#also if you see that we are only at two/five chapters and are more than halfway through the word count no you don't <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[daisy-mooon]

Portraiture;

Portraits of the Emperors, and what those portraits mean to them.

Portrait Three - Lizzie

Lizzie is older than written history itself. Granted, she spent hundreds of those years, maybe even millennia, at the bottom of the ocean, but that doesn't change the fact that she is irreversibly and unforgettably old. 

They have archoelogists at the Crystal Cliffs, a whole array of wizards and not-wizards combing through libraries and ruins. Many things changed throughout the ancient histories of the land, things she knows from living through them and things she knows from reading the papers the Cliffs are always publishing. With such frantic enthusiasm, too. They ask her for clarification on Oceanic events, and she happily provides them. Lizzie is cited on thousands of journals and books, from anything from history to language to religion and mythology and magic and even biology, although that required a lot of weird poking on Gem's part. 

But... 

Her throat catches a little as she stares at the research that Gem is presenting too her. Or rather, the fresco.

A fresco that, with a little help from an ingenious magical theft from millennia go, went from ancient Pixandria to the primitive-Codlands to Mythland occupied Gilded Helianthia, then all the way into the heart of the modern Crystal Cliffs. She is sitting at one side, and on the other is Jimmy. Both of them are children. And in the middle of them both is... their mother.

Their mother died before they were born. Lizzie swallows. Hard. She supposes that the ancient worshippers who made this fresco- Gem tells her that they were a primitive but artistic and extensive civilisation on the shores of the Pixandrian desert- did not know that her mother was dead when they painted this. But then Gem is telling her something different-

"It was painted based on a prophecy, we think," Gem says, awe flooding every depth and tone of her voice. "Isn't it incredible? They were able to capture such a likeness of you and Jimmy before the two of you were even born!"

Lizzie stares at it. Her mother's artistic, horrifically monstrous form stares back. She's never thought about what her mother looked like- she's always been focused more on the fact that her mother was dead, her titanic godly form picked apart by sea creatures before she hatched. But she now realises that this is the only realistic recreation of her mother she has ever seen, not the flimsy carvings and sculptures that were clearly based on muses. And it is too damaged to know what her face looked like.

On the way home, it occurs to Lizzie that she has never, not once, had an official portrait made of herself. Oh, she's had portraits and paintings and frescos and mosaics and sculptures, half of which are accredited to Joel. But there are other artworks of her, who aren't as careful and adoring as Joel, and she begins to feel the overwhelming seep of panic that one day she might end up like her mother, reduced to artistic fragments and nothing else-

"Would you like to make an official painting of me?" Lizzie asks Joel tentatively. 

It is the dead of Mezalean night when she asks this, and they are both awake. Joel blinks at her. He looks adorable like this, his pyjamas crumpled and hair smushed and eyes only half open. He's still half asleep, bless him.

"Already have," he hums, and then promptly curls up next to her and falls right back asleep. He's snoring before she can even count to five.

The next day, when he is actually awake, she asks him again. Joel says yes in a heartbeat, and then hesitates. He asks how large he can make it. Lizzie hesitates, because whilst she loves seeing Joel go nuts in his artwork, she would also like an official portrait to be a little, well, official, so she says big but not too big, symbolic but not too ladened with symbolism, creative but-

Joel has her stand in one of the collonaded towers that overlooks the ocean, and begins his painting. The canvas is portable (thank the gods, thank her Mother, actually) but still huge and large enough that he needs a stool to paint the top. What on Earth is he going to do with it?

Lizzie doesn't really need to stand for as long as she does, Joel tells her. He's painted and sculpted her face so many times that he could paint her face with his eyes closed. Her heart flutters a little at that, but she stands anyway, just so that he can get the shadows right, and then longer so he can get the fabric right, and then a little longer because she loves to see him work. The way his eyebrows furrow. The way he takes in each and every detail and recreates them with such mastery-

The finished product is... a masterpiece. Painted Lizzie is the exact height as Lizzie herself, wearing the exact clothing of that day. She is depicted in glory, standing over the magnificent ocean ("To signify how much you rule," Joel informs her) staring head-on into the viewer's eyes. Even the tiniest, tiniest details have been reproduced - a tiny flicker in her iris, the refraction of light off the carvings of the quartz floors, the tiny crinkle of her lip that she'd been unable to hold back as she watched him. She isn't the Ocean Queen, isn't the demi-god of the ocean, she's Lizzie.

No, it is almost scary how lifelike it is. Lizzie's breath is stolen in a heartbeat.

"Don't touch it!" Joel shrieks as she almost pokes her finger at it. She grins at him sheepishly. He starts to whine "It's oil paint- and the good oil paint too. The not-magic but crazy oil paints. Best I have. And I prepped the canvas with egg yolk too, so it's kind of-

Lizzie leans forward and kisses him. He kisses back. When he pulls away for hair, gasping, cheeks flushed, she kisses him all over - forehead, cheeks, nose, hairline-

"I love you," she whispers. The painting seems to ripple in the corner of her eye. She only has eyes for the artist.

-

Historians note: Ocean Queen Lizzie, prima et novissima (first and last) might be one of the oldest beings to ever exist. The first reference to her is in the prophecy of the blue axolotl, which is believed to have existed in oral tradition for millennia before any of the primitive cultures from the archaic-era. The first known image of her is The Goddess and Her Spawn a badly damaged fresco dating from dozens of thousands of years before the golden age and end of her reign, depicting her sitting next to her Mother, the ancient goddess of Old Deep Fear, and her brother, Codfather Jimmy, ruler of the Codlands prima et novissima (first and last). It was likely made by the first civilisations of the primitive, coast-dwelling pre-Pixandrians. 

During her millennia-long reign (historians are unsure as to when her reign began, although it ended at the Rapture), the Ocean Queen had hundreds of thousands of artworks of her produced. Although her birth and ascendancy remain unclear, for this reason, she is the most well-documented being to ever exist. A substantial chunk of this artwork was produced by her husband, the Mad King Joel, (referred to as Joel of Mezalea by himself in his artistic depictions), and thus is extremely lifelike. The best-known painting of the Ocean Queen is uncreatively but accurately titled Official Portrait of Ocean Queen Lizzie by Her Husband, Joel of Mezalea. Despite her millennia-long reign over the Ocean Empire, the Ocean Queen only ever had one lover, Joel of Mezalea, who is the only artist to produce an "official" painting of her. Some minor damage was sustained after the Ocean Queens disappearance post-Rapture when the Mad King tried to burn it, but he reportedly "broke down in such a storm of tears that the palace flooded the warm mesa air became cold, and the hard clay and sand became grass and dirt. All fires were put out, and no fire would burn for a hundred years. The water never left." Although this is a dramatised account, the painting remains undamaged other than a singular, tiny burn in one corner, and some historians theorise that the Evermoor was situated on geologically altered borders of Mezalea.

Unlike a variety of pre-raptures which were rediscovered, this painting has been circulating the post-Rapture art world for millennia. It now sits in Kruoma National Museum alongside a large collection of Oceanic, Codish and Mezalean art. 

[hulloitsdani]

It’s time for the big one. Book 3!!! My beloved!!!

Okay I’m coming out swinging with this one, but I think I liked book 2 better— HEY put those pitchforks down let me explain myself.

I think, as a first time read, book 3 is really god damn good. There’s genuinely so much to love about it and it marked the moment I personally fell in love with Heroes. The way it expands on the world and takes advantage of FEH’s setting is fantastic, the aesthetic is hands down the best one, and many other things that I’ll dig further into in just a moment. HOWEVER, Book 3 has a pacing problem. And it unfortunately becomes really obvious on a second watch, because you’re already aware of the major twist.

The first five chapters? Gold. Pure gold. Inject the awkward family dinner dynamic directly into my veins. But once we’re in the realm of the dead? Ehhhh the pacing gets a bit more meandering. It’s not as tight in comparison to Book 2. I think the only time book 2’s narrative drags a little is with Loki’s among us shenanigans, but even then it’s not that bad. Outside of that? We are on a rollercoaster and it is not slowing down. Book 3, in my opinion, needs to take notes from that.

Let’s us Helbindi as an example. The reason why his character is effective, despite his limited screen time, is because the story is making full use of Leagjarn and Leavatein’s character building scenes. It’s not only building their dynamic, it’s also building his character. It’s creating the context necessary for us to understand exactly what it means when we learn that he has a younger sister that he is trying to care for in Múspell under Surtr. Book 3 lacks those multipurpose scenes. Most are exactly what they say on the tin. This greatly dampers its ability to juggle our cast of colorful characters in its short timeframe. And perhaps there is no bigger example of that than the character of Eir.

Eir almost feels like she could be cut for the narrative altogether, which is a shame, because man I like her. She deserves a more fleshed out narrative about overcoming her abuse and traumas. In the same way that I’m invested in Fjorm’s vengeance against Surtr, I want to be invested in Eir growing out of Hel’s control. But unfortunately the two characters we mainly see her interacting with is Líf (which are good scenes) and Kiran, you know, our silent protagonist. And Eir herself is pretty quiet. Not exactly a good mix for effectively communicating a lot about her character quickly.

Ironically, there’s a scene in chapter 1 part 5 where Anna is suspicious of Eir and is grilling into her, and it’s honestly a way more interesting dynamic. It’s immediately dropped as other plot developments occur, which is a damn shame because I think that could have been a fun answer to this conundrum. Anna could start suspicious, then immediately feel really bad about being suspicious upon learning what Eir has gone through, but then has those suspicions confirmed when it’s revealed that Eir was ordered to betray them. It would both make sense for Anna to pick up on this threat given the Order’s history and it might also make Eir putting all her cards on the table a lot more impactful.

But that’s enough criticism, because my guys, it’s book 3. Like holy shit I love book 3. If you enjoy FEH, you don’t need me to sell you on book 3. Book 3 gave us Líf. Líf is a sad wet cat of a man and I adore every second he’s on screen. The way he recontextualizes Alfonse and his dynamic with the people in his life adds years to my life. Your honor I require that the skeleton jello man be in a god damn situation with no breaks. To the blender with him.

Speaking of, I was surprised to find how incredibly depressed Líf is. I thought there would be a lot more rage present, but no he’s just sad. This makes every scene between him and Sharena delightfully painful. Chapter 12 part 1 (ie after Líf collapsed a building on top of everyone and has a chit chat with Sharena) might be one of my favorite scenes thus far. As they’re sitting in the rubble of the ruined castle they all called home, they have a painfully genuine little heart to heart. Líf needs to get a little meltdown out of his system before getting back up again and does so by talking to the only person he’s ever known how to. Twisting the knife on it is how it’s all phrased in a way that showcases that it’s just Alfonse. Painfully Alfonse. The same Alfonse who tried to logic his way out of being hurt by self isolating and distancing himself from others. The same Alfonse who tried to double down on that failing ideology, before finally letting his walls come down. It’s delightful. I love how consistent Líf feels with Alfonse’s previous actions.

Also, some of his lines are just really funny? “The realm of the dead is no place for the likes of you, living boy.” now lives rent free in my brain forever. It’s a gift that keeps on giving. On a surface level, that’s an odd line and bizarre insult. But the more you learn about Líf, the better it gets. When was the last time he talked to living person outside of the realm of the dead? Do think he rehearsed that in his head for the day he knew he’d inevitably face down his younger self? Is he internally cringing or fully committed? No matter the answer it’s hilarious. God damnit I love Líf.

In other news, I may have glazed over it before, but oh my god those opening chapters are delightful. Awkward family dinner my beloved. I genuinely cannot get enough of it! I am putting Gustav under a god damn microscope. All of his scenes are so god damn fascinating. I loveeee this guy and his consequences on the narrative. Usually, when there’s a somewhat morally complicated character who is also a parent, the parental qualities of that character are seen as the morally good parts. But with Gustav, that’s where the moral complexities of his character reside. He’s not a bad person, he’s a good leader, he’s a great husband, but he’s a complicated father to both Sharena and Alfonse. Hell, he’s complicated for those exact reasons! It’s so god damn fun to see. The love is there, but so is the flaws of every person involved.

The writing on this guy is peak too. Everyone is nervous and stuttering when talking to him, which is behavior that we haven’t seen out of most of these characters up to this point. Surtr resurrecting himself didn’t even begin to strike the same level of momentary blind terror that proceeds Gustav rolling up to witness the overly dangerous dumb shit our protagonists are getting up to. And it makes sense! That’s their dad! And king of the whole nation! Our protagonists care about his opinion more than most. It’s so awkward and I love it! The best part, in my opinion, is that the only character not at least a little nervous to talk to him is Henriette. I don’t know what exactly it is about this that gets me, but oh boy does it get me. They’re married, your honor. I would even be so bold as to claim that’s his other half. They mean a lot to me. Henriette did not deserve to be caught in the cross fire of the FE dad curse, but damn does it make good drama.

And last but not least, Sharena. Oh boy do I love every scene with Sharena this season. To the point where I’m disappointed that we don’t get more. Her dynamic with Alfonse is called to attention for obvious reasons, but I enjoy the subtle way it’s pushed to the forefront before the stage light came on. The royal siblings got each other’s back— to the point where if one goes down, it’s like the other lost a limb. I really like that and it’s a shame the pacing doesn’t allow for more of it.

I also want to draw that scene where she stops Líf’s assassination attempt so so bad. She deserves to kick his ass and then be confused about his behavior with Alfonse later.

Anyway, that’s where I’m gonna leave this one. I feel like I could go on for forever. More than already have, anyway. Book 4 is up next and will mark the half way point. Wish me luck

Um. So. I may have gotten stressed and started transcribing FEH’s story mode. Might currently have all of book 1 written down. Perhaps a third of the way into book 2.

This started as a way to have the preface chapters handy since they’re not replayable. But then I looked on the FE wiki and saw that they only have a small fraction of the chapters written down. And that scared me, because means that my hyperfixation has a nonzero chance of becoming lost media if the app were to go down one day. So now I have all of book 1 in my back pocket, including the preface, two intermissions, and the two relevant xenologues. Once I’m further along and have a few more books accounted for, I have no problem making the document public. But until then I encourage others to also write some of its content down. Just in case, you know? Especially those prologues and Tempest Trials.

With that PSA out of the way, omg book 1 hi!!!! It’s been forever!!!!

Apparently, I haven’t reread book 1 in its entirety since I first played Heroes! I’ve gone back to look for specific scenes and replayed the levels on harder difficulties (self inflicted or otherwise), but I haven’t done a thorough second pass before. Which was news to me, because that meant I was consistently blindsided by scenes and characterization that I completely forgot about! Did any of you remember that Zacharias was apparently Alfonse and Sharena’s childhood friend? I didn’t! But there it is, chapter 7 part 5 after battle cutscene, Anna specifies that aspect of their relationship. That’s crazy! How does the timeline even line up on that??? If he spent his childhood in Askr, how did he manage to have a strong relationship with his significantly younger sister? How did he find himself rubbing shoulders with enemy royalty? Could he have inadvertently met Peony? I’m not changing my takes on his character, but I would love to know.

Speaking of character, apparently seven years spent writing a character naturally changes how they sound! Who would have thought. It made seeing the book 1 versions of our Askr trio a little jarring, but in an oddly nostalgic way! This was a phase of the game where the story, its characters, and its world existed with the singular purpose of introducing new players to what Heroes was trying to do. Which was, at the time, being a cute yet unobtrusive gacha app tie in with simplified FE mechanics to give you that gameplay fix on the go. And to its credit, it does do a good job of this! It ain’t a masterpiece, but I was charmed by its emphasis on showing off all these cool characters you could go summon. Ryoma gets to talk for a few lines and you are going to look at his very pretty art! But that meant that the world and characters of Zenith take a bit of a backseat. They’re not here to be too complicated. The Order of Heroes are the friendly faces that go on adventures and meet these heroes that you can summon for only $19.99. But we all know where the game and its story is going to go from here. That emphasis is going to wane as FEH grows into its own identity (and also earn IntSys over $1 billion worldwide).

But that’s a later development. Before that fundamental shift is where book 1 sits. It’s in this fascinating position where these characters have yet to solidify into their recognizable forms. And if you don’t believe me, chapter 9 part 4 has a scene where Sharena and Alfonse’s roles have reversed. For once, Sharena is posing the cautionary “what if the information we are getting from this total stranger is a trap?”, to which Alfonse responds “nah I’m getting a vibe that it’s fine and that we should believe him whole heartedly.” Like??? Huh???? It’s Bruno, but still, that’s hilarious! Alfonse’s pragmatism bordering on paranoia hasn’t established itself as a massive driver of his character yet. Nor has Sharena’s role as trusting emotional core and moral compass of the group. It was very easy to borderline Mandela Effect it into being there, but it isn’t. Not quite. There are hints, sure, but once again these characters were initially made to be simple at the time. The depth doesn’t quite exist yet.

It wasn’t until I was writing this very paragraph that it finally dawned on me why the Askr trio voice lines, especially Alfonse’s lines, are such a big deal. That's where Alfonse’s character arc with trusting Kiran resides. There's the pragmatism we know and love! It’s not super present in the text of book 1, but the depth of these characters can be found in the voice lines you unlock from building them and earning the crown jewel level 40 conversation. That’s where Alfonse’s arc with his self isolating behaviors crumbles at that sight of one silly tactician. That’s where Sharena finally wins a fight against her own loneliness by forming genuine friendship with this stranger form a strange land, who is appreciative of her loud eccentricities. That’s where Anna apologizes about her initial underestimation of Kiran, thanks them for being more reliable than she could have ever hoped for, and swears that whatever hell may come their way, they’re in this together. The books themselves don’t seem to reflect this characterization until book 2, where they overall act more in accordance with the rest of the narrative. It’s as if they're taking from the voiced lines’ example and extrapolating more on the story they imply.

The one standing in slight contrast to all this is Bruno, as he's the most interesting character in book 1. It's blaringly obvious he's Zacharias, but it's genuinely amusing how deep he is in his own gaslighting. He can't manipulate, mansplain, manwhore his way out of this one folks, but he's certainly going to try! His lies aren't even that good, but it honestly contributes to how at wits end he is. Like, sure honey, I totally believe you that you just killed Zacharias. I bet he has an eight-pack too. Just take a nap for two minutes. But then everyone believes him because our protagonists have yet meld their group braincell. Overall, an amusing time.

I don't have a particular point I'm trying to make with this one. Just having a fun and pointing out the things I've noticed. Might give a little update for every book I complete. However many that will be.

[fullyvisible]

Love and Competition

Title: Love and Competition

Author: fullyvisible

Chapters: 2/5

Words: 8,400/15,700

Rating: T

Summary: When Neil and Andrew kick off a new rivalry immediately following the resolution of their old one, Jeremy and Jean have no choice but to respond. After all, it’s all in good fun … isn’t it?

Sequel to Secrets and Honesty

Chapter Two is now posted!

(also available on ffnet)

NOTE: The fic is fully written, and I will be posting daily until complete.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I think I went too hard on this, but I also feel like it wasn't enough. I really wanted to play around with dialogue more. I was going to have the Bats hit Smalltown in this, but I think it would be best if the confrontation(s) had it's own chapter. Let me know what y'all think!

A/N: This is my longest writing yet. Just a heads up. Hope that's all good!

