted to go to film school, and I could never get in. [Laughs] Initially, the song “The Suburbs” was an idea I had for a film and it seemed easier to make a song than a film.

The Suburbs (2010)

That was a convenient segue. The Suburbs just turned 10. I was wondering if you have gone back and revisited it much amidst that anniversary.

BUTLER: The whole experience of Funeral was such a rollercoaster. We were on the road so long. We didn’t have much of a break going into the second record. For The Suburbs, Régine and I — I don’t think we saw anyone for a year straight before we even started demoing or anything for that record.

It was a time in my life… I don’t know, I was in my late twenties, and there were all these details of my childhood in Houston. You know, I moved to Canada when I was 19. [Houston] almost felt like this other life I had. I would close my eyes and imagine riding my bike through town and trying to find the edges of my memory. There was kind of all this emotion that came up through that, and I wanted to capture it. It’s funny, as a songwriter, most of the time I feel like my mind is living in the near future. You’re listening for these little signals in the air. This was almost inhabiting the emotional space of these memories but thinking about it as the future.

When you say it like that, I’m curious if the album feels different to you now that you’re a father yourself and another 10 years down the line. Like another layer to that refracted youth, sort of?

BUTLER: Totally. In a way, I feel like the last year has been a parallel to that year before The Suburbs. Then I was kind of a hermit by choice, and this has more been the world conspiring to make me a hermit, but it has been a really introspective. In a sense, the material that we’ve been working on feels the same way, this hybrid of your emotional landscape and the future.

It’s almost seasonal, like a trade wind that blows in once in a while. I remember we played with Neil Young when he was still doing the Bridge School Benefit and hearing him sing “Old Man” as an old man, almost like he wrote the song when he was 22 to sing when he was 80. I think there’s an element on that Suburbs record that’s like that as well.

Winning The Grammy For Album Of The Year (2011)

Obviously that was a huge turning point for Arcade Fire because you won the Grammy the following year. As a suburban indie fan at the time, I had no real grasp on how big certain bands were. From where I was, it was pretty trippy that you guys won that.

BUTLER: I mean, tell me about it. It was definitely pretty trippy.

There are very, very early moments of you guys getting linked up with some iconic artists. Arcade Fire got plenty of respect from the beginning. But at the same time, the Grammys is something different. That’s a moment of mainstream insurgency. Ten years on, you’re one of the big indie bands of your generation, but also one of the only rock bands to get to that level in recent times.

BUTLER: I don’t know it was the best record that year, but it was definitely the best record nominated that year. I mean, we were up against a Lady Gaga remix record and like, Katy Perry. We weren’t up against a great Eminem record, we were up against a not-that-great Eminem record. In a certain sense, I was like, “Well, I think we should win.” [Laughs] I think we had the best record.

I remember in high school Radiohead and Björk were the two [new artists I loved]. I bought The Bends the day it came out, I bought Homogenic the day it came out. And then everything else I listened to was artists that had broken up 20 years earlier. I remember watching the Grammys the year OK Computer was nominated and it didn’t win, and I was just like, “Oh, that thing must not mean anything then.” I remember Dylan won, and it’s a really great Dylan record, but objectively OK Computer was the best record. So if that didn’t win, then what the hell does that thing mean? After that, I didn’t think about the Grammys that much. It wasn’t on my list of my dreams of my career and what I could accomplish and what I wanted to do.

For me, I was looking more at a band like the Cure or New Order, these bands that were really just artistic entities but you would hear them at a pharmacy once in a while. Like, I’d hear “Bizarre Love Triangle” come on in the pharmacy in Houston and just be like, “Is this from outer space? What the fuck is this?” My dreams for our band was to do for other people what those bands did for me, which was just throw me a fucking lifeline. Because I was just like, “What is this world, and where are my people, and how can I feel OK existing?” My grandfather played in big bands and played with Louis Armstrong, and he bought me a guitar when I was 15. I held on to that thing — if I didn’t have that I don’t think I would’ve made it out of high school. It literally saved my life. I don’t think I could exist without that.

For me, the Grammy thing was strangely moving. Even up until the moment we won, I just felt like an interloper. Even when we won, people looked at us like aliens. Like, “Who? What?” You know, I’m a competitive person. It was really exciting. Cool, awesome, the universe makes sense for one second. It’s interesting, I didn’t expect it to mean anything until we won, and then it meant something.

David Bowie (2005, 2013, Throughout)

I alluded to this earlier but: The Grammys were like an industry stamp of approval. From the beginning, however, you guys were embraced by a lot of elder artists — particularly artists who were influences on the band. One I wanted to talk about was David Bowie. He was a very early supporter; you performed together in 2005, which turned into a live EP. Then he shows up on “Reflektor” in 2013. Somewhere around 2015, you talked about how you’d come to regard him as this professor-type character in your life. He came to your first New York show, right?

BUTLER: Our first headlining show, when we played at the Bowery, Bowie and David Byrne came to that show.

Wow, no pressure huh.

BUTLER: It sort of set the table. Like, “Well, I guess this is how it’s going to be right out of the gate.” [Laughs] It’s funny, I have a photo of David in my studio that I look at when I’m working sometimes. It’s just him in a dressing room with one of those kind of Hollywood mirrors behind him. He really… I don’t know, he felt some sort of spiritual connection with us. It wasn’t like he wanted anything from us. I just think he wanted to say, “Hey guys, you’re going on the right path, keep going.”

I was emailing him over all those years. I don’t know if you have anyone close to you that’s died and you go back and read those emails, it’s really these strange digital fragments of someone you care about. After he sang on “Reflektor,” Régine and I bought him a painting in Haiti as a thank you gift. We were supposed to mail it to him and we got busy and forgot about it, and in the interim he passed. I knew he wasn’t well, but I didn’t know he was dying. Maybe a couple months later I remembered the painting and I dug it out and it was a painting of a black star. A voodoo painting of a black star with rays coming out of it.

I didn’t know anything about his record being Blackstar or anything like that. Now it’s on the wall of my bedroom. Shit like that sometimes happens in my life. I take it for what it is. I don’t know exactly what that means and I just feel grateful… I don’t know man. Even just how inspiring, what he put into his art even in death. He’s someone I think about at least on a weekly basis.

Backing Up Mick Jagger On SNL (2012), Playing With The Rolling Stones (2013)

Obviously that was an ongoing relationship, and you’ve worked with David Byrne too, and you referenced playing with Neil Young. Still: Being onstage with the Rolling Stones seems particularly daunting.

BUTLER: We were Mick’s backing band on SNL. SNL is maybe one of my favorite American institutions. I don’t know if it’s the Canadian thing since Lorne [Michaels] is Canadian. The first time we did it, it was just like, “This dude is my friend.” I don’t know if Lorne’s kids like Arcade Fire or something. But I was in New York randomly and he was like, “Mick’s doing a thing,” and I said, “We do a pretty amazing cover of ‘The Last Time,’” and he said “Come on down, let’s do it.” Then we’re Mick’s backing band. I don’t know, pretty fucking cool.

What is Mick Jagger like to work with?

BUTLER: Mick is like: As soon as the light goes on, he’s a different person. When he turns it on, it’s like this muscle memory — like if you were with the greatest ballet dancer ever, and you say go and this energy comes out of him that is so practiced. It’s someone who’s an absolute master, after practicing something for decades and decades and decades. That was pretty amazing to see. You’re chatting with someone, we’re at the piano and we’re talking about an arrangement, “OK, let’s do a run,” and then, “Boom! Shit!” There he is.

It’s this other level. I feel like people at that level, music’s not something they’re fucking around with. [Laughs] Music is a spirit. You hear something, and if it strikes a chord with you, it connects something at your deepest core. People like that, when you see them do their thing, it really is this other plane. It’s not this show thing. It’s more of a possession. You can hear it in the music.

I feel like I’ve listened to more music during COVID than any time since I was like, 18. I had this moment when I was listening to these amazing records from the 1950s. You can hear the room. It’s almost like audio VR — you can hear the drummer here and the bass player over here. There’s a sense of space, particularly to that older music. It’s a snapshot. If you hear “La Bamba,” right now, that is what it is. It’s a spirit captured on vinyl, on a piece of tape. It’s alive within that.

With people like Mick, they’re a little bit closer to the spirit of rock ’n’ roll — a literal spirit, not a figurative spirit. Bowie was the same. When he played with us in Central Park, the second he hit the stage he’s illuminated. You’re like, “Oh, shit, that’s what it is.” He’s a human when you’re talking to him and as soon as he’s in it, he’s touched by another thing.

SNL (2007-Present)

I’m glad you brought SNL up, because you’ve been on it a bunch of times, but you’re also one of the musical acts they’ve brought into skits. Like, they actually wrote a game show around you. How does that work? Did they write that sketch with you guys, or you walked in and they’re like, “Hey, by the way…”

BUTLER: I can’t remember, I think we’ve been six or seven times. We’ve been there for a couple different casts at this point. The Lonely Island dudes, those are so my dudes. In another life, I would’ve been in Lonely Island, that would’ve been my dream to just fuck around with my friends; when we were first writing music we were kinda joking around because you’re too insecure to try. A lot of times [at SNL], we’ve played for the staff when we’re there, because you get so fired up to play one or two songs and you’re playing live so your endorphins are running so we just sort of keep playing afterwards. I feel like they appreciate that, it kinda feels like you’re on the same team or something.

I was backstage at SNL once last year, and it is pretty crazy to see it all from the inside like that.

BUTLER: It’s so crazy. They write it all that fucking week, and then to see the differences between the dress rehearsal and the live show. They do a little meeting in Lorne’s office. They’ve done the dress rehearsal and it’s still this tiny office and every cameraman and every cast member is crammed in this little office and Lorne’s like, “Make it a blue light instead of a green light at minute 23, and change this word to this word, I don’t think that’s funny, change that, OK, go,” and everyone’s got pencils writing this down. It’s still fucking that. And you know, it hits and misses sometimes, but they’re doing it.

How long did you have to work on your De Niro impression for that skit?

BUTLER: It’s actually more of a Billy Baldwin impersonation, but it seemed to work for De Niro as well. [Laughs] My only real impression is I can look exactly like Billy Baldwin if I want to. If there’s any casting directors reading this and you need a Billy Baldwin impersonator, I’m your man.

LCD Soundsystem’s Goodbye Show (2011)

You’re the one who ended up serendipitously coining the title of the live album.

BUTLER: [Laughs] That is true. That was genuine. He was being a little talky.

I moved to New York before I moved to Montreal, and I would go to the city and go to shows and I didn’t see one fucking thing that was good in the whole year. I was like, “Wait, I thought New York was the shit, where is it?” All I saw was bad, very industry bands. I couldn’t find anything, I wasn’t cool enough to figure out what was going on. There’s very few bands that I really think of, like bands of my generation where I heard them and thought “These are my people.” For me it was the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, LCD, and Wolf Parade. When I heard those bands, I thought, “These are my fellow pilgrims.” It was art, DIY, no bullshit, just trying to make something great that communicates to people. It’s real and emotional.

James is really just one of us. He’s just such a great engineer and really into the way things sound and really passionate about details. It’s rare to meet people like that. James was working with us when Bowie came in, when we were in Electric Lady. James had never met Bowie before. The first 7” he ever bought was “Fame.” We’re in this studio, and the last time Bowie was there he had cut “Fame” with John Lennon, in the same studio. We were all like, “This is the right place to be.”

James is just a man after my own heart. We did a tour with them on Neon Bible. We were playing to a thousand people in Salt Like City and I was like, “Man, in a couple years a lot more people are going to wish they were at this show.” What a fucking great live band.

Scoring Her (2013)

What kind of headspace did you have to get into for this vs. making an album?

BUTLER: Spike [Jonze] came to a bunch of our early shows on Funeral. The second I met him he was just immediately one of my best friends. He thinks about the world the same way. Even though we work in different mediums he was someone I knew I’d be working with in some capacity. I was visiting LA and I was staying with Spike just randomly one time, in the early days of him working on the script for Her. I was reading the script and immediately thinking about how it could sound, and I was like, “Well, we should fucking do the score to this movie.”

When you’re working on a record, it’s so rigid, what works on a song and what doesn’t work on a song. It can be so limiting in a way. Within the band, there’s so many different talents and color palettes and things people bring to the table, so it was cool to do something where the boss is the picture. It doesn’t matter how anyone feels about a piece, if it’s working for Spike, if it’s working in harmony with the picture, that’s what the boss is — the emotionality of the picture. It’s not about you, it’s in service to this bigger thing. It was a cool opportunity for all of us to use different aspects of things we do, and to work with Owen [Pallett], who had done a lot of strings on our records. It uses a totally different part of your brain.

Do you want to do more of that kind of work, or was it this specific story from Spike that spoke to you?

BUTLER: I can say pretty confidently that I’ll work with Spike in the future. It definitely takes a lot of energy. It’s definitely something I’m interested in, but I feel like while I’ve got the juice it’s good to spend as much energy writing songs as we can. It’s pretty fucking hard to make a record, believe it or not.

Future’s “Might As Well” Sampling “Owl” From Her(2017)

Are you a big Future fan?

BUTLER: I love Future. There’s something in the rhythm of the thing he does that actually reminds me of some music from Haiti, in this really deep, subtle way I can’t put my finger on. There’s something almost mystical in the way he sounds, and I thought that was really cool that they sampled that soundtrack. His shit does sound like the future still. I think it’s pretty special.

The Reach Of ”Wake Up” (2004-Present)

This song has had this big pop-culture reach over the years. U2 used it as their walk-on music in the ‘00s. It was used in the trailer for another Spike movie, Where The Wild Things Are. Macy Gray and John Legend both covered it. Microsoft ripped it off for a commercial. It was used in a commercial for LA’s bid for the Olympics.

BUTLER: That Microsoft money went to Haiti, by the way. They did rip it off. [Laughs] Thank you Microsoft.

As far as I know that’s far from an exhaustive list, too. It’s just one of those songs that’s gone out and become a part of the atmosphere. Even a lot of big bands don’t necessarily have a song like that. What do you think it is about “Wake Up” that’s registered in so many different contexts?

BUTLER: From the time we wrote that song to now, the biggest difference in my life is I’ve traveled the world and I’ve been able to play music in all these different cultures and feel the ways different countries feel music. Not only listening to the music in other countries but seeing how they feel the music I play.

I remember around The Suburbs we played in rural Haiti. It was our first time playing in a place where nobody in the audience had any of the reference points of the music we played. We were playing in the mountains, there were people walking in barefoot to the concert. We were playing these songs we had been touring the world with, and the energy from the crowd was so different. The things they responded to, the things they felt, it actually fundamentally changed the way I heard my own music. It made me start to think about music not just from my own perspective but culturally how people hear it and feel it.

I think the one thing that kind of transcends everything across all cultures is melody. Régine was playing that melody on piano in our rehearsal room. I hear it like it was yesterday. It was like, “That’s the shit.” [Laughs] Being present and being in the room, hearing something and really giving yourself to it, just singing that shit like it really meant it and feeling the power of that melody and trying to push it until it breaks. That’s something I think about, just how great it is to have people to play music with. To say it like you mean it.

I remember singing that song in Montreal, in these lofts. Most of our early fans, the first time we played that song, they were like “Fuck this shit, I want the acoustic shit.” People were so negative. I remember a lot of early fans didn’t come to our shows after that because we were suddenly screaming at the top of our lungs and playing electric guitars. It was like, “Everyone here hates this, that means we must be going in the right direction.” [Laughs] But yeah, don’t be discouraged if people hate something. It doesn’t mean shit.

https://www.stereogum.com/2105395/win-butler-interview-spike-jonze-arcade-fire-snl-mick-jagger-david-bowie/interviews/weve-got-a-file-on-you/

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hello I was wandering if you could find me some polygamy sterek ? Like Derek, Stiles and some other guy are in love with each other and being in a three way relationship ( Like the hidden omega by Akinasky ) ? Because when I try to find any I just find a bunch of incest and get grossed out and stop looking. Bonus points if the sterek relationship doesn't involve Scott.

Here you go. Incest and Scott free.  (scott free...hah)

Hidden Omega by Akinasky

(40/40 I 107,401 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/OMC)

As Stiles leaves for college, he must hide who he really is and then he meets his roommate and likes him ... a lot only there is no chance for him to fill the needs that Stiles has as an Omega. Then he also finds his Alpha, Derek Hale (of course) and they all struggle to find their way and learning more about the special aspects of being an Omega and trying to have a unique relationship that will never be typical especially with Stiles, pushing and bossy Stiles as the Omega.

***

What do you mean I'm cute? by crossroadswrite

(1/1 I 1,798 I General I Stiles/Derek/Jordan)

(646): also I have no idea whose underpants I'm wearing right now but they're super comfy and I'm not giving them back ever . Okay, so here’s the thing. Stiles was painfully aware of how he looked all through high school. He was aware his buzzcut and baby fat that lingered on his cheeks made him look like a drowned squirrel.

He was painfully aware of that every time he looked in the mirror, even when his body started to change and he won the puberty lottery he still had the image of fourteen year old him who hadn’t quite grown into his limbs and was too skinny for his own good.

When going to college that was still the overall image he had of himself, so to say he was surprised when people started flirting with him would be a gross understatement.

The very first time he realized someone had been flirting Stiles snorted soda out of his nose and then fell into a pool.

Only to be rescued by Mr. Sunshine himself.

How to Fill an Empty Loft by bloodmakesnoise

(1/1 I 5,475 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/Isaac)

Derek returns to Beacon Hills in search of a connection. He finds it in Stiles and Isaac. 

Three's A Party, Four's An Orgy by NadiaHart 

(1/1 I 5,767 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/Castiel/Dean)

It’s Stiles birthday and he only wants one thing: to be ridden hard and put away wet, from both ends. Now Derek is always more than a willing participant for Stiles requests in the bedroom, however, this time Stiles has something else in mind, particularly more than one something. After a little discussion and a little growling, they agree, adding a partner to their sex-capades–

(”Don’t call it that, Stiles.”) [”Don’t be such a Sourwolf, Derek, that’s what they are. I’m just calling it as it is.”]

-is something they both want. What they don’t count on is running into two men who are so striking they can’t seem to choose. And lucky for Stiles they seem to come as a package deal. ‘Cause hey, three might be a party, but fours an orgy. An orgy that has Stiles smack dab in the sloppy center of it.

Love Triangle? Gross. by countrygirlsfun

(1/1 I 20,940 I Teen I Stiles/Derek/JOrdan)

Stiles’ life, admittedly, hasn’t been the easiest.

But he gets a little help navigating adulthood from Derek and Jordan. The only problem is that feelings get involved.

Feelings for both of them.

I Long for Your Embrace by pterawaters

(1/1 I 21,493 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/Jordan)

Takes place starting a year after "Oh Can't You See."

Derek never imagined himself joining the Sheriff's Department, but after living with Kyle Parrish for long enough, the idea starts to grow on him.

Stiles isn't exactly sure what he wants out of life, but he knows that it isn't a college degree or being away from the people he loves. The solution he comes up with will hopefully bring him back home. Too bad it doesn't do anything for his dead-in-the-water love life.

From some other beginning's end by lorax

(1/1 I 28,876 I Mature I Stiles/Derek/Isaac)

Isaac Lahey takes a road trip that leads away from one love and toward another. Derek drives, and Stiles calls shotgun.

The Calm is an Illusion by Meadow_Wanderer

(6/? I 33,361 I Teen I Stiles/Derek/Jackson)

He thought he could breathe easy, believed that these past months of normality were a sign that things were finally settling down, maybe even getting better.

That was before he was bleeding from a slash across his stomach and buried under three feet of dirt. Man, was he so fucking wrong.

In Any Version of Reality by alisvolatpropiis 

(7/7 I 39,853 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/Derek)

Standing next to not-Derek – whoa, holding not-Derek’s hand? – is someone who looks remarkably like Stiles. Is Stiles, a slightly-altered replica, just like this guy both is and isn't Derek.

It’s not like looking into a mirror – one, because looking into a mirror actually makes some kind of sense, and two, because not-Stiles looks older too, mid twenties maybe. And the tips of his short, spiky hair are dark purple, and he’s got a lip ring and he’s shirtless and covered in tattoos and what the holy hell?

“Time travel?" He's sufficiently freaked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his dad laughing.

“Not exactly,” not-Derek says, and shit, even his voice sounds exactly the same, disconcertingly gentle. He gestures behind him, and Stiles looks over his shoulder, where behind him, scattered across the porch and in the front yard, are more…Dereks and more Stileses.

Fourteen total, including the two at the door, he notes distantly, eyes feeling like they’re about to pop out of his head from bulging so hard.

Seven other Dereks. Seven other Stileses.

Seven Derek and Stiles pairs.

Whatever Works by KouriArashi 

(15/15 I 61,929 I Explicit I Sterek and Steter but not together)

The problem with having your soulmate's first words to you tattooed on your arm is knowing your whole life that you're fated to be with a jerk. It's enough to make Stiles want to date other people ... which is how he winds up dating his soulmate's nephew.

Desolate by Vague_Shadows

(27/27 I 130,463 I Explicit I Stiles/Derek/Isaac)

Derek stops short the moment his eyes fall on the huddled mass in the corner. The beta lying crumpled there is trying desperately to make himself seem as small as possible and cover his most vulnerable areas. It takes Derek almost a full minute to realize who it is and another to realize that he’s wearing tattered, blood-stained remains of the clothes he disappeared in over four months ago. The acrid stench clinging to him tells such a vivid story of the atrocities he must have endured while he’s been missing that Derek thinks he might be sick.

“Stiles?” he asks in disbelief.

[wherevermyway]

be your confessional (1/?) // minbin // 18+

chapter one: cherry-flavoured nicotine series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: obsessive compulsive disorder, cults, religious guilt, internalized homophobia, past sexual assault, cheating, smoking, tattoos.  word count: 4,032 also on AO3

originally posted: 27 december 2020

It's been ten years since Changbin left the cult he was born into. He's been desperately trying to become a normal member of society, but sometimes it proves to be difficult. He has a normal office job, a normal roommate, and a normal life. At least he was trying.

this fic sounds a lot darker than it is. most of the dark things happened in the past and is briefly discussed/observed.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“Would you stay still? The Mark is going to come out imperfect if you keep moving.”

The voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, making Changbin nauseated just hearing it. He couldn’t help but twitch as the tattoo machine etched black lines into his skin, black ink and blood blending as the tattooist wiped at his chest.

To most sixteen-year-olds, getting a tattoo so early was a sign of rebelliousness, something to be envied by others. To Changbin, however, this was not a tattoo he would wear with pride. The X, surrounded by four triangles and enclosed in a circle, was something he felt shameful over.

“The X means you are nothing. You must follow the four principles: morality, service, responsibility, and submission to be whole, much like the circle. That is The Mark.”

The words hurt more than the tattoo being carved into his sternum. Everyone in their fellowship was forced to get The Mark at sixteen, if born into it, or when they were deemed worthy after joining.

Changbin didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be marked with a brand that rendered him unworthy, as nothing more than a pawn to some bullshit deity that some power-hungry man came up with fifty years ago. He loved his parents, he truly did, but he never understood why they fell for the words that The Leader spat out every week. The Leader wasn’t even charismatic; perhaps his parents were just vulnerable and stupid.

It didn’t matter.

“Wear your Mark with pride, Son,” The Leader whispered in his ear, continuing to dig his nails into Changbin’s wrists. “You are one with The Universe, one with Us, one with Me. Together, we are one in responsibility.”

“One in morality,” the tattooist nodded.

“One in service,” his father continued.

There was a pause as Changbin tried to choke back tears. He knew he had to complete the oath, but the lump in his throat and the burning of the skin on his chest made it difficult. The Leader cleared his throat, digging his nails into Changbin’s skin further, until he cried out and shook his head. “One in submission!”

One in submission.

Fuck submission.

Changbin nearly fell off of his bed as he thrashed awake. He was unable to make sense of his surroundings, trying to calm his rapid breathing and focus his eyes on something, on anything. He hated this nightmare; it haunted him for years, and they were increasing in frequency again.

It was irrational, but he needed to make sure. Changbin kicked his sheets off of him, untangling his legs from the prison his sheets tried to trap him in. As he made his way to his feet, he tore off his shirt, haphazardly throwing it somewhere across his room.

He needed to make sure.

Moving towards the washroom was mechanical, automatic. He did this so many times, waking up in the middle of the night to run off and check his skin. It was 37 steps from his bed to the sink. 37 steps to security.

Step 35: collide with the door.

Step 36: turn the light on.

Step 37: stare at the tired reflection in the mirror.

A wave of relief washed over Changbin as he stared at the dark raven that sprawled across his chest, wings touching the tips of his shoulders and the open beak pointed up towards his left shoulder. It held a deep meaning to him, but it was more important that it completely covered up that stupid fucking mark.

It hid away the years of guilt and shame, the obsession and compulsion that came along with conforming to each intricate, demanding rule that the cult ordered. The years of pain would never be totally washed away, but it was getting easier with each passing day.

“Hey,” a tired voice from the doorway startled Changbin, causing an electric jolt to course through his body. He turned his head over his shoulder and stared, blinking a few times to make sure it was really his roommate, Jisung, standing there.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sleepily mumbled, nervously rubbing the tip of his shoulder with his thumb as he nibbled on his lip ring.

Jisung leaned up against the door, running his fingers through his vivid red hair. “You didn’t. I was already awake. Besides, it’s almost 5:30, so I figured I’d just get up and deal with the day.” They stared at each other for a moment, before Changbin turned back to look at his reflection in the mirror.

“You ever think it’s gonna stop, the nightmares?”

“Dunno,” the redhead shrugged as he met Changbin’s eyes in the mirror. “It’s been awhile since you woke up like this, though. You gonna be okay when it comes up?”

It hadn’t been long since he woke up like this, it had just been a while since Jisung woke up to Changbin acting on his compulsion. The black-haired man sighed, biting at his lip as he ran his eyes over his skin. “I’ll get over it. Hopefully he gets what he deserves.”

Jisung took a step forward, softly gripping Changbin’s shoulder and smiling at him in the mirror. “I know you will, but don’t be afraid to lean on me, dude. I’ll be here to help you through it, I promise.”

“Thanks, man,” Changbin smiled back, then looked down to his hands, staring at the hangnails and scabs that had littered his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to tear into his skin and tear away the imperfections that he had created during one of his episodes. The momentary lapses in rationality, where he would ferociously tear his nails apart, rip off hangnails, the lapses were the only thing that made the intrusive thoughts stop.

“You wanna hit the gym early? I know you’re not gonna go back to sleep any time soon, so might as well be productive with our time.”

“Yeah,” Changbin sighed, looking at himself in the mirror one more time before he turned the light off. “Might as well.”

Ten days until the hearing.

“Good morning!”

Fuck. Changbin tried to stealthily roll his eyes as he walked into the office. He hated the paralegal, Lee Minho. Minho was everything Changbin was not: nice, loveable, innocent, and a good church boy who was pure. Everyone loved Minho, because he was safe, an easy pill to swallow. Changbin was not an easy pill to swallow; he was covered in tattoos, ears decorated with jewellery, hard around the edges, and abrasive to most people.

“Yeah,” Changbin grunted, trying to avoid saying much else as he made his way to his office. It was too early to deal with someone so chipper, not without copious amounts of caffeine.

“Wait!” Minho called after him, and Changbin didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he stopped. He heard the shuffling of papers, and then Minho was suddenly by his side. “Mr. Bang is away from the office today, and he told me to pass off some of the Dawson v. Doebring case off to you.”

“Walk and talk, then,” Changbin didn’t bother waiting for Minho to follow him. “If Chan’s out, that means we’re busy today.” There was an itch under his skin as he lost count of the steps from the front door to his office, and it made him tense.

There was a bit of a squeak that came from Minho as he followed Changbin to his office. “I’ve got your back, Mr. Seo.”

Changbin couldn’t hold back a groan as he stopped dead in his tracks. He hated when people addressed him by his last name. “Stop calling me that,” he took a step closer, getting into Minho’s face. “I keep telling you, only address me as Changbin.”

“But,” Minho started, nervously backtracking his words incoherently.

He looked at Minho with a pleading gaze, trying to not seem vulnerable. Part of him wanted to tear into Minho because they did this every week, but the pitiful look that Minho had painted on his face made Changbin feel like a horrible person. It felt like he was yelling at a child for something stupid and only out of frustration. “Please, just… don’t call me by my last name.”

Minho nodded his head and bit his lip.

“Thank you,” Changbin sighed, turning on his heel and beelining towards his office.

“Sorry, Changbin,” Minho said, curling into himself a bit as he trailed Changbin.

The younger man shrugged as he sat down at his desk. “Don’t worry about it, Minho. Just…” he let his voice trail off as he looked down at his stacks of paperwork. There was a lot to do before he was going to be absent for several days due to the hearing.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me. The leader deserves to die a slow, and painful death. Fuck this goddamned cult!”

That had earned Changbin a slap across the face from his father.

“Blasphemy is a sin, Changbin.” Despite being furious, his father’s voice was exhausted. He tiredly grabbed a black book off of the table and passed it to the young man. “You should be grateful that The Leader accepted you back into his embrace after the stunt you pulled.”

Changbin shook his head, grabbing the book his father offered and tossed it across the room, colliding against the vase on the dining table. “He should be fucking grateful I didn’t take this to the cops.”

Another slap to the face.

The younger man licked his teeth and shot an icy glare towards his father. “You know this isn’t right. You’re really going to side with that fucking monster over your own son?”

There was a painful silence that lingered in the air as they stared down one another, until his father broke the tension. He didn’t look like he wanted to say the words he had been thinking, but he repeated them anyways, his voice empty and distant.

“One in responsibility, one in morality, one in service, one in submission.”

Changbin didn’t bother. He scoffed as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re as much of a monster as him, you know?” His mother sat on the couch, curled up into herself as she stared off in a dissociative trance, trying to remove herself from the situation. “You’re going to actively defend and dismiss the things your beloved leader has done to me? Did you forget that I’m your fucking son?”

There should have been a slap, but Changbin’s father just looked down. His expression was hard to read. There was a look of shame and a look of remorse, but his eyes were dead.

“Get out of my house.”

Changbin’s mother lifted her head, opening her mouth to say something, but nothing came to fruition.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Changbin shook his head. “I’m not living with someone that doesn’t stand up against their son being abused and assaulted for years by some fucking psychopath that thinks he’s a god.”

“Come back here!” His father demanded, but Changbin was having none of it.

He turned on his heel and tried to remain composed as tears rolled down his face. “You’re both dead to me. I hope that, when this whole fucking cult gets torn apart, you both come down with it all.”

It had been ten years since he had seen his parents last, and he would be seeing them again in ten days.

“You’re making your fingers bleed,” Minho’s voice pulled Changbin back from the depths of his memories. “Are you okay, Changbin?”

No, I’m not okay. Never have been.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk. “Sometimes happens when I think too hard.” Ten days. He was still partially lost in the abyss of the past, and he was afraid he’d never fully shake the vise grip that the cult had around him.

Minho frowned, setting his notepad and pen down on the desk in front of him. “Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

No. I don’t want you to know anything about me.

“What is it?” He blotted the tissue around his fingernails until the blood was mostly gone, then dropped the tissue in the bin.

The older man brushed his brown hair away from his eyes, and sat forward. “Is law school really worth it? How did you know it was right for you? Like, I see you and Mr. Bang spend months over these cases and part of me is interested in applying, but...”

Fix the imperfections.

Changbin stood up, trying to fight the urge to pick at his fingers. “Can this wait a minute? I need to go wash my hands off.”

Minho nodded his head once. “Sure, sure. I’ll finish making notes on this file.”

127 steps from his desk to the washroom. He counted every step mentally as he walked. Anything to keep his thoughts away from tearing the flesh next to his fingernails off in nervousness, not until he was alone.

Step 126: open the door.

Step 127: scan the room.

It was an additional three steps to the third sink. Three was a good number.

Changbin ran the water a bit too cold for comfort as he stuck his hands under the faucet, ravenously tearing at his hangnails, pulling them off and turning the porcelain of the sink a shade of pink for a split second. The blood would drip down, then rapidly desaturate and dissolve into the water.

Fix the imperfections.

He hated these thoughts. Sure, the medications he had been on helped, and the therapy appointments he sometimes went to had helped him with better coping mechanisms, but this was the only thing that made sense to him, that actually felt like there was a payoff of serotonin. Changbin didn’t tear into his skin because he liked it — it hurt, actually, and it was incredibly uncomfortable — but because his brain told him he had no other choice.

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder isn’t uncommon in cases like yours,” his therapist told him. “Children develop coping mechanisms like skin picking or excessive handwashing amongst other things to gain control in their lives when things don’t make sense and they don’t have a way to express that in a healthy manner. Anxiety disorders are common: obsessive-compulsive disorder, alcohol and/or drug use and abuse, eating disorders…”

“Fuck that goddamned cult,” Changbin whispered under his breath, his voice laden with venom. “Fuck that man, fuck my parents. Fuck all of them.”

He let the water wash over his hands until his hands started to shake from the cold. Anything to numb the pain.

“You look pale,” Minho had, again, given Changbin an unwanted statement, and the younger man gritted his teeth as he bit his tongue.

Fuck you, too, you prudish brat.

“How’s the case review?” He deliberately ignored the concern Minho had as he sat at his desk, clasping his hands together and resting his chin against his fingers.

Minho batted his eyelashes a few times, giving Changbin a look of worry. “The case review is fine, but I don’t know if we’re going to have this ready by the end of the week.”

“Guess we’ll have to work harder.”

The men sat in silence for hours, poring over their evidence for the case. When Changbin could fully immerse himself in a case like this, it dampened the intrusive thoughts in his head. He felt somewhat normal for a little while, and it was a welcomed change.

“It’s half past two, Changbin,” Minho whined, looking up from his paperwork. “Can we take a break for now?”

It took a moment for Changbin to pull himself away from the paragraph he was on, taking a highlighter to some of the words. “I assume you want to get something for lunch, right?” He didn’t bother looking away from the document, because he didn’t want to look at Minho’s sad eyes.

“That’d be nice, yeah.”

“Then go,” Changbin shrugged.

“You should eat something, too.” Minho leaned in on the desk, trying to get into Changbin’s line of sight. “Maybe take a break from all of this.”

“Fine,” Changbin sighed, grabbing his glasses off of his desk and adjusting them on his face. “Chan said I should be nicer to you, anyways. How about that French place down the street?”

Minho’s smile was soft, genuine. “That sounds perfect.”

Changbin hated the fact that Minho was so nice. It felt fake and unwarranted. He saw a lot of his younger self in the way that Minho acted: fake kindness, putting others before himself, a general sense of being lost. He knew that the other man was deeply wrapped up in some sort of religion that took up all of his time outside of work.

It wasn’t obvious until Changbin watched the way he talked about his fiancée. It felt like she was a prop or a chore: just another thing for Minho to deal with.

“Hey, congrats, man!” Seungmin, the other new paralegal, had excitedly shouted one day a few weeks prior. “Finally settling down like a real adult, huh?”

Changbin poked his head out of his office door, ready to scold the paralegals for being so loud, but the look on Minho’s face distracted him. For someone being congratulated, he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he had meekly said, sinking into his shoulders a bit as he darted his eyes around. “She’s great. My parents have been pushing me to bite the bullet for months now, and this weekend seemed like it felt right.”

Doesn’t look like it feels right.

Changbin stood in his doorway, observing the two of them chatter back and forth, watching the discomfort on Minho’s face every time Seungmin asked him questions about his fiancée. It was like he was trying to talk with a wedge of lemon in his mouth: constantly scowling and wincing.

“We’re gonna get married in a few months,” Minho said with a sigh. “Her parents want a winter wedding, and my parents just want me to get married.”

Seungmin shifted his weight to the other foot. “Dude,” he folded his arms, his tone turning more serious. “You sure about this?”

Minho shrugged. “Yeah. It’s what I’ve gotta do. Nobody else in my community waits this long to get married and start a family.”

Community.

Changbin tried to stifle a scoff with a fake cough when the two men noticed him standing there. “Sorry, I wanted to offer congratulations. I was also looking for the corporate notes for the Smith v. ParaCorp case, Minho.”

“Oh,” Minho nodded, his face flushing as he scrambled around his desk. “Yeah, I’ve got them somewhere, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Changbin shook his head and turned to walk back to his office. “Just have them on my desk in a couple of hours.”

As much as Minho annoyed him, Changbin felt somewhat bad for him. He didn’t know the specifics of what all Minho was involved in, but it sounded deep-rooted and like he was stuck. Chan told him to try and be nicer to his paralegal, but sometimes annoyance won out over niceness, but he was at least trying.

Somewhat.

“So,” Changbin dug into his jacket and pulled out his vape cartridge as soon as he and Minho were outside, “how’s the wedding prep going?” He eyed Minho out of the corner of his eye as he inhaled, the cherry-flavoured nicotine cloud leaving his lips a moment later.

It was a rude question to ask, given the circumstances, but he wanted to try and confirm a theory that was burning in the back of his head, under the guise of caring about Minho’s personal life.

A theory that was slowly unravelling to be truth. Minho shrunk a bit, kicking a stray rock down the sidewalk as they walked. “It’s,” he paused, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I guess it’s going? Maria and her family are working on most of it.”

Go figure.

“You don’t seem very excited for a man that’s about to get married.”

They walked in silence for a bit. 40 steps from the entrance to the curb. The stoplight ahead of them was red, and cars rushed past them as the air lingering between them went stagnant.

“I’m not excited about it.” Minho’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet for Changbin to pick up on. “Not at all, actually.”

The younger man took another pull from his vape, then rolled his tongue over the stud in his lip. He should have pretended like he didn’t hear Minho, but curiosity always got the better of him. “Wanna talk about it? Sworn to client confidentiality.”

Minho scoffed, anxiously tapping the toe of his shoe against the ground. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t love her, do you?” The light turned green, the orange hand turning into a white stick figure, but neither of them moved.

The older man looked up, his eyes glistening a bit as they stared forward. Some stranger walked past them and flipped them off, but neither of them paid the stranger any mind. “Are you actually supposed to love someone you marry, or is that some sort of fairytale? All of my friends are married and secretly miserable.”

“Dunno,” Changbin sighed, sticking his hands into his pocket as he stared at the light turn into a flashing hand. “Never been married. Never planned on it.”

“Why are you asking me this, anyways?” Minho turned to look at Changbin, a disgruntled look on his face.

“Why did you answer me?” Changbin tilted his head a bit to the side, looking at Minho with indifference. “I figured you wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t really want to talk about it. To answer your question, though, it’s been bothering me since you announced your engagement. You looked uncomfortable when Seungmin brought it up.”

Minho didn’t answer Changbin, instead taking a hasty step forward as soon as the light flashed back to a white stick figure.

“Wait, Minho!” Changbin reached out, practically ripping Minho’s sleeve off of him as he pulled him back from the road right as a car ran a red light, nearly running into Minho. The force of the pull knocked them onto the sidewalk, causing Changbin to land hard against the ground, barely missing his head colliding into the concrete.

Minho awkwardly laid on top of Changbin, staring down at him with terrified eyes. He grabbed the sides of Changbin’s neck and panicked. “Oh my goodness,” he whined, “Changbin, are you okay?”

He’s cute from this angle. Fear looks good on him.

“I’ll be fine,” Changbin says, unsure of where to place his hands. He’d never been this close to another man his age. It never hit him before, but Minho was good looking. Had he not been the pure, innocent church boy type, he would have been Changbin’s type. Minho, however, was innocent and literally planning a wedding that was coming up in a few months.

“Changbin,” Minho whispered, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson. There was a strange tension between them, like the air around them was full of electricity and they were being pulled together. Minho dug his fingernails into Changbin’s neck, slowly bringing his head in closer.

Don’t kiss the church boy.

He knew where his hands needed to be. Changbin brought his hands up to Minho’s head without even thinking twice, pushing aside the intrusive thoughts running through his head. The warmth of the older man was intoxicating as he brought their lips together.

Minho responded in kind, pushing a bit further into the kiss. They were getting strange stares, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the euphoric energy that danced around them as they kissed. He pulled away, then pressed his lips to the older man’s three times in total.

Stop kissing the engaged church boy.

Maybe he would make it six times.

Don’t kiss the engaged church boy who is probably heavily traumatized.

Nine times. Three times three for good measure.

Changbin had just literally fallen for the church boy, but he felt like he was potentially metaphorically falling for him now. Fuck the intrusive thoughts.

[leahclearwaterdefensesquad]

Other fictional werewolves (let's not get into Meyer's 'they're shapeshifters' turnaround, yet) are treated as subhuman, too. Is it more of an issue in the twilight saga because SM reserved that exclusively for non-white, native americans who would have/do face that disregard by many people in real life? Whereas, with others (HP, for instance) it's...well, I don't know if it's across the race spec but it's not exclusive to marginalised people (then again, JKR was exclusionary in her attitude)

Okay so this app tells me that I have a certain amount of asks in my inbox; however, there's one less ask than what it's telling me I have, which leads me to believe that Tumblr may have trashed your other ask or just isn't showing it (if you sent another one, that is). So if you did, I'm really sorry about that and it wasn't my doing, so I'm just gonna work with this ask, okay? Just wanted to clarify that just in case!