Warnings: Yandere themes, alluded murder, platonic bed sharing, OC usage.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The way the raindrops on the windshield seemed to chase each other didn't even registered to you as your heart continues to palpitate in your chest. Your hands shaking on the steering wheel as the numbers on the mile markers continued to change, and they weren't growing any steadier with each passing one. The way the excitement to gyrated inside your chest as the old truck continued on the patch-work road made you feel lightheaded. Not in a bad way, but in a way you could get addicted to.

It didn't stop the nausea curdling in your stomach, but you chalk that up to this being your first true act of rebellion. Even if you felt it was justified. It wasn't like they were going to chase after you, though. They had made their priorities clear. Clear as Gotham's smog filled skies. You weren't going to allow yourself to waste away in that manor filled with more secrets than people when there was a life outside of it that you had once been a part of.

It wasn't until you were certain a full day had past that the storm had finally dissipated, both over Gotham and over your mind. The trepidation in your belly at long last fading into a sense serenity. Even if it was only a fleeting thing. Water rarely stays still for long when the storm comes.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Back in Gotham the family had finally dragged their bone-weary selves back to the cave. Some collapsing in the nearest got. Some dragging themselves upstairs for their comfort of their bed. But, surprisingly, it's Damian that drags himself to your room. The past two days had worn him down and he just wanted his sibling, even if it meant disturbing them. Even if they were mad at him.

It doesn't register to him that your bed is empty. That some of your things are missing. He crawls under the covers and curls into the pillow like a temperamental cat. Resting his eyes temporarily he says. You're his sibling, you shouldn't mind. (He had heard you laughing on the phone about how your other little brother used to do this on occasion. He wants to know what that’s like)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As everyone rest their heads back home, unaware that the worse was yet to come even after the lighting had passed, you start to turn down familiar roads. Roads you had memorized every bump of once. The roads that lead you towards a home you had missed and things you used to know.

There's a few new bumps and pot holes that you don't recognize, but you're too excited to see them as the warnings they were.

As you pull into the driveway of Nana and Grand Daddy's house, you can see Nana standing outside. Waving for you in front of the two-story bedroom house Daddy had designed and built for them years ago. The place was well cared for despite the creaky steps on the front porch that you had spent many hot summers on. Blowing snow across the yard to keep cool.

When you finally park the truck and hop out Nana's already rushing towards you with surprising speed for her old age. Already your arms are opening for her when she suddenly scoops you up and locks you in an tight embrace.

"I missed you." You mumble into her shoulder. Trying to fight back a few tears as the scent of her bitter perfume fills your nose.

"I missed you more. We all missed you more, sugarplum." You hear the gravel in her voice as she gives you one last squeeze. Holding you so tight that for a moment you feel you can't breath. But, before you need to gasp for air, she pulls back slightly. Her aged brown eyes looking you over appraisingly. "You sure ya' don't wanna rest up a bit? You look thin, sweetpea."

A soft noise escapes your lips in a puff.

"I'm sure. Still too wired from the drive." You reply as you wipe those few stray tears that somehow trickled down your cheeks. Your best efforts to keep them contained failing.

Everything around you feels different. It's home, but there's something about it that is different. The smells are the same, the sights are the same, even the sounds are the same. But, you chalk it up to the way the Gotham air still clings to your skin and the silence of the manor that has left your ears sensitive to the slightest shifts in change.

"I… I kinda feel bad about leaving how I did." Comes your immediate confession as she continues to hold you like you're made of soft gold.

Even if it seemed unnecessary to say, it felt nice just to blurt out how you were feeling to someone who actually listened. Besides, Nana had always made you tell her what was bothering you if there ever was something. It was a habit to tell her things by now.

"Leaving Gotham, I mean…. running away in the night without warning, Nana."

"Nonsense, baby." Already she's brushing your cheek and trying to soothe the worry and fear. Holding your face between her hands so all you can focus on is her.

"You ain't done not a thing wrong. They was being unreasonable. Besides, you can just call them later and tell them your alright." For a moment, you feel like she's lecturing you. Like she used to when you where little. About being safe and staying near her at all times when you went out into town with her. But, now you're grown and she still does it.

"Are you sure, Nana? Because I know You, and Momma, and Daddy used to get on to me about asking permission before doin' things-"

"Ah-ah," She irrupts your before you could finish, "This is one of those incidents where it's better to ask for forgiveness, I promise. Besides, I know you asked first. Not your fault they was being unreasonable. Not your fault at all, baby." Nana's voice going from stern to a soft coo as she starts to lead the way into the old house.

You take a breath of the place, smelling the seasonal candles that you usually had lit this time of year. Noting the slight changes in decor. Projects that Nana probably had Grand Daddy completing while you were gone. There's even more pictures on the walls. Some more of Momma and Daddy, and even more of you. Nana had even printed out the ones you had sent her on your phone while you where in Gotham.

It was nice she missed you so much that she made you the center piece of the picture gallery, but still it felt odd. You had been hoping to see more pictures of your brother, Jean Luke. To actually see what memories he had made without you. But, you don't comment. You just head towards the kitchen. Sitting in your usual spot at the counter to continue talking with her.

You can smell her cooking. Nana really wasn't the best cook, but she went all out making a few of your favorite dishes with as much effort as she could muster out of her bones.

"So, how's Lukie been doing?" You mean to start conversationally, but your tone drifts to sounding more concern when the reminder about the lack of pictures on the wall crosses your mind and the thought that maybe he actually hasn't been coping well since you’ve been gone pops into your head as well. "I know what he tells me. That he's doin' fine when we’re on the phone, but how is he actually doing, Nana?"

"He's doing better." She replies while checking the oven, a slight sigh in her voice. She caught your tone of concern. "Still misses your Momma and Daddy. Bless. But, he's doing better. He'll probably feel ever better now that your back." She gives you a grin before sliding you a cutting board and a knife.

Already you fall into step, peeling and chopping the things she hand you.

"I'm not actually back, back." You mention, biting your lip when you catch her freeze.

"What you mean, baby?" Her soft voice doesn't match her tense shoulders. The lines on her face growing taunt.

"Well, it's just I kinda feel bad about how I left things with Bruce and 'em. And, I still gotta finish high school." You start to explain. It is true. You had a whole day to try to think about your actions. Getting out of Gotham had helped you process your feelings about the place. You still didn't like Gotham, but you'd been told all your life that family was important. You just didn't know that the family that had told you that wanted you to put them before all others.

"Oh, baby, you won't be needing none of that. Besides this is where you belong. We need you here. Them city folks just don't understand you, baby." You're about to protest when she continues on just before your lips could part to speak.

"Besides, Tanner's really been missin' you. He about turned himself into a frog when Mae showed him a picture of you in that pretty little outfit she made for ya’. The boy about croaked." Nana gives you that meddlesome look you knew to well. The one she gave you when she spoke about her church friend's grandson's. The one that always made you bush.

It was a clever distraction, and not at all a lie. Nana had watched Tanner turn green with envy at the sight of you in that dress and with your date. And, he about sang when he heard about your date's death right after. The town all had to forcefully stop him from driving back to Gotham to just to comfort you.

"Nana, you're being silly again. He don't like me like that." You brush off the flush with practiced easy, giving her a stern look of your own.

"Things change, baby. You're grown now. Everything's gonna be different, but just the same." She muttered that last part so low you could hardly hear it. Just as your about to question that statement, she changes topic once more.

"Now, you wanna stay we me and your Grand Daddy tonight?" The question stunning you for a second. You hadn't even thought about where you were going to stay when you started your way back here. But, the longing creeps back into your chest once more.

"Actually, I want to stay at the old house. I- I miss my own bed." You once again find yourself confessing, though it goes much deeper than that. Nana likes it when you let her see even surface level things, usually she's able to draw the proper conclusions from them. However, this time Nana tenses for the briefest moment, but then relaxes almost instantly after. You nearly miss it.

"Of course, baby. Of course. Take Lukie with you. It'd do him some good and I'd hate for you to be alone all up in there. The loneliness might get to ya." She seemed to place a bit too much emphasis on bringing your brother with you. But, you weren't going to complain.

After all, "It already got to me, Nana. It already got to me." You whisper to yourself before letting Nana regale you with all the latest town gossip.

It's not long until you're making plans to help set up for your brother's and by extension your own birthday tomorrow. Happily chatting away until Grand Daddy and Jean-Luke walk in the door.

Instantly, receiving a soft kiss on the forehead from Grand Daddy along with a tight grip on your shoulders and a firm, "Missed you, sugarplum." Before he slowly lets you free to help Nana and quite speaking to her.

You turn to your brother, little Jean-Luc, and reach for him with the swiftness of a breeze. He seems to hesitate before returning your hug with an almost intense ferocity that strangely makes you think of your last hug with Dick. Like he doesn't want to let go. Like he's almost scared to let go.

You let him hold you a good long while, standing there in the kitchen. It should feel like a relief to hold him again. Yet, you have the sudden urge to carry him away. Something that makes the winds inside your chest tell you to flee. You mange to swallow it down, but not the tears. Those freely pour down your cheeks as you both whisper about how much you missed each other back and forth. You notice how oddly quite he is. It's easy to blame that on the grief you both still feel, but it's different.

Sitting at the table and enjoying the meal feels different. Everything is different. Including the way Jean-Luke grips your hand when you tell him your going to stay at the old house and how he can come if he wants.

You almost want to laugh at how fast he leaps into the front seat of the truck. The grin on his face the most genuine you've seen since you got here.

Driving up to the old house made you ache. A deep ache that you felt from you chest to your palms. The dirty from the buried grief you felt being disturbed. As you glanced at your little brother’s face, the one that looked so much like Momma’s, you could tell he felt it too. Which bothers you because he shouldn’t have had to bury his grief like you did yours.

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Back at the manor, in the short time it had been since Damian rested his head on your pillow. He noticed it was too still. You were always moving in the manor. Always breezing through the halls. Yet now things had gone still. Not just in your room, but through out the manor.

His green eyes had opened, and sharpened. You should be here resting with him. Where were you? He hadn't bothered to keep track of your belongings before, but some things felt out of place. After a brief scan of the room, he made his way towards the cave. His senses on high alert for you. Straining to overhear your usual chattering on the phone or your pattering feet on the carpeted halls.

But, there was nothing. Most everyone was asleep or dozing and the stillness bothered him. The cooling realization filled him with each step as he walked down into the cave.

Sitting at the computer, Bruce goes over the footage of the previous nights. The storm was suspicious, and the churning in his gut and the way his hair stood on end didn’t help those suspicions. But, when Damian had entered the cave, those suspicions went from whispers to screams.

"Damian, get everyone to the cave. Now."

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"Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?" Dick was the first to respond to the news, standing at attention and livid despite having recently been woken up by an anxious Damian. Well, as anxious as Damian would physically allow himself to be in front of anyone.

"Damian brought it to my attention and the truck is gone from the garage." Bruce replied. Normally, this would sound like his usual paranoia flaring, but no one questioned him this time. Just the grim look on his face and the way his shoulder's tensed let everyone know that this was a completely serious matter.

Exhaustion immediately melting form everyone as the mission suddenly shifted.

"Barbara, pull up the manor security cameras from the night first night of the storm."

She speedily rolled her chair over to the computer and started pulling up the footage. It was only because she had years to develop her self control that her fingers didn't shake as she typed on the keys.

I should have been watching them. I should have checked on them.

The footage begins to show the exact moment that their sweet sibling left their room with a large bag of their shoulder and a excited grin on their face.

Why are you smiling like that? Why are are you happy to be leaving them? Why are you leaving? Why are you leaving?

A million thoughts flash through each of their heads. All filled with variations of despair and worry. Those are quickly amplified when the camera video finally goes out due to the multiple lighting strikes that hit the manor and the generators.

"They left right when the manor's and cave's generator were hit." Tim jumps in into detective mode right away, not wanting to linger on the disparaging thoughts in his head. And, the budding anger in his chest for allowing this to happen. And, for you leaving them. Him.

"Why are their eyes glowing?" Duke points out, coming out of his head finally when his eyes catch the flicker of a glow on the screen. It was a blessing that the cameras were so state of the art.

"What?" That snaps everyone else out of their heads. All of them moving behind Barbara to see what he's talking about.

"Their eyes," He bends forward of the keys, lightly pressing his finger to where you face is on the high definition screen. "They're glowing."

"Babs…" Dick murmurs into her left ear, his eye's never leaving your frozen smiling face.

"On it." She nearly hisses right back. Fingers actually shaking this time as she zooms into your face and changes a few setting of the camera to see the light waves that were captured.

And, right there on the screen, was the hint illumination in those large eyes of yours.

"Holy shit, you're right." Stephanie is the first to speak. Stumbling back as she starts running a million different scenarios through her head. The other's following. Some still sitting enraged or worried about what this might possibly mean.

Possible hypothesises start being blurted out.

Mind Control?

Hypnosis?

Magic?

God, I hope not.

Aliens?

Even worse than the magic.

"Maybe someone from that town manipulated them?" Cassandra suddenly suggests, having silently watched the footage of you play over and over again. You looked excited, genuinely excited, and it broke her heart that you did. But, there was a part of her that was still hopeful. That maybe you left because you didn't know any better. Didn't realize how much they adored you. They'll fix that. They fix that as soon as they get you back.

"Was anything tampered with when that asshole dropped off the truck?" Jason grumbles while rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course he is livid. You fucking left. Sure, he liked putting the fear of God into you and could even tell you were unhappy at times, but you're an idiot if you think it's safe out there. And, you need to come home. Fuck, he'll even apologize and make up for scaring you. Please, just come back.

"No." Tim knows this because he made sure to check. Bruce may not have wanted to touch the truck and forbid them from messing with it. But, that didn't stop Tim from snooping on you at the very least. He just wanted to pretend he was in your fondest memories. Only until he could help you make newer better ones.

"Maybe a drug? Some chemical compound?" Duke eventually suggest, praying it isn't so.

"We could run a test? Just to check." Already Barbara begins pulling up the programs necessary, while Tim sets up the lab equipment. Dick is already running up to your room to grab any strand of hair he can find that might have been left behind. And, maybe checking to see if they were all wrong and you really didn't leave them. Him.

"Run them all."

That draws everyone's attention back to Bruce. The man had been standing stoically in silence. Brooding in silence as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

You left him. You left because of him. This wasn't some disagreement on how he did things as Batman. This wasn't because you were trying to get back at him. You left him willing because of what he had done as your father. No one has ever willing left him like this before. Not his children. Not his parents. Not anyone he has ever allowed himself to actually care for. It makes him mad, but more than anything it makes him want to collapse in on himself. He won't. Obviously. But, he's going to bring you back home. He's going to fix his mistake while he has the chance and you will give him that chance.

"Bruce… That includes a DNA test."

"I said all of them."

"What?" It's Damian who finally speaks up. For the first time since he alerted the other's of your disappearance. "Why would you do that? It's unnecessary."

It's a betrayal, he thinks. Not on your part. You may be too soft and too kind and too fragile and too simple minded. But, he knows you’re his. He may have gotten over his obsession with the blood in his veins, but the blood in yours connects you to him in a way none of his other siblings can have. He doesn't even think to question it. Doesn't want to. And, for a moment, he feels utter betrayed by his sire for thinking to doubt it.

"Damian."

"NO. It is unnecessary." He doesn't glare, but the anger is plain on his face. How dare father question?

Regardless of what Damian wants, Bruce nods to Barbara and Tim when a downtrodden Dick reenters the cave with a hairbrush in hand. You really were gone.

"Do it."

"Father-"

"Damian. They are our family, regardless of the results."

Bruce will love you regardless. He did a DNA test all those years ago. He knows your his, but he needs to make sure your still his. That something didn't change you or take you from him.

For Damian it's a tense minute. He knows you'll be family. No matter the results. But, he wants to share something with you that only an exclusive few people on this Earth or in this life ever will.

"Fine."

After that, it's silence for the next forty-three minutes. The programs running on the BatComputer dinging softly as each one is completed. Barbara's fingers rub together as she watches each one.

Tim doesn't bother looking, too anxious to sit around and wait. Already, he is on a spare computer looking into God knows what. Whatever it is, the rest of them can tell it's about you. Just by seeing the way his pupils are blown wide and darting about his screen.

Dick stands tense. Normally he would move about. Pace or do something. But, it seems wrong right now. The discomfort in the stillness is nothing compared to his current distress at knowing you're gone.

Stephanie debates internally on ripping the spare computer away from Tim. Wanting to see what he's found on you. Wondering if he knows if you're alright or not. Wondering if he's just watching looped footage of you and not sharing.

Duke is thinking. Really, he's contemplating what's happening. This is going to spiral into something. He feels it. He might not be the most experienced or most trained, but he knows something is changing. And, for once, he's not scared of the idea. Mostly because he knows by the end of this you will be back home. They won't allow you to stay lost.

"DNA test shows their a match to you, Bruce. And, we compared them to your old test of them too. Still a match."

Damian nearly beams, but manages to hide his relief under a smug smile.

"I told you, father."

"I didn't doubt." And, it is true. He never doubted you were his. But, he is still searching for an explanation.

"No drugs. No anything in their system that would register, but-" Barbara stops when she notices the screen. The anomaly on it. The one test that triggered. A question being possibly answered from the result and a million more arising if true.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Jason breaks the silence that's once again gone over everyone. The sense of unease bubbling through them all.

"I ran their DNA through all the usual test, and there was one single positive one."

"Which one?"

"Meta gene. And…"

Oh.

"It's active."

"Son of a bitch."

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As your brother and you start getting settled in for the night in the old house, airing out the stale air, pretending the dusting isn't there, you wonder around a bit. Similar to how you would back at the manor. Only this time there's no historical paintings on the wall. Just pictures of your own history laid out before you.

You'd never been more grateful for all the photos taken by you mother. All the times she would chase you down with a brush or comb in hand yelling at you, "You need to make sure you have nice hair for the picture. Or, the one's with terrible hair will be the one's that forever."

"But, what if I want them to last forever?" Your voice had been young and cheeky then.

"What if I just want them to last a little bit longer?" Now that voice was older and much more solemn.

Quickly, you shake the thought from your head. Setting your bag back in your old room for the night. A quick glance at the old space shows that someone's been in it recently. Probably your old friend Mae, judging by the amount of clothes spilling from your closet and dresser. She was always stuffing things in here for you. It makes you smile fondly to know that she missed you despite your phone calls early every day.

As you walk back down the hall, you find Jean-Luc standing outside your parent's old room.

"You wanna come with me to see them?"

"Yeah." The word soft, full of unshed grief as you both walk out to the back. There's an old live oak with Spanish moss out there, and two dead people that were loved and buried underneath it.

"Daddy always liked it when you made it rain when it was sunny out." Lukie whispers, recalling all the times you won the water-gun fights.

You remember the summer showers. The snowy Christmases. The way you used to blow the pollen away. The hurricanes you tamed. The tornadoes you saved the town from . The memories make causing the rain difficult. But, when you walk through the slightly overgrown grass towards the two stones the tears fall easy while the rain falls hard.

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"I pulled up all the weather patterns for that region and the theory is starting to look more factual by the second." Tim's already taken the helm, old weather radar scans on the screen. Files on Smalltown and it's people pulled up for display.