So first things first. I haven't really watched enough shows about supernatural creatures, specifically shows with a vampire vs. werewolf element, to give a statement on whether the 'vampires are portrayed as more superior to werewolves/werewolves are treated as subhuman' bit is more /across the board/ in the supernatural genre like you say it is (although I think you make an interesting and legit point that I do want to hear more about). I've watched Twilight and True Blood(a while ago) and that's pretty much it.

In answer to your first question, yes. Meyer goes every which way to beastialize the Native Americans in her books, whom are the werewolves of the series (and like you said, we're ignoring her little "they're actually shapeshifters, here's a last minute mention about the Children of the Moon" from BD). She writes it so that specifically the Native American tribe turns into animals -> makes their actions violent and their control short enough to the point that a domestic violence situation goes down (we're coming back to this bit) -> draws up the racist parallel that Native ppl, and specifically the men, are more animalistic and predatorial. Not to mention that domestic and sexual violence against Indigenous women (as well as murder) is an ongoing genocidal epidemic, so Meyer including that bit that draws a parallel to what is happening irl is so... 'Inappropriate' doesn't do it and a lot of other shit she wrote justice. (Here's a link about MMIW.)

She shouldn't have written the Emily/Sam/Leah love triangle (and especially the incident between Sam and Emily where he scars her) PERIOD because 1. Meyer writes that Emily forgives Sam and that they have their romantic happily ever after, which trivializes what Indigenous women face and 2. portrays stereotypes of Native men being violent and 3. you can tell from how much unresolved drama she creates for her Native characters (Embry's father, the love triangle, killing Harry Clearwater and placing the blame on his daughter, killing Sarah Black off page and all the grief it causes Billy and their kids, Quil's dad dying in a boating accident when he was a kid, and Quil imprinting on a toddler which we are so getting to) that she's a sadist for Indigenous pain (which is a bit more in general with the series than just the love triangle but I'm in rant mode rn and it needed to be said!!!). Like, making Quil imprint on Claire, a 3 year-old - what was the point of that??? Meyer wrote a lot of fucked up shit in those books, but making Native men be violent toward women (Sam and Jake with Emily and Bella) and child groom (Jake and Quil with Renascence and Claire) is some of the absolute worst, despicable, racist ass shit!!

The anti-Native racism becomes even more apparent when you pay attention to the double standards that the Native characters face as opposed to the Cullens. Let's take several incidents into account. We are to view the werewolves as having a lack of control over their tempers and their phrasing, as well as being violent and dangerous. The e.g. was Sam and Emily (see above), as well as Jake's mood changes and shaking post-first phase. However, the Cullens are characterized by their self-control and focus over their thirst and their general feral nature as vampires (Carlisle's god-like control to the point that he can be a doctor, Edward not killing Bella in Twilight) DESPITE a clear example refuting this - the incident at Bella's birthday party in New Moon! Bella was all cut up by the end of the evening because Señor Slavery Is My State Right lost his shit at a paper cut and then Edweirdo didn't pay enough fucking attention to not throw Bella into a glass table when he was trying to push her out of the way, which he didn't even have to do!! Then in Eclipse, his hypocritical ass proceeded to tell Bella that he wasn't allowing her to go to La Push (god imagine if your man said he wasn't ALLOWING you to do something like I'd fucking kill the motherfucker with a flamethrower up the ass) because the wolf pack was dangerous despite why he left in the first place in New Moon! There are more occurrences of this hypocritical, racist bullshit, but this is the clearest example to point out.

I've seen greater in-depth discussions going around, as well as papers you can just google and read, that have analyzed how much anti-Native racism is steeped into the series, which I would highly recommend looking out for. Actually I may possibly go back and find a few that I read myself.

As for the JKR thing, she wrote lycanthropy as a metaphor for HIV/AIDS. Also, take notice to how the majority of the werewolves in HP were bad guys and sided with Lord Voldemort. These werewolves embraced their nature, eating (I'm pretty sure, it's been years since I've read it) and infecting ppl gleefully, which was basically a parallel to the idea that gay men were infecting ppl with AIDS, because Joanne is not only a transphobic bitch, she's homophobic as well. You wouldn't immediately think so because she made Dumbledore gay, but that was more for the ~drama~ rather than legitimate representation. (See: she released that detail after the books were published so that it wouldn't hurt sales/PR, she had him crush on the man he would have to defeat in battle for the ~drama~ b/c if there's one thing bigots love, it's inflicting pain on minority characters.)

Compare these violent werewolves in the Wizarding World vs. Remus Lupin, the werewolf who was forcefully turned by Fenrir Greyback, one of the pack leaders who sided with Voldermort, and is ~ashamed~ of his sickness.

Anyways, I think you may be onto something here, and I encourage everyone to add any other examples that are relevant and continue this conversation. I'm sure there are plenty that either have to do with Anon's point or with Stephenie Meyer being a racist.

[thestarwrites]

All right, All Might: Ch. 4

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: PG

Painting: Toshinori Yagi X FemOC

The UA Guidance Counselor, a quirk user with Pathokenesis, is shocked to find out her personal hero All Might is coming to be a teacher. The road they walk as a parallel starts to merge and there’s no telling what could happen.

-----

CHAPTER FOUR: THAT’S HIGH SCHOOL FOR YOU

Keri sat in her office, it was early in the morning. She took a deep breath and tried to push down her nerves. She was extremely excited to welcome the students from classes 1-A and 1-B, as well as the support course heroes — but she was dreading seeing /him/. Toshinori Yagi.

The rest of the summer had passed without them seeing each other. It killed her. It had nothing to do with the fact he was All Might, and everything to do with how much she missed his idle chatter, his laugh, his smile, the way his deft fingers felt when he held her hand. She missed her friend. Keri thought of a million ways to apologize, to reach out - but they never seemed good enough. And he never reached out either, she figured it was pointless.

She had bought him a new set of handkerchiefs with his own initials branded on them to use as the pocket squares in the suits he wore - they were in America’s colors. Maybe it would be the kind of apology gift she needed to get things back on track with him. It sat under her desk in a gift bag with a bottle of sake.

Looking down at her phone, she watched the time tick to the next minute before setting her forehead down onto the desk with a groan.

“Can I come in?”

She felt her skin prickle with the somber masculine voice behind her. Turning she looked up and was met with the blue eyes of Toshinori. He was dwarfed by the extra fabric of his suit, “Of course, All Might…”

He took a few steps forward and closed the door, “Keri- I-“

“All Might, I’m so so sorry.” She blurted out first.

He looked taken aback and he walked to her, getting onto one knee and grabbing her hand in his, “No — I’m the one who’s sorry. You were in distress and I took is personally—“

“No! No you were just trying to protect me and Izuku and I was behaving like a spoiled kid—“

“No you weren’t, please—“

She started to cry as she slid off of her chair and wrapped her arms around Toshinori’s neck, “I missed you so much.”

He felt his own eyes prick with tears as he held her firmly to his small form, “I missed you too. The last couple of weeks have been so hard — I was lost without you.”

Nodding against him she squeezed a little tighter, “I wrote about a zillion I’m sorry texts— nothing seemed right…”

“I did the same thing—“ He admitted, “I- one night I was outside your apartment with flowers looking like a burglar… I couldn’t face how ashamed I felt… the way I lashed out at you…”

“I said horrible things to you All Might - I didn’t mean any of them…” She pulled back to look at him, “You’re my hero, you’re my friend… I don’t think anything bad about you.”

He nodded and swallowed down tears, “I don’t think anything bad about you either.”

“All Might I’m —“

“Keri… please… stop calling me All Might,” he pushed her hair back, “ My name is Toshinori. I’m your friend. Right? I’m just plain old annoying Toshinori.”

She nodded and hugged him, “Toshi…” She whimpered gently into his ear.

He relaxed into the embrace finally once she said his name. He felt complete again now that he and his best friend had made up, he had been so lonely. When he hadn’t been doing entry videos, paperwork, hero work, or training izuku, he was in his shabby apartment alone, thinking about her and how badly he messed up.

Pulling back she wiped a tear from his cheek, “Oh I— I have something for you…”

“You got me something…” he watched as she went to grab the bag from under her desk and return with it, “Keri - you didn’t have to get me anything after what happened, there was nothing to—“

“Open it, please,” she started, “as an apology, and also as a congratulations for your first day as a teacher.”

All Might looked down, taking the bag and opening it, “A bottle of sake —“ he stopped and pulled out the pocket squares and smiled brighter.

“I- I figured you might not have pocket squares that fit your personality - and since you might need a spare handkerchief now and then-“

He ran his fingers over one he pulled out, “This has my initials on it.”

“Yeah of course,” She smiled, “You’re a professor, you should have something fancy.”

He swallowed and looked up at her, “I love them.”

Smiling she wiped her eyes, “Here— let me help you put it in your pocket.” Patho showed him how to fold the perfect pocket square, and she placed one into his suit pocket, adjusting it, “There. Now you look perfect.”

All Might looked down at it and smiled thoughtfully, “You’ll come over tonight to help me drink this sake, wont you? To celebrate our first day as coworkers, and our first day back to being friends?”

“Sure thing,” She nodded and hugged him again, “I’m so glad we’re okay.”

“Me too, Patho.”

Taking a deep breath she stood, offering her hands to help him up, “Okay Mister Yagi, you better dust yourself off and get ready for a day of being inspirational!”

Standing with her help, he powered up and towered over her in his buff body, “I won’t let you down, miss.” He chuckled and winked, kissing both her hands, “You’re going to be great today too. God I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

Keri moved to jump into his arms, wrapping her arms around his thick shoulders, “I’m glad you don’t hate /me/!” They laughed and he spun them around before setting her down.”

“I’LL SEE YOU AT LUNCH.”

She laughed as he exited the class room.

——

After orientation, Keri rushed to head up to the teacher’s lounge where she knew All Might would be resting up, getting ready to bulk up and teach. She skidded into the room, “Toshi— Aizawa he—“

“I know, he’s got Midoriya.” He hummed miserably, “This is going to be hard.”

“Homeboy made his class skip orientation, they’re outside using their quirks to do physical tests. Last year he made a girl cry saying someone would be expelled—“

“WHAT.” All Might sat up straighter, “He can’t! He’s going to single out Young Midoriya— He can’t use his quirk yet—“

“Calm down. He never expels someone on the first day— but it makes my job hard for the first few weeks of school.” She grunted, “I just wanted to let you know- I’m going to go down there and keep my fucking eyes on him. He hates that.”

“I’m coming.” He bulked up and adjusted his tie.

She rolled her eyes, “Now it’s going to seem like more than just me going down there to keep his harsh ass in line.”

“No I— I’ll hide and watch from the sidelines!”

“You. Hide.” She looked him up and down, “Toshi, you’re huge.”

“I AM VERY VERSATILE.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her sweater on, “Whatever you say.”

The two heroes headed down to the field. All Might stopped behind a building to look on, a concerned smile on his face as Keri walked with an authority he had never seen before onto the field. She did not walk like a new teacher under thirty - she walked like… Nana…

The older man hissed at Deku, “—You’d be nothing more than a liability-“

“AIZAWA.” The female’s voice rang out as he had Izuku wrapped up in his scarf.

He grunted, “Get out of my class, Patho. I’m working.”

“Making my life a living hell is what you’re doing.”

He kept his red eyes on Midoriya as Keri approached, “I’m teaching. I don’t need your schoolgirl play nice crap. We don’t even need a guidance counselor here. And besides, Nezu warned you about interfering.”

“And Nezu warned you too.” Her body started to glow pink, balls of light forming over each fingertip, she pointed at Eraserhead, “Let the kids finish their own ways. You have no right. They all passed the same exams.”

He shot a look at her and her glowing stopped, “Don’t use your quirk on me.”

“Then don’t use yours on Izuku.”

The kids looked on in awe.

“Who the fuck is that, nerd? What is she twelve?” Bakugo grunted under his breath.

A boy with red hair stepped up, “She was glowing like… like in that Wizard of Oz movie…”

“That’s the lady that came to make sure I was okay after the exam,” Ururaka started, “Mister Aizawa is right, she’s the guidance counselor. She has a quirk that can help you to feel better.”

“A quirk that can make you feel better? Psh- what baby shit.” The blond grunted.

“I returned your dangerous quirk. Take your final throw.” Eraserhead backed off of Izuku and then shot a warning look to Patho, who moved to stand with the other children. The triangle on her head glowing pink once more.

“Excuse me- miss?” The Redhead came over to her with a bashful smile, “I’m Eijirou Kirishima.” He held out his hand.

She chuckled and shook it, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eijirou. I’m Keri Chairo, the school’s guidance counselor. I think we should respect the class and pay attention to Izuku, but if you’d like to talk after class, my office is right upstairs, okay? Door’s always open.”

He blushed and smiled, “Thank you Miss Keri.” He turned his attention back to Deku.

“Nerd.” Bakugo chastised.

Ida whispered to Ururaka, “She’s so diplomatic.”

“I know! And look at her cool haircut! Shaved on one side, long on the other…” She whispered back.

Keri looked over to the worried face of All Might and she steeled herself - she wouldn’t inspire Izuku, that wouldn’t be right. He could do it, he was tenacious. Swallowing she looked back toward him as he moved to throw the ball. The sonic snap that came with it flung the ball into the sky and she grinned.

After a few moments of silence, “Mister Aizawa.” He grunted and looked back, “Look, I’m still standing.”

Patho grinned, “Excellent—“ She stopped, her skin prickling as she felt pure unadulterated rage and jealously from — the blond. What was his name again - Katsuki?

“WOW! That was so cool!!” Ururaka jumped up and clapped.

Ida held his chin, “It looks like his finger is broken… what a strange quirk.”

“WHAT!??!!?! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, WHAT DID YOU DO!?” A scream erupted from Bakugo as he started to run at Deku. Patho began to jump into action when Aizawa’s scarf flew into action first and strapped around the teenager. He struggled and screamed, “WHY IS YOUR DAMN SCARF SO STRONG!?”

“Its made out of carbon fiber and a metal alloy. Stand down Bakugo.” The blonde grunted and finally relented.

“I’ll leave you to the rest of your class, Aizawa.” Keri finally stated, tossing a glance over to see All Might standing there. 
He sighed, “its about time.”

Rolling her eyes she walked up to Bakugo, a fierce look in her eyes, but the boy held his ground- he was afraid of nothing, “Katsuki. I want to see you in my office after class.”

“What?! What did I do!? I’m not going to the stupid guidance office!”

She gave him a look, “Listen to me young man, I am a teacher at this school and if I say jump you say how high- understand?”

He clenched his jaw and his fists.

“I said, I want to see you after class, Katsuki.”

“Whatever.” He looked down, he felt angry and fucking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

He hissed out, “Yes ma’am.”

She nodded and turned, waving to the class before she started to head off. Before she was out of earshot she heard Aizawa say something she’d never heard him say before, “Patho is a great support hero - you would all do well to respect what she says and her office.”

Smiling she turned the corner, only to have someone grab her arm — squeaking out the beginning of a scream until another hand covered her mouth - he realized it was All Might. Mumbling against his hand he raised his brows, “Ah! Sorry — I just didn’t want you to get too far—“

“Toshinori you scared the crap out of me!” She whispered.

“Wasn’t that cool!! Did you see what Young Midoriya did!?”

She nodded, “It was impressive. But you need to take the time to train that boy. He’s dangerous to himself — I personally am worried about that Katsuki Bakugo. His rage and jealousy and… hurt… is off the charts.”

“Well - if there’s anyone who could help him, it’s you, Ree.” He gave a thumbs up.

Sighing she shook her head, “I don’t know… He went to the same middle school as Izuku - back when Izuku had no quirk. This… this can be really dangerous, Toshi. I’ve looked over his scores too, he had some of the highest written exam grades, and he got the most points in the mock battle. He’s not stupid. He’s going to figure out there is a connection between you and Izuku sooner or later, mark my words.”

“That shouldn’t be so bad… they’re classmates.”

An exasperated breath came from the woman, “Toshi you don’t get it. I can /feel/ emotions. I can feel your pride on you, your doubt, your fear. I can feel it clearly if I concentrate specifically- but I can always feel emotions clearly if they are very strong. Katsuki is dripping with anger and something else…” She paused and thought about it for a moment, her eyes looking back and forth, “It’s a form of deep hurt, like- betrayal. He’s hurting really bad. That hurts me.”

“You’re so compassionate, Keri… you are going to be a good influence on these kids.”

Gently rubbing his arm she smiled, “You gonna come back upstairs with me - or do you want to stalk the kids some more?”

“Ah— I’m not stalking!”

She smiled mischievously and winked, “See you later on, Toshi.”  Walking back up toward the entrance of the school, her face turned grave once more as her thoughts drifted to Bakugo. He was hurt in some way, it was her duty to speak with him, to try and help. She wasn’t much older than these kids - only twelve years their senior - which is something Principal Nezu said was an advantage. That they would probably want to talk to her before anyone else.

Taking a deep breath, she moved into her office to wait for young Katsuki.

——

About ninety minutes passed and then the door to her office opened, “I’m here.” The gruff voice called out, “What the hell is this about?”

"Good afternoon Katsuki,” Keri said with a soothing smile, “Come in — can I get you some tea? I think I have some cake in the fridge.”

“I don’t like sweets.”

She smiled, “Tea?”

“No. Can you just tell me what the hell this is about so I can go home. I have training to do.”

Keri took a deep breath and motioned to the sofa, “Please, Katsuki, sit down.”

“I don’t need a shrink.” He said angrily.

“I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You’re a loser.” He let his temper get the best of him - besides, she was young, and she had a stupid quirk. She wasn’t a hero.

Kerri just smiled and nodded, “I knew a lot of boys like you when I was in high school.”

“Tch- you didn’t know anyone like me. I heard you didn’t even go to UA.”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t.” She sat down, setting two cups of tea down, picking up her own and taking a sip, “I went to Ketsubutsu Academy High School.”

Bakugo let out a chuckle, “Thats fucking pathetic you know. How are you even a teacher here?”

There it was. Interest. Kelly shrugged, “I know it’s pathetic - I dreamed of going to UA you know, when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like All Might and save people with a smile on my face.”

“Yeah, me too, big deal. That still doesn’t tell me why you went to such a loser school. Is it because you’re a loser?”

“My quirk allows me to feel and manipulate emotions,” She looked up at him over her eyelashes, “ I wasn’t strong enough to be a fighter as a teen, but I knew that All Might wouldn’t give up, so I didn’t either. So I went to the school I could, and then I went to college.”

“College? Heroes don’t go to stupid college.” Katsuki drifted to sit on the other chair with his arms crossed.

“I did. Because I knew how hard Hero Academies were, I cried all the time.”

“Nerd.” He absentmindedly reached for the tea, taking a drink of it black.

“Exactly. When I picked my hero name, Patho, the boys in my class who were the strongest called me Psycho-path.”

He smirked, “Thats pretty good.” He hummed for a minute, “I would have called you Patho-logical.”

Kelly laughed, “Thats thinking out of the box all right - I think you’re probably smarter than most of the adults in this school, Katsuki.”

Now that caught him off guard, and he sipped his tea. Even his own mother didn’t admit things like that to him, “Yeah I know.”

She sipped her own tea, letting that one sit for a minute.

“What kind of cake is in the fridge?”

Bingo.

“Its a lemon cake.”

There was a long pause as he looked out the window, “I like lemon.”

She nodded and stood up, crossing to the little kitchenette area, “Your quirk is really impressive, you know that already I’m sure. I didn’t see any kids last year with a quirk as strong. And you already seem to know exactly how to use it - that puts you ahead of your classmates, Katsuki.”

He nodded, listening for once.

“That makes you… a big brother in some way.”

His ears perked and he looked over from where he stared out the window, “What?”

She set the cake and a fork in front of him and smiled, “That makes you like… a big brother to your class, like a guardian. And with that, like being a great hero, comes with a responsibility to help steer them in a good direction.” If she couldn’t talk to him about his feelings, she could use his ego to manipulate him without him realizing.

He picked up the cake, eating in silence.

“I understand how confusing it must be for you knowing Izuku all your life — when I met him about a month ago, it didnt appear he was much to look at.” “Got that right. Deku’s a loser.”

“But I am too, right?”

He looked up, “Yeah.” He huffed, “But you’re okay to talk to I guess. You’re not stuck up and preachy.”

“All losers have some purpose you know, Katsuki.” She smiled, “Even if its just to give teenage boys lemon cake.”

“So what was going to college like? Probably shitty.”

Keri smiled and ate her own cake, “People there are either quirkiness or have some sort of intelligence quirk - or even ones that aren’t very useful.”

“Like you.”

“Like me.” She nodded, “But I decided to go into a field that helped me use my quirk to its advantage. I mean - think about all the people down on the streets during disasters or villain attacks. They have to be afraid, or sometimes they’re foolish enough to think they can run into battle to help.”

“That nerd Deku did that.”

“I’m there to make sure they stay calm. That no one gets in the hero’s way.”