And, an entire screen dedicated to you. You. You. YoU. yOU. YOU? YOU

"So, it's confirmed they caused the storm. But, why?" It's Stephanie that asks while pacing back and forth next to the all of gear. Her worry and disbelief illuminated by the display lights.

"Princess was probably pissed." Jason says while cleaning his guns. The parts neatly laid out on the table while he shines and greases each piece. Twice. Thrice. Over and Over.

"But, why?" Dick is finally in motion, tapping his foot as impatiently. He knows they need all the information and a plan before they can get you back. But, the wait is straining him.

Barbara gives him a single look in reply. One that they've all shared often enough to know the meaning of.

"They hid it pretty well." Duke mushes. Strangely enough he's happy with this information. Everyone else in this family is technically a normal person, just with maxed out skill stats and trauma. Now, you two can both be normal childhood bros and meta buddies together.

"Cass, did you suspect anything?"

"I didn't ask." Which translates to, she knew, but didn't want to say anything that would drive you away. Seems kind of pointless now that you're gone, though.

The bitter silence reigns once more, before Tim speaks up.

"Incoming. The Asshole is getting a call from Nana." A few clicks and they're listening to the sound of your old childhood crush and your dearest Nana speak. The topic? You.

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That night you curled up with Jean-Luc in your parents old bed. Like you both used to when nightmares made cowards. You had to dig the old bedding out of the storage. The scent of the detergent Momma used to use faint on them. But, the two of you burrowed underneath the duvet like you were trying to hide from the world.

"How you feelin'?" You whisper to him, the room only illuminated by the stars in the window and the faint bathroom light.

"It's weird without Momma and Daddy. Everythin' is weird now and scary." He mutters in reply. He practically plants himself into your side.

"I know. I feel that way about it too."

"No, I mean… here. In town it's weird. Eveybody be actin' weird since you left." There's something in the way his voice shakes that makes you think he's not making this up

"What do you mean about everyone actin' weird, hun? I thought you were spendin' time with everyone. Nana said you were hanging out with Mae and Tanner. I know Mae is odd, but-"

"Nana's being weird too. And, Grand Daddy. She don't let me do nothin' fun at all these days. Says everything's to dangerous, and if somethin' happened to me you'd be upset." The child interrupts, sounding remarkably like his age with his complaints. But the low sound of his voice sounds less like mutterings and more like a cautious whisper.

"Well, that's cause Nana loves you. She don't want nothin' to happen to you, baby." You try to reassure him, as you've always done.

"But, she's always going on and on about you. She's almost as bad as Tanner." The way he says that name makes you pause. Tanner's been mention quiet a lot since you've been back. And, you've only been back for a couple of hours.

"Tanner's gone on about me?" You try to sound bashful, try to sound like its a compliment. But, the blush doesn't come.

"Yeah." Lukie practically roots himself into your chest where your heart is beginning to pound. "Always going on about you and the future and ranting about Gotham. He… he's kinda scary. I saw him and Grand Daddy a few months ago dragging something into the swamp. It looked… it looked about as long as a gator, but it wasn't a gator. It had clothes on."

"Baby, what do you think it was?" You somehow keep your voice steady as your arms wrap around him. Clinging to him and shielding him.

"I don't think I wanna remember. I just want everything to go back to normal."

After that, you let the wind outside the house howl. The way it blows through the trees with your fear keeps you up. Eventually you force the rain once again. Trying to lull Lukie-boy and yourself to sleep. For a brief moment, a flicker of a thought before you drift off into an uneasy slumber you think...

Should I have stayed?

And, your not certain if your talking about here or Gotham.

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A/N: I'd say there's about two more parts of this left, then we'll be really focusing on Pregnant!Reader for a bit. Got a blurb list in the works for it and a few ideas. And, I really really really need to clean out my ask box. Oops.

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Taglist

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[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

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An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay

Warnings: none really, just a lot of fluff, a bittersweet ending, lots of love and tooth rotting sweetness

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve take another step and move into a whole new chapter.

Word count: 8.5k

Author's note: this is it, guys. this is the last chapter, all we got is an epilogue coming and thats it, the story is nearly over! It's been six months of dwoht!!!! six months of plotting and writing with @hellfire--cult ily roe, thank you for doing this with me ♡

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

Moving boxes litter your entire house, some are in the hallway, the kitchen and the living room, some already emptied, some of them are still unopened, sealed with duct tape. Most boxes are in your bedroom though, yours and Steve’s bedroom. 

David Bowie’s voice sounds through the speakers, the wind that blows through your open window touches your bare skin, you are only wearing a t-shirt of his, your hair is pulled up in a scrunchie that he picked out for you when you went shopping together, your knees dig into the soft carpet beneath you as you sort through his movie and comic collection, taking them out of the box and stacking them up on your shelf where you had already made space for him. You were honestly a little surprised to find the Captain America comic books in one of his drawers back at his house, he never mentioned them nor did you see him ever holding a comic book in his hand but apparently he only liked them when he was a kid and he grew out of his ‘nerdy’ phase when he turned thirteen. Sure. He told you not to pack them, he told you he doesn’t need them anymore but you saw the look in his eyes, the comfort that teenage boy got from getting lost in a world of superheroes, so you packed them into the box and now they’re finding home on your shelf, ready for him to reach whenever. 

You don’t feel his eyes on you at this moment, you are too focused on the memories he packed, on the pictures you find next, of the teens, of Robin and Eddie, of his parents and some of his from his childhood, pictures of you. 

Steve had never felt more at peace than he does now, standing in your now shared bedroom, he is sorting through his clothes, placing them on the hangers and into your closet, he is sneaking glances at you, wearing the biggest smile on his face. Your hair is falling out of the scrunchie, his shirt is riding up on your thighs, a soft look resides in your eyes and on your lips as you flip through the pictures he took to his new home. His heart skips strongly as he looks at you, he’s got everything he ever wanted, absolutely everything. 

When you asked him to move in with you after only two weeks of dating, he didn’t waste a second to say ‘yes’, perhaps he even sounded a little too desperate when that word left his lips but he couldn’t help it. He hated to be away from you, even more so than before, when you weren’t dating yet. He didn’t want to spend a second without you, and neither did you. You clung to each other from the moment he asked you to be his girlfriend, not a single night was spent without the other. You ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together, you showered together and cuddled on the couch in front of the tv, every night. You never went to sleep without one another, so ‘why wait?’, you said before you asked him. 

He had no trouble leaving his house, it was only ever home because of you and he felt more at home here than he ever did back there. He felt no sadness to leave it behind, only excitement and happiness to enter this chapter of your life together. 

Steve looks at the polaroid camera next to your bed, feeling the urge to keep this moment not only in his memory but also in a picture. He places his yellow sweater into your closet before he makes his way over to the nightstand, he picks up the camera and turns it on, removing the cap leans, he tip toes closer to you and kneels down, squinting one eye shut as he aims the camera at you and he captures a perfect moment. 

A look of surprise flashes in your features, your brows are pulled up, your lips parted as you stare at the notes in your hand, the notes that fell out of the little notebook that you can only assume to be from his days at school. You didn’t mean to open it or even look inside, it could be a diary, after all. But the notes fell out when you took it out of the box. 

You blink, once, twice. You feel as though your eyes are betraying you as you read the words on the white paper. The ink is a little faded, but you can still see every letter clearly. 

Your heart is skipping in your chest. 

What are you looking at perv?

Your handwriting. 

Your note. 

You remember that day, you remember how you caught him staring at you, throughout the whole class, the hopeless girl in you was blushing but… the teenage you was annoyed, thinking that he was just messing with you, thinking that he somehow found out about your crush on him and decided to tease you, to play with you. 

You put the note down on your lap and read the other. 

Very funny, are you running out of girls to flirt with, King Steve?

You don’t even hear the clicking sound of the camera, you pay no mind to the flash going off either. You are too surprised by what you see as you keep flipping through the notes that he kept, the ones he kept for years, back when he didn’t even like you.

You flinch in surprise when you feel a pair of arms around your waist but quickly relax and melt into him, into his embrace, into his warm touch. Your lips curl into a smile when his own press soft kisses to your neck, whispering into your skin. 

“King Steve was an idiot, wasn’t he? He couldn’t throw away these notes but still kept acting like a dick to you.” 

The thought of him struggling to throw your notes into the trash, makes your chest swell with warmth. 

You tilt your head back to face your boyfriend, you place the notes down and wrap your hand around his wrist. 

“Did… you keep them on purpose?” You ask as for a moment, you thought that he might’ve forgotten them. 

“I did, my heart just didn’t allow me to throw them away.”  

You chuckle at his words and shake your head, “yeah, sure.” 

“It’s true, honey!” He exclaims, squeezing your waist. 

You flinch in surprise, a giggle falling from your lips as you hold his wrists tighter. 

“It always knew who it belonged to.” He whispers with no humor in his voice, just genuine honesty, because it’s true, his heart knew, it always knew. 

“You’re such a sap, Steve Harrington,” you say, though with nothing but a wide smile on your lips. 

“Yeah, I’m your sap,” he grins, clinging tighter to your waist, he nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing you in and kissing you there, feeling his heart swelling in excitement, in love as he thinks of his future now, a future he thought he would only ever dream of, a future you both want, with one another. He will get to wake beside you every morning, with you in his arms, greeted by your soft touch, by your sweet kisses, he will get to sit at the breakfast table with you, write the grocery list with you while you enjoy your morning coffee, he will kiss you before leaving for work and he will come home, not to an empty house like he used to, no, he will come to you, his home. 

You cup the side of his face when you tilt your head back, chasing his lips with your own, you both giggle when your noses bump together before your mouths touch and you both get lost in the sweet kiss you can never get enough of. 

His feelings grow stronger and stronger, each passing second, they get bigger and brighter, evolving into something he never thought was even possible to feel, something bigger than love, something he can’t even describe with words, even if he tried to but he feels like the happiest man in the world – in the fucking universe. 

He feels bonded to you, he belongs to you and you to him. 

He pulls away from the kiss with an even bigger smile on his face than before, he caresses your cheek and looks into your eyes, “I think… no, I know,” he corrects himself, pressing his lips to yours once more, “you’re my soulmate.”

A soft giggle escapes you, you tilt your head to the side and move closer to him. Staring at the loving look in his hazel eyes, the relaxed and happy smile he now constantly wears. 

“You really think–”

He cuts you off with a kiss to your lips, “I know so,” he whispers against your mouth, “my heart knows, I know.”

“Soulmates,” you whisper and wrap your arms around your boyfriend's neck, crawling into his lap, he happily pulls you tighter against him. “I love the sound of that.”

“I chose you.”

“Oh, did you?” You giggle. “We weren’t made for each other? You just chose me? That’s how it works?” 

Steve squeezes your waist, moving one hand up your body, he cradles your face again and tucks your hair behind your ear, leaning in to kiss your cheek, “oh honey, I think we were made with each other, but I still chose you,” he whispers in confidence, though struggling to word his feelings, his beliefs correctly. 

You gaze into his eyes, trying to make sense of his words, though your mind can follow, your heart understands. 

“Well, I chose you back, Steve Harrington.”

He smiles and he can’t hold back from kissing you again, kissing the love of his life, kissing you until he can no longer breathe. 

Neither of you heard the car pull up into your driveway, or the slam of the front door, or the loud ‘hello’. You are too caught up in each other, in the kiss, in the perfect touches. 

“Guys?” Eddie’s voice sounds through the house, “I brought food!”

You are the first to pull away, giggling when he frowns at you and chases after your lips, pecking them once more. 

“He brought food.”

“Mhmm, I’d rather eat something else right now,” he murmurs and trails his kisses down to your neck, holding your waist tighter when you try to move away. 

Your stomach flips, skin growing warm beneath his hands and his lips, “l-later, Stevie…” You stutter, trying to control your breathing when his lips find that one spot.

“Guys, stop fucking or I swear to Ozzy, I’m gonna come upstairs and–”

“Alright, alright!” Your boyfriend yells out to him, chuckling, “we’re coming!” 

“We so are coming,” you giggle into his ear, kissing his cheek before you pull away from him, amused by the groan that falls from his lips, “later.” 

His hands fall from your waist as you stand up and walk over to your dresser to grab a pair of shorts to wear, not wanting to flash your best friend by accident. 

Steve gets up as well, though his eyes never leave your form, they’re glued on your butt. He licks his lips as he watches you bend over, those silky pink panties look so perfect to rip off… later. He nearly groans again when you pull your black shorts over them. Coming up from behind, he grabs a handful of your ass, earning a squeal from you that only makes him grin when you look back at him. 

“You’re obsessed,” you snort and swat his hand away weakly. 

“With you? Yes, I am,” he smiles proudly as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and starts leading you out into the hallway. 

“No, with my ass.”

At that, he grabs your ass again, giving it a squeeze, “that too.”

Your giggle echoes through the hallway, and your best friend instantly looks up at the sound of that, standing in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by Steve’s boxes, with two bags of takeout and a confused frown on his face. 

“Hey guys.” 

“Hi Eds,” you smile at your best friend.

Steve greets him happily, a big smile resting on his face, Eddie isn’t sure if he has ever seen him like this but ever since you two started dating, Steve hasn’t stopped smiling and you are just the same, you’re basically skipping down the stairs, your eyes are shining, your skin is glowing, you are the happiest you have ever been. 

You and Steve found each other. 

Two pieces that always belonged together. 

Two pieces that became one. 

Eddie’s eyes move back to all the boxes in your hallway, the handwriting on them is unmistakably Steve’s. 

“So uh, what’s all this?” He asks, he has an idea of what this is but a part of him believes that he is just mistaking something. 

You and Steve glance at each other, eyes lighting up even more, lips curling into even bigger smiles. You bite your lip and turn back to Eddie. 

“Steve is moving in!” 

Eddie’s brown eyes grow wide, his lips part in surprise and he nearly drops both bags of takeout, he stares between you two with an expression on his face that nearly makes you both laugh. 

He looks around again, catching a glimpse of Steve’s favorite armchair now standing in your living room, along with an opened box, a blanket falling out of it, the one that always decorated the big couch in the living room back at his house. 

Clearly, you aren’t joking. 

He squints his eyes as he looks back at the two of you, watching the way your boyfriend pulls you back into his chest, his arms slowly moving around your waist. 

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little too quickly?” He asks, looking between you both bewildered. 

You and Steve turn to face one another, you both smile, gazing into each other’s eyes for a moment. His flash with… mischief as his hand begins to travel south, settling on your lower belly. 

You both turn back to the metalhead. 

“Nah,” you speak in unison. 

Eddie blinks, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Steve. 

“We uh… sort of cooked a little nugget… a little too soon,” Steve explains, biting back his laugh. 

You press your lips together as you stare at your best friend. You place your hand over Steve’s and lean your head back on his shoulder, melting into him when he kisses your temple. 

If Eddie’s eyes could grow any wider, they would. He blinks a few times before he closes his eyes completely, shaking his head, his curls bounce. He furrows his brows so strongly, he looks as though he is in pain. He opens his eyes again and takes a deep breath, he looks at your serious face, at his and then at Steve’s large hand covering your stomach protectively. 

Little nugget. 

You and Steve wait patiently for his reaction. 

“Jesus Christ! You horny fuckers don’t know how to use protection!?” He exclaims, raising his arms up, the paper bags in his hands rustle. You’re surprised they didn’t rip yet with the way he is flailing his arms around. “A little nugget!? What the– I need to sit down.” 

Steve snorts quietly, amused by the shock on his face. 

“Oh, this is crazy,” Eddie sighs, like a shocked father whose teenage girl just revealed her accidental pregnancy. 

You can no longer hold it in, bursting into laughter, you infect Steve with it too. His arms tighten around you as you laugh at your best friend. 

Eddie’s eyebrows rise up now, his jaw dropping slightly as he finally catches on. 

“You really fell for it,” you giggle, blinking back the tears of amusement. 

“Can you blame me!?” Eddie nearly yells, pointing at you and Steve, “you’re at it like some goddamn rabbits! Besides, we all know about his breeding kink!”

Your giggles might not ever die down today, Steve’s red cheeks make this moment even better. 

“Dude,” he groans. 

“It’s true,” Eddie snorts as he relaxes again, coming down from the shock. 

“It is,” you nod. 

Eddie opens his mouth again, though his smile quickly falls and he scrunches his nose when he looks between you both, a smirk now pulling at Steve’s lips. 

“Oh… okay, yeah uh, let’s change the topic,” he shakes his head again, holding up his hand as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Alright, well, there are no nuggets on the way yet, so you can relax.” 

Eddie nods, chuckling to himself. 

“Yeah, so uh… are you guys hungry?” 

You look down at the bags in his hand, only now registering the smell of fries, your mouth waters and your stomach feels empty, all of a sudden. 

You nod and open your mouth, but before you or Steve can respond, a knock on the door interrupts you. 

Eddie turns to the door before he looks back at you, brown eyes flicking back and forth between yours and your boyfriends, “are you expecting anyone?” He asks, placing the takeout bags on the dresser. 

You and Steve both shrug. 

“Not really,” you mumble. 

Eddie steps forward and opens the door, stepping aside to let you see who is standing on the other side. 

“Oh, hello ladies,” Eddie grins, waving at the little girl in Max’s arms. 

Your eyes light up in excitement, a warm smile graces your face when you see your niece who is babbling away, waving with her little arms and tugging at Max’s hair who doesn’t even flinch. 

“Oh my god,” you nearly squeal, leaving your boyfriend’s embrace, you make your way over to the two girls, “hi! Come here, princess!” You grin, lifting your arms up, giggling when Francine squeaks at the sight of you, making grabby hands before you take her from Max’s arms. 

“I missed you so much, Francis!” You whisper and tickle her side, kissing her chubby cheek. 

Steve’s heart flutters, a sweet smile tugs at his lips, his cheeks turn rosy and he feels warm all over. Every time he sees you holding your niece, he can’t help but picture you with your own little family. He takes a few steps forward, wrapping his arm around you and taking Francine’s tiny hand, “hi angel,” he whispers, cooing at her when she gets jumpy in your arms, excited to see him. He tickles her belly, making the little girl giggle, “you got so much bigger since the last time!” 

Max furrows her brows, not knowing about the day you and Steve babysat Francine together. She chuckles when your niece clasps her tiny hand around his finger. 

“Hi guys!” Your sister finally catches up, walking into the house, car keys in one hand and pizza boxes in the other. She stops next to Max, and nudges her shoulder against hers, “I ran into Max downtown when I stopped by to get some pizza!” She explains, placing the boxes on the dresser next to Eddie’s takeout bags, “oh, you got takeout already.”

“Yep, I got some fries and burgers for Blondie and boyfriend over here,” Eddie grins teasingly, knowing that you haven’t introduced him as your boyfriend to her in person yet, you didn’t get the chance to until now, she only just came back from her vacation. 

Max snickers at your flustered expression, her and Eddie share a look, both amused by the way you’re trying to hide your face in Steve’s chest which only prompts Francine to grab a handful of his shirt, making him chuckle. 

“Oh right,” your sister grins, looking between you two as she makes her way over to you, already opening her arms so she can greet you properly. 

Steve lets go of you but Francine doesn’t let him step away, she still holds his finger tightly, making both him and Eddie chuckle when she stares up at him with her big eyes, babbling away. 