Bakugo knitted his brows together, “I guess - that’s a good idea.”

“And that’s what I do here too, but its to make sure a young upcoming hero doesn’t get in their own way.”

He looked up.

“You have so much potential, and you’re focusing more on things that don’t benefit your promising career, understand? You want to be the best. You have to focus. You’re a strong guy, Katsuki, the other kids will follow you. If you show them you’re a leader- they’ll follow.”

He finished his cake a cleared his throat, pushing a hand in his hair, cheeks slightly pink, “Is it okay if I get going?”

She nodded, “Of course- its getting late, and you need to train.”

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded, “Uh- thanks for the cake and whatever, Pathological.” He smirked.

Kelly smiled and moved to open the door, “If you ever have any questions or want some snacks or sweets- you know where I am.”

“Yeah. Yeah I— yeah.” He cleared his throat, “See you, nerd.”

“Have a safe walk home, Katsuki.”

The boy left her office and she nodded to herself, feeling like she accomplished something today.

------

After half an hour, Toshinori walked into the room in his small form, “We still on for dinner tonight, Ree?”

Turning she smiled, “Hey— yeah of course,” She nodded.

“You look pleased with yourself… I just saw young Bakugo walking out of the building, did you have him up here?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I had to figure out how to start to establish a report with him… I got through a bit with flattery and self deprecation.”

“Self deprecation!?” He grunted.

She took a deep breath, “He made fun of me and called me a loser, and I let him, and played into it. It slowly got him to ask questions and have a piece of cake so… here’s hoping.”

Sighing Toshinori came to her and wrapped his arms around her, “You’re not a loser.”

Keri held around his thin frame, “I know, Tosh, I’m just trying to use what I know to get through to him, she looked up at him and he kissed her forehead, “Thank you.”

He smiled, “Hey, don’t even mention it, what are friends for? You obviously touched on something with young Bakugo if he sat down and let his guard drop a little,” Sighing gently he nodded, “Come on, let’s act like a tree and leaf.”

“You’re such a goon.”

“You keep saying that.” He smirked, “Watch out or you’re going to give me a complex.”

Keri laughed and wrapped her arm around his, “Come on- lets go.”

“Yes ma’am.”

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 8 - Invitations and Standing Ovations

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.6k words

Chapter 8 - Invitations and Standing Ovations 

           Taehyung stared at Jimin for what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure what to say in response to his friend, who just sat there with a wide grin on his face. Taehyung had to try to process it, but he couldn’t. With a shake of his head, he took Jimin’s shoulders.

            “What did you say?” He asked curiously.

            “I said that I was able to get you a vendor permit for the Annual Ilsan Art Fair at the end of the month,” Jimin repeated, chuckling. Taehyung blinked. “I saw you watching the news last night at the bar, and it took almost all of my strength not to say anything then. I was waiting for the right moment.” Taehyung blinked. “Does that help your hangover?”

            “What hangover?!  I can focus on a hangover; I need to start preparing and deciding which of my pieces I am going to bring.” Taehyung practically leaped out of his seat, only to see his vision go black momentarily. His fast-paced movements along with his headache caused him to lose balance for a moment, and he stumbled back on the couch. Jimin couldn’t help back laugh. “Fuck…” Taehyung huffed.

            “Don’t worry, you have more than enough time to focus on all of that.” He said. “And don’t get too overzealous, I was only able to snag you a smaller part of the venue. “

            “Any place is fine with me. That means that even more people are going to see my work and maybe I can finally start selling stuff and…you know, making a name for myself.” Jimin watched as Taehyung leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at his walls that were still covered in his paintings. He sipped his ginger ale. “How did you even manage it?”

            “Well, Mr. Kim had a business meeting with one of the men who appraises some of the art. I managed to catch him as he was walking out, we got on the same elevator, and we started talking. He talked about the show and I brought you up. He gave me all of the information and even waived our vending fee for me.” He grinned. “He was so nice; older guy. Nothing like your best friend, Mr. Oh Min-Jae.” Taehyung rolled his eyes as the mere mention of that man’s name. However, honestly, he could care less. Taehyung quickly embraced Jimin in a tight hug, which stunned an unexpecting Jimin for a moment. However, he almost immediately hugged him back.

            “Thank you so much, this is crazy.”

            “Of course. What kind of manager would I be if I didn’t try to support you however I could by totally taking advantage of my position at work?” The duo laughed, and Taehyung pulled from the hug, laying his head on the back of the couch. Jimin did the same thing, grabbing his ginger ale to drink. The duo sat in silence for a moment, before Jimin rolled his head over to look at his friend. “…What are you thinking about now?” he asked curiously.

            “I want to invite my coworkers to come and see me.” He said.

            “That’s a good idea,” Jimin said.

            “I know my Hyung’s will all come, but-.”

            “But you don’t think the teacher will, right?” Jimin asked curiously. Taehyung nodded.

            “I want her to see my real work and how serious and professional I can be.”

 “Just ask anyway. The worst thing that she can say is she can’t come.” Taehyung pouted a bit. “Or maybe ask one of the others to invite her along, if you think that she’ll say yes that way.” Taehyung nodded. “As I said though, don’t worry too much right now because you should probably go inside and sleep so that you can function at work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I hate when you’re right.”

“I don’t,” Jimin said smugly as he finally lifted himself from the couch. Taehyung got up as well, carefully this time, and set his now empty ginger ale can on the coffee table. “I’ll see you this weekend, alright?” Jimin hummed as he gave his friend a supportive pat on the back. Taehyung nodded.

“Right, see you then,” Taehyung said. He walked Jimin to the door, the duo sharing a final goodbye before Jimin took his leave, and Taehyung shut the door, clicking the lock shut. He stood there for a moment, silently waiting for something to happen on the other side of the door. When he didn’t hear the sound of footprints, he slowly unlocked and opened the door. Upon opening it, Taehyung saw Jimin still standing at his front door, crossing his arms. A sheepishly adorable boxy smile appeared on Taehyung’s face as he stared at his short, unamused friend.

“…Go to sleep. Do not stay up working or you’ll feel worse tomorrow than you do now.” Taehyung groaned.

“But-.”

“Tae.” Jimin huffed, pouting Taehyung groaned.

“Fiiiiiine.” He said. Jimin nodded, finally turning on his heel and heading down the hallway to the elevator at the end. Halfway down the hall, Taehyung waved him off and finally closed the front door. Almost immediately, as if he didn’t hear a word his friend said, Taehyung turned back to his work desk and the paintings that surrounded the top and bottom of it. He huffed. “There’s no way I can sleep now.” He mumbled to himself, walking towards the work desk. He plopped himself down and began shuffling through some recent doodles he had been doing. “I need to get some work done.”

As Taehyung began to skim and doodle, he found himself extremely lost in thought. He was so focused on making sure that he had something new and exciting ready for the end of the month. He was so busy in thought that he had blocked out the rest of the world as soon as he sat himself down in that seat. It was a trait that caused many nights where he would stay up to meet the sun. However, back then, he was unemployed or working part-time, and could afford to go to sleep at his desk for ten hours at a time. This was no longer the case. And Jimin knew that as well, probably even better than Taehyung did.

Taehyung was so focused, he didn’t hear the click of his front door or the slow creaking of it opening up behind him. He didn’t hear footsteps step into the front entrance or the door close behind him. However, he did hear a loud, and extremely annoyed-.

“BEDTIME, KIM TAEHYUNG!” The high-pitched voice startled Taehyung right out of his seat, and he practically darted to his room like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Jimin watched him scurry to his room with his tail between his legs, and he huffed, quickly following after him. “I swear to God, I’ll burn your vendors permit if I find out you fucking stayed up all night.”

“Okay, Mom,” Taehyung shouted from under the covers of his bed. Jimin sighed, crossing his arms. “Telling me about the biggest opportunity of my career is going to keep me up anyways, you know.”

“Yeah, you said that about the last art show I managed to get you into,” Jimin said. “You’ll thank me when you wake up tomorrow with no bags under your eyes.” Taehyung snorted.

“That’s funny. Those bastards live under there now, rent-free and I can’t kick them out because each one has two kids.” Jimin chuckled a bit.

“Goodnight, Tae,” Jimin said. Taehyung only groaned, keeping his head under his pillow as he heard his friend make his exit and close the front door behind him. Once Taehyung was alone, he poked his head out from the covers and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to get up, he wanted to get up so bad and start to work, his fingers were itchy and eager to draw or paint or something. He gripped the sheets, however, because he knew Jimin was right. He needed to sleep and get ready for the next day. He couldn’t have another mess up like he did today. Not if he could help it.

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

Taehyung found himself scratching his head as he headed into the building early the next morning. He couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. He was so excited, then anxious, then excited again that he had to get up and pace the room a few times when sleep wouldn’t overtake his body. When the sun came up, he managed to squeeze in about 6 hours of sleep, which when paired with two cups of coffee, was perfect for him. Taehyung put his hands in his pockets as he headed down the hallway, passing Seokjin’s office. As he passed by, he heard voices talking inside. As he got closer, he could hear the voices even clearer. And neither of them seemed happy.

Inside, you were pacing Seokjin’s desk, hands behind your back. Seokjin was sitting at his desk, eyebrow raised in confusion as he watched you.

“Will you stop pacing?” Seokjin asked. “How about you finally tell me what’s on your mind instead of rambling to yourself.” When you finally stopped, you turned to him.

“Do you think your lecture yesterday got to him?” You asked curiously. Seokjin groaned, his head lolling back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. “Sir, I’m just asking-.”

“I know it did. He looked upset. Now can you stop with all childish behavior please?” Seokjin sounded extremely annoyed. You blinked, the sound of the more annoyed President Kim making its way into the room over the jovial and upbeat Kim Seokjin. You stopped pacing and turned to him. “Seriously, it’s getting old and I’m getting frustrated.”

“N-no, listen. I’m not trying to give him a hard time here-.”

“Yes, you are,” Seokjin said simply. Taehyung blinked, now finding himself pressed up against the door to get a better listen. “It’s enough now. I spoke to him; he knows what is expected from him and now you need to stop.”

“But President-.” You tried to continue but Seokjin stood up. He was much taller than you now, and as you tilted your head up to look at him, you could see how annoyed he was, the fire burning in his eyes. That scary demeanor only made him seem ten times taller, and you a million times smaller. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“I swear to God if you keep this up, I will send you home and have Hoseok run the class himself. You’re not doing any favors to yourself or the kids by acting this way.” Your heart immediately sank into your chest.

Inside, you had your arms crossed and your eyes cast down to the floor, chewing the inside of your lip. Seokjin groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, that was too far.” He said.

“You’re probably right though.” You said softly. “I just want to make sure that the kids are safe no matter what. It’s nothing against him.”

“It seems that way,” Seokjin said. “You were in there; did anything looks out of place yesterday other than him looking a bit tired?”

“No.” You said.

“The kids are fine. If it happens again, it’s for me to worry about, not you. But I trust that it won’t.” Seokjin walked over to you, placing a hand in your hair. “You feel this upset about his hiring?” You shook your head.

“No, not anymore. I know the kids like him and I know in my soul that him working here eases my workload a bit and I should be happy but I don’t know. I want to do it all; I’d teach the physical education if I was athletic at all.” Seokjin laughed a bit. “I can’t describe it.”

“But that’s not Taehyung’s fault.”

“I know.” You admitted. Seokjin grinned a bit.

“So, what do we say when we know we do something wrong?” Seokjin hummed, a mocking tone in his voice. You grimaced as he began to laugh once more, feeling even worse hearing this being said to you instead of saying it to a misbehaving child. You pouted.

“President, please-.”

“What do we do~?” he repeated. You groaned.

“Say sorry.” You mumbled, huffing. Seokjin laughed once again, and you couldn’t help but grin a bit too.

“Then shall we? He must be here by now.” Seokjin spun you around and began leading you towards the door.

The sound of footsteps heading towards the door made Taehyung’s eyes widen. He didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping! His eyes scanned the left, right, and even the ceiling, hoping that a magical hiding spot would appear. However, just as he was about to hide, the door opened and he saw Seokjin and you walk into the hall. He stood at attention; eyes cast to the floor.

“Uh…Good morning…” he said after a long silence rang through the hallway. When he looked up, he saw Seokjin grinning ear to ear.

“Good morning, Taehyung. Do you feel better?”

“Yes. It won’t happen again.” He quickly assured. Seokjin nodded his head. Suddenly, he patted your shoulders quickly, and your eyes shot up from the floor as well, coming in direct contact with Taehyung. You felt your stomach do a flip.

This must be what the kids feel like when I do this whole speech to them. You thought to yourself.

“She has something to say to you,” Seokjin said. Taehyung looked at you, and you forced out a deep breath, crossing your arms. Taehyung put his hands in his pockets as you stayed silent. However, after a slight shake of your shoulders, and the sound of Seokjin’s annoyed voice behind you uttering your name, you huffed. Your heart was pounding

“I’m sorry, okay?” you said. “I shouldn’t take my insecure anger out on you and it was rude and unprofessional….” Taehyung blinked a bit. Unprofessional, hm? It hit Taehyung differently hearing the word directed towards someone else. Taehyung nodded his head after a moment when he realized you had stopped.

“Oh, uh-.” Taehyung stuffed his hands in his pockets, pursing his lips as he tried to think of what to respond with. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I just want us to work…you know…well. So, let’s just have a clean slate?” Pulling one of his hands out of his pocket, he stuck it in your direction. You looked down at it, before glancing back up at him. You huffed, smiling a bit as you stuck your hand out and shook it firmly. Taehyung grinned a bit, and you noticed for the first time how boxy and warm his smile was. Just as you took a moment to admire it, a voice was heard behind you.

“I didn’t buy it, should I have you do a deep bow to him and apologize that way?” Seokjin asked. You immediately turned in the direction of your grinning President, who began laughing as you playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!” He gasped as he continued to laugh.

“Would you stop causing trouble at every turn?” You asked, pouting. Taehyung blinked, unable to hold back an amused chuckle. You looked over at him, a pout still stuck on your face, along with a few tints of blush. “What’s so funny?!”

“….I would really accept your apology if you do a deep bow,” Taehyung added. You huffed.

“I’m going to my classroom.” You said, storming away as the boys continued to chuckle behind you. Suddenly, Taehyung stopped laughing, eyes wide as he remembered what he was planning to stop them about in the first place.

“Ah, w-wait a second.” Taehyung began, turning in your direction.

“NO! I don’t want to hear it, bullies.” You huffed, closing your door with a playful force that shook some of the wall posters nearby. Seokjin snickered as he saw Taehyung push his lips together in annoyance.

“What did you have to tell her?” Seokjin asked curiously. Taehyung looked over at his boss, before sighing.

“Well…” Taehyung pushed his fingers together. “My manager got me a vendor’s permit at the Ilsan Arts Festival this month.” He began. “And well…I wanted to ask if you guys were able to come and see me….” Taehyung waited for a response. He had never really asked anyone to see his work at a show before, as a lot of them were smaller and pretty intimate, only containing the managers, a few family members, and some art critics. Occasionally, the public would come, but in small droves due to low capacity. However, this was now a huge art festival that could hold tons of people. And he wanted his coworkers to be there. For a moment, there was no response from Seokjin, and Taehyung got a bit discouraged. He most likely has plans. Taehyung thought to himself. Taehyung looked at him. “I was going to ask her, and Hobi-Hyung and Yoongi-Hyung too…” Taehyung added.

“Hmm, you’re going to show your art?” Seokjin asked. Taehyung nodded. “…Consider us all there, then.” Taehyung blinked.

“Really?” Taehyung asked, eyes lighting up in excitement. Seokjin nodded.

“I think it’s a great way to promote comradery between everyone here once and for all.” Seokjin clapped his hands together. “I’ll call Yoongi, you tell Hoseok when he gets here.” Taehyung nodded and Seokjin patted his shoulders, a grin on his face. “This is exciting. I finally get to see your work in person.” Taehyung nodded.

“Y-yeah. I’m excited too.” He admitted. “It’s one of the biggest art shows I’ve gotten to show my work at.” Seokjin nodded.

“We’ll talk more later, so get ready for the day.” Taehyung nodded as the duo parted ways. As he passed your room, he peeked into one of the windows beside the door. He could barely see inside from behind the construction paper rocket ship on the door, or the multitude of big stars and a moon on the wall. He had to poke his head in the ‘O’ of the phrase “Lift Off to Pre-School!” that was plastered on top, and he accidentally knocked down a cut-out astronaut with Lia’s name written on it, which he had to sneakily put back in its place. However, when he finally got a good look, he saw you standing by the board. Your back was toward the door, a marker in your hand as you began writing and drawing on the board. Taehyung couldn’t see the entire thing, since your body covered most of it. However, when you looked to your right, he saw the profile of your face and pursed his lips. The look of absolute focus on your face was a vast contrast to the puffy cheeked, childish pout that was on your face only minutes before. He couldn’t stop staring as you tugged your hair into a scrunchie ponytail, before walking over to one of the cabinets and opening it, now completely hiding from his view behind the door, only your feet poking out. Taehyung, realizing he should probably step back, went to do so, when he heard a high-pitched voice.

“Your classroom is down the hall, Taehyungieeee~.” The voice made Taehyung jump, and he spun around to see Hoseok, standing behind him with a grin. “Are you spying?”

“Yes! I mean no.” Taehyung said quickly, cheeks flushed. Hoseok immediately covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “…I just wanted to see what she was doing. I wanted to ask her a question but-.”

“She’s probably lost in thought right now, there’s almost no getting to her while she’s in prep mode,” Hoseok assured. “Want me to pass a message along?” Taehyung looked back into the room for a moment, seeing you close the closet and walk over to one of the desks, squatting down to its level and spreading out materials.

“Well, I have an art show at the end of the month, and I want everyone to come and see my work,” Taehyung said simply. “She just apologized to me for the ways she’s acting, but Seokjin-Hyung kind of forced her so I don’t know if we made up or not, and I don’t want to be a bother.” Hoseok sighed a bit, fixing his bag.

“I’ll tell her. She’ll come if I force her.” Taehyung looked at his Hyung, who was now smiling with a finger pressed against one of his dimples.

“I guess she can’t say no to that face, huh?” Taehyung mumbled, amused a bit by his childish Hyung. Hoseok laughed a bit.

“You’d be surprised, but I can be pretty convincing when I want to be.” Hoseok patted Taehyung’s back. “I’ll suggest it. See you later.” He grinned. Taehyung nodded, finally heading to his room as Hoseok entered the classroom. He took another glance into the classroom, watching as Hoseok approached you, a spring in his step. When you turned to face him, Taehyung took that as his time to leave and make his way to his classroom. As he sat down at his desk, his eyes scanned the walls, the off-white paint slowly being covered up in all directions by scattered collections of the student’s dried artwork. All he could see as he scanned the room was his childhood bedroom, which looked extremely familiar visually. Scribbles and sketches covered all of his carefully placed wallpaper, crumpled up paper took up more of the floor than any number of toys ever could. He felt as if he was eight years old again, kicking his legs at the desk in his room as he continued to draw on a sheet of slightly crumpled printer paper. He could even hear the footsteps of his mother approach him from the door.

“Taehyung, have you even finished your homework?” She asked. Taehyung looked up, his pencil gripped tightly in his hands.

“No.” He said, much to his mother’s disdain. “But I don’t need homework, Mom. I’m going to be a great artist one day, just like Vincent Van Gogh!” A deep, frustrated groan escaped his mother’s lips as she hit him over the head just slightly, making the boy pout. “Ow!”

“Enough with that nonsense. No son of mine is going to struggle his way through life. Art is a fine hobby, but be practical.” Taehyung watched his mother yank the paper from in front of him, crumpling it up in her hands. “Now get your homework done, and don’t even think about coming out of this room until it’s all finished.” She demanded. Taehyung watched her storm out, slamming the door and ending the conversation right then and there.  

Taehyung’s memory was pulled away by the sound of his phone vibrating. When he looked over, he saw Jimin’s face showing up on it. Quickly he answered it.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hello, future Van Gogh~.” Jimin cooed happily. “Just calling to tell you that I found out exactly where our vendor spot is going to be for the festival. I sent it to you over text but was shocked to not receive a reply right away. Are you working on lessons or something?”

“Oh uh, no,” Taehyung assured. “I just kind of zoned out. Took a trip down memory lane, I guess…” Jimin hummed. “I’ll check the text message right now, though. Thanks.”

“So, what’s the status with your coworkers?” He asked curiously.

“Well, President Seokjin said he can get everyone to come, but Hoseok-Hyung is going to sweeten the pot for her to say yes,” Taehyung said. “So…yeah.” Jimin grinned.

“That’s great.” He said. “Okay, well if you’re not dead, I need to get back to work before Namjoon finds me and beats me up for sneaking off. I’m supposed to be getting him important documents.”

“Enjoy…” Taehyung said. Jimin laughed a bit, saying his goodbyes before the two of them hung up. Taehyung set his phone down and looked at the desks before him. The materials for the day needed to be pulled out, and Taehyung needed to get an example or two prepared for the children to use as a guide for the craft. He stood up, cracking his back as he strolled over to the cabinet, pulling out a bunch of dollar store mirrors and setting them down. He also collected a stack of paper and a box of markers and crayons. He had planned to have the students pair up and draw each other. His example was done, not forcibly of course, with Jimin before today. He was curious to see what such young minds could see when doing this, and how they were able to put that into a visual art on paper. It was bound to have a few laughs. Taehyung looked up at the clock, knowing that he had more than enough time, and he could probably go outside and greet the kids with you and Hoseok, so that was exactly what he planned to do. Strolling out of his room, he saw you and Hoseok already heading down the hall towards the door, talking to one another. As he watched you, he glanced back inside of his class, seeing the two weeks’ worth of artwork that scattered his walls. As he stared now, he was no longer being brought to the past, but instead was being shown the future. The pictures on the walls morphed from cute and amateur children’s work to abstract, stunning canvases of magnificent artwork. Taehyung could recognize some of the portraits as his own, but some he couldn’t recognize visually, but he could identify them deep in his soul as if they were his, he just didn’t know it yet. He could see the vendor spot perfectly in his mind, though he had no idea what it looked like for real. All he knew was that every day that passed, every hour that passed, every minute that passed, he was closer to it. As he closed the door, he hurried towards his coworkers, hoping to catch up with them in time.

He just couldn’t wait for it.

“Hey, guys.” He said when he approached. You and Hoseok turned your heads, only Hoseok offering a smile to Taehyung. “I wanted to come to say good morning to the kids today.”

“…Okay.” You said simply, turning back around. “Hoseok told me you’re showing art at the Ilsan Art Festival this month.” You said simply. Taehyung nodded.

“Uh yeah.” He glanced in Hoseok’s direction, who offered his friend a smile and a thumbs up. “My manager got me the spot through work. I was hoping you guys could come and see my real art.”

“What? Do your paper plate goldfish with glitter not count as real art?” You teased, smirking. When you didn’t get a reply, you turned over your shoulder to see Taehyung, and Hoseok did not look amused. “…What? I was joking.” You had to clarify, though it didn’t seem to help. You sighed.

“Anyway, are you coming? President Kim said everyone was going to, but-.”

“I uh, I mean I guess.” You looked over at him once again. “The way I’ve treated you…and you still want me to come?” Taehyung nodded.

“Well, yeah of course.” He said simply, putting his hands in his pockets. “I want you all to see my art. Besides, I think we’ve already realized as a group that I’m the nicer coworker out of us.” Hoseok snickered as your eyes widened. Taehyung couldn’t help but grin his little boxy grin. “What? I was joking.” Now, Hoseok began to laugh, and you turned to him.

“Oh, but you laugh at that!?” You asked, which only made Hoseok laugh harder. “It’s not funny!” Taehyung watched you shove Hoseok, and despite the annoyance etched on your face, a smile found its way on there as well. Taehyung smiled as he stared at the scene before him, and he could only imagine one thing.

He could only imagine how stunning your face would look sketched out on a beautiful, white canvas.

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[choupichoups]

Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.14

Eliott may be all that; rich, handsome, instagram famous— but the basic plebe inside comes out to play when his crush follows him from out of nowhere.

Or: Press F but Eliott’s POV

Parting is such sweet sorrow has gained a whole new meaning as Eliott stands in front of Lucas, bouncing back and forth on his heels in a bid to stall some more before he truly has to go. 

“You really don’t want me to stay with you until Yann comes back?” He finally pushes out the question, brows furrowing in concern despite the reassuring smile Lucas gives him. 

“I’ll be fine, Eliott.” Lucas picks Champ up from the ground when she starts spinning around in place, looking about ready to lay down and have a nap right at their feet. “Go see your mom.”

"I mean... she’ll probably survive one day without eating my dad’s cooking.” he reasons, pouting when Lucas gives him an exasperated look. 

“Bring your mom her rightful lunch, just like you told your dad you would. I don’t want there to be any reason for them to hate me.” 

“That’s impossible, they already love you.”

Lucas pauses, bottom lip caught behind his teeth as he looks up at Eliott uncertainly. “Really?”

Eliott softens, sighing out a quiet, “Really.” His hands move on their own accord, brushing against the line of Lucas’ jaw. He can’t imagine how a single person in this universe could ever be capable of hating Lucas. 

“Really, really?” 

“Really, really.”

“Cool. You really, really have to go now, though.” Lucas laughs, nuzzling into Eliott’s hands like that would help his case. 

“Okay, but if you need me for anything at all, you’ve gotta promise to tell me.” The grip he has on Lucas tightens just a little, firm enough to have his boyfriend tipping his head back to see the resolve in Eliott’s eyes. “I mean it. Anything.” 

Lucas can honestly ask him to do his grocery shopping right here right now and Eliott would undoubtedly agree. Hell, if Lucas tells him that the windows rattling from the wind bothers him, he’d drop everything and run back to him. Eliott has no qualms about the lengths he’d go to protect Lucas, to keep him feeling safe. 

Champ yips, gazing happily up at Eliott as a comfortable silence embraces them otherwise, the sight of Lucas’ precious smile warming the crystallizing fear creeping up on him. The mere prospect of leaving his boyfriend alone for hours until Yann gets back is frankly a no go in Eliott’s books but he understands that Lucas might need some space, and Eliott has his own responsibilities to uphold. 

Fuck if it doesn’t scare him, though. The atrocious start to their weekend has really done a number on him. 

“I promise,” Lucas whispers eventually, leaning up to kiss the beginnings of a frown off of Eliott’s lips. 

Eliott watches him carefully, running a thumb over the shadowed smudge under Lucas’ eyes. He’d waited until Lucas fell asleep first before slipping into dream land himself, but Lucas had already been awake by the time Eliott next opens his eyes— and Eliott is an early riser. He forces himself not to dwell on it, he had been privy to an offhanded comment about Lucas’ complicated relationship with sleep before so maybe this morning is nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Stooping down for another kiss, Eliott lets this one linger a little longer, breathing in once they pull away and brushing a final kiss to Lucas’ forehead. He peels his hands off of him, squishing Champ’s tiny head in between his palms to make up for how his mind is screaming for him to hold on. “You’ll take care of him for me, right tough girl?” She licks his hands in enthusiastic answer. 

Lucas snorts out a laugh. “You take care, don’t miss your stop or you’ll get back too late.”  

“Yes, sir.” Eliott playfully salutes as he walks backwards, stopping just out of reach before he gestures towards Lucas’ still closed door. “Well? I’m not leaving until you’re inside.”

He’s expecting the eye roll that comes— it’s sweet and fond, familiar. The exact kind Eliott craves to soothe his fraying edges. 

Lucas turns around once he’s inside, grinning at Eliott and blowing an exaggerated kiss in his direction. It’s so ridiculous that Eliott’s laugh is ripped right out of him, loud and startled, echoing in the empty hallways, nipping at the sound of Lucas’ door shutting with a heavy bang. 

All alone, he finds himself despondent, kicking imaginary dirt off the floor as he trudges on with a pathetic pout. There’s no proper way to explain this feeling— they’ve literally almost managed to hole themselves up in Eliott’s apartment the entire weekend. It’s not like Eliott can help it, though, he did just get Lucas back and his needy little melodramatic heart misses his boyfriend for every minute they aren’t together.

He drags himself out of Lucas’ apartment building with visible difficulty, feet shuffling against the rough gravel below his feet all the way through his journey to the bus stop. 

It’s going to take him quite a while to get to his mother’s office without a car. Usually, his father has no problem dropping by himself, but he’d answered a favour for an old coworker out in Lyon and will probably be stuck there until the next morning. 

In a not so shocking turn of events, his mother forgets to take her ready packed lunch to work without his father being present to remind her of it. And obviously that’s an abomination, she can’t go without a homemade lunch Eliott, she’d get so hungry and her brain won’t be as sharp as usual, her work ethic would suffer because of it. Eliott had cut off his papa’s rambling with a groan and a reluctant agreement to bring the goddamn sandwich to its rightful owner just so the guy would stop worrying already. Hopeless romantic runs thick in the blood of the Demauries apparently. 

adam.fk plans today??

idrisomd sleep

abebkhellal oof yeah 

emir.yous buncha boring old men

omarions says you?? didn’t you spend fall break last year learning how to play chess lmao

emir. yous we don’t talk about that

idrisomd shut up emir not everyone is a free bird like you I was editing some stuff and I realized I need that dumb triangle still lol eliott can I borrow yours pls

emir.yous maybe if you don’t procrastinate you’d have more free time I thought you were keeping that triangle??

idrisomd maybe if you shut up you’d get more dates I had to sacrifice it for the greater good

Eliott laughs under his breath, contemplating whether he should add his two cents into the conversation. In the end, he keeps to himself for now, reading through the childish banter that inevitably starts up.

The triangle, huh. He’s glad the bus is mostly empty at present, else the giggling he can’t quite suppress would’ve probably worried some people. Fucking unbelievable, really. It’s ridiculous how it all started, now that he thinks about it. It feels like a lifetime has gone by since then.

Eliott still remembers it, vividly. That moment he set his eyes on Lucas. It’s the week before their new semester officially starts— a Thursday to be specific. He and his friends are scrambling around frantically attempting to maximize their remaining days of freedom to get ahead on his and Idris’ new film project.

“Props.”

“Props?”

“Yeah, we’re missing some props.”

Eliott struggles with the cardboard boxes he’s dragging behind him— they’re saving all the money they can by building the set for filming themselves. The rest of the guys get pulled into the fray, as always, so it’s a bit of a disaster when they’re all going around picking up stray cardboard and styrofoam just in case they need it for later.

“What’s the thing you were talking about earlier?” Abe snaps his fingers, trying to recall everything they need before leaving campus.

Idris jumps. “The triangle!”

“What do we need a triangle for?” Adam asks, fumbling with the styrofoam cups he’s balancing in one hand.

“For that one scene in the forest.”

“There’s a scene in the forest?” Omar pipes up from behind their circle, returning from the storage room where he’d gone to dig out some black garbage bags they can borrow.

“Well, it’s Emir’s backyard but whatever.” Eliott mutters, scratching things off of their checklist. “Can’t we just fake the triangle sounds?”

“Too much effort for a little scene. Don’t you have one at yours?”

“Yeah, but my place is out of the way, it’ll take too much time going there and then to Emir’s.” He shrugs, tapping the pen against his chin. “We can take the one from the theatre.”

Emir gives him a look. “We are not stealing the orchestra’s triangle.”

“Nobody will miss it,” Abe dismisses, already walking off to load their things in his car.

“What if someone tells the director it’s missing?”

“Emir, who would notice a missing triangle?” Idris raises his hands as he talks, incredulous at the question. “When you watch your classic live shows, do you hear anyone go oh, yes, the triangle was on point today? No you don’t, cause nobody gives a fuck about the goddamn triangle, man. Eliott, can you please grab us the triangle so we can get outta here?”

“If we get in trouble, I get plausible deniability,” Emir mumbles defiantly. Eliott snorts, patting Emir on the shoulder on his way out.

The theatre is only a short jog away from the parking lot so Eliott slips through the doors in no time, rooting around backstage for the instrument. He finds the little thing buried underneath a broken flute and a... tambourine?

Single piano notes echo along the walls without warning, and Eliott jumps from his crouch, heart beating fast from shock. He doesn’t run, though, because whoever is out there is obviously not going to spot him if they’re preoccupied with playing the piano.

He’s just about to leave again, grab his stolen goods and sneak his way back out, when the aimless piano notes begin to blend together with effortless flow, a sudden transition tickling his ears so pleasantly that Eliott can’t bring his feet to move along more than two steps at a time. Transfixed, he walks closer to the curtain, curious as to who would play such a beautiful melody so delicately.

Eliott has always wished life would be as easy as the films he's grown up watching— with twists and turns that cause crushing moments, yes, but with the comfort of a happy ending to cushion against the pain through it all. He’s always dreamt of something cliche to happen to him once in his life. Maybe he could win the lottery and live the rest of his life as a billionaire. Maybe he could meet someone so inspiring he’d gain the courage to pack up and explore the world with nothing but a boat and backpack. Maybe he could fall in love at first sight

The boy on the piano is turned sideways but Eliott can clearly see him from where he’s hidden behind the curtain. The smile on his face is plain adorable and the way he’s swinging his feet under the piano (he’s not even using the piano pedals and it still sounds so good) goes straight to Eliott’s heart.

His feet carry him forward, as if entranced, so helplessly drawn into the boy’s gravity—

“Stop,” the boy says, laughing. Eliott stops, startled. “You’re gonna ruin it, Yann,” his angel continues, head swinging to the side where another person who Eliott has apparently not seen is sitting.

The other guy, Yann, laughs too, picking up a violin. “No I swear, I can do it. I took classes once, remember?”

“Yeah, like ten years ago and you quit after two days.”

The two boys giggle at each other and the angel stops playing, attention fully on Yann. There’s a profound affection in the way they interact together, which makes glum little stones fall heavy against the bottom of Eliott’s stomach. 

Jesus, he needs to calm down. He doesn’t even know the boy’s name yet.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Eliott’s glad he’s forgotten to put the ringer back on. He doesn’t know how he’d explain it if the two boys catch him skulking around backstage.

Eliott runs out of the theatre soon after, remembering how pressed for time he and the guys already are. He tries to put the thought of the boy behind him, making vague hand gestures in lieu of explaining what delayed his return when the guys question him.

He fails miserably.

The bus lurches and Eliott almost drops his phone, fingers grappling for a firm hold on the screen as it slips and slides from the abrupt movement. He still has the group chat with the guys open so the scrabble has him accidentally scrolling up, up, up around a month back.

When he looks down at the screen, he's taken right back to that delightful moment Lucas had unknowingly caused back then.

The doors open and close, one person exiting but a whole crowd entering right after. Eliott presses himself more comfortably into his back seat corner and settles a hand over his mouth, covering the widening grin stretching his lips as he reads through his own moronic words.

Good god, looking back on it now is hilarious, but Eliott will never forget the all consuming panic he’d felt at the time.

Eliott exits out of the chat, frantically scrolling down his barrage of notifications to stare reverently at the one that matters most. 

lucallemant started following you

It’s almost two hours past midnight, with him having just finished up the sketch for the side project he’s working on by himself. He’s been looking forward to falling into bed ages ago but now he’s wide awake, brain swirling with jumbled thoughts and with no hope of falling asleep within the next second.

srodulv when should I? should I wait til later?

adam.fk maybe wait til its not 2 in the morning lmfao

srodulv what if I wait too long and he unfollows

abebkhellal god almighty 😂😂😂 sorry bro no one can help u now

srodulv help me

emir.yous why does it matter? just follow him now

idrisomd he’s probably sleeping so he won’t know you’re a nocturnal beast

srodulv he won’t think that’s lame?

omarions he’ll eventually figure out how lame you are so might as well run with it

srodulv fuck off

idrisomd yeah man you can’t hide lame

emir.yous sorry we can’t help with that

abebkhellal rip

srodulv has left the chat

A bunch of useless hooligans, those guys are. He needs better friends.

His phone pings with more notifications— Idris has added him back in the group chat but Eliott ignores the messages for now, knowing full well that there’d be nothing but more of them poking fun at his current dilemma.

He opens up Lucas’ profile, heart palpitating as his thumb hovers over the follow button. Looking at the boy’s feed brings him the same mix of apprehension and fondness, as always. The latter because he’s an idiot who apparently falls head over heels for snippy little piano players and the former because, well—

I’m sorry, bro. I saw something, I think they’re maybe together? I’m still not a hundred percent on it, though.

Eliott sighs, clicking on Lucas’ latest post, of that guy playing the guitar for him. He scoffs, he can play the guitar too. He can even do the Star Wars theme song. On the guitar and the piano. Lucas needs to see that he’s the better choice over here.  

He lets his screen go dark, closing his eyes as he urges himself to relax. It is quite an ungodly hour to be awake so he drops his phone on the bed, turns over, and hopes that morning comes with a newfound game plan to get the love of his life to love him back.

The good news is that morning does come, but the bad news is that all the plans he comes up with throughout the day are steaming piles of shit. 

“I think I’m in love,” he blurts out, sitting in the basement of Emir’s house. Idris is standing on the couch, trying to cover the ceiling spotlights with printer paper so as to ‘dull’ its luminosity. Adam and Omar are struggling to hold up some desk lamps while Abe holds coloured file folders over the bulb, changing the colour of the lights for the correct ‘ambiance’. Emir is elbow deep in crushed styrofoam pieces.

They all exchange looks of confusion before Abe goes for a hesitant, “Uh... just now?”

Eliott scowls, waving a hand as if they’re so stupid to be unable to read his mind. He gestures to his phone, still open to Lucas’ Instagram page. 

"Oh yeah! Any progress on that front?” Idris hops down, eyes glued to the ceiling as he backs up, slowly as if one wrong move could shake the house so much that his pieces of paper would dislodge themselves. 

“No.” Eliott pouts, flailing his legs in unashamed frustration. 

“Okay, well, have you followed back?” Adam asks, twining some rope around the lamp once they’ve figured out the best angle to go with. 

“No. Shit,” Eliott hisses, sitting upright and immediately hitting the follow button. He’s been so focused on figuring out how to start a conversation with his angel that he’s neglected to think of much else.

One of them sighs, but Eliott doesn’t bother to look up at the sound of it. 

“So what are you gonna do next?” Emir abandons his crumbly work of art, now sitting cross legged across from Eliott. 

“He’s vague posting.” Idris grins, scrolling through his phone. “Ooh, Polaris. When did you even sneak off to take this? That caption though. Much mystery, so cool.” 

“Shut up, it’s an old picture.” Eliott throws a couch cushion at him, then proceeds to slide onto the floor, diving flat on his stomach closer to the guys, as he comes up with the most brilliant idea. “What if I’m not?”

“Huh?” Abe goes to sit on the floor as well.

“What if I’m not cool or mysterious? Would that get him to talk to me?” Eliott’s thumbs are working on overdrive before the words are fully out of his mouth, scrolling down each and every one of Lucas’ photos and hitting like on as many of them as he can manage. 

He looks up just it time to see the dawning realization on Abe’s face. “No!” he screams in horror, reaching out to snatch the phone from Eliott’s hands. “No, you— oh man, you guys, he did a weird thing.” 

“It’s not weird,” Eliott dismisses, trying to retrieve his phone back but every attempt is slapped away by the annoying people he unfortunately calls friends. “It’s called reaching out.”

Idris is cackling, bent over in half as Abe shakes his head in wonder. “That’s kinda genius, though? How very Eliott of you,” Idris gasps out once he’s done wheezing up a lung. 

“He’s getting the Eliott experience way too early in the relationship.” Omar mumbles, curiously going through the rest of Lucas’ older posts. “Aw, cute.” 

Eliott scrambles towards them, wanting to see which post Omar’s referring to despite the fact that he’s seen every single photo twice over. 

His hand slowly creeps up above the phone and double taps on the post.

“Oh my god, someone restrain him.” Adam says, dragging a hand down his face. He sounds like he’s trying his hardest not to laugh which is more than what he can say for the rest of them so Eliott appreciates his effort. 

“Come on, Eli monkey, time to break off from Insta for a bit, hm?” Idris walks forward, still chuckling as he tries to pull Eliott off the ground and away from his stolen phone.

Eliott wraps his arms around Idris’ ankles, almost making the latter fall on his face in the process. “But he’s so beautiful.”

“Yes, yes.”

“His eyelashes are the 8th wonder of the world.”

There’s a collective groan from everyone in the room and then Eliott feels a placating hand patting the top of his bowed head. “Yes, we get it. But you gotta get up now, lover boy. We‘ve got shit to film.”

By the time his stop comes up, Eliott has to squeeze himself past a godawful amount of passengers. He gets it’s break week for a lot of the students but considering it’s a Monday afternoon, Eliott is of the opinion that there really shouldn’t be this many people out and about. 

His mother’s office is a towering structure of reflective glass and one way windows. Eliott pushes at the revolving doors, nods a smile towards the reception desk, and settles into one of the many armchairs in the lounge area. He shoots a message for his mama to come meet him downstairs and doesn’t wait for a response before switching tabs to pull up the film he’s been wanting to see all day. Initially, he’s planned on seeing it with Lucas, knowing that it’s just the right amount of lengthy and boring (for his boyfriend’s taste) to have Lucas cuddling for a nap on his shoulder instead.

But alas, his plans are impeded by none other than his loving parents. Again. He still hasn’t quite forgiven them for poking fun at him being grumpy at brunch after that first night he’d spent with Lucas. 