“She’s just like her auntie,” Eddie comments, laughing when you shoot him a playful glare over your sister’s shoulder. 

“How are you, Daisy?” Your sister smiles, squeezing you tightly before pulling away. 

You see the teasing look in her eyes when she glances at your boyfriend behind you.

“I’m good,” you reply, unable to do it without a smile, something that makes the look in your sister’s eyes soften because it’s the first genuine ‘I’m good’ that she heard from you in years. You always lied to her about your true feelings, never letting her in, never giving her the words she wanted to hear from you, you kept it all to yourself, not wanting to ‘share’ your misery with the people around you. 

She never got through to you, no matter how hard she tried, she never succeeded, but the people in this room did – Eddie and Max did, they gave you back that smile that she missed seeing on your face, they broke you out of that little shell, you were so comfortable in for the past years. 

And Steve, he… gave you everything. 

You are more than just good. You are happy, happy in a way you have never been before. The walls around you have crumbled completely, the look in your eyes is one of love and contentment, your skin is glowing, your eyes are shining, you are just… happy. 

“So… are you gonna introduce me to your boyfriend properly this time?” She teases, only having heard from you about it all on the phone. 

Your cheeks grow hot, you know how long she had been waiting for this moment, always teasing and hoping for you to finally fall in love – as though you weren’t hopeless for years already, she was pointing out cute guys for you to date, not knowing that there was only one you had your eyes set on. 

“Twinkie–”

“You know that’s not my name,” your sister interrupts you with a glare, making you and Max chuckle. 

“Fine,” you snort, saying her real name this time as Steve wraps his arm back around you again, pulling you into him, he grins excitedly as he stretches his hand out to your sister, like it’s their first time meeting, like she didn’t walk in on you and him cuddling on your couch with baby Francine in his arms. She takes his hand with an amused smile. 

Max and Eddie share a look, amused by this little introduction. 

“That’s my boyfriend Steve,” you say with a giggle, feeling your heart burst with happiness. Francine squeals in your arms, like she’s happy to hear those words, as well, making everyone laugh in the room. 

“Steve, that’s my sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Twinkie,” Steve chuckles, earning a glare from her. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, adjusting your baby niece on your hip. Steve lets go of your sister’s hand and wraps his arm back around you again, kissing your temple. 

“I meant to say that I will kick your ass if you hurt her but I think that Max might beat me to it.”

“You’re right,” Max nods at your sister, crossing her arms over her chest, she gives Steve a pointed look, “he’ll wake up in Billy’s car again if he ever does anything stupid.” 

Steve’s eyes widen, he shakes his head at her, holding his hand up slightly with Francine’s hand still wrapped around his finger, “no way, Mayfield.” 

Eddie smirks as he throws his arm around Max’s shoulder, grinning at the redhead, “don’t worry, Steve. She’s getting driving lessons from me now.”

You snort. 

“That’s even worse, Munson,” Steve scoffs, pointing at Max, “a maniac getting driving lessons from another maniac? Yeah, no goddamn way, you’re getting driving lessons from me now.” 

Eddie looks a little offended by his words, he places his hand over his heart, “I’m a good driver.”

“Yeah, besides I’m good enough to drive by myself, I don’t need an instructor, I watched and learned from Billy.”

“Great, another maniac,” Steve sighs.

Your sister laughs at the interaction, she looks around, finally noticing all the boxes though she doesn’t say anything, even as her brows furrow and a curious, confused look flashes in her eyes. It doesn’t take her long to figure out what this means, it’s obvious, even more so with the clear excitement in both yours and his eyes. 

You look away from your friends and your boyfriend, drowning out the conversation as you look back at your sister, noticing the look in her eyes and the way she stares at the boxes. You grow a little nervous, not knowing what she thinks of this, what she will say about this but when she meets your eyes, she only shakes her head at you with a smile on her face. 

She takes a step closer, placing her hand on her daughter's back as she leans in to whisper in your ear, “when you know you know, and you always knew.” 

You nod with a smile on your face, feeling the heat of his body against yours, feeling his loving touch on your shoulder, feeling safe in his embrace. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

You knew it from the very start.

You were ruined for anyone else, before he even touched you. 

And when his lips touched yours for the first time, you knew you were done for, you thought it was over for you, that you would never find happiness after that but now you’re here, he is here, he is all yours and sometimes you are still in disbelief about it all, no matter how many weeks have passed, you still can’t wrap your head around it all, about how lucky you are, just like him. 

But there is someone else who is still in disbelief, Dustin. He was so convinced that you were dating Eddie, he just couldn’t understand how it all went by him that you and Steve had been a thing for months already, that you weren’t Eddie’s girl but Steve’s girl. 

He is even more in shock now as he is in your living room, taking in the sight of Steve’s belongings in your house, all the moving boxes. 

You invited all your friends over after the surprise visits you had already gotten, the amount of food Eddie and your sister brought was way too much anyways, so Steve made a call and invited all your friends over, well, most of them. 

Argyle went back to California. Jonathan who declined both college acceptance offers to Lenora Hills Community college and Emerson, made his dream come true of going to NYU, after a long and honest talk with Nancy, they decided to follow their own dreams, but still sticking together, even with a distance between them. Boston and New York aren’t that far apart, after all. 

So, after a little goodbye party at the hideout where Eddie and his band played, they all left Hawkins after a wild night filled with booze and weed – from both Argyle and Eddie.

Robin and Vickie went on a trip to Chicago before the latter leaves for College as well, but Robin knew all about Steve’s moving plans, he called her right away to tell her the news. 

Everyone is entering a new chapter and this time, it’s all, only positive changes, only ones you all look forward to, ones that you don’t step into nervously and with uncertainty, no, for once, you are all at peace, you are all happy, all excited for the future. 

Your living room is filled with friends, with family, it’s filled with laughter and smiles, something that has been lacking in the past few years. A house that was once just filled with sadness and a grayish glow, is now filled with life, the golden sun that shines inside, reflect the emotions in you now. 

Steve who is sitting on the couch, is holding your niece in his arms, she is sitting on his lap, happily. Babbling and giggling more than she did before, she is waving her arms around, giggling louder every time he makes a funny face or tickles her belly. 

Eddie sits beside him, cooing at the little girl every time a giggle escapes her, “oh, a fairy was born,” he tells her after each giggle from her. 

Steve gives her tiny hand a kiss when she places it on his cheek, which only prompts her to laugh again. 

“Oh, and another,” Eddie chuckles and taps her nose. 

A loving smile stays on your lips as you watch your boyfriend with your niece, adoring the mesmerized look on his face. He chuckles every time she turns to Eddie and looks at him with her big eyes before she turns her attention back to him, squealing and waving her arms around. 

Your sister sits beside you, looking stunned, “huh, he is a natural.” 

“Mhmm, he is,” you nod. 

Lucas and Dustin sit on the floor, bickering about something as always, while Max rolls her eyes at them every few seconds or so, cursing at them when Dustin throws one of the pillows at his friend. 

“Hey!” Steve shakes his head at him, giving them a disapproving look, “stop that! How old are you two? Francine over here is maturer than you two,” he grumbles, gesturing to the little girl in his arms who looks back and forth between Dustin and Lucas with a curious look on her face. 

Eddie chuckles beside him, nodding.

“You really got yourself a dad boyfriend,” your sister whispers into your ear, snickering as she sips on her coke. 

You giggle and nod your head. You love this side of him and you love how he looks with a baby in his arms. 

Steve catches you staring at him, and the scowl he previously looked at the teens with, quickly vanishes, a smile appears on his face and he tilts his head at you, beckoning you to him. 

You put your drink down on the table, pushing aside your empty plate from before, you get up and make your way over to your boyfriend. 

“Can I hold her?” Eddie asks, holding Francine’s tiny hand in his, smiling at the little girl. 

“Oh, now you wanna hold her?” Your sister chuckles, teasing him. “Thought you were scared of babies, Eddie.” 

“Only when they poop.”

“You are such a child, man.” Lucas snorts at him. 

“Hey, you’re not the one who was chased down with a diaper full of poop!” He exclaims, glaring at Max who only giggles in response. 

“You chased him down with a dirty diaper?” Lucas asks his girlfriend, who nods with a smirk on his face. 

He starts laughing and raises his hand at her, high fiving his girlfriend. 

Eddie shakes his head at the two, rolling his eyes before he looks back at Francine, reaching his hands out to her, she looks at him curiously, grasping his thumb, she holds it tightly. 

“Come here, princess,” Eddie whispers as he carefully takes her from Steve’s hands, lifting her into his arms, he cradles the back of her head even though she doesn’t even need the support anymore. “Holy shit, she’s so light.”

“Language,” Steve glares at him as he relaxes back in his seat once Eddie leans back with her in his arms. The metalhead ignores him, too mesmerized by your niece in his arms, who stares up at him, curiously and with big eyes. 

Your boyfriend reaches for your hand, not letting you sit beside him, he pulls you onto his lap instead, wrapping his arms around your waist, he takes you into his embrace, kissing your shoulder once you’re settled on top of him. 

“Hey, keep it pg in here, there’s kids and a baby in this room,” your best friend teases your boyfriend, smirking at him. 

“We’re not kids anymore,” Lucas scoffs. 

“Yeah, bet Max and Lucas meet up at Skull Rock to kiss–”

“Dude!” “Dustin!” 

Lucas and Max yell in unison, glaring at their friend with flustered faces, causing you all to laugh at them. 

“It’s the truth,” Dustin smirks, shrugging – and that is how all the bickering starts again, though this time, Max joins. 

Shaking your head at them, you turn away to watch your niece instead, laying your head on Steve’s shoulder, your heart flutters in your chest when he tightens his hold on you and kisses your temple, rubbing circles into your hip, he whispers the softest I love you into your ear. 

“Oh my god,” your best friend whispers in awe, watching your niece falling asleep in his arms, tiny hand still gripping his finger, face nuzzled into his chest comfortably. Eddie looks around, shushing at the teens. 

You and Steve look at each other in surprise, not even five minutes have passed since Eddie took Francine from Steve’s arms, and she is already fast asleep in his arms. 

“Well now we know who can babysit her,” your sister jokes, also stunned by how fast she passed out in the metalheads arms. 

“Yeah, and our  future kids too,” you say without thinking, completely unaware of the feelings those words cause inside of Steve. 

He blushes a deep red, warmth spreads inside of him and he shifts with you on his lap, gripping you tighter and clearing his throat when your best friend smirks at his reaction. 

That shuts the teens up, their bickering coming to a stop the moment they realize what you just said, they all share a look before they turn to you and Steve. 

While Lucas smirks and wiggles his brows at Steve, Max is giggling at his blushing cheeks but Dustin, he only raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, not in disapproval though.

He raises his hands up, closing his eyes for a moment, “you guys gotta give me a moment, I’m still trying to get used to this,” he wiggles his fingers between you both. 

“What do you mean?” Your sister chuckles, cocking her head to the side. 

Dustin blinks at her, gesturing to you once more, “them being a couple, I mean have you seen them before!? They were constantly at each other’s throats!”

“Yeah, cause Steve was an idiot,” Lucas laughs. 

Steve gives him a pointed look, but doesn’t fight him on that, he calls himself that, all the time, for everything that happened between you in the past. 

“I thought she was with Eddie!” 

Your sister laughs with a confused look on her face, shaking her head, “why, because they’re always together?” 

Steve rolls his eyes at Dustin, holding you a little tighter.

“Yeah! And like I said, they were always fighting!” 

“Mhmm, and suddenly they didn’t, I wonder why,” Lucas smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you both again. 

“He really wanted them together, by the way,” Max tells your sister, pointing her finger at her boyfriend. 

“From day one,” he nods proudly, “and now they’re together, moving in together! I always knew what’s up. I mean, I always knew about Steve’s little crush on her, a guy just knows it.”

Dustin looks at him confused, he frowns and blinks at your boyfriend, staring at him for a long moment, he looks at you and then back at him before his eyes widen and he jumps up, “that is why you gave me the shittiest advice ever! You told me chicks dig it when guys are mean to them!”

“The key with girls is acting like you don’t care,” Lucas and Max mock him, giggling with each other. 

Steve groans and throws his head back when you turn to face him with an amused smile, “wow, that’s some good advice, babe.”

“Well, it clearly worked,” Eddie snorts, glancing at you briefly as he adjusts Francine in his arms. 

Dustin grins at Steve, “oh, that’s why you were so mean to her! Bet you expected her to fall at your feet but instead she was mean to you too! That’s why you didn’t stop there and just kept going because you wanted her attention – oh, now I understand!” He laughs, shaking his head as he stares in disbelief, like he uncovered something groundbreaking. 

“You know what, Henderson?” Steve mumbles, straightening his back, he leans closer to you, pressing his chest against your back, he leans his chin on your shoulder, “you’re right.” He admits after a long pause, despite hating to boost that boy’s ego, he admits it. 

He is right. 

Steve was always infatuated with you, he just never wanted to admit it, not even to himself, not even when he kept those notes that you had found earlier. He ignored what he desired, who his heart desired, because that teenage boy in him, was too proud to admit that he liked someone who didn’t like him back but he also couldn’t fight those feelings, they irritated him, they made him mean. 

So yeah, Dustin was right but so was Lucas. 

And now they continue to tease him about it all, while you sit back and watch in amusement, enjoying the redness that covers your boyfriend's cheeks while he holds you in his arms and plays with your hands, toying with your ring finger the way he always does, he tries to hide the smile on his face but fails to do so when your eyes meet his and he sees the joy in them, the one that has been there since the night he confessed his love for you. 

He loves you so much, he can’t even think of a moment when he didn’t – it’s impossible to think of one. 

You adjust on top of him, turning and twisting your body until you can lay your head on his shoulder, snuggling into him, not caring about anything around you, about the vulnerability, the softness, the affectionate side of you, you’re displaying so casually – something you would have never done before. 

Steve’s heart could burst at this very moment. 

He knows how much you struggled to show your true feelings and emotions, how you hid from the world, for years. How you never let anyone see the real side of you, how closed up and sheltered you were, how you dug yourself a hole and stayed in there for the longest time, thinking that you were better off in hiding, thinking that you had to stay in the void forever, all alone, all by yourself, with fears and a feeling of deep sorrow, you just couldn’t let go of. 

But through the darkness, through the pain that the upside down had brought you, had dragged you into, you found a family, just like he did. 

Eddie stepped into your life, a best friend you never thought you would have again after you lost both Billy and Chrissy so tragically. You didn’t want to let him in, you feared that the curse upon you that you believed you had, would take him from you too, that it was only a matter of time until the darkness would drag him away from you as well, just like it had dragged away everyone else that you have loved. But he didn’t allow you to push him away, he didn’t let you believe for a second that any of what happened was your fault, he stuck to your side, from the day at skull rock, he stuck to your side in the upside down and after, he stayed, no matter how hard you tried to deny that bond between you, he stayed. 

Max, the stubborn girl that refused to ever leave your side, who never once stepped away from you, who sees you as her big sister, just like Lucas. The two teens had to be forced out of your hospital room after what Jason did to you, they never left without a fight.

And through the darkness, through the worst days, you and Steve have found each other, through monsters and pain, through bloodshed and tears, you finally found your way to each other – neither of you are surrounded by sadness any longer, by emptiness and a longing for love you could only ever find in each other. 

This room that was once filled with silence and sadness, an emptiness, a dark cloud that always hung over your home is now gone. You are no longer alone, you’re surrounded by people who decided that you are worth loving, worth staying for, you both are. 

You have found home in each other, and you found a family. 

That night, when you are back in your bedroom, you sit on your floor next to each other, surrounded by candlelight, two glasses of wine on each side of you, a bag of your favorite candy before you and a bunch of pictures all across your floor, surrounding the corkboard that lies on the carpet. Your TV is on but neither of you pay attention to the movie playing on the screen. The smell of fresh bed sheets lingers in the room, along with the scent of his and your body wash, your hair is still wet from your shower together. 

Your giggles sound through the room as he laughs at the silly picture he took of Dustin earlier, unable to stop as he stares at the face the teen made. 

“We’re definitely putting that picture up,” Steve snickers as he pins it to the corkboard – the corkboard that was his idea, to put up pictures of your favorite memories, of the people that mean the most to you. 

“I think we’ll need a second corkboard,” you chuckle as you look at all the pictures that have taken up the entire space of the board. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and looks down at the pictures on your lap, he reaches for the one of you and Eddie, that one was taken in his backyard, both yours and his eyes are bloodshot, lazy smiles are on your faces, your hair is wild and all over the place, Eddie is wearing two pigtails, his arm is thrown over your shoulder, a joint sticking between his fingers, Steve remembers that night, the way you all got drunk and high and played hide and seek in Eddie’s backyard, like a group of kids – it wasn’t long after you and Steve made your little arrangement. That night, he pulled you behind one of the high bushes and kissed you breathless while your friends were looking for you. He was the reason for your messy hair and your puffy lips. 

Steve takes the picture with a grin on his face, taking up one of the last spots on the board, he pins it. 

“Really? This one?” You question and tilt your head back to look at him, “why?”

“Cause you look adorable,” he whispers and leans in to peck your lips, “with your hair all messed up from my hands,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you once more.

“Making out in the bushes was definitely something,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his. 

He cradles your cheeks and nods, smiling as he leans his forehead against yours. You sigh in contentment as his lips brush against yours, his warm touch sends sparks through your body, he is melting into you the way you melt into him. You look into his hazel eyes, into his loving gaze, a breathy, sweet chuckle escapes him before he closes his eyes and kisses you deeply. 

Your lips move slowly against his, you savor every second of each kiss, you both do, even though you know you have the rest of your life to do this with each other. You taste the wine on his lips and the candy, you feel his protective, soft touch, his thumb caressing your cheek as his tongue slips past your lips, clashing against your own. 

His heart flutters in his chest when you whimper into the kiss, when you throw your arms around his neck and press yourself against him, crawling into his lap with his help. 

Steve holds you tightly, his hand travels to the back of your neck, running his fingers through your wet hair, he runs his fingers up and down your spine before he cradles your cheek again. His free hand pats the space around him, touching the carpet as he searches for the polaroid camera, sighing and moaning into the kiss when you press yourself tighter against him and deepen the kiss, running your fingers through his messy hair. 

The flash of the camera doesn’t even make you flinch, it only makes you giggle as you pull away from your boyfriend, your eyes flashing with amusement when he opens his own and meets you with a grin. 

“You’re so sneaky, Stevie,” you whisper as you glance at the polaroid camera in his hand. 

Steve laughs and steals another kiss from you, he puts the camera down after you pick out the picture. 

You look down at the still developing picture, waiting for the reveal. You press your lips together, sighing when he kisses your neck. 

“I’m so happy, baby, I hope you know that,” Steve whispers against your skin, slipping his hand underneath your shirt as he hugs you against his chest. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He murmurs adoringly, the sight of your smile, of the joy in your eyes makes his heart swell so strongly. 

Many months ago, he told you to get yourself a boyfriend and stop getting on his nerves — you don’t know why this moment flashes in your mind now, why this takes you back to that day at Family Video but the memory makes you giggle. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks, amused. 

“You told me to get myself a boyfriend… and I did.” 