About ten minutes in, someone walks towards him and sits directly across from Eliott’s armchair, never mind that the entire lounge area is devoid of any other person than the two of them. 

Eliott doesn’t pay it much mind, unmuting his phone speakers just loud enough for him to hear the background music coming from the film— he wants to record the sound and see if that kind of music score would work well for the mini project he’s planning to put up in the future. 

The stranger lets out a faint chuckle but Eliott ignores him, watching the minutes rise on the recording to make sure that he doesn’t miss a single note. Never let it be said that Eliott doesn’t take his films seriously. 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Violence is never at the forefront of Eliott’s mind. In fact, he thinks it doesn’t solve much, and should be considered as the last resort. But as life would have it, there are always a few exceptions to the rule and unfortunately for his good mood, the sole exception he’s found in his twenty one years of existence has decided that today is the day that Eliott will commit murder. 

Eliott’s eyes flick to where Raphael relaxes back in his seat, legs crossed and fingers delicately twined in his lap— to any outside viewer, he truly looks the perfect representation of an educated, well-bred gentleman. Eliott sees why people are drawn him.

“Fancy isn’t the right word,” he says, just as casual. He pauses the film, music cutting off just in time for him to hear another one of Raphael’s grating chuckles. “Why are you here?” The answer is obvious; pressed slacks and dark suit a dead give away. He remembers Lucas mentioning that Raphael works in a law firm but Eliott needs to hear it, to make sure that fate has really handed this opportunity over on a silver platter. 

Raphael spreads his arms. “I work here,” he answers, smug. “What about you? Someone trying to pin murder on you?”

Funny how he’s asking that, but Eliott doesn’t answer his question. “New York too much for you, huh.” 

Eliott watches the minute narrowing of Raphael’s eyes, taking pleasure in the fact that the guy hasn’t expected Lucas to divulge their story in such detail. 

“New York was great, actually, they offered me a spot there as well but eh, I need to think about it.” Raphael leans forward, elbows on knees as he brings one hand up to rub across his lips, faux thoughtful. “I left a little something behind here.” He looks at Eliott, then, and the latter sees the fabricated warmth in his eyes freeze over, ice cold in barely restrained anger. “I want it back.” 

Don’t mess this up, Eliott reminds himself, fists clenching and unclenching as he reigns in his temper. How he’d love to feel the crunch of Raphael’s nose under his fists right now, but it’s not that kind of battle. Eliott only has one shot to play his cards right. 

“Cut the bullshit,” he responds, surprisingly calm. “Lucas isn’t yours to take back.”

Raphael laughs. “Why, he’s yours now?” 

Yes. “Neither. I’d appreciate it if you stop talking like he’s something to pass around.”

“How chivalrous of you.”

“I’m surprised you know what that means.” Eliott wants to say more, but he grits them back. There are more important things for him to needle out. “What with all the shit you put him through.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Raphael falls back into the cushions once more, infuriatingly unaffected. 

“Do you want an essay or a list?” 

“So quick to believe everything you’re told, are you? Did he cry and look at you with those big blue eyes? He does that all the time to get what he wants.” There’s a strain at the corners of Raphael’s eyes, nonchalant facade slipping down the longer Eliott stares on without a word. “You know there’s no evidence for any of these, right?” 

The quick dismissal of Lucas’ personal recounting almost does it for Eliott. But if Raphael is a master of manipulation then Eliott is of restraint— he won’t let Raphael win. “Yeah? You gonna tell that to the marks on his wrists?” 

Raphael scoffs, “That was an accident. Friday was a big misunderstanding, trust me. It’s called tough love, he likes it.” He smiles, obviously waiting for a reaction from Eliott but the latter maintains an impassive exterior. 

“It’s called assault.” He barely refrains from tagging on a spiteful fuckface at the end of that.

“Whoa there, that’s some heavy accusation you’re dropping!” Raphael laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Do you know who I am?” 

“A sad excuse of a man who takes advantage of vulnerable minors?” 

Raphael clicks his tongue. “You think you’re so perfect, huh?” 

“Far from it.” Eliott shrugs. “But I don’t hurt the people I’m supposed to love.” 

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest.” Sarcasm drips from Raphael’s words. “You think if we both stand here, right in front of Lucas, and make him choose.” He leans forward, a desperate glint in his eyes. “You’re positive he’d choose you? Cause let me tell you, Eliott, that boy is wired for my touch, for my voice, for my own to do as I please, and he will choose me no matter how much I hurt him. He will always come back to me and you can’t do shit about it.” 

Victory feels good when taken by a landslide. Eliott grins, and he sees confusion, frustration, and wariness warp Raphael’s carefully constructed expression into that of something… human. Human, unlike the impenetrable monster Lucas has painted inside his head. Human, who, despite the cunning and intelligence, very much fucks up like everyone else. And oh, has Raphael fucked up big time. 

“My turn,” Eliott says cheerfully, just to mess with the bastard even more. “Do you know who I am?” Slowly, so as to make sure that Raphael catches the movement, Eliott stops the recording on his phone. 

Raphael shoots up from his seat, panic dousing his face red all over before seething rage takes prominence. He hisses out a quiet, “Get rid of that, right fucking now. You don’t want to mess with me.”

Eliott stands, huffing out a small laugh as he notices that they’re of equal height. None of Raphael’s tactics has worked, or will ever work on him. “Nah, it’s the other way around.” 

“Eliott?” 

Georgine Eloise Demaury, part time managing partner of the law firm, part time vicious criminal prosecutor, and full time doting mother, makes a tall, intimidating figure in her navy suit and sky high heels. Her eyes are steel blue as they land on Eliott and Raphael alternatively. The red on her lips is a sharp scowl, striking against the paleness of her skin. 

Eliott presses his lips together, amused at the sight of what he fondly refers to as her working bitch face. She’s forbidden Eliott from visiting her at work too often just because he’s the only one capable of cracking her diabolical attorney persona. He keeps quiet, shrugging innocently when she raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Hi, mama.” 

He hears Raphael’s sharp intake of breath and fuck, that feels good.

Her lips twitch the slightest bit. “You two know each other?” 

“Just having a friendly chat,” Eliott says, looking over at Raphael with a tight smile. He relishes the startled loss he sees there. 

“I’m waiting on a call from Mr. Schutt,” Raphael says, rearranging his face, posture straightening under Georgine’s gaze. 

“And you?” She addresses Eliott this time. 

“I brought lunch?” Eliott gestures at his bag on the chair. “Papa got worried you’d starve when you told him you forgot it.” 

She rolls her eyes at her husband’s dramatics. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to papa. You’re gonna have to eat it now, I ditched my boyfriend for this.”

“Ah, how’s Lucas? Come up to my office, you didn’t finish telling me how he’s doing last night,” she says, rigid frown compensating for the soft tone in her voice. Across from Eliott, Raphael flinches at the mention of Lucas’ name. “I need to grab something from IT and then I’ll be right there.” 

“Will do.” Eliott smiles, throwing his backpack over one shoulder when his mother walks away. He waits until the click clacking of her heels fade off completely before he turns to face Raphael. “So anyway, I suggest you think very hard about that offer in New York.” 

“You’re insane,” Raphael mutters behind clenched jaws. 

Years ago, that might have stung. Coming from someone else, it might still hurt. But as it is, Eliott revels in it. “You have no idea,” he says, raising his hand for the most condescending pat on the back he’s ever delivered before heading off to the elevators. 

Eliott ends up taking a long nap on his mother’s office couch, tired from interacting with Raphael and his stupid mind games. Sure, he’d come out on top of that one but lengthy confrontations are most definitely not Eliott’s cup of tea. He thinks if Raphael still has the audacity to show his face after that, Eliott will let loose of inhibitions and just start a proper fist fight. 

Recording their conversation had been a gut reaction— he’s not even sure it would help much if push comes to shove. But his mother has quite the terrifying track record and judging from Raphael’s reaction, he knows that too. He almost wishes for Raphael to do something stupid, to trip up the wire on Eliott’s half baked, convoluted plan to take him down permanently. The idea of delving into it scares him a little. He knows shit all about the justice system and Raphael is literally part of the goddamn system. 

Lucas wants to leave it to karma, and maybe he’s right.

But then Eliott remembers the tears streaming nonstop down Lucas’ face, the blank disconnect in his eyes throughout that night. His worn voice begging for Eliott not to let go. The hours spent in bed coaxing for an unresponsive Lucas to sleep just a little, I’m right here. The events of that night have taken permanent residence in his mind, painfully unwanted, but there to stay. 

lucallemant Eliott, I know I said I’d give you all the time you need And I mean it, you can have more right after this  But please, can you pick me up at work? I need you please Please

Call him dramatic all you want, but Eliott’s world comes apart when he reads Lucas’ pleading messages. His vision narrows, the path a blurred vignette, and time slows as if he’s thrown into the fucking matrix. Except there’s nothing exciting or amusing with this development, and his limbs work through honey as he turns and grabs a jacket, shoves his feet into mismatched shoes, and makes a run for it.

It’s not the messages itself that cost him his breath— though those do have him worried out of his mind, unable to even begin guessing as to what would scare Lucas enough to send them. It’s the timestamps that have his heart rattling with unease. The faint chanting of too late too late too late a mournful echo in his head. 

He pays no mind to it when he begins panting, head pounding as the freezing wind bites at him with heavy force, unbothered that he hasn’t eaten much for the past however long. He’s not going to stop until he reaches his destination. 

However, when he gets there, the cafe is dark and empty. You’re too late, the voice is screaming now. Eliott tells it to shut up, paces the area for a bit, and then checks inside the darkened alleyways. It’s empty. He walks the opposite direction, headed towards the parking lot— and there, that’s when he hears the hushed voice speaking.

Eliott swivels around, rushes towards the sound, and doesn’t allow himself to hesitate on the idea that it’s not Lucas trapped in between the wall and that man’s body. 

“Get the fuck off of him.” When he’s close enough, he shoves them apart, fighting against the urge to take Lucas in his arms right away. He has to get rid of the man first. The visceral clutch of anger simmers inside of him, a heat of gargantuan proportions boiling his blood. Eliott imagines this is what one would feel like just before committing a heinous crime.

His interaction with the stranger barely sticks to Eliott’s mind, more focused on the way Lucas presses close to his back. His hands shake with barely constrained fury but he doesn’t move, afraid Lucas will fall if Eliott isn’t there to hold him up. “You can fuck right off or I swear to god.”

The man raises his hands, chuckles ringing malicious as he shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Eliott doesn’t care for his cryptic bullshit. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

His smile is visible in the dark and Eliott’s been around enough of those with questionable morals to pinpoint the lack of kindness in it. “Fine.” He tilts his head as if to catch a final glimpse of Lucas but Eliott tucks Lucas in tight behind him— this guy doesn’t deserve to even look at him. 

When the sound of a car engine fades out, Eliott turns around, engulfing Lucas as best as he can, hoping that his embrace would provide a temporary shelter from it all. He knows it’s impossible, knows he can’t do much on his end other than watch with powerless clarity as painful sobs wrack the small body in his arms. He repeats a litany of apologies into Lucas’ hair. “I have you, I have you.” 

Their walk home is silence in its strangest form. Eliott realizes there’s something wrong, he can feel it at the tips of his fingers but he puts it down to Lucas gathering his thoughts and lets him be. 

“Lucas,” he says as the apartment comes into view. “I know we haven’t… I don’t… listen, can I stay with you for the night? I’ll sleep on the couch, anything, I just want to be there.”

Silence. 

Eliott bites his cheek, fidgeting nervously when Lucas continues to not say anything. He chances a glance at the boy beside him and sees him looking straight ahead, expression blank as if nothing’s been said.

“Thanks,” is all Lucas says once they reach the steps to the building, failing to acknowledge Eliott’s request.  

“Lucas, wait!” 

Unheard, just like the last time. 

There’s something really, really wrong. 

Eliott picks at his head, staring up at what he knows to be the window to Lucas’ apartment. He tells himself he’ll only wait until the lights flicker on, but seconds turn to minutes and the window remains dark. Chest tightening, Eliott changes his mind. He’ll wait until someone goes in or exits the building, will plant himself outside of Lucas’ door— he doesn’t care if Lucas or Yann don’t want to see his face right now, all he wants is to make sure that Lucas stays safe for the rest of the night. 

Except the next person to exit the doors is Lucas himself, Champ cradled in his arms. 

“Why are you not inside?” Eliott is familiar with the feeling of helplessness but it always pertains to his own mind, his own body. He’s rarely ever so taken off guard that he doesn’t know how to make it better for someone else. And yet here he stands, frozen with panic, speechless in the face of the one he loves most. 

Yann isn’t home, Lucas is hard-pressed on buying extra locks for their door, and there’s no way Eliott is letting him back inside the apartment all alone. 

“Lucas,” Eliott reaches out, wants nothing more than to cradle Lucas’ face in between his hands, but he’s afraid of what touching him would do. “Come back to me.” It sounds unsteady even to his own ears and maybe Eliott’s having a little trouble breathing, but he’s more desperate for Lucas to meet his eyes than worry about his next inhale. 

Lucas doesn’t. Come back to Eliott, that is. 

The entire walk up to his apartment, and then the walk back to Eliott’s are both filled with a strained distance that has nothing to do with physical proximity. Eliott’s no longer surprised when Lucas doesn’t answer any of his questions but he keeps firing off either way, hoping against all odds that something would click. But it doesn’t work that way, he knows. He, of all people, should know better. 

He tries again once they’re inside the safety of Eliott’s home. “Lucas, are you with me?” Eliott asks and he’s not. He’s not. 

Running out of options, Eliott’s hand hovers over his mom’s contact info, his dad’s, Idris’, Lucille’s— he just wants someone to tell him what to do. 

In the end he doesn’t get to call anyone, as a loud thud comes from the bathroom where he’d left Lucas and Eliott trips over himself in his rush, crashing into the kitchen counter, banging his arms against the potted plant hanging in the living room. 

But the pain from those clumsy little accidents is nothing compared to the sight of Lucas crying on the floor, blue eyes running red from the force of his tears. “Lucas?”

“Eliott.” His voice is so quiet, so broken that it takes Eliott down to his knees, colliding harshly against the tiled floors as he brings Lucas into the circle of his arms. Tears gather in the corners of Eliott’s eyes but he knows for certain that they’re not from the sting of his fall. 

“Don’t let me go back,” Lucas pleads, breath caught between one word and the other. 

“You’re never going back,” Eliott swears on his life. 

Lucas quiets down after what feels like hours upon hours of tears and stuttering breaths. Eliott knows he isn’t asleep, though— his wet lashes brush softly against the skin of Eliott’s neck for every blink. Left without much option, Eliott detangles their legs and carefully lifts Lucas into his arms, a mustard seed of hope swelling in his chest when Lucas twitches at the movement. There’s a pause as Eliott waits for the boy to protest, grumble for Eliott to put him down, he can walk on his own. 

It doesn’t come, so Eliott goes to tuck him into bed, receives no protest when he quietly dresses Lucas in the clothes he’s brought out. Lucas’ eyes remain downcast the entire time, immovable no matter how many times Eliott brushes a hand through his hair, wipes at the tear tracks smeared on his cheeks. 

Lucas doesn’t sleep until well past two in the morning. Eliott doesn’t sleep at all.

“You okay, honey?” 

His mama looks like a whole different person in private, Eliott’s always marvelled at her ability to switch off just like that. Her eyes are all clear skies and motherly affection, no trace of the savage G.E Demaury to be found as her hands card gently through his hair. 

He wants to tell her so badly, but this is Lucas’ story to share. Involving his parents to ask for help with anything is a foreign concept to Lucas and would make this a bit more complicated, yes, so Eliott will just have to wear patience like it’s going out of style. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out, still groggy from his nap. 

“Do you wanna wait for me to finish up here and I can drive you back?”

“Uh…” Eliott rubs his eyes, forcing his brain to catch up with his mama’s words. He checks his phone before answering, blinking while his eyes adjust to the brightness of his screen.

lucallemant Do you wanna come over for tonight? I know we were just together but It’s fine if you’re gonna be back too late though

He thinks he’s actually physically melting just from reading those. “It’s okay, I have to get going now.” 

srodulv If I didn’t fall asleep I’d be begging you to come over anyway

lucallemant You were asleep at your mom’s work??

srodulv 😂 See you soon  ♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ ☹️ ♥️

lucallemant ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️♥️ ♥️♥️ ♥️

srodulv 😊 ♥️

He stops to get some take out on the way, knowing Yann will be there and would most likely not be so chummy with Eliott after the whole thing from the past few weeks. He figures he can extend a truce through food— the way to a man’s heart and all. 

When he knocks on Lucas’ door, he hears a couple of thuds, some rapid, illegible whispering, and then the door finally opens only for Lucas to catapult himself into Eliott’s arms. The door slams shut behind him and Eliott might just be seeing things but he’s pretty sure that’s a glimpse of Yann’s unimpressed form standing on the other side of the door. 

“Hi,” Lucas breathes out, one arm slung around Eliott’s neck while the other is bent awkwardly behind him, holding onto the wriggling doorknob as if to keep a ravenous beast from escaping.

Uh oh.  

“Hi,” Eliott greets back. “On a scale of Champ to Jurassic Park, how scared should I be of Yann right now?” 

Lucas bites his lip and Eliott can’t help it— he kisses him before Lucas can respond. He means for it to be a chaste touch, but Lucas lets go of the knob (thankfully no longer rattling) and throws both arms around Eliott, pressing closer and opening his lips to deepen the kiss. Eliott lets himself indulge in it but is quickly brought back to reality when he tries to wrap both arms around Lucas only for the take out bag to hit Lucas’ ass with a dull thunk.

“Ow, what the fuck.” Lucas pulls away, spinning on the spot as he looks for the offender.

“Sorry,” Eliott laughs, lifting the bag. “I bought food. Peace offering.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so smart,” Lucas says, sounding genuinely pleased. “I apologize in advance though, he thinks he’s my dad sometimes.” 

“Damn right!” Yann shouts from behind the door. 

“Jesus.” Lucas mutters under his breath. “You ready?” 

Eliott nods, rehearsing the quick speech he’d made up in his head during the ride back to Lucas’ place. All that preparation’s for nothing, however, when all Yann does is look at him when the door finally opens. He looks at Eliott like he’d done weeks ago, when Eliott had taken Lucas home after the encounter with his father, unspoken understanding passing between the two of them as easy as that.

I technically have no right to be mad but I am, Yann’s usually kind eyes are hardened earth. There’ll be hell to pay if you pull that shit again, the look in them all but screams mistrust. 

Eliott nods, hoping Yann also understands his most sincere but wordless response— never again. 

The stare off probably only lasts a few seconds but to Eliott, it feels like an eternity before Yann’s eyes start to squint, one hand reaching for the take out bag that Eliott has stuck in the space between the two of them. Slowly, Yann takes a hold of it, snatches the bag from Eliott’s grip, and sniffs into it. He’s still squinting at Eliott as he walks backwards to take the food inside the kitchen.

“Okay, weird but blessedly silent. I’ll take it,” Lucas huffs, taking Eliott’s hand and dragging him past the living room and into the little hallway. Belatedly, Eliott realizes that they’re headed straight for the bedroom, Lucas marching them towards the door like a man on a mission. 

“Don’t you wanna eat?” Eliott asks, pulling back to slow Lucas down. “I bought that for you too.” 

“Later, I just,” Lucas pauses, his door already wide open once they reach it. “I have to ask you something.” 

Well that doesn’t sound foreboding at all. Eliott clears his throat. “Okay.” 

They arrange themselves on the foot of the bed, legs crossed and facing each other. When Lucas starts fidgeting, Eliott reaches over to intertwine their fingers together. 

“I know we joked about it before… or more like just yesterday actually… but uh,” Lucas starts, looking around the room to avoid meeting Eliott’s eyes head on. “So Marie’s home now and I’m taking Champ back to her on Thursday.”

“Okay,” Eliott says, smiling when Lucas discreetly looks at him from the corner of his eyes. 

“Okay, um.” Lucas takes a deep breath and spills the rest out on a long exhale. “My mom will be there too and I was wondering if you’d like to come?” He’s wincing by the time the question ends and Eliott, endeared, can only stare. “Maybe? You don’t have to. I understand if it’s too early or whatever—”

Eliott brings their tangled hands up to his lips and rains down kisses to the back of Lucas’ palms until he shuts up. 

“I’ll come,” he says, and then after a short silence continues with, “I’d love to.” 

Lucas’ relief is palpable. 

“Okay. That’s… that’s good.” 

“You’re cute when you’re all nervous like this,” Eliott teases, wanting to see Lucas’ smile. Sure, it’s only been a couple of minutes since he’s last seen it but Eliott’s one greedy motherfucker when comes to Lucas. 

“What?” The corner of Lucas’ lips tilts up, but it’s not quite the smile Eliott’s looking for.