Steve furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side, he purses his lips as his hazel eyes gaze into yours, they widen and a huff leaves his mouth before he chuckles. 

“Yeah, and I fucking love it, baby. I’m your boyfriend,” he says, proudly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Well, I love to be your girlfriend, Stevie.” 

His heart will always flutter at these words, at the way you look at him, at the way you touch him, like he’s something perfect. 

“You caught me,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours strongly, “and I caught you.”

You hold onto his neck, running your fingers through his hair, you refuse to look away from him. 

“And I’m never letting you go,” he promises, “you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how hard you’re smiling, and it only gets worse when he leans in to pepper your face in kisses, “my girlfriend.” Kiss. “My beautiful, gorgeous girl.” Kiss. “My future wife.” Kiss. “My stars.” Kiss. “My sun and my moon.” Kiss. “My whole galaxy.” Kiss. 

You can’t stop giggling, your eyes tear up from all the laughter that falls from your lips and when you lean your head back, it only turns out to be a mistake when Steve latches his mouth onto your neck, tickling you with the stubble on his cheeks. 

“Steve!” 

His chuckles vibrate against you, he buries his face in your neck and breathes in your scent, “I’m so in love with you.”

He reminds you of that, all day, when he doesn’t whisper those words into your ear, he lets you feel it, with touches, with small gestures, leaving notes around the house or by waking you with coffee every morning when you’re not the one beating him to it. 

Steve pushes you down on the carpet and crawls on top of you, pressing one hand on the carpet beneath you, he looks away from you for a moment, taking the fully developed polaroid picture, he smiles at it as he pins it into the middle of the corkboard. 

You admire him, raising your hand to cup his cheek, you brush your fingers through his hair, it got so much longer but you love it like this, how it covers his forehead, how it curls on the nape of his neck, how messy it looks. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” He whispers as he reaches for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours, he looks down at you with loving eyes. 

“I’m in love with you.”

These words always feel like a warm and comforting embrace. There is so much love that he holds in his heart for you, he can’t even put it into words just how strong it is, not even if he tried to. 

You trace his features with your fingers, touching him softly and carefully, making him melt into your touch as a smile graces his face, he slowly leans in, closer and closer until your lips are brushing against each other. 

“Forever?” He asks you, gazing into your starry eyes. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling when he presses himself against you, staring at you in a way that makes all your insides tingle. 

“Forever and ever!” You grin before he slams his lips back on yours, kissing you deeply and feverishly, smiling happily against your lips as his hands make their way under your shirt while yours get lost in his hair. 

“Forever and ever,” he murmurs against your lips, opening his eyes, they basically sparkle with stars. “My darling, forever and ever, I fucking love the sound of that.” He whispers and kisses your cheek. “I love you.”

You pinch his chin between your fingers and kiss his lips, smiling brightly at your man, the golden light in your room makes him look so ethereal. His hazel eyes shine so golden, his skin inviting your lips, his hands lay on your body so perfectly, like a touch of an angel, perhaps he is one, he is yours. 

You went through the storm, the one you have always been so afraid of, you went through it, through the darkest of storms, through ones you didn’t even think existed and you didn’t come out unscathed, you were knocked off your feet and you were harmed, you took scars with you, on your body and in your heart but even through that, you came out alright – because he was always there, he always reached his hand out to you, he always waited on the other side, he was always there, even when you both didn’t realize just how close he always was, just how ready he always was to fight for you the way you always fought for him. 

You both went through so much, you both suffered greatly. 

But now you are here, with each other, where you both belong. 

Steve leans his forehead against yours, he takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, he kisses your ring finger, making that smile on your face bigger and brighter. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you whisper back before you melt into each other, yet again. Getting lost in the kiss, one of endless to come. 

Hell was the journey but it brought you both to heaven. 

Hands tied,

♡

well, it's over, this is the end :') (actually there's still gonna be the epilogue so I'm gonna save my sappy comment for that one)

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @thecreelhouse @maroon-cardigan @corrodedcorpses @moon-flowerrs @munson-mjstan @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @agirlwholovesrockstars

[thetriumphantpanda]

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders | Javier Peña

Series Summary | Javier Peña has been your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember. He's also been the apple of your eye since you were old enough to know what that meant. Obsessed, some might say, in love is what you'd say. Now, he's back to Laredo for good, single but cloaked in a darkness you want to unravel. Surely, now you're all grown, he'll see you as more than his friends daughter, as someone who can ease his trouble and take the weight of his shoulders.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Series Warnings | Age gap relationship (12 years), forbidden/taboo relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, outrageous flirting, descriptions of PTSD and panic attacks, soft!Javi, protective!Javi, explicit smut, reader is innocent but not inexperienced, grumpy x sunshine vibes, canon-typical violence, mentions of the drug trade, drug use and drug related deaths and violence, Javier Peña gets his own warning (even more so as dbf - he's gonna be a menace).

Authors Note | I've missed Javier Peña so much so here we fucking go I guess? Huge shout out as always to @morning-star-joy who has been on the receiving end of SO much screaming about these two.

Main Masterlist | Series Playlist

Chapters

Chapters marked with ** indicate smut.

Chapter One - my lonely days are over

Chapter Two - pining & desperately waiting

Chapter Three - where have all the good men gone?

Chapter Four - one kiss is all it takes

Chapter Five - it's new, the shape of your body **

Chapter Six - get down on your knees and tell me you love me **

Chapter Seven - i only wanna worship you **

Chapter Eight - i don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win **

Chapter Nine - close to you

Chapter Ten - i think he did it

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen.

Extras

Fic moodboard by @cavillscurls

Fic moodboard by @sawymredfox

Chapter One moodboard by @hellishjoel

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Consequences - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary: 

"I barely make it down the stairs without panic Woah, I won't let it set me off"

Alternatively, 

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Extreme angst. I repeat EXTREME angst. One very triggering concept (I'm not mentioning what since it might spoil stuff) but I have tried to keep it as implied as possible.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: This might break your heart because this is the angstiest chapter yet.

Read the next chapter

“Are you sure you don’t want to add anyone?” Hoseok asks for what feels like a thousand times. Everytime he asks this question, you get a sharp reminder of how you have no one to add as your emergency contact, how you are completely deserted from the rest of the world and how it’s no one’s fault but yours. 

You nod your head in affirmation. To dim the helplessness in your eyes, you smile a little. 

But Hoseok is not convinced as it seems, he only sighs harder. The pen in his hand fall on the patient chart as he intertwines his fingers and looks at you as if he is trying to read your troubles out aloud.

You don’t like it. You don’t like the way he understands you are nowhere near being mentally healthy for motherhood.

“Y/N?” he calls you firmly. The lack of any formal suffix or prefix shocks you momentarily. “You really don’t want to let the father know?” 

You suck in a deep breath. You want to let Yoongi know. You of course do. You want him to be happy, you want him to say “let’s do this together”, you want him to love you back more and more and more and more. 

But you know, this is hardly possible even in your wildest of dreams. 

“He’s happy with the person he loves. I- I don’t want this baby to look like an excuse to come between them. Also…” Marrying, having kids - all these, freaks me out. Yoongi’s words ring in your head like a loud alarm, threatening you to go deaf at any given moment.

“Also?” Hoseok urges you to continue. 

“Nothing.” you give him another weak smile. 

He sighs again. Probably he, too, is done with you and your nonchalant stubbornness. 

“In that case, I am enlisting myself as your emergency contact.” He takes his pen in his fingers again and starts putting down his number in your chart. 

Your eyes go wide, “but will that be okay? I mean-” 

“This is okay. Don’t worry. We usually do this in exceptional cases.” Hoseok gives you an assuring smile. 

“Thank you.” you mumble, embarrassment eats you away. 

“That’s alright, Y/N. don’t forget to take your meds and eat a lot of fruits. Okay?” 

“Okay.”

“And also, just so you know, excessive mental stress is harmful in earlier stages of pregnancy.” 

Your chest tightens. 

“Okay.”  

You usually keep your personal cell silent. Because there is simply no reason not to. 

No one is going to call you and mull over why you aren’t picking up your calls and if anything bad has happened to you or not. 

Not even your mother. She has far more important responsibilities than you have ever managed to be. 

You have a few contacts and a group chat with your high school friends, which you check occasionally. 

That is why your heart threatens to beat out of your chest when you see unread notifications on the surface of your personal phone, that too, from Yoongi. 

He had only messaged you a few times before in this number and all of those were barely a sentence. 

But today he had sent you not one or two but a total set of five different texts, which read: 

Yoongi (15:30): “I heard you are out with an emergency again?”  Yoongi (15:36): “What is it, Y/N? Is something seriously wrong?”  Yoongi (15:38): “Please, let’s talk.”  Yoongi (15:50): “Will you please stop ignoring me?”  Yoongi (16:05): “I will be waiting for you at the terrace. If you can, come before 5.” 

Your eyes close as you leave a loud exhale out of your mouth. For a moment you question your decision of coming back to the company and make up for the time you were out. You could have just taken a sick leave. Or maybe if you checked your phone half an hour ago, you would have avoided this whole ordeal. 

But right now you are in the parking lot of the building and you will have to go inside. 

And you know very well, once you are inside, the invisible threads of your body that are connected to Min Yoongi will start pulling you towards the terrace. 

It’s 4:24 now.. So he is still supposedly waiting at the terrace. 

Maybe Yoongi is right. You should talk to him. What will you say, though, you don’t know. 

Or maybe you should just listen to him, as always, let him do the talking and see how his speeches have changed since the last time, since the time when both of you were alone. 

It’s only you, who is alone now, who is troubled. 

You have always loved Yoongi’s side profile, the soft slope of his nose, the half crescent of his lips, but then again, there’s hardly anything about Yoongi you have not not loved. 

However, right now as you watch him in the glow of the setting sun, with a half-burnt cigarette in between his lips, you wish you wouldn’t have loved him so much. 

Because, now, you are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time. 

But can you though? Your life is not only yours anymore. Your life is now intertwined with another living mechanism and you are far too lost in your head to be prepared for it. 

Do you really want the baby? Or do you just want to keep a trace of a fleeting thing that Yoongi had for you? 

If it’s the second then isn’t it unfair for the unborn life? 

Will you be able to love it when you can’t even love yourself? When you can’t associate anyone else with the word ‘love’ other than Yoongi himself? 

“Hey. you came..” Yoongi’s voice pierce through the dark clouds of your thoughts. His words are laced with doubts, there is a frown in between his brows and now that he is facing you completely, you can see bags under his eyes. 

You don’t even want to think about what's keeping him up at night. 

“You wanted to talk.” you finally start walking towards him with legs so heavy that it feels as if your body will fall over their weight. 

Yoongi crushes his cigarette under his shoes, like you have let him crush your hearts in those pretty hands of his. 

Once there is no smoke lingering in the air, you step near his vicinity. 

“Yeah. but the way you have been ignoring me, I didn’t think you would come.” there is a hint of hurt in his voice. 

You don’t reply anything, rather you let your eyes get lost in the maze of concrete ahead, tall buildings aspiring to touch the sky but failing regardless. 

From your peripheral vision you can see Yoongi stepping closer to you, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it again. He probably shuts his eyes for a brief second then opens it with determination burning in them. 

“Y/N, what's wrong? I heard you have been taking leaves for regular checkups at the hospital? Are you… are you hurting?” Yoongi speaks with one of those soft tones that he hardly uses for anyone. 

It’s not the first time he is using it for you, but it sways you a little anyway. 

“I am fine, Yoongi. But I don’t understand what is up with you? Why are you suddenly so worried about me? Why are you suddenly caring as if… as if I mean something to you?” you ask him calmly, waiting for a valid answer. 

“I have always cared about you.” 

“But that was when we were- we were sleeping, right? Now you don’t have any obligations towards me. So please. Please stop confusing me. Please stop making me a fool.” you let a lone tear escape from your eye. This time doing nothing to stop it. 

“How is this even confusing, Y/N? Friends care for each other. Don’t they?” Yoongi’s voice weaves and you don’t know why. 

You chuckle dryly, “sadly enough, you are not just my friend. I am in love with you and you know that too.” 

Yoongi’s eyes widen. He takes a tentative step away from you as if staying near you will turn him into a stone; and that breaks your already broken heart even more. 

“Y/N- I-”

“I know. I know you don’t- You don’t have to. I just- I am a fool. I am sorry.” Now you are sobbing uncontrollably. Your eyes give out after holding onto your tears for a year. 

Yoongi takes a step towards you, holds you by your shoulders but now his touches burn. Your body burns under his fingers and you want to run away - run away as far as possible. 

“Y/N” his voice trembles yet again.

You hastily wipe your tears with your sleeves and run away in the opposite direction towards the flight of stairs. 

He calls your name to stop you but doesn’t come running behind you. You note that. 

Yoongi will never chase you. You are not Gyuri after all. 

Once you are half down the stairs, you sit down, try to control your breathing, convince yourself that it’s not good for the baby. 

The baby. The baby. The baby. 

Should you not tell Yoongi about the baby? At least inform him? And then he can decide if he wants to accept it with you or leave it behind too? Just like you? 

But this is not yours alone. He came to you that night and left a life inside you as an aftermath.

You stand up, deciding to take a shot, not for you but for the unborn life, which deserves the equal part of attention from its other parent too. 

If there are consequences. You will face it all. 

Climbing up the stairs, as you take a few steps towards where you left Yoongi behind. 

You see him again. 

But this time, he is not alone. He is with Gyrui, who is holding on to his body so tightly as if her life depends on it.  

Their lips are molded with each other. 

Her fingers are lost in his dark locks, his hands are placed on her side as if he is not sure what he is doing. 

You stand there. 

You stand there watching them numbly. And when you decide to turn and leave, you have nothing left inside of you. 

Your body is now a shell of something that looks like you. 

You decide to take the stairs all the way down until your legs give out. 

Your back slides down the wooden door of your bedroom. 

You let out a thunderous scream and that is closely followed by wailing. 

You cry. You cry for all the times you have loved Yoongi. You cry for all the times he didn’t even look at you. You cry for the time when Gyuri came back. You cry for the time when Yoongi left that night. You cry for today when he clearly chose Gyuri over you even when you knew this was your destiny. 

You cry because Yoongi can’t be yours and today finally ends a lot of things. 

You don’t know for how long you cry. But all the tears have left you feeling weary. 

You climb on your bed and drift off to a slumber. 

And you dream. 

You dream of yourself, and Yoongi and a baby hand that’s holding his fingers. Yoongi is smiling, he is happy. 

Then you dream of a big wave, drowning you - Yoongi and the hand of the baby have disappeared. 

When you wake up, your body is drenched in sweat, so much so that even the back of your thighs feel wet. 

The pain in your body is piercing.

But when you manage to sit up - you see a pool of blood soaked in your clothes and sheets. 

The last trace of Yoongi that you were trying hard to preserve, is gone too now.  

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[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part four | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 14,600 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix is with the enemy.  He let himself be taken.

Losing a fight was the only way to win.  The enemy is well-fortified, his defences impenetrable, but offensive strikes are not a strength.  The best of his men are no match for Felix, not their force or their taunting or threatening.   They can torture him.  They can hurt him.  It is literal child’s play, every move a textbook manoeuvre from his childhood training. 

After some prodding, coercion, and violence, someone decides to send word up the chain of command.  It reaches the ear of the enemy, and now Felix is cuffed to a chair in some kind of warehouse, waiting to meet a monster. 

The man finally strides into the room.  He is average height, average build, with cold eyes but a dull demeanour.

Felix was hoping for a nightmare.  Maybe that would have helped justify some of it.  But the immense nothingness of the man is infuriating.  This?  Everything they did, everything Felix did, was because of this?  Just another pathetic man hurting the weak with someone else’s hands.     

The enemy stands above Felix and his shadow feels no different than Miroh. 

That is how Felix rationalizes it, even with a roiling stomach as he sits beneath that man.  A shadow will fall, one way or the other.  His choice is no choice at all: two dark paths, neither with a light at the end. 

Felix is not here to save himself.  His mission is to save Chris.  That is all that matters now. 

“You work for Miroh,” the enemy says.  “Or is that worked, if my men are to be believed?”

“That’s right,” Felix says.  He sees the flicker of surprise in the enemy’s eyes.  Felix’s voice has already dropped and its darker, deeper tone always surprises people.  It counters his youth, his soft face, makes the enemy look twice and consider him more carefully.

Felix is everything Miroh wanted his soldiers to be.  He is easy to misjudge, overlook, underestimate, but competent, deadly, and loyal to a single, unmoving cause. 

Thinking of Chris, Felix says, “I know how to end this.”

His throat is dry, his voice rough.  He drags it up, propelled by the pounding of his desperate heart.  

“I know Miroh’s next move,” Felix says.  “I know where he’ll be.  I know what he’s planning.  I know how to interfere.  But we both know you’re the only one who can really do it.”

Flattery takes the enemy from wary to invested.  He is so easy to read, more childish than Felix ever was.  It is infuriating.  It takes all his strength for Felix to grit his teeth and restrain himself, to not rip out of his bonds and destroy this shadow of a man. 

But this is not about Felix. 

“What is it you think you know?” the enemy asks. 

Felix smiles, a soft, disarming smile, practiced from a lifetime of subterfuge.  A lie on his face, but coupled with the truth. He thinks about everything he has done and everything he will do. 

Felix says, “Everything.” 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Two days ago, you were running missions for your father.  You kept your head down and strove for the best, blindly believing your compliance would lead somewhere worthwhile.  The ends would justify the means.  You would prove yourself and everything would come together.

Now, your only plan is to tear it all apart.

Your father is dead.  You are miles from the world he created, off the edge of every map he ever drew.  You stare down a long, dark path with no seeming end.  

You think of your friend and find the strength to place one foot in front of the other. 

It is something you should have done a long time ago, but there is no time to linger in past feelings.  Not the guilt of years ago, not the pain of a few days, and not the embarrassment of last night. 

You lift your head as Chan approaches the park bench.  Your first order of business was acquiring basic necessities, so you left the motel and ventured out.  It required more than a little theft and cunning, but now you are both dressed in civilian clothes, better blending in with your surroundings. 

Chan went to grab some food while you sat and mapped out a basic strategy.  He has followed your lead in every regard, including conversation.  You have not spoken a word about last night so neither has he, but it sits between you like a tangible block.  Your eyes meet and speak without the help of words.  Who are you? you seem to ask each other, and neither has an answer.    

Miroh’s first guard.  You think of him in the ring.  You imagine him in even darker shadows.  It is impossible to reconcile that soldier with the man who comforted you, who tucked you into bed, who sat with you until you fell asleep. 

Miroh’s daughter.  It is just as impossible to reconcile the soldier you were with the woman who not only broken down crying, but let someone comfort her with so much tenderness. 

You look at each other, a flash of something between you, then you clear your throat and look away and hope it disappears.  

Chan sits beside you on the bench.  He hands you a sandwich. 

“What next?” he asks, then takes a bite of his own.

You are both in blue jeans and flannels, baseball caps tugged over your eyes.  You keep to a quiet space in the park, but there are still civilians nearby.  You watch some kids throw a ball around.  You don’t have much of an appetite, but your body needs sustenance if you want to heal properly.   Much as you would prefer to dive into the mission, ignoring your own wellbeing, an unbalanced fight will not save Changbin. 

You take a bite of your sandwich and pass the notebook to Chan.  

“I’ve made a list of the main research facilities,” you say.  “My father implied Changbin would be used for study so I don’t think he’s being held at any training base.  I’ve ranked the research facilities in order of likelihood based on their location and general field of focus.”

Chan nods, looking over the list.  You stare at him while he reads.   

You need to say something.  Each bite of food is excruciating because it is fighting the pit in your stomach.   You are a tangle of embarrassment, confusion, and unfamiliar emotions you cannot name.  Finding the right words is physically painful.  

You rub the bridge of your nose and steady your breathing.  Chan looks at you with an inquisitive tilt of his head, but he looks away when your eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  Despite your preparation, it is more of a blurt.  “For last night, I mean.” 

You cringe thinking about it, but addressing it finally alleviates the weight in your gut.  You fiddle with the wrapping to your sandwich, staring at the ground and pointedly not at him. 

“It’s not like me,” you say.  “The past couple days, it’s just…” 

“It’s fine,” Chan says.  When you scoff, he bumps his shoulder against yours.  “Seriously, you don’t have to apologize.  Can’t really blame you, ya know, considering everything.”

“I’ve dealt with some crazy fucking circumstances,” you say.  “And I’ve never…”  Mortification settles as you recall last night, which drudges up all those feelings again.  It twists together inside you.  You put the sandwich down and rub your eyes.  “I just don’t feel like myself at all.”  It is a resigned admittance, sitting at the crux of everything.  You are lost without your father’s map, even though you know it is better off burned.  “I just don’t know how everything used to feel so easy.  It’s like I’m a stranger and the whole world is just as foreign.  My father drew a perfect map of his world and now I’m way off the grid.” 

“Maybe it’s time to draw a new one,” Chan says. 

You look at each other.  You are both hunched over, elbows on your knees, bodies inclined just barely towards each other where your knees almost touch.   His face is bare and yours is scarred, his tone sincere and voice as raw as yours. 

The dark path ahead seems a little less daunting. 

There is one more thing you have to say, and this one is even harder, mixed up with embarrassment. 

Sheepishly, you say, “Also, uh… thank you.  For what you did last night.” 

Chan laughs, just a breath of a sound, and there is some colour in his cheeks.  He deflects the gratitude with more awkwardness than the apology, stammering on some vague denial.

“Nah, nah, it’s fine, you know,” he says, then says it a dozen more times. 

If crying was a break from your usual character, the little grin on your face is even more alien.  But it’s there, admittedly amused as you watch the most lethal weapon in Miroh’s arsenal stumble over his words.  His hair is over his ears, his hat over that, but you can see where they start to darken with a blush.  You had no idea the First Guard could go so red.  Maybe that’s why he has to wear a mask, you think to yourself, tickled.

But now is not the time for teasing.  You bump his knee with your own then pick up your sandwich.  Your appetite has returned, little by little, the worst of that pit closing. 

“Yeah, just… think nothing of it,” he says. 

“I’ll try,” you say, cringing. 

He pats your knee consolingly, then he smiles, light-hearted, looking at you with a goofy wink.  “Next time it’ll be me and you can help me out,” he says.  “Then we’ll be even.” 

He goes back to eating his sandwich, his attention straying to the kids and their ball game.  You look at him a moment longer.

If it had been him who broke down last night, you are not sure what you would have done.  But he voices such an honest belief that you would return the favour, so you cannot help but believe he might be right.

-

The day is spent driving.  You steal a different vehicle, losing the last traceable item from the fallen facility.  You replace it with something a little faster and more efficient on the road. 

Once you are in the car, the conversation stays professional.  Today you plan to scout the perimeter of the targeted facility on foot.  It should have a secondary security outpost that will be easier to breach, at least with your skills and inside knowledge.  

Chan will cover most of the physicality as he insists you need another day of recuperation before launching a proper attack.   You begrudgingly admit he is right, even though you want to charge the facility to second it is in sight. 

Changbin could be in there right now, separated from you by cement walls and nothing more.  You look at the building as you circle it.  Your heart pounds, leaping as if magnetized to your friend’s potential proximity.  It makes you want to leap the wall and fight everything in your path. 

Like he knows what you’re thinking, Chan nudges you.  He tips his head, gesturing to the direction you need to go.  You huff but follow.   This is your plan and you made it for a reason. 

You reach the security outpost.  After Chan incapacitates the guards, you will have sparse minutes for action and acquisition.

Chan lays down the unconscious guards while you gather your intel.  You know where to look, unlike an enemy or third party, so you can use the short allotted time to your advantage. 

You see there were deliveries made over the past couple days, but it is unclear what they entailed.  It could be anything from equipment to a body.  You save the information and run through the security logs so you can strategize a full-proof infiltration plan for tomorrow night. 

While you work, Chan embarks on his own search, finding a few weapons and packing them in a duffel bag. 

He claps you on the shoulder with less than a minute to spare.  You take your hard drive and notes, he takes his bag and guns, and you are out the door.

Back in the car, he sits in the passenger seat, assembling a gun while you drive.  Your eyes are on the road but your mind is in the mission, running schematics and floor plans and security details. 

Your mind jumps frantically from one thought to the next.  Thinking of security logs reminds you of the information you obtained about the enemy.   You told Changbin about it a couple nights ago, but it lost importance in the midst of all your personal drama.  Now your mind returns there. 

Miroh’s team acquired the security information from the house that night, but they overlooked the most glaringly obvious discrepancy.  They were so preoccupied with the system itself that they did not notice how much of it had been scrubbed by someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had a reason to hide what transpired.   

Maybe it means nothing.  Maybe it means everything.  

“What’s up?” Chan says, noticing you are deep in thought. 

You glance at him, shaking your head as you return to the present.  You have your hands full with dismantling Miroh’s regime that the dead enemy should not really matter anymore, but it will not leave your head.  The weirdness of that whole situation sits in the nucleus of everything else.  The enemy’s collapse sent your father spiralling, his fears driving him straight into a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction.  In a way, you are only here because of what happened that night. 

“Just thinking,” you say, struggling to summarize the tumult of thought.

“About?” he prompts when you stall.  He lifts an eyebrow.  “Something I can help with?  Or like… something personal…?”

“Neither really,” you say.  “It’s about my father’s enemy.  You know my father had a lot of enemies, but… he had one that rivalled them all.”

“I know who you mean,” he says.  “I didn’t really run any missions involving him, because, you know, Miroh thought it was useless to waste my skills there.  The enemy was pretty well-defended.  Nothing got in or out.”  

“Makes sense,” you reply.  “The enemy was watched more than pursued.  I actually ran a lot of those missions.” 

You were with the enemy while Chan was everywhere else.  It is why you never really crossed paths.  You knew the outcomes of his missions because it often impacted lines of business, but you did not see him.   He was a weapon at your father’s disposal, less than a human and more than a soldier.  

“Yeah,” Chan says, echoing that thought.  “Miroh thought I would be more useful… other places.”

You look at him again.  He is looking out the window, his own gaze pensive.  You do not push for more detail, knowing well enough how gory and intense some of his missions were.  It makes you aware of who is in this car, the weapons at his feet, the gun in his lap. 

You find you are not that frightened, which is frightening in its own way.

You look at him in his flannel and baseball cap.  You think about him earlier, laughing as he watched some kids playing games in the park.  You picture that face in the shadows, a gloved hand around a neck, a gun in his hand, the trigger practically a part of him.  It makes your heart pang. 

“Anyway, what about it?” Chan asks, looking at you. 

“Never mind,” you say, discombobulated as you are inundated with images of Chan’s missions.  You shake your head.  “It’s probably nothing,” you add.  “It doesn’t matter.  They’re all dead anyway.” 

There is a moment of silence, then he asks, “Did we ever find out what happened that night?”  His voice is a little smaller, like the question weighs heavy on his tongue.  Like he also knows this new world is spinning on the axis of everything destroyed that night. 

“No,” you say.  You grip the steering wheel a little tighter.  “And the last person who had any contact with them is being held somewhere.” 

“Changbin,” Chan says. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Your mind runs away again, thinking about the way Changbin talked about that mission.  Or rather, the things he did not talk about.   He never officially reported the details of his altercation with Felix.  He never reported the fact Felix asked about Chris.    

As if he can hear your thoughts, Chan asks, “Felix is dead too, isn’t he?” 

Lee Felix was raised in the young soldier program with the rest of you, but you don’t remember much of him from childhood, just one face among many.  Then he betrayed the operation.  Miroh was securing some contracts that the enemy was also eying, and Felix was assigned to a major mission that would procure the venture.  You were not on that mission, but you later learned how it was infiltrated by the enemy, how Miroh was blindsided and attacked in a rare moment of weakness instigated by the same traitor who sold out their location in the first place. 

Felix got away. 

Several agents died in the confrontation.   By that point, other child soldiers had died on other missions.  Only a few of you remained.  Chan, Changbin, you.   Felix was recruited by the enemy.  He became a grating sore in the operation’s side.  Somehow, the enemy utilizing one of Miroh’s best soldiers as a glorified babysitter was more offensive than using him for military tactics.  Even by doing nothing, your father’s enemy boasted over him.  Look what I have and I don’t even need it, while you fight for everything. 

That was how your father put it.  He always looked at the offense, the wrong-doing, the betrayal. 

He never saw anything else.  Just like he never saw your friendship with Changbin. 

You think Felix and Chan were also friends once, maybe, or something like it. Felix would have no way of knowing what became of Chan after he left.  Maybe he cared.  Maybe his motivations were more complicated than an opportunistic betrayal for the sake of itself. 

You look at Chan.  His body is holding a lot of tension, his fingers curling and uncurling over his knee.  A muscle feathers in his jaw when he clenches it. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Felix died that night with the rest of them.” 

Chan exhales.  His whole face is shadowed with the furrow of his brow.  

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him.  We all made difficult decisions, I guess,” you say, thinking of how to approach this conversation because there is a darkness to Chan that feels more like the First Guard.   “He, uh, he asked about you apparently.”

“About me,” Chris says flatly.  “What about me?” 

“About what happened to you,” you say.  “I guess he wouldn’t have known what happened after he left.  Changbin, uh, Changbin told him you died.” 

Chan is quiet for a moment, just staring across the dashboard at the stretch of highway.   The sun is starting to set behind the trees, casting an orange glow in the vehicle.  It brightens his eyes even while his whole countenance seems to darken.

Then he laughs.  It is abrupt and harsh with no genuine humour whatsoever.  He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. 

“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yeah?” he says dryly. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I guess it just—”  You glance at him.  He is still staring ahead, his shoulders locked with tension.  “None of this is easy.  I get it.  You have every right to be upset.”   

“Upset,” Chan says as if the word is totally foreign.  It lingers in his mouth.  He chews the thought over.  The fierceness of his gaze reminds you of the guard that sits behind a mask – intense and dangerous.

 “I guess I am upset,” he says slowly.  “It means I don’t get to kill him myself.”

The response startles you.  You anticipated this conversation taking a totally different trajectory.   

Your glance flicks between the road and Chan.  He goes back to fidgeting with the gun.  His hand movements are firmer, more deliberate, the click-shuffle-click more pronounced. 

It is a very unfortunate and wildly inappropriate time to find him attractive.  The realization hits you all at once, leaving more whiplash than a hit to the head.  You watch his quick and competent hands do what they do best.  Coupled with his sudden intensity, it feels like a punch to your core. 

You want to offer a remark, some acknowledgement of his thoughts, but it gets garbled in the mess of feelings.  It is not like you to get so flustered.  You are not used to it.   

You clear your throat and look ahead.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head. 

“What?” he asks.  “The guy’s a traitor, isn’t he?”

“It’s not that.”

“Huh?  Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” you reply. 

“Nothing? You have a weird look on your face.” 

“No, I don’t.”

The First Guard, Miroh’s weapon, assassin and spy and deadly agent, reaches across the console and pokes your cheek. 

“Stop that,” you say.  “I’m fine.”

He laughs and this laugh is sincere.  You try to school your expression but the damage is evidently done because he is clearly aware he has you flustered. 

You bat his hand away.  Even worse than finding him physically attractive, you are a little enamoured with the sound of his laugh.  It feels much better than the tension from before.  You feel your own chest lifting with a clear breath. 

“Just thinking about yesterday,” you lie, but now you are thinking about yesterday and how you abruptly kissed him, which makes you more flustered and makes his dimples more pronounced.   Refusing to look at him, you tightly grip the wheel and say, “Sorry, by the way.”

“For?”  He sounds amused.

“Kissing you.”

“Ah.”  He pokes your cheek again, dodging your hand.  “I thought I told you to stop apologizing to me.” 

“That’s different,” you say.  “Especially after everything else you told me.” 

Chan has spent most of his life in the forced employ of someone else, using his body to one end or another.  He told you as much last night.  In light of that, spontaneously kissing him without warning feels wrong, even if you were panicked and not thinking. 

He goes quiet.  After a beat, he says, “I didn’t tell you that so you would pity me.”

“Well, why did you then?” you ask.  You can admit you were forward last night because that is just how you are.  Sexual desire is just another bodily function that needs satisfying.  He was the one who continued the conversation after it ended.

“Well,” he says.  “I trust you.” 

“Right.”   The honest simplicity just flusters you more.  “Good to know.”

The car is very silent after that.  Or maybe the rest of the world gets louder – the cars whizzing down the highway, the wind against the glass.  Even the sun seems to fizzle in the darkening sky. 

You swear you can hear his heart beating, fast, or maybe that is your own. 

“It’s fine,” he breaks the long silence. 

“Huh?”

You glance at him which is a mistake, because he turns his head to you, his dimples deep with the cheekiness of his smile. 

“it’s fine that you kissed me,” he says. 

People have outright propositioned you for explicit sexual acts and none of those come-ons ever garnered half as much heat as that simple, stupid line. 

You bat it down instinctively, swallowing hard.  His earlier intensity sparked your adrenaline and your body confused it for something else.  That must be it.  You don’t get flustered and heated like this, not so fast and not so deeply. 

“Well,” you say firmly.  “Don’t worry because it won’t happen again.”

“Oh?” he asks, still too amused. 

Desperate to even the playing field and knock those dimples down, you grin and employ your own simple frankness.

“Tell you what,” you say.  “You can fuck me all you want, but no kissing.  How’s that sound?”

It works.  He chokes on a nervous laugh and turns completely red.  He looks away while rubbing his neck and it’s your turn to laugh. 

The sound of your own laughter surprises you, the adrenaline in your chest suffusing to something gentler.  For a moment, in the middle of all the anxiety and worry and terror, you feel a flicker of delight. 

When you look at him, your eyes meet in a shared moment of mirth, that setting golden light flooding the car.  It feels strange to smile so sincerely, but it does not feel wrong.  It feels like a moment you did not realize you had been waiting for. 

-

None of the safe houses are safe.  Miroh is dead but his operation is running in fragmented pieces, so there are eyes on those houses.  You stick with cheap motels for now, the little crevices and unassuming places forgotten by the passing world. 

Chan lifted some money from a register at a closed service station, so you use that cash to pay for a room.  It makes you think about crime, petty and big, about Miroh and his enemies, soldiers and civilians.   About the ends justifying the means, and what taking down Miroh’s operation will entail. 

“Ready for another fight?” you ask.  You and Chan are sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette, drafting plans for tomorrow’s night infiltration. 

“Always,” he says with a sigh, but smiles at you. 

You take the first shower tonight.  You feel better and your reinvigorated energy makes you even more restless.  It feels like a waste of time, sitting here while Changbin is out there, but you know you will be in better shape tomorrow when all your plans can come together. 

For now, you prepare your own weapons and combat clothes, laying everything out while Chan showers. 

Your eyes lift when he emerges from the washroom, strolling into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.  

You stare at him because of course you do, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow because of course he does.  That cheeky smile returns and he says, “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, frowning, looking back at your things.  “Just restless.” 

“You should do some push-ups,” he says. 

Ugh, this guy, you think, looking up at him again.  His back is to you as he stands over his bag, shifting around for some clean clothes.  A snarky reply is on your tongue but then he drops his towel, silencing you as swiftly.  You blink in surprise at his bare backside then look away, hot in the face. 

“You know what,” you say.  “Maybe I will do some push-ups.” 

He chuckles and continues dressing himself while you go through a small exercise routine to expel your excess energy.  It honestly works and it feels good to get some muscles moving again. 

You are not totally invulnerable, but the hormone supplements administered in your childhood ensure that your healing is a little quicker than average.  The worst of the pain will pass so you can fight without distraction tomorrow night.  The only thing that will remain will be the scars.

You sit at the foot of your bed and touch the scar on your palm.  You wonder if Changbin is sitting somewhere, touching his own scar, and you wonder if he thinks it was worth it – all of it, his whole life, offering it up to save you. 

“All good?” Chan asks, a little more seriously.   He is closer than you realized, standing near the bed. 

You nod, closing your hand into a fist.  “Yeah,” you say.  “We just…  We have to find him.” 

You can feel yourself drifting, thoughts taking over.  You stare down at the ground. 

Chan touches your shoulder, just enough to draw you out of that reverie before you sink too far.  You look up slowly.  The back of his fingers brush your cheek before he drops his hand to his side.  It feels like he touched you with a firework, a trail of heat sparkling along your cheek.  You dig your nails into your palm because you do not feel like you should indulge that sort of feeling while Changbin is hurting for you. 

“I know,” Chan says.  “We will.  But he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or give yourself up, would he?” 

You stop clenching.  You release a breath you did not realize you were holding. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You’re right.”

You blink quickly, surprised when knocks his knuckles under your chin, a teasing little touch.

“Told you to stop apologizing,” he says, then winks and steps away. 

Your dreams that night are tumultuous but not as torturous.  You don’t sleep as heavily so it is easier to snap out of them. 

Chan is a light sleeper and the sound of you jolting awake stirs him as well.  You apologize after a few times, his groggy voice sleepily assuring you that it’s fine.  That rough sound scratches your brain, tingling down your spine as you close your eyes to sleep again. 

You dream of a different touch, no violence or pain, just fingers trailing softly across your cheek.  Your eyes are closed but you can feel it, a lightning spark ignited under the stroke of those fingers.  You tilt your face up and take in a deep breath.  It fills your whole body with warmth, makes your heart race and skin heat.  The touch curls under your chin and you follow where that hand guides you, eyes closed and mouth open.

Your breath is stolen by a kiss.  You know this is a dream because real kisses never feel this way.  They are just a touch, no different than any other. 

This touch is different.  It overwhelms with its gentleness, a caress more thorough and claiming than every rough kiss exchanged in a heated moment that inevitably cooled.  This one does not cool, does not even simmer, but burns hotly, endlessly.  Even when your lips part for air, heat lingers between you.  Your fingers twitch, coming to life with the desire to touch. 

You wake before that. 

It is still night.  You glance at the clock then across the room.  Chan’s bed is empty and it startles you, snapping you from half-conscious to fully awake.  You sit up in bed.  The panicked race of your heart putters to a slower cadence when you see him.  He is sitting at the table in the kitchenette, near the open window.  The neon light from the motel’s NO VACANCY sign bathes him in a cascade of red.