“You’re all nice and cute when you’re nervous. No room for snarking or swearing at me.”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, it was good while it lasted.”

“Shut up!” Lucas laughs, kicking at Eliott’s knee.

“Oh you’re kicking me now too, my god, such violence from a tiny human.”

“You’re so dumb.” Lucas pushes at his shoulder and Eliott goes down easily, but not before winding an arm around Lucas so that his boyfriend falls on top of him in their descent. “Such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Eliott retorts as cheesily as can be, grinning when Lucas laughs again, eyes scrunched and mouth open. 

“God, do you ever shut up?” 

“Yeah, there’s one way to shut me up.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re really good at it.”

Lucas leans down and Eliott feels the smile on his lips. The kisses start off as innocent pecks, short and dry, until Lucas brushes their noses together and teases the tip of his tongue in between Eliott’s slightly parted lips. 

Eliott surges up then, locking their lips together as he moves, sitting upright with his arms still secured around Lucas. His boyfriend goes along with it, easily shuffling around so that he’s sat comfortably on Eliott’s lap, hands slightly cold against the back of Eliott’s neck, but the latter doesn’t mind— Lucas’ mouth is scorching enough to make up for it. 

His jacket gets tossed to the floor at some point and his hands wander inside Lucas’ hoodie, searching for the warmth of his skin under, encouraged by the way Lucas tightens his arms around Eliott’s shoulders when he runs a hand from the nape of Lucas’ neck down to the dip low on his back. The intensity reminds him of their first time— only slightly, because Eliott doesn’t think anything could come close to that night. But he recalls the warm weight of Lucas on his lap, against the wall, over him, under him. Recalls the way he’d jokingly asked Lucas how many fingers he’s holding up. How Lucas had very non jokingly slipped the two fingers in his mouth and licked around them until Eliott lost his mind.

The memory of it has heat rushing up and down Eliott’s body in frantic jolts, melting away his higher functions until he finally flips them over, gently laying Lucas down below him just like he’s always done. His fingers lightly dance along the line of Lucas' jeans and the latter lets him, Lucas’ hands exploring the wide expanse of Eliott’s back under his shirt. 

And that’s something new— not Lucas touching him no, but rather the confidence he exudes in bed. Eliott doesn’t think he’d ever forget the shakiness of Lucas’ breath, the furious drumming of his pulse, the flinches he’s tried so hard to cover up. Eliott’s noticed every single one of them, often pausing to suggest for them to stop only for Lucas to hold him by the sides of his face and mutter a determined, keep going.

Back then he couldn’t figure out if there’s a story behind it, or if Lucas is only nervous about being intimate with someone else. Now that he knows, can extrapolate the details from what Lucas has told him so far, Eliott’s heart is close to bursting with the realization of how much trust Lucas has placed in his hands that very first time. Of how much trust he continues to have in Eliott despite all that’s happened. 

I love you, his touch speaks, lingering and light over the smooth skin of Lucas’ waist.

I love you, his eyes repeat, insistent, hopeless, as they meet Lucas’ wide, adoring gaze.

I love you, his mouth whispers, soundless against the brush of Lucas’ lips, plush softness falling open under the gentle touch of Eliott’s tongue.

I love you, he wants to say, out loud, with all his anxious, fragile heart but what comes out instead is a nearly inaudible, “You’re so beautiful.” 

Maybe someday, he’ll be able to speak as it is. Someday, he’ll work up the courage to stop hiding behind soft touches and pretty words. But as Eliott opens his eyes on a slow blink, he looks down at Lucas and catches the most tender of smiles directed up at him. Maybe words aren’t needed right now. For Lucas, in this moment, maybe Eliott is enough. 

“No, you,” Lucas retorts childishly, arching up to press a giggle into Eliott’s amused smile. 

“This is a losing battle, baby.” Eliott nuzzles his cheeks, nose instinctively wrinkling when Lucas kisses the tip of it. The sweltering heat has cooled between them, replaced by a softer kind of warmth.

“Yeah, your losing battle,” Lucas says, trying to shift from under Eliott’s weight. “Baby,” he adds in a whisper, smile cheeky when Eliott’s head snaps up to look at him. He sputters, unfairly flustered at hearing Lucas use that pet name, any pet name in fact, for the first time—

“Are you being a brat?” Eliott tries to keep his voice stern, but he’s pretty sure his eyes give it away as Lucas dissolves into helpless giggles. “Are you being a brat?” he repeats a little louder, hands splayed widely over Lucas’ sides, curling up where his boyfriend is most ticklish.

“No!” But it’s too late, Eliott’s already found his weakest spots and proceeds with the attack, relentless despite Lucas’ half formed begging in between his laughter. “Eliott, no! Wait!” he squeaks, turning red when one of Eliott’s hands slide up to tickle at his neck. 

Eliott only stops when Lucas, breathless and teary-eyed, pouts pitifully up at him. Honestly, what human being with a heart could resist that? So he leans down and brings the jut of Lucas’ bottom lip in between his teeth, waiting until his boyfriend opens his mouth on a groan before diving in for a kiss. Lucas’ hands immediately tangle themselves into Eliott’s hair, legs pulling up to wrap around him as if Eliott has any batshit plans of leaving the bed any time soon. Eliott’s shirt is halfway off his back when Lucas’ door creaks open.

They barely let up, both expecting to see Yann coming to interrupt them for whatever reason but the entry way is empty. 

“What—” 

Soft, fast-paced panting is their answer and Eliott’s completely unprepared for when Lucas shoves him off the bed with all his might— Eliott hangs onto the sheets to keep from cracking his head open.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Lucas shouts, dragging Eliott back up to the center of the bed. “I just— Champ’s just a baby, she can’t see that!” 

Eliott doesn’t know whether to agree or laugh. He figures responding with a deadpan she’s just a dog won’t go over too well with Lucas so he keeps that thought to himself. With a sigh, Eliott smooths down his shirt and walks over to where Champ is still panting happily up at them. 

“Are you happy now?” He asks the dog, crouching closer to her level and tapping her tiny nose with a finger. He carries her in his arms on his way out to the living room, turning back to see Lucas attempting to fix his hair as if Yann doesn’t already know what they’ve been up to, alone in the room for at least half an hour. “Come on, baby, let’s keep Yann company before he decides to take back my rights.” 

[chocolate-milk-fanfics]

I ain’t sorry

Warnings: miscarriage, gun violence, kidnapping, cheating, period typical sexism, Implied black reader, and OOCness of characters

Word count: 6095

"You don't love me Tom! So stop acting like you care about me!" 

"That's not true and you know it!" 

"Then say it Thomas! Prove me wrong! Because you putting your dick in the barmaid while your wife takes care of this shit show you made ain't exactly helping your case!"

"Its not th- Y/n just listen!-"

"Mommy!  'ungry!" 

Opening your eyes you met the heterochromic eyes of your twin toddler boys. They stood in front of you with wide smiles and bouncing as the stood at either side of you. Sitting up straight you gave them a wide smile, shoving the memory of the night you left to the back of your mind as ruffled their curly locks. "Oh are you now? Well let's get mommy's two babies food alright?"

"Not 'aby!"

"Yeah! Not 'aby!"

Both of them whined as they followed close behind you. Charles held onto your skirt while Kenji held your hand as you led them to the kitchen. A giggle escaped you as their brown and blue eyes roamed the room for snacks before lunch. They were fraternal twins but alike in every way possible, as expected of twins. Charles was older by 1 hour and had more shaggy hair than Kenji, his left eye was blue and the other brown. While Kenji's hair was more curly, yet easier to manage than Charles, his right eye blue and other brown. Both of them had the same light brown skin, freckles, dark brows, and smile that lit up your world. Not to mention the same scowl and protective fearless nature of their father. And oh, their laugh. Just like his when you were growing up. There was no doubt they were your husband's sons and you never denied it, you could never forget him after all. Even with all the pain he caused, there was so much happiness and your sons were the product of that. "What!? Not baby? But you're my babies!" you teased softly as you began to spread the peanut butter and jelly onto the bread.

The twins looked at each other, an unspoken conversation being shared between them as you made them lunch. Kenji shook his head and pouted as he looked at his brother, the conversation came to an end as Kenji pulled on your skirt. "Not 'aby! We's 'ig 'oy!" 

"Kenny stop pulling on Mommy's skirt like that." You said simply as you cut the first sandwich into 4 little triangles like the boys preferred. Charles didn't say anything, seemingly in deep thought as he looked up at you staring at your bare stomach. Since you normally only wore undershirts and a simple loose pair of pants it was no surprise that your stomach was exposed. "And don't be silly Kenny, you and Charlie will always be my babies even when we're all really really old."

"Mommy?" 

"Yes Charlie?" 

"What's tat 'oo-boo on you tum?" 

Glancing down a frown spread across your face as you remember the way you got the wound in the first place. Taking a bullet for Tommy while pregnant wasn't your best choice but when you woke up and found out he was at the Garrison with Grace it made you realize something. That you didn't need no fucking man to make it in the world, not when that man was cheating on you. So that same night, after the showdown with Billy Kimber you bought a ticket out of town and settled down. The countryside was nice after all. No smoke, no cars, no Thomas Shelbys and no stress. It was hard, being a pregnant woman of color starting a new life but you did it and made good honest money as a nurse. Your herb and tea mixtures were known all through London and you were proud to support your boys while helping so many people. 

"Mommy?" 

Shaking your head you glanced down at. Charlie and smiled apologetically. "Sorry Charlie Mommy spaced out for a bit. What did you say?" 

Your sons looked at each other once again and then Charles shook his head. "Never 'ind! Is lunch done?" 

Nodding your head you smiled and handed both boys their own plates of food. They giggled and ran off to the living room to eat while they drew pictures. The smile that spread across your face was short lived as you watched as a familiar car pulled up in front of your home. "Boys. Bunker now." You said calmly, soft enough for them not panic but clear enough for them to know you're serious.

The two of them took their plates and papers down the hall with them. Kenji pulled on the secret handle of the fireplace and it open ever so slightly, but wide enough for them to squeeze into before it closed. Once it was securely shut you grabbed a robe and tightly wrapped it around you as a knock sounded at the door. Taking a deep breath you opened the door to look at the familiar blue eyes you fell in love with. "Thomas Shelby, John Shelby, Arthur Shelby, and Pollyanna Shelby what brings you all to my front door step? And how did you find me? Was it Alfie?" 

Tommy started into your eyes, and it took everything within you not to crumble and fall into his arms. He was bruised and battered with a red eye and you wanted nothing more than to give him a better treatment than the shit hospital he went to. There were so many things you wanted to do to the Shelby family, most of them pleasant, but right now you just kept your door slightly open and your face indifferent. "I told 'im Y/n about the baby. Why didn't you tell 'im? Where are they?" 

"It doesn't matter now, Pol. That's why I left. I couldn't stay there knowing my took a bullet for my ex-husband and in return he slept with the barmaid as I lost my child." you said smoothly as you looked into her brown eyes. Shock spread across her face as she scanned you for any signs for lying, unable to find one she let out a choked sob as Tommy looked at you in pure horror. 

"Y-"

"Save it Thomas. I don't want your pity. I don't want your apology. I just want you-" 

"Stop it." came his harsh voice as he looked down at the ground. 

"Stop what Thoma-"

"Don't! Don't call me that!" he growled. Silence surrounded the lot of you as Tommy breathe became ragged and his eyes became wet. "I thought you were dead, we all did. And after 3 years of being apart, of missing you, the last thing I want to hear you call me is Thomas. I don't care who else calls me it. I just can't handle it from you." 

You didn't say anything as you stared into the blue eyes he passed onto your sons, instead you bit your lip as your own eyes got wet. "Tommy you broke my heart. I gave everything. I did everything for you, only to find out from Lizzie fucking Stark you were taking the barmaid to the races. The same thing you promised me when I was 14 and you were 17. You promised me so many things and you broke each and everyone one. Even our wedding vows. I loved you Tommy. No one else! And what did you do!?" You couldn't stop the tears streaming down your face as you began to yell. Shoving Tommy into Arthur you let them keep falling, knowing none of the Shelbys could stand it. "You slept with the fucking barmaid and took her to the places you promised me! How did it feel huh!? How did it feel to find out I was right? Did you feel stupid?"

"Y/n th-thats enough." Polly stuttered softly as she tried to embrace you. You easily shook off her grip and stared into the eyes of the man that broke your heart. The man who was still in shock in his brother's grasp.

"Is it Pol!? Is it!? I told y'all she was a fucking spy from day one and none of you believed me! What changed your mind!? The bullet I lost a baby to!? Or was it the bullet Danny took!?  It's funny how for you Shelbys to listen someone has to die. Well did it work? Did you get what you want-"

"Y/n.."

"Do you feel like a man now Tommy? Are you happy with the outcome? You work alone right!? Well look where it got you! Down a kid! Down a wife! Down a loyal servant! Well don't worry. Thomas Shelby! I bet you've gotten plenty of new ones to repeat the process with!" You spat harshly. You knew your boys might be able to hear you, that's why you did your best not to curse as you looked at the people you once called a family. Letting out a soft sob you put your face in your hands and brushed it back to pull the twist you had in your hair out of your face. They snapped straight back into place but you didn't care. You wanted all of them to know you were hurt. "I buried my baby girl. She had toes and fingers and I was about 4 months along according to the doctor. I- I named her Ruby and she could have been beautiful. She could of been happy but instead she's dead, and I hope you all got what you wanted." 

With a shaky voice you moved to close the door but before you could a foot was placed in the door. "Y/n wait. Hear us out. Please. Can you let us in? I 'ave some letters from the boys and Finn. They miss their Auntie N/n." John begged weakly, but he knew the effect it had on you. Sniffles left you as slowly opened the door and looked at said letters in John's hand. Snatching them from him and turning around to walking into your home, you missed the weak reassuring smile John gave his family as they stepped in. 

The first letter belonged to Finn and as you sat down on your couch you smiled at the mess handwriting of the teenage boy, before you left you were teaching him how to read and write after all. As you opened the letter you could feel the seat next to you sink as Tommy sat, while putting a cigarette in his mouth. "No Tommy." 

A sigh escaped him and Pol as they put their cigarettes away and watched you read the first letter with a wet laugh. Finn was your favorite of the Shelby brothers, that much they all knew. He was kind after all and as the Sunflower of Small Heath everyone knew you valued that in a person. When you finished the letter from Finn you moved onto letters from John's kids. They were all short, written by Pol, and asking if you'll come back and reading each one made your heart ache. "I miss all of them so much as well. Not a day goes by without me thinking of them." 

"Then come back. We need you." Arthur said softly. There was an edge to his voice you didn't like though, staring into his eyes a frown traveled across your face as realization struck and the sight of faint scars on his neck 

"Oh Arthur.." You said softly as you placed the letters down. Standing up you moved to kneel in front of him as you cupped his face gently. Even though you were all adults now you could always read the Shelbys emotions easily. Under your fingers you could feel his pulse hammering against you. "You're hurting. Aren't you?" 

A whimper escaped him and just like that you were in his arms as he spoke softly, "It's me 'ead Y/n. I-I" 

"Shh.. Fine. You win. I'll be back one day. But for now, let me make you tea. Its with my herbs. The shit doctors give you won't work like my stuff does." You said softly, running your fingers through Arthur's greasy hair. Arthur let you go as he wiped his tears and you stood leaving for the kitchen

"Ain't that right.." Tommy mumbled under his breath as he took out cigarettes again. Hitting the match against the box he lit his cig to life and took a long drag of it. Polly glance at him as he offered a cigarette to her and with hesitation she took a drag from it as well. "Y/n? Did you mean it when you said you'll come back?" 

"Yes. Unlike you Tommy I'm not heartless. And I miss the little ones. Finn should be about 15 right now and Ada's little one should be 4 or 5. And Johns kids should be around 6 to 10." You listed as you started the water. "Would anyone else like some tea?" 

"Whiskey for me and Tommy please." Aunt Polly said as she took another drag from the cig before handing it back to Tommy, who moved to stand by your fireplace.

"Sorry, I don't keep whiskey or liquor of any kind in my house. Nor do I allow smoking Tommy." You said smoothly as you glanced over your shoulder. "Put it out." 

Tommy groaned and knocked on the fireplace a few times before taking one last drag a rubbing the cig against the bricks. Unknown to him, he alerted the twins that it was time to come out. Everything happened in slow motion and the fireplace moved causing Tommy to stumble and the boys to squeeze out with their empty plates. All eyes were on them and the sitting family members all stood as the looked at the two boys that stared straight into their father's eyes. With your back turned to them all in the kitchen you gathered the herbs you needed for Arthur's tea without a clue of what was going on behind you. "Arthur? Do you want any sugar in your tea?" 

"M-mommy.." came Charles soft voice. You turned around quickly and looked at your two boys as they stared at their father in fear. Kenji stood in front of his brother protectively despite being horrified of the tall man in front of him. "Mama!" 

Tears pooled in both of their eyes but Charles is the one that started bawling. Rushing over to them you gathered them both in your arms as they cried and kissed both of their heads as you lifted them up. "Its OK. Mommy's here. Now let's put you down for a nap. You two did so well in the bunker." 

"Y/n. Who are they?" came Tommy's shaky voice and the thought of you moving on from him and being the mother of someone else's kids. 

"The two that survived the bullet I took for you."  You said without hesitation. Aunt Polly covered her mouth in shock while Arthur and John looked at each other and then Tommy, and you. 

"Jesus Tom! 3!? At once!?" 

You didn't dare turn around, you didn't want to see their faces. They haven't even been here an hour and yet everything you worked so hard to hide is unraveling. “You never answered my question, how did you find me?”

“Soloman. How do you know ‘im?” Tommy said as his steps got closer. Knowing you wont get out of this you glanced at Polly with pleading eyes, causing her to let out a sigh and place her hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Tommy, let's wait and  give her a few minutes to get those two up stairs before you start a fight.” Aunt Pol said softly as she led Tommy back to the couches to sit down. But Tommy nudged her hand off of his shoulder and took a step closer to you, his patience running thin as you kept your hold on them.

“No. I'm tired of waiting. Y/n answer my question, now.” Tommy hissed out in annoyance. Charles sniffled and buried his face in your neck his eyes full of tears as Kenji glared at Tommy, eyes just as full of tears.

“‘nside ‘oice!” Kenji called back with a shaky voice, his dislike for Tommy at the moment was clear as day. Arthur chuckled and patted Tommy on his shoulder as you walked toward the stairs.

“‘e’s definitely your son Tommy. Looked ‘bout ready tah fight ya too, all for ‘is mum. What are their names?” Arthur teased. Biting your lip you didn't answer, instead you shifted them in your arms and made your way up the stairs carefully, whispering sweet nothings to them as you did so. You didn't need to ask your boys how they felt. That much was obvious to you as their heads moved on your shoulders to stare at Tommy as you walked, they didn't like the way he talked to you. Once you made it to their shared room next to yours you placed them in their beds and kissed their heads after wiping their tears.

“Nap time boys. If you need Mommy I’ll be down stairs. Don't hesitate to call me if you need something ok?” you said softly as you brushed their curls from their face and kissed them again. “Mommy loves you.”

Giving the boys one last look you closed the door behind you as the got under their comforters. Once you were back down the sound of the kettle going off lead you to the kitchen. “Would anyone else like some tea?”

Polly’s voice came immediately as she smiled at the thought, “The sleepy-time mixture that you used to make every morning for me! I have yet to taste anything as good as yours.” She loved your tea after all. Even though they couldn't see, you nodded anyway as you prepared two separate tea pot, one with Arthur’s mixture and one with Polly’s. When you opened the cupboard you grabbed one of your matching set of 5 and placed it on the tray with the pots of tea, carrying everything into, including some cookies. Placing the tray down on the coffee table, you poured some Arthur his cup first and handed it to him, careful not to spill the hot liquid. Silence was all that could be heard through the home you owned after serving tea to those who wanted it. “You didn't have to take them upstairs you know.”

“Knowing Arthur, Tommy and their… colorful vocabulary I felt like that was the best choice.” You teased softly as you lent back into your seat and crossed your legs, taking a careful sip from your tea. “But never mind that, why did you come searching for me? Why are you all here and what do you want?” 

“We need you to comeback.” Tommy said shamelessly. “We’ve grown our business in the past 3 years and now were the third largest bookkeepers. We plan on expanding to London with the help of the Soloman as well.” 

 “It sounds like you’ve got everything all planned out and know what to do. So what do you need me and herbs-” you rebuked only to get cut off by John as he decided to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Cut the bullshit Y/n, You’re one of the focking best -no, THE focking best- weapon maker we know. Even though Tommy wont admit it, everyone else will when I say you're irreplaceable. We need you back.” John explained clearly. 

“I stopped doing that after the boys were born. The only inventions I have left and haven't sold are in the basement.” 