“All good?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you say.  “I just—”  You look at the empty bed then at him. 

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish.  “Couldn’t sleep.  When that happens, feels better to just look at the plans, you know?”

You nod.  You understand completely. 

“More bad dreams?” he asks. 

“Sometimes it feels like a memory,” you say, thinking of every nightmare, then thinking of your dream.  There was no reality in that fantasy, but you swear your cheek still tingles.  Embarrassed, you lay back down and turn away.  You stare at the wall. 

To your horror, you find yourself blinking back tears.  The night is clearly not your friend, overwhelming you with every thought and fear and memory, every emotion you do not know you were capable of feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chan says.  “I promise.  You can sleep.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

I trust you, he said with so much earnest simplicity.  It is hard, but you return the sentiment and close your eyes. 

-

The next night is a very different scenario.  There is no opportunity for good or bad dreams, for quiet phrases and glances that you would not dare exchange in the light. 

You and Chan spent the day in preparation, practiced some moves, pored over your plans.  Your adrenaline builds and builds.  By nightfall, you are bursting with a desire for action. 

The night does not feel quiet or still, the very air around you vibrating with the shuddering power of your determination. 

“Careful in there,” Chan says.  

You look at him.  He is not wearing the mask, not yet, but he is the soldier you first encountered.  Earlier, you watched as he slicked back his hair and darkened his eyes as part of his preparation, turning himself into a strange, intimidating figure.  His transformation is so all-encompassing, your heart palpitates with nerves whenever you meet his eye. 

“This is gonna be a shitshow when we start taking it apart,” he continues.  “After we find him, when we start hitting marks and tripping lines, it’s gonna be fast.” 

First you will look for Changbin, then you will go after everything else in that facility.  Wiping data, disabling networks, making the entire operation unusable.  You know some agents will move onto the next one, but you’ll follow.  You will follow all of your father’s work and you won’t stop until you have destroyed it all.  If it means tearing out one brick at a time, that is what you will do. 

You tug at a clasp to ensure your armaments are locked in place.  Chan secures his mask.  You nod at each other, then you advance. 

It becomes abundantly obvious very quickly that this facility does not have active test subjects, just data and back-logged research storage. The deliveries were mostly data transfers and hard copies of research for ongoing trials.

That means Changbin is definitely not in this building, but you try to keep your energy up.  While Changbin is not here, there should be information about his actual whereabouts.  The fight is not over.  Far from it.

“I’ll be across the hall,” Chan says.  “Radio if something trips.  We won’t have long.”

The literal fight is only half the work and not more the prevalent half.  You and Chan take a system each and spend most of the night looking through files.  You would rather punch something, your adrenaline still so keyed, but you put it in reserve for now. 

You move and erase certain files, sifting for relevant information and finding none. 

You snap upright when a related subject finally appears.  You lean closer to the screen.  This entire folder seems dedicated to human test subjects.  The fact the folder is so big already has you nauseated.  Then again, you are not surprised.  You were one of those subjects, living proof of a military experiment.    

You cannot find anything about the special-ops program in this folder.  That means no data on Changbin, past or present.  Instead, it looks like years and years of logs tracking a single experiment.

TEST SUBJECT I : SOLDIERING RECONFIGURATION

You see the word soldier and click. 

No.  This is definitely not Changbin or the special-ops program.  You read and realize this particular experiment was something else entirely.

You look at the date.  This began a long time ago.  There are long memos and notes about ‘reconfiguring’ mental processes, utilizing the brain’s trauma to suppress memory through torture. 

You have seen a lot of dark things, but nothing like this.  Your stomach turns over itself, balking at the horror, the detailed descriptions of severe electro-shock and drowning, of starvation and long isolation. 

Subject is presented with an unchanging control from which comparison can be made. 

Subject recognizes control after one round of treatment. 

This is worse than a fight.  A fight you can control through retaliation.  This, you just have to endure, your heart pounding as evocative images of dehumanization unfold before you. 

They tortured someone into forgetting everything.  Turned them into the perfect soldier. 

Eleventh round of treatment – some effect is beginning to take.  Not a recommended course of action on regular humans. Hormonal-supplement medicine improved durability. 

Subject will need to be brought in on a semi-regular basis to maintain stasis.  

There is a long list of all the dates and times the so-called subject was brought in.  It spans years, all the way up until recently.  A session was schedule two weeks ago but it was not completed. 

You sit back, the white screen blaring in your face, your stomach a sickly iron weight. 

Chan. 

The subject is completely, irrevocably Bang Chan.   You wish it wasn’t true but you know, deep down, it undoubtedly is.   

The incomplete session must account for his recent behaviour.  If he was not brought in for a reconfiguration within the allotted time, that might explain his deviation from expectation, his raw humanity and his spontaneous decision to join you. 

It is unbearable, imagining all that torture. 

He was just a boy. 

Your throat cloys, feeling tight with suffocation as you imagine the darkness of a narrow well and cold water closing in around you.  You close the file then look away from the screen, the shadowed room even darker after ripping your gaze away from the light.  You feel that darkness tighten around you.  You close your eyes, shake your head. 

Though you never imagined the details, you knew Miroh did something awful to make a boy a thing.  Especially that boy.  For as long as you can remember, gossip about the First Guard has been whispered in every corner of the operation.  Those who knew a young Bang Christopher Chan talked about the overnight change.  One day he was a rebellious child, throwing tantrums in front of Miroh himself, and the next day he was complying with the worst of orders in his name.

Some people joked it was all about the bloodlust, that Chan was inherently built to be violent, steeped and raised in it.  They said it came naturally to him, that he was just waiting for an opportunity to be that vicious. 

You know better.  You have seen glimpses of the man who spent years in Miroh’s mask, and that man has nothing in common with the First Guard.  That soldier, the agent with the highest clearest level missions, with the most destruction in his wake, is not Chan.  Whoever Bang Chan really is, it is not the monster that Miroh made him. 

“You’ll wanna see this.” 

Chan’s voice breaks the silence.  You jump out of your skin with a horrible hiss, startling him in return. 

“Whoa,” he says.  “What is it?” 

You do not hide your expression fast enough.  He quickly ducks down to look in your face, those dark eyes intensely focussed.  He asks something through the mask – what’s wrong, you think – but it sounds foggy and faraway.  Your eyes are locked on his.  The rest of the world falls away.    

You reach for him without conscious thought.  It is the instinctive search for a hand in the dark, a desperate grasp shooting across cold water for a lifeline. 

He blinks quickly, surprised when you touch his face with both hands.  He stiffens but does not stop you from removing his mask.  Only when his face is clear do you come back to yourself. 

Sorry forms on your lips, but you remember he said to stop apologizing.  Besides, your voice is shot even though you have been sitting in silence. 

You place the mask on the desk and shake your head.   

Chan looks at you, then his gaze flicks to the empty screen and back.

“What is it?” he asks again, softer this time.  “What did you find?” 

The document mentioned the subject had a resistance to abrupt reminders.  Too much sudden information could trigger the trauma response.   It is better to ease the subject into slow recollection. 

“Nothing,” you say.  Your voice comes out rough so you clear your throat.  “It’s nothing important.  Just – Miroh.  Some dark stuff.  You know.” 

He scrutinizes you for another second.  His hand hovers like he might touch you, but he eventually curls his fingers and drops it. 

“Okay,” he says, wary. 

“What did you find?” you ask, because he burst in here with an exclamation. 

He smiles.  It is not a huge smile, but it looks like Chan peeking through the soldier’s mask – the one he wears even when the literal mask has fallen.  It puts you at ease. 

“I found him,” Chan says. 

Your heart skips a beat as you are reminded of your real mission.  You eagerly take the papers that Chan offers. 

“Not literally, of course,” Chan says.  “But look—”

The document explicitly names Seo Changbin, with the correct description of his medical history and occupation in the Miroh’s order.  It doesn’t say where he is behind held, just that he has been relocated from the main base.  It says he must be kept under more intense security than the main research facility can provide.

It also provides a detailed schedule for the work and tests that have been administered so far – blood samples, urine samples, even skin samples – and it states that he will be kept for more tests and evaluations.   He is to be held for two weeks before more intensive studies can be conducted.  It is imperative that he does not weaken or die, as he is the only viable study subject. 

A massive weight lifts off your shoulders.  Changbin is not here but he is alive and unharmed.  It seems they are keeping him in a state of mellowed sedation and do not want to move him around. 

Though you do not know where he is precisely, you know he is stationary.   He is probably not too far from this one if they were concerned about security in relocation.

“We got him,” you say.  Your brain is already racing ahead, narrowing down the most likely bases and what infiltration will entail.   You look at Chan and your smile returns, brightening with the light in your chest.  “We can actually do this,” you say.  Until now, you believed it because you had to believe it, because you stubbornly refused any alternative. 

But Changbin is alive.  You can rescue him.

You can also eliminate a lot of other bad things while you do it. 

“We still have work here,” you say.

“You’re not wrong,” Chan says, grinning.  “Found some files with some political figures who probably… definitely… don’t want their affiliation getting out.” 

That blatant rebellious streak fills you with even more hope. 

You get to work.  In the end, some alarms are tripped and you are not out before security arrives.

“You ready for that fight?”  Chan asks, already drawing a weapon. 

“Always,” you reply. 

You fight together.  You think of all that detailed violence and you funnel it into something good.  You were made to fight and it does not scare you, not when it’s like this.  You are far more scared of not fighting back.  You will never sit back again. 

You and Chan have a complimentary fight style.  You were both raised in the same program, so that makes sense, but there are instinctive openings you fill, a swift understanding that does not need words.  Like your eyes meeting across a park bench, you connect on another level.  It is like you have fought together a million times before. 

When you are done, Chan takes a turn at the wheel.  The windows are rolled down and you have a few shiny new scars, but you feel good, hopeful, free.   You see a light at the end of the darkness.  You are not scared of the fight to get there.    

Your adrenaline is still pumping when you get back to the motel.   The dawn is entering twilight, streaks of light slashing across the dark sky.  It is swallowed up by rainclouds but the promise of daylight persists despite the gloom.   You feel like you could wrestle the sun itself, no power too great.

You also know you are running on fumes of a long, adrenaline-fueled night.  You are definitely going to crash, especially when several nights of bad sleep catch up to you.  But first you need to come down from that high, blood still pumping a mile a minute. 

Chan exhales, clearly just as keyed.  He shakes out his shoulders and stretches his neck this way and that.   He sits on a chair to unlace his boots.  He looks down as he says, “You can have the first shower.” 

You look at him.  Against all odds, you are both here, rebelling against everything that was engrained in you. You can appreciate that more now that you have some relief regarding the mission.  

Despite the effort to control and change you, you made it to this place together.    You are free.  Your lives are yours for the first time.   

You open the top few clasps of your combat shirt. 

“We’re both pretty messy,” you say.

He drops one of his boots with a clunk then starts on the next one.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing.  “That’s fine, though.  Just be quick.” 

He discards the other boot and lifts his head.  His gaze looks even more intense with the dark lines traced around his brown eyes.  A single curl escapes his smoothed back hair, curling in an endearing tuft over his forehead.  He is still breathing a little hard, his combat shirt also unclasped, the skin of his neck sweaty. 

When those dark eyes collide with yours, your thundering heart pounds faster.  His gaze briefly, thoughtlessly, flicks down your body then back up.  Heat thunders through you and it has nothing to do with a fight. 

He sits straighter, holding your gaze in his. 

“Hey,” he says softly.  “What’s up?”

“I know I asked before, and I know I said it jokingly,” you say.  “But I think we understand each other better now.  I’m not asking or demanding anything.  I’m just letting you know.  I think sex is a good way to expend energy.  I think the fast pleasure is good for the brain as much as the body.  It’s like exercise.  I know we both have complicated pasts but I’m okay with that.  With me.  With you.  I don’t care about the past and I’m not looking for a future.  If you’re interested in right now, so am I.” 

You push open the bathroom door.  His eyes are rivetted to you but his expression is unreadable. 

You undo another clasp and shrug. 

“You know where to find me,” you say, then step into the bathroom. 

You are not sure what to expect from him.  You cannot even anticipate your own reactions.  You are startled by the erratic pounding of your heart and the nervous twist in your gut.  You chalk it up to the crazy evening, to the even crazier week.  It is another reason to seek release, to ground yourself in your body and forget about everything else. 

You strip down, leaving the sweaty and bloody clothes in a heap.  The hot water is a balm.  You close your eyes, letting the simple pleasure wash over you. 

You rub a sore shoulder.  The muscle loosens under the heat of the water.  Your hand wanders, fingertips skimming your arm. 

You seldom picture a particular person when you touch yourself, hardly caring about the identity of your partner even when they are in front of you, but you cannot escape the vision of a dark pair of eyes.   

Your breath catches.  Your head tips back.  Your hand wanders across the curve of your chest, palm across each sensitive peak, sending pleasant sparks shooting downward.  Your hand follows that path, stopping just short of its destination when the door opens. 

You look over your shoulder.  The glass door has not fogged much so you see Chan in the doorway.  He looks as dishevelled as you left him.  Those dark eyes are slow in their wandering perusal down your body.  It feels like fireworks again, sparking everywhere he looks. 

You turn a little more.  He looks up.  His brow furrows like he is scrutinizing you, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.   You suppose you cannot blame him.  It is a forward offer to any man, never mind one who is probably unaccustomed to them. A  proposition he can accept or decline of his own free will, pleasure without contracts or compromises.  No wonder he looks wary, like you are going to disappear if he steps wrong. 

“Well?” you say, because you are not going anywhere.  “Are you just going to stand there?” 

He answers with a step.  He closes the door behind him.  Your eyes never leave each other, locked as he swiftly undoes his shirt and peels it off.  The undershirt follows, tugged over his head, messing some of his hair.  Then your gaze finally drops, an intimate heat rushing inside you as you look down his body.  A sheen of sweat covers most of his torso, several prominent scars cutting through an otherwise perfect body.   His muscles are even more prominent, strained from fighting. 

You are already thinking of all the places you want to put your mouth when he strips off his bottom layers.  For a man who was so lost in contemplation, he has no uncertainty now, striding up to where you wait. 

You face him fully as he steps into the shower.  The glass door closes.  It finally fogs with your combined heat.     

His presence overwhelms this small space, much like it did that first little civilian car.  It feels like he is everywhere.  Your eyes move all over his body, your breath coming faster.  He pushes a hand through his hair and you look up, breath catching when you meet his eyes. 

“No past,” you say, practically gasping.  “No future.  Just now.” 

“Just now,” he says.

You are so close together and so far apart, a breath away but not touching.  You are uncharacteristically hesitant. 

He is the one who closes the space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  You feel that small touch everywhere, shuddering despite the hot water slipping down your body. 

He leans towards you. 

Your heart leaps right out of your chest.  You turn your face at the last second and try to sound playful when you say, “No kissing remember?” 

It was supposed to be a joke but you cling to it.  It must be the danger or adrenaline, maybe the heat or his eyes, but kissing feels far too intimate.   The rest is just exercise.  You tell yourself that. 

“You don’t like kissing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.  “What do you like?”

“Bet you can’t guess,” you tease.  Banter is better than intimate gazing.  You want release, not more tension. 

“Hm,” Chan says.

He cups the back of your neck before weaving his hand through your hair, swift, smooth, smiling.  He tugs and your head follows, the line of your throat exposed and a mewl of a sound escaping. 

“Lucky guess,” you say, clearing your throat after that embarrassing sound. 

But then you make another one.  Those competent fingers find the curve of your breast and he wastes no time utterly tormenting the sensitive peak.   You have always been extra sensitive there, though you seldom take the time to linger, usually rushing to the next best thing.  You almost forgot how intense it feels, your whole body puppeted by the bolt of pleasure in his control. 

“Lucky guess,” he says, tugging your head back when you start to curl up.  “You like that?” he asks.  He takes your whimper for a reply, pinching a nipple meanly before sliding his hand down your body.   You rear up, eager as his fingers dip between your legs.  “And that?”

This time, your body answers for itself when he finds how wet you are.  You make an undignified squeak when your back touches the cold wall, the hot water cascading down his back.  He lets go of your hair and plants a hand above your head, his whole body crowding yours in a way that feels more protective than suffocating.  You would usually be tempted to push him away, but your whole body opens up to him.  You touch his chest and rock your hips, riding the deft strokes of his fingers.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his face in your neck, his body against yours. 

“Yes,” you say.  You slide both hands down his chest, savour in his gasp when you find how hard he is.  You take him in hand, both of you working the other into a frenzy.  “Fuck me,” you say, your voice already a low mess.  “Chan, please.” 

The effect of his name is immediate.  He grabs you by the hips and lifts you like it is easy.  He pins you to the wall so there is no space between you anymore.  

You string your arms around his neck, stroking your fingers across his back as he angles you.

He is strong and his movements are effortless, but his groaning betrays a deeper desperation.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breaking in your ear.  It makes you clench, getting tight around him as he pushes in.  It makes you both gasp, open-mouthed and needy as your bodies come together.  “Fuck.  Oh, fuck, you feel so good.  I’m not—”

He is barely coherent but you are in no position to judge, clinging to him with your eyes closed and mouth hanging open.  He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you with no reprieve. 

“I’m not—” he says again.  “It’s—it’s been so long—I—”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice straining.  You hold the back of his head, your cheek against his, making all sorts of embarrassingly desperate sounds right into his ear.   “It’s fine,” you say.  “Just come.  I have an implant.  Want you to come like this.” 

A couple days ago, he was chasing you through a building, lifting you off your feet and pinning you down in a very different way.  His dark eyes felt inhuman, but now he is groaning and whimpering as he fucks you deep and steady, every snap of his hips as frantic as your racing heart.  Your wet bodies are pressed together and he is all hot skin and sturdy muscle, human, real, living and breathing as much as you.   They tried to make him into something that did not know how to want anything, but he wants you. 

That repeats in your head until you start murmuring it, “Want you, want you, want you.”

He comes with a groan and a deep stroke.  He holds you against the wall while the water continues to run down his back. 

With a sigh, you descend from the high of pleasure.  You breathe hard while he keeps you in place for a minute longer. 

“Sorry,” he suddenly says, panting as he surfaces. 

You wince with the separation, your knees shaking when he lowers you.  You hold his arms, fingers clasped tightly around his veiny forearms as you stare at him.  It takes a second for his word to register.

“Sorry?” you say on a breathless laugh.  “For what?” 

“That was, uh, fast,” he says, giggling that musical laugh, a very embarrassed sound.

You stroke your fingers up his bicep and across his shoulder, watch a shiver wrack his body even though he could not possibly be cold.  You meet his eyes.  They have not lost any hunger, devouring the sight of you.  He wets his lips, drag his teeth across the bottom one, and you start to feel delirious from the heat and sensations. 

“Trust me,” you say.  “That was hot.” 

His smile looks relieved.  He bumps his forehead to yours, his hands loose around your hips.  You rock towards him, encouraging the slow wander of his touch. 

“I get it,” you say, breathy, your knees shaking as he cups a handful of your ass and squeezes, then drags his palm to up the centre of your back.  “It, uh,” you stammer, eyes closing.  “It’s been a long time for me too.   A few months at least.”  Your last liaison was well before the debacle with the enemy.  It was a forgettable exchange. 

You do not think you will forget tonight. 

His hands curve around you like he is memorizing the shape of your body, the way your bare skin feels against his.  You are close, so it is obvious when he bristles at your words. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he says, far too casually, avoiding your eye as he reaches around you for some body soap from the dispenser.  He lathers his hands and touches you again, stroking his palm down your backside and around your waist. 

It almost distracts you.  Almost.  You look at him at with squinting eyes, smiling a small smile. 

“What?” you say again.  “You sound a bit jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, too defensively. 

“Oh, really?” you say. 

He cups some water in his hand and runs it over you.  His eyes lift from his task to meet yours.

Maybe teasing was a mistake.  A flash of something dangerous sparkles behind his smile. 

“Really,” he says.  He turns off the water with a flick of his wrist.  “I have nothing to be jealous about.” 

It should stop surprising you, but you yelp when he sweeps you into his arms.  You hook your legs around his waist, your arms his neck, holding tight while he carries you to the bedroom. 

You are wet and the air is cold, but then a mattress dips beneath you and a bundle of bedsheets surround you.  He lays you out, deliberate and measured, very different from his slow tenderness the other night. 

“Quick question,” he says.  He runs both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back.  You look up at where he stands, your eyes wandering every plane of his body. 

“Yes?” you ask. 

He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, all while dropping to his knees.  When your legs are over his shoulders and his breath is soft between your legs, he asks, “Does this count as kissing?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth interrupting any coherent thought of yours. 

A part of you thinks you should conserve your energy, but then his tongue is swirling over you and nothing else matters.  Your hands cover your breasts, touching yourself in time with him.  You let yourself enjoy your own body and help him find his way back to his.

By the time you get to sleep, you are both thoroughly worn out.  Chan falls asleep first for once, all but passing out beside you.  You are sharing a bed because the other sheets are wet and used. 

You look at him through sleepy eyes.  You touch his cheek, amazed when you think of how much things changed in just a few days.  If you were told a week ago that the First Guard would be in your bed like this, you would have laughed.  

If someone tried to tell you he had dimples and warm eyes, that he would sigh your name like it was the breath that kept him living, you are not sure what you have said. 

You drift into sleep.  You see his face in your dreams, still peaceful and slumbering beside you until that dream becomes a nightmare.  His eyes snap open.  In this sleeping world, it is not the warm gaze you have come to know so well.  An emotionless weapon stares back at you.

There is no time to fight before his hand is around your throat and all the air leaves your body. 

You feel cold, unbelievably cold.  

You hear a voice.  It says, “Stop.  Stop!”  You swear it sounds like Chan.

Your vision blurs.    

You blink, blink, blink.  Your eyes open underwater.  When you scream, it is suffused in the rushing cold, air bubbling past your lips and fading into darkness.   You thrash to no avail, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. 

They open again.  There are wooden beams high, high above your head.  You still can’t breathe, your chest heaving with desperation, and you can’t feel your body.  Why can’t you feel anything?

“Hey, it’s me! I’m coming!”  Your blurry gaze darts around for the voice.  Grey smoke slithers around the wooden beams.  It takes a long time for a face to emerge in the fog. 

Changbin leans over you, younger, thinner, a cut on his head bleeding profusely.   

“Go,” you say, because he’s hurt and he needs to go now or he will never escape.   You want to tell him what’s coming, tell him he needs to run, but he shakes his head before you can. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.” 

The weight leaves your chest all at once.  Air rushes into your lungs and fills you like a cloud.  You feel as though you are flying.  When you open your eyes, you are sitting on a park bench.  You have never seen this park before, blossoming in green and gold with summertime sunshine.  The edge of your periphery blurs, obscuring shapes and bodies into glowing phantoms.  Only one face is clear.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Changbin shouts.  He runs across the field towards you.  He is young, barely more than a child, but he curses like an old man when he reaches you.

“Fine, fine!”  He throws his hands in the air.  “You’re right, you’re faster.  But I’m still stronger.  Watch this, princess—”  

He tackles you.  You hear his laughter and your own, a youthful sound, twinkling with childish delight.  You roll across the grass in a giggling frenzy.  

The greenery darkens as you roll away.  The park changes.  When you look up, the trees are a mosaic of red and orange.  Leaves drift on the autumn breeze. 

“Do you ever think about what else you could do with your life?” Changbin asks.   

You look at him.  He is older, not a teenager but not fully grown.  His face is still gawky with youth, his muscles growing in.  He is staring up at the sky. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. 

He laughs but without much humour.  His eyes close and he sighs, nodding. 

“Ah, yeah,” he says.  “I thought you might say that today.” 

You turn your face to the trees as a leaf flutters towards you.  It touches your forehead and sends a painful jolt rampaging through your body.  You blink, blink, blink, up at the doctor and their syringe.  They say you did well but you don’t feel well, your insides churning like every organ is folding itself inside out. 

The doctor steps aside and you meet eyes with another child across the room.  Changbin is holding his arm and rocking back and forth.  He is the only one not crying. 

You cross the room.  It was brimming with screaming children but now it’s empty. 

“It’s okay,” you hear your voice.  You see your small hand reach out, touching Changbin on the forehead where he contorts with pain in his small cot.  “You can cry,” you say.  “I won’t tell anyone.” 

In another blink, he is older, a teenager again, crying and curled up in his bunk. 

“Changbin,” you hear yourself say.

“I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“You’re not,” your voice says.  “None of us are.”  You see your hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay. You’re not alone.  You’ve never been alone.”

“You’re going to get hurt.  And then what?”

“Then I’ll get hurt,” you hear yourself reply, speaking with more certainty than you ever remember feeling.  “You’re my friend, Changbin.  I don’t mind if something happens to me.  I don’t care if it hurts, because I won’t be doing it for Miroh.  I’m doing it for you.” 

You look down at his hand when he reaches for yours. When you look back up, he is grown, sitting on a windowsill in the moonlight with a small scar on his cheek. 

“I didn’t bleed for Miroh,” he says.  

You blink.  The wooden beams are high above you, his bloodied face full of concern. 

“I’m your soldier, not his.” 

The weight slams back into your chest.  All the air goes out of you.  You are falling, endlessly falling, all the way down to where there is nothing but cold.  The walls close around you.  You feel the stone under your palm.  You suck in a breath of cold air only to choke on water.  There is a light above your head and voices, screaming.  You twist and kick like a wild thing.

You get closer to the surface.  You hear Chan say, “Stop, stop—”

Then you wake in your shared bed.  His voice echoes in the waking world.

You realize that is because Chan is talking in his sleep.  He keeps repeating, “Stop, stop.” 

You shake off the last dredges of sleep. It is not easy, your heart still skipping beats from the rapid-fire scenes.

Chan is on his back, his chest rising and falling, fast asleep but clearly in the throes of a nightmare.  You are not sure how to help.  You chance a tentative touch, saying his name as you brush his shoulder.

He wakes with a start, his eyes flying open.  You see the flicker of panic as he forgets where he is, still half-lost in his nightmare. 

Chan is much faster than you.  It takes only seconds for his instincts to commandeer control, then you are the one on your back and he is leaning over you.  Fortunately, he does not swing his arms around like you.  His manoeuvre gives him the advantage but he doesn’t hurt you, other than leaving you a little startled and winded. 

“Chan,” you say.  “It’s me.  It’s fine.  It was just a dream.” 

He blinks away the vestiges of sleep.  You see the moment he recognizes you, the tension that immediately leaves his shoulders.

You are surprised yet again when he abruptly drops his weight, practically smothering you as he cages you in his arms.  You put your arms around him, patting his back until his breathing slows to a normal cadence.  

He eventually rolls back over, but he hooks his arms around your middle and drags you close.  A part of you wants to balk, scared this is too intimate, but your own heart settles in the quiet comfort of his embrace.  You let yourself rest, falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. 

-

There are two nearby research facilities.  It is a toss-up between the smaller, closer one or the bigger, farther one.  You opt for the closer base, figuring a smaller facility would be easy to incapacitate quickly.   You and Chan have knowledge about Miroh’s operation that no one in the world can match.  You are the only ones who can do what you are doing, so they never see you coming.   

You dismantle the base but Changbin is not there.  The only place you see your friend is in your dreams, emerging from smoke and disappearing as fast, leaving you with his promises and your guilt. 

It is so strange why your mind keeps summoning that same vision.   It smashed through something in your mind, cracked it somehow, and now it can’t relinquish it. 

It is strange what a stressed mind can conjure and invent.  Even stranger is its inability to let go.   These days, all your thoughts and feelings slip through your mind like water in a sieve, everything flowing too fast to catch despite the desperate cup of your hands.  But that image and his voice returns again and again and again. 

The only satisfaction you get is watching pieces of Miroh’s operation crumble.  You watch the news, keep up with the business reports, and watch as a domino effect transpires thanks to your actions. 

It does mean security is going to tighten at the remain bases, but you are ready. 

You move on to the next facility, even more determined.  For a moment, this seems like the place.  You find other enemies and subject imprisoned in the lower level cells, but Changbin is not one of them. 

Chan escorts the innocent captives out while you search the remainder of the facility.  It is empty, an echoing steel chamber and little more.  You want to shout his name but you already know the only answer will be the reverberation of your own voice. 

You search every crevice, just in case. 

Your attention is rapt until you run past a certain door.  At first, you merely glance inside.  When you see it is empty, you turn to continue. 

It’s like a tether wraps around your mind.  You slam to a halt, the squeak of your boots echoing in the corridor.

You turn back around.  You step into the chamber. 

Every hair on the back of your neck stands up.  You swear, the temperature drops by a few degrees as you step further inside.  If you didn’t know any better, you would almost believe it was haunted, not like in stories of decrepit mansions, but filled with empty figments still crying out in pain.  The room is rife with an unsettling chill, dank as a tomb.

You walk slowly.  You feel like the echo is louder here despite your careful steps.  You look around.  There is lots of wiring, lots of sockets.  There are dusty shapes on the floor where things used to stand, types of furniture maybe, or machines. 

There is a dip in the corner, what looks like a well.   You approach it cautiously, craning your neck to peer down without getting too close.  It is dry as bone but deep.  You can’t see the bottom.  Heights don’t usually bother you, but you feel suffocated with a cloying fear.   Your feet tingle as you imagine falling.  You know it must have a bottom but somehow you feel like it would never end.

You realize footsteps are approaching, fast down the corridor then slow as they enter the room.  You put a hand on the gun at your hip, turning quickly. 

It’s just Chan.  You are about to speak, or at least try looking for works, but you are stricken by the look on his face.  Even though he was fiery when you last saw him, he looks very gaunt, flushed pale as he looks around the room.  He is not merely unsettled like you.  He looks sick. 

You immediately know where you are.  This was the room they used to torture him. 

“You know this place,” you say, not a question.  You remember all those torture descriptions.  They have haunted your nightmares, all those images so vivid that you imagined them happening to yourself.  If it was horrifying just reading it, you can only imagine how he feels right now. 

He nods.  It takes a few tries to clear his throat.  “Yes,” he says weakly.  He looks between you and the well as if he half-expects it to grow teeth and attack you. 

He shakes his head.  He crosses the room in a sharp stride, so swift that it takes you back.  He grabs your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Get away from there,” he says, his voice hard.  “There’s nothing in here.  We need to go.  Now.” 

You have no argument but he waits for no reply, practically dragging you out of the room.  He leads you back into the corridor, taking huge strides.  His grip tightens.   

“Another second and that will hurt,” you say, more calm than you feel.  His energy is so panicked that it bleeds into you. 

He drops your arm quickly, snapping to realization.  He flexes his gloved hand. 

“Sorry,” he says.  He turns on his heel with a swivel so fast that you collide.  He catches your shoulders and holds them, looking at you without really seeing you, his stare so intense it bores right through you.  “Sorry,” he says again.  His voice is shaking when he says, “Fuck.  I’m sorry.  I just—”

“It’s fine,” you say, understanding how overwhelming that must have been.  There are tears in his eyes but he rips away before you can look too closely.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice hard again. “There’s no one else here.  It’s time to go.  This place…”  He spares one last glance over your shoulder.  “This place is over.  It’s time to go.” 

You leave together.

-

You take a day for recuperation while you plan you next move.  Neither of you slept very well last night, but at least there were no nightmares.  You take turns driving, occasionally sleeping in the passenger seat. 

You reach the next motel at sunset.  The room only has one bed which draws Chan to a halt.  He blinks at it like he doesn’t understand, then his ears get red, then he looks at you. 

A laugh bursts out of you.  You try to contain it but it’s hopeless.  Chan smiles then laughs too, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Just – you don’t think it’s a little late to be blushing like that? Mister Does This Count As Kissing?” 

“Wow,” Chan says, playfully throwing his hands up in surrender.  “Sorry for being a gentleman.” 

“You’re forgiven,” you say, making him smile. 

You eat dinner on the bed then place all the containers to the side.  Chan watches the news while you scribble memos in your notebook.  You are trying to connect dots and figure out which facility is most likely.  You go back to your original notes, obtained from the first research facility, to see if you missed anything.  

You fall asleep while working.  The week’s travails evidently catch up to you. 

You stir when Chan tries to move you.  You are awkwardly slumped over your notes.  You watch as he carefully places them aside and tries to lay you down properly. 

The sun has long since set by now.  The room is lit by the glow of the television and the warm neon light from the motel sign, such a vibrant yellow it pours through the curtains.   

You look up at Chan, squinting because of the slash of light in your eyes.  He tilts his head to shield you. 

“Better?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

He doesn’t move.  Neither do you.   You are on your back and he is on his side, propped up on his arm and looking down at you.  You offer a little smile which draws his eyes to your mouth. 

Your breath catches and, just like that, something ignites inside you.  You see it reflected back at you, all his thoughts in the depth of his gaze. 

You are not sure who moves first.  It might happen simultaneously.  It only takes a second before your fingers are in his hair and his hands are on your waist.  He climbs over you, his mouth brushing your jaw and your throat without ever landing a kiss.  You shiver as his breath caresses your skin. 

You had no idea so many small places were so sensitive.  Even the back of your calf tingles when his leg brushes yours.

You move in tandem, with the same synchronisation as when you fought together.  Your bodies are a good fit, shaped by similar lives, bearing similar scars.  You tug the flannel down his shoulders and sit to remove your own shirt.   When you are completely bare up top, he lays you down.  Your hips lift towards him, needing him, legs parting as he presses his weight just so.  He guides your leg over his hip and fits himself against the softest parts of you.  

He presses a hand into the mattress, right by your head.  You tip your head back and grind up against him.

“Chan,” you say. 

His mouth hovers above your breasts and you grab his head and pull him close.  He takes the offer and parts his lips around the hardening sensitive peak, twisting his tongue around it until you are writhing under him. 

“Oh god,” you say, tugging desperately at his t-shirt.   You normally don’t care about fully undressing, but you need to feel him.  You want his heart beating against yours, his skin hot against your own.  “Please,” you say, not even embarrassed when it turns to a whimper. 

He makes a small noise, acknowledging you, but continues to lave kisses and bites across your breasts, teasing until they are almost sore with pleasure.   Only when you are a mindless puddle of desire does he sit up and whip his shirt off.  It flies across the room, forgotten.  You both unbutton your jeans and shuffle them down.   The few seconds you are apart are agony.

When he lays back on top of you, it is with no barriers.  He holds your hand and laces your fingers with his, pressing it into the mattress as he spreads your legs with his own. 

“You feel so—” he says, sentiment ending in a sigh.  No other word suffices.  

Your whole body feels alight.  His thumb find the centre of your pleasure, rubbing at you while he sinks inside you.  He is somehow both gentle and powerful, holding you at the best angle as he takes you.  You are used to fast and dirty and this slow tenderness aches with a burn so good, you never want it to end. 

“Chan,” you say his name on a breath.  He releases your hand so you can put your arms around his shoulders, holding him as he rocks into you with rolling, deep strokes. 

His face is so close.  Your mouth is aching with the rest of you.  His lips felt so good everywhere else.  The delirium of desire takes over and you decide, fuck it.  You have done this much, changed this much; you can be brave and accept more intimacy.   It’s just a kiss.  There’s nothing life-changing about a kiss. 

You lean up to kiss him but you are too fast, too frantic with nerves.  It lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth.  Then you feel embarrassed.  You shake your head. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Sorry, I was just—”

Chan is frozen on top of you.  He stares while you stammer an apology. 

Then his nose brushes yours.  You feel his breath against your lips.  You stop talking.  Your heart thunders. 

“I told you,” he whispers, “stop apologizing.” 

Then his lips are on yours.  Your eyes close as you follow the give-and-take of his kiss.  Your lips part and his tongue touches your top lip, then he sucks your bottom lip and moans against your open mouth.   You clench around him, moaning back.  His hips move again and you cling to him.  The kisses start small and grow to desperate, open-mouthed passion.  Coupled with his deep strokes, getting faster and faster, you feel like you are flying. 

Oh, is all you think, this is what this is supposed to feel like. 

You come first, the orgasm taking you by surprise.  It was steadily building at a small pace before all at once striking.  You cry out, burying your fingers in his hair as you rock against him.  He finishes only seconds later, groaning your name in the curve of your neck then sucking a bruising kiss right there. 

You hold him after, your fingers stroking down the nape of his neck, your legs wrapped around him.  It feels like years before your heart comes back to a normal pace.  Your breathing still comes shaky, but so does his.  His strong arms seem suddenly weak as he pushes himself up with a quiver. 

You separate.  You try to find the words but you mind still feels like water.

You are so floaty, it takes a second to realize something is wrong.  Chan is crying, or about to, sniffling hard and scrunching his face to stop it. 

“Chan—”

Alarmed, you reach for him, but he moves before your hand makes contact.  He gets up and wordlessly puts on his jeans and a flannel, buttoning it askew.   You grab your shirt as well, tugging it on frantically to keep up. 

“Chan,” you say again.  “What’s wrong?  Did I—”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, but he won’t look at you.  He sits on a chair and starts putting on his boots.  That’s when you really panic, jumping out of bed and looking for your own pants.  “Stay,” he says.  “It’s fine.  It’s not you.  It’s me.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” you ask.  “Seriously?”

“It’s my fault,” he says.  “You said right now and that you were fine without the past or the future and I thought – I thought I could – but –”

He grabs his baseball cap and tugs it on.  You say his name again, reaching for his sleeve as he walks past, but he does not break stride for a second.   

You can’t exactly chase after him half-naked.  You know he will be long gone by the time you get dressed.  You can only stand there in shock and confusion as the door closes and he disappears. 

You sniffle.  You shake your head, refusing to cry, not after everything. 

Your body does not listen to your head, unsurprisingly, and you end up sputtering through messy tears while putting on some clothes.  You wipe your eyes, fighting an upward battle against your hormones as all those happy, pleasurable feelings melt into something ugly. 

Chan returns almost an hour later.  By that point, you have passed through several different emotions.  You were worried, of course, then you were sad.  Now you are irate.  You were left to stew in anxiety, sitting on edge.  For a while you wondered if he was coming back at all, which set off more tears. 

You are certain your face is puffy and your eyes are red.  Chan looks at you with a guilty expression but says nothing.

“Well?” you say, but he just stares at you.  You are sitting on the edge of the bed while he stands