“Wait you sold your weapons!? The same ones you made just for the Peaky Blinders?”

“Of course I did. You think making this house with all these secret entrances and paths was free? I sold my old invention from back when I was teen and some newer ones. I do miss weapon making but at the same time I don't. Coming up with new ideas and actually testing them out cost a lot money. And that money I rather use on my baby boys.” you scoffed. Tommy stood up, rubbing his hand down his face as he groaned in frustration. Your inventions were top of the charts, never before seen, easy to hide the use of, conceal and use. And knowing that other people all around London had it in their possession made this process a lot harder. “If it makes you feel any better Tommy the only gang I’ve sold huge loads to was Alfie. He helped me a lot when I was pregnant, even got me workers to build this very house since no one I went to wanted to work for me. So if any of the expansion shit hurts his business in any way I hope you know what you're getting into.”

“Fine. Fine… Fuck. We can work this out. We just need to go back home, have a family meeting and make a plan.” Tommy grumbled as he began to pace back and forth.

“We? No. No. No Tommy. There is no WE in this, not any more. This is your problem. Not mine or my sons.”

“Our sons, Y/n.”

“I said what I said, and I meant it. They're my sons.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes and turned to look at you with cold blue eyes of annoyance. He must of thought this would all be easy, but hell hath no fury like a protective mother. “Y/n, now's not the time to argue. We need you back at Small Heath. I need you back.”

“I thought Thomas Shelby needed no one but himself. What changed that? What changed you?” you mocked, causing Polly to take a large gulp of her tea, holding back her laughter as she watched the two of you interact. You were the only person she knew that would step to Tommy, win, and repeat the cycle over and over again. It was amusing to her no matter how old the two of you were. You were a spitfire and a beautiful girl, looks and smarts perfectly dangerous together and you knew it. Polly was the only one watching and listening though as she drank her tea, John and Arthur were too busy stuffing their faces with your cookies at an alarming rate. It was a wonder how they haven't choked yet. Both men stared at each other as a grabbed more cookies and shoved them into their mouths, causing you to roll your eyes. “If I were you I’d slow down. You might choke.”

“Things change Y/n, I changed ok? Now are you coming back or not.” he huffed out, towering over you as he stood at your feet. Your head tilted to the side and you switched the position of your crossed legs as you took a sip from your cup.

“If I come back with you, if I get back with you, you have everything to gain. My home, my inventions, my herbs, my sales, my intellect, my money, and most importantly my sons and I. There's nothing for me with you, Tommy. Nothing but more heartbreak.”

Tommy opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing you were right. A growl escaped him as he threw the only thing in his hand into the fire place, which was the tea cup. The sound of it breaking caused you to jump slightly but you didn't bat an eye. Tension began to rise as you stared into each other's eyes, neither of you backing down. Polly- seeing the way you gripped your tea cup- decided to cut in to calm things down.

“Your sons Y/n, their beautiful. So unique as well, as expected of you, so beautifully different.” she praised with a wide smile as she placed her empty cup down to pour more. At the mention of your sons, you smiled widely and broke eye contact with Tommy who was still fuming.

“They are.” you gushed immediately, a wide yet soft smile traveling across your face as you thought of them. “They love chocolate milk and yoga and they're so protective of each other it's absolutely adorable! They talk in sync sometimes and their laugh! Oh god their laugh, it's just Tommy’s back when we were kids! You should see all the pictures I have of them as babies!” tension began to dwindle as you continued to gush about your sons. But the elephant in the room only seemed to grow bigger.

“What are their names? I ask yah before but yous never answered.” 

“Oh! Sorry.” you giggled softly as you drank from your cup finishing the last of your tea, placing it down on the coaster only for Tommy to take it and fill it up with tea from Arthur’s pot. “It’s Charles and Kenji. But I call them Charlie and Kenny. They don't like loud sound that much either.”

“Y-You kept the names.” Tommy said barely above a whisper, almost as a question as he looked at you incredulously. “You kept the names.” his voice was stronger that time but the smell of his cologne was stronger as he embraced you, placing a sudden kiss your lips causing you to melt into his arms. You weren't nearly as over him as you thought, it seemed. “You’re coming home.”

“No Tommy. Not yet at least. If I come back it's on my terms, not yours. I already agreed to come back. Now you just have to wait.”

“My wife and kids aren't going to be away from me Y/n. You're coming home and that's fina-”

“When are you going to understand that this is my home. I built it from scratch and I’m not leaving.”

“I'm not leaving you here.”

“This isn't Small Heath Tommy. I can make my own decisions and I don't need you hovering. I don't need you dictating my life. This is my house, my home, and it was made with my money. You have no authority here.”

No one said a word, Tommy still had you in his arms you still didn’t pull away. Tommy clenched and unclenched his jaw as he stared into your blazing eye. He nodded his head a few times and for once you thought the fighting was over. “Fine. Arthur, you're driving. Aunt Pol, John can you get the boys?”

“Get the boys? Tommy you are not taking my kids from me!” you hissed, squirming in his arms ad you tried to get free of his grasp. His arms moved down to hold your waist and in one swift movement Tommy was standing and you were thrown over his shoulder. “TOMMY! PUT ME DOWN!” 

“You're right, I’m not taking our kids from you, Y/n. I'm taking all of you with me. But since I’m feeling nice and you said there were weapons in the basement this will be our holiday home for next month.” Tommy said, completely unfazed by your yelling and kicking as Polly and John hesitated to get the sleeping boys upstairs. You were still in your robe as you thrashed around in Tommy’s arms and knowing that it was getting you nowhere you sighed and resorted to kicking. But before you could get good kick in Tommy’s free arm held your legs in place. When John and Polly came back down the boys were still asleep as they carried them.

“What about the tea and biscuits?” 

“Forget the fucking tea and biscuits John. She can make some more when we get home. Aunt Pol’s been taking care of her plants for the longest now.”

“Tommy! Put me down! This is kidnapping!” you hissed lowly, not wanting to wake your boys up, but your words fell on deaf ears. Tommy’s hand was perched on your ass as you continued to squirm around furiously, but a slap on your ass caused you to gasp and still. “Tommy!” John was behind everyone and the last one to leave the house. Since the key to the house was in the foyer he locked the door behind everyone, careful not to wake Kenji. “You can't seriously be kidnapping me and my kids right! Aunt Pol! Are you really ok with this!? I thought you were the voice of reason of the Shelbys! Y’all can't be serious right now! I’M NOT DRESSED! I'M INDECENT!” you pleaded, but Tommy’s grip on you tighten and Arthur opened the car door. 

“As long as you sit still you wont get exposed. And if someone does look at you that isn't family, as your husband I have the right to kill them.” Tommy said smoothly as he sat you in the back with him. Polly gently held Charles up for Tommy to pick up, and then he passed Charles to you. You held the sleeping Charles close to you and kissed his forehead as you glared at the male next to you.

“You kill anyone and my boys see it and I’m cutting off your dick Thomas Shelby. You're on thin ice.” a chuckle escaped the man as he took Kenji from John. With his son in his arms Tommy was able to observe the similarities between him and the toddler. His eyebrows were dark and similarly shaped, and even with his eyes closed Tommy could remember the deep blue that Kenji had in his right eye. The boy on his lap was 33% of the proof that you loved him. The other 66% being Charles and Ruby.  He was the lucky one. Not the other way around like he always thought. You were smart, loyal, funny, and an amazing inventor as well. He didn't want to think about how wrong he did you, because then he’d end up hating himself even more than he already does. With Charles in your lap, your arms held him protectively as he began to stir. Glaring at the Shelbys around you the thing that calmed you down was when Charles snuggled closer into you. And at the same time Kenji did the same to Tommy, causing his heart to clench and Tommy to hold him tighter, afraid that this was all a figment of his imagination and the worst nightmare he could ever have. The one where his brain shows him everything he’s thought about, everything he’s wanted to have with you. Only for the shoves to start again, just like they did when you left.

But instead, Tommy kissed Kenji’s freckled cheek when he thought no one was looking, being a lot more gentle with the boys than you expected him to be, almost making you happy to be near him again, almost.

“Mama?” came a soft voice from below you. Your dark eyes met the heterochromatic brown and blue of Charles eyes and you smiled.

“Yes Charlie?”

“Are ‘e living wif Daddy nows?”

You knew Tommy heard him and Tommy knew you knew as well. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him watching you, waiting for your response, but you didn't directly look at him. You both knew what your answer was going to be without you even having to say it, Tommy’s smug smile only proved so. 

“For now? Yes baby. But just for now. We wouldn't want the chickens to feel lonely now would we?” you whispered back causing a chuckle to escape Tommy. Having enough of his shit you kicked him in the shin, careful not to disturb your sons. Now it was your turn to chuckle as Tommy bit his lip to hold in the sound of pain. Polly laughed softly at the face Tommy was making, and to save himself from further embarrassment he shifted the attention away from him. 

“You ‘ear that Johnny boy? She has chickens!  Maybe you should take her home instead.” Tommy teased with a smile. John  rolled his eyes but the smile on his face was apparent as Tommy laughed, tilting his head back in the process. The same laugh he passed onto your sons came out of him, and if anyone asked you would deny the fact that it was calming to hear. “Now we have to come back, wouldn't want the chickens to starve either.”

Charles fell back asleep in your arms without another word as Kenji’s thumb rested in his mouth. The way their eyes fluttered was a tell told tale to you that they were in a deep sleep. Allowing you the chance to finally speak your mind. “You know. You all have a lot of fucking nerve to come searching for me and then take me from, excuse my language but, my  goddamned home. And you have even more nerve that if you think for a second that I’ll just turn over and do what ever the fuck you say. Tommy for one, you look like shit and that tells me just how much control you have over all the shit you've caused. Who the fuck did you double cross this time you bloody idiot.-”

“Ahh, and there she is. It was weird not hearing you curse.” Polly cut you off with a soft chuckle as she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out away from you and the boys. 

“You're all inconsiderate jackasses sometimes, you know that? I have two toddlers to take care of and yet you still want to drag me into this. Tell when the people that hurt you Tommy, did they go after anyone else? Who died? Who got hurt?” you asked calmly, your voice betraying how you actually felt. But even as you ranted, your eyes never left the figures of your sons. “It’s been three years but it seems like the only one who has changed is me. And now you wanna drag me into all of this to solve the mess you made. Well guess what, if you think I’m going to forgive you and come crawling back you have another thing coming Thomas Shelby. I loved you with all my heart and the only thing I got in return was a bullet and a broken heart. So how about for once in your goddamn life you take responsibility for the mess you've made and clean it up yourself, cause I’m not making you shit other than tea.”

“Y/n-”

“Save it Tommy. I dont need to hear any more of your fucking empty promises.” you hissed as you throat tightened and your eyes became glossy. 

“Y/n please don't cry..”

“How can I not Polly? He cheated on me. He broke my heart. I watched him fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. I know I’m not pale, blonde, not extra skinny or dripping with femininity like she was. But I didn't think it would matter, because I loved you Tommy and I thought you loved me. I gave you everything I had to fucking offer and even that wasn't enough for you. Because you're never fucking satisfied Thomas Shelby.”

‘Y/n please..” Tommy mumbled as he shifted Kenji on his lap. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, scared that if he moved you’ll cry even more. Pol watched with sad eyes, but didn't say anything, it wasn't her place after all.

“I gave you everything I had and it wasn't enough… No, because instead you fell for the barmaid spy. The same one that ratted you out. And even after finding out what she did. Even after I took that bullet for you, the same bullet that killed my baby and almost killed me, you spent the night with her. I-I- I can't forgive you for that and I never will Tommy. And if it wasn't for these two sleeping angel that I gave birth to alone, none of this would be happening. My boys deserve the chance to know you, and to love you. The same way I loved you. And if they choose to hate you instead that will be no one’s fault but your own.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tommy finally said after a minute of tense silence.

“It means you have a week. That’s how long you have before I take my sons back home. Because at the end of the day the barmaid may have tempted you but she’s not the one that said ‘I do’ at the altar. Nope, that was you Thomas Shelby and now because of that I love you just as much as I hate you.”

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Seven

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

Your mind malfunctions as he leans in closer, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. Your cheek is burning under his light touch and you know he can almost definitely feel it. You can scarcely breath, lips parting, and with eyes half-lidded you don’t notice him moving past your mouth to place his lips on the shell of your ear instead.

“Did you really think I was going to kiss you?” he whispers sultrily.

You swallow hard, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. “N-no, Your Majesty?” In a daze, your eyes land on the skin just above the edge of his gown, a roughly diamond-shaped birthmark on the back of his neck. It seems familiar to you, but you can’t think from where.

He chuckles sinfully, pulling back to look at you with a teasingly cocked head. “Why, my darling, we don’t even know each other! I can’t go around kissing every beautiful healer that saves my life. Seokjin prefers to be paid in gold.”

You snicker at the innuendo. “Much to your disappointment, I’m sure.”

King Jeon gives you a sly blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink and stands back up. “Now, I do want to thank you for your indispensable services, of course. Those clothes of yours aren’t exactly common for a lady.”

You straighten your back in offense. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I couldn’t save your life nearly as effectively wearing a birdcage.” You stand up quickly, bending over to tie up a leather lace on your boot that had loosened in your fall.

You miss the way his eyes linger on your behind. “I never said I didn’t like them. I like them quite a lot. Perhaps you’d appreciate something more useful. A horse, perhaps? To make your journey to and from the palace quicker, seeing as you’re so opposed to remaining here.”

You think back to your last encounter at a friend’s birthday party, where a pony tipped you over into a pile of mud. “No, thank you.”

“You know, I’ve never heard of a commoner turning down a gift from the King. Fine then, some jewels to decorate that pretty neck of yours.”

Your attention is divided; staring anxiously at the clock just past his head as you try and inch closer to the door behind him. “I’m all good, no jewels required. I’m gonna head out now, I think, anyway, nice seeing yo-”

He reaches out and deftly snags your wrist, tugging you closer in a movement so abrupt you smack right into his chest, automatically propping your free hand against his chest to steady himself. “You’ve worn me down, little girl. I’ll give you what you want, then.”

You open your mouth to protest, but it proves to be a mistake as he leans down and captures your parted lips in a fiery kiss. Any sound of offense is muffled by him, the slight flick of his tongue against the inner side of your lower lip catching your breath, before he pulls away just as suddenly as he initiated it.

You blink up at him in a daze.

His thumb wipes at a patch of saliva on the corner of your mouth as he smirks. “There, you had it your way, I gave you my thanks.”

“Uh, you’re welcome.” You catch yourself, patting his bare chest awkwardly before stepping out of his embrace. “Um, goodbye. Get better soon.”

He watches with a curious look as you rush to the door and slip out but makes no further reply.

--

When you bust in the door to Yoongi’s little hut, panting from power-walking the whole way back, he’s yelling at a small white spotted piglet that’s sitting rather delicately on the main bench.

“…not that difficult! Why would you mix the lemongrass with the myrrh? It makes no sense!”

You stare in dumbfounded silence as Yoongi apparently waits for a reply from the small, cowering creature. “Uh, hey, shaman. What’s the deal with the pig?”

Yoongi sighs, collapsing onto the small couch. You’re a little distracted by the way the top few buttons of his forest-green blouse are undone, showing a triangle of unblemished skin. The fire is blazing in the hearth as a cauldron bubbles and threatens to overflow, and you can see beads of sweat making his face and chest glimmer. “That’s not a pig, it’s Taehyung.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Woah, Yoongi, that’s a little hurtful.”

He tuts in frustration, standing up again to go fumble around the countless glass jars on his main shelf. “No, that’s seriously Taehyung. I was making a potion to turn seeds into fully-grown plants to help out with our harvest this year, but that stupid idiot,” he breaks off to jab an accusing finger at the morose-looking piglet, “decided to use lemongrass instead of thyme because it smelt nicer. This isn’t a godforsaken perfumery, you swine!”

“So, you turned him into a pig as punishment?” You rush over to the table, forgetting about your time constraint and worrying instead about the quietly snuffling pig on the bench. “That’s mean! Oh, but Taehyungie looks so cute as a piglet.” You hold your hands out, cooing as the sweet creature sits up and patters along the table to you, hooves clinking on the wood.

Yoongi retrieves what he’s after and joins you, scoffing when he sees you cradling the baby animal like an infant, bobbing it gently and rubbing its tummy. “Of course not. I just decided if he messed up the recipe, he could be the first to try it. Honestly, he should be grateful he chose lemongrass instead of actual lemonjuice or he’d be a slug right now.” He leans over you, glaring at the piglet. “You hear that, Taehyung? A slug!”

You pout at the shaman and keep patting the pig. “Don’t listen to him, I would never let him turn you into slug.” You glance up. “Turn him back now!”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “You do realize that’s a grown man you’re holding.” You halt your rocking, placing the pig back onto the countertop. “Right, Taehyung, you need to chew this stick of cinnamon, okay? Swallow as much of it as you can.”

You stare in wonder as a pig munching away at a small brown sprig transforms back into a long-legged, shaggy-haired human. “Holy crap.”

Taehyung bends over, coughing and wincing at the taste in his mouth, scooting off the table to go drink some water. Once he’s out of sight, Yoongi grins and puts the jar away. “He didn’t need to eat any cinnamon. The potion wears off after ten minutes anyway.”

You gape at him. “You’re a sadist.”

“On the contrary. It’s kindness that leads me to teach him these lessons. Perhaps this time it was becoming a pig for ten minutes, but if he messed up other spells it could mean significant injury or death. This way, he won’t make the same mistake again.”

You sigh reluctantly. “Okay, but don’t be so hard on him. He’s still learning.” You think back to the last time you had spoken with Taehyung, when he was locking you in that room. “Maybe make him suffer just a little longer. Enough to- Oh, shit!”

Taehyung returns just after your outburst. “What? What’s going on?”

“I have to leave, now,” you mutter as you rush behind the tapestry of the spare room to get back into your plain t-shirt and leggings. “My boyfriend is gonna be pissed.”

You freeze, one leg hovered over your shoe. Your boyfriend. How could you possibly explain to him why you were late for his show? Sorry, Jiminie, I was sucking face with the King. Won’t happen again. Was it cheating if the guy was technically dead? You were pretty sure it was. Either way, you returned home with a guilty conscience and a heavy heart.

--

“It’s fine,” Jimin mutters, but the tears streaking down his face tell you that’s a blatant lie. “If you weren’t going to make it, you should’ve told me, that’s all.”

You reach for his hand, but he quickly slips it into his jacket pocket. “Jimin, I’m so sorry.” Your voice is as low as your spirits, the two of you the last ones in the stadium after all the other performers and audience members had long gone home. “I don’t know what to say.”

He scoffs, the noise sounding wet like it’s on the edge of being a sob. “Neither do I,” he admits, “it’s like all of a sudden you don’t have time for me anymore.”

You bite your lip. “Jimin, I swear that’s not the case. I got caught up in work and lost track of time. It was unforgiveable and you have every right to be mad and upset, but-”

“I’m not mad,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “I’m not upset. I’m fucking embarrassed. Do you know how humiliating it was to tell all the guys how excited I was for you to come? I made you a little ‘reserved’ sign, taped it to a chair in the front row, and then it sat empty for the whole fucking show.”

Your face crumples as another tear tracks down his face. “What can I do to make it up to you?” you ask. “We could go somewhere now, spend some time together. Or maybe if you just want some space, that’s fine too. Whatever you want, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

He laughs bitterly. “I really should just ask for space. You know, Taemin told me I should break up with you. I kinda get why he’d say that. But I’m too fucking weak for that. As much as I hate it, I need you, Y/n. I… I just wish you felt the same way about me.”

Your heart breaks for the millionth time that night. “Jimin, this is a rough patch, and it sucks, I know, but I promise that’s all it is. A rough patch. It’s just temporary, and it’s over now. I’ll be better now, I’ll treat you like you deserve. Come on, let’s go home. I’ll shout us takeaways and we can watch a movie together. You choose the movie. Yeah?”

He sniffs harshly and wipes at his face, nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

--

Later that night, after you had eaten the promised takeaways, watched the promised movie, and even had some slow, intimate make-up sex, you were lying in bed, you on your back, Jimin in his favorite position, which was fast asleep on his stomach, face cushioned by your naked breasts as he lazily swirled a fingertip in circles on your skin.

You ran a hand through his hair, enjoying the way he let out little happy grunts when you scratched at his scalp or tugged the roots just slightly. Being with Jimin felt safe, and comfortable, and. You loved watching his back rise and fall as he breathed deeply in his sleep. He had been making an effort to get some more sun where possible, and the golden shade of his skin was-

You jolt suddenly, cringing as Jimin shuffled around then went still again, clutching tightly onto you. On the back of Jimin’s neck was a patch of skin darker and pinker than the rest. A birthmark in the shape of a diamond that you finally recognized. The same one you had seen on King Jeon’s neck earlier that day.

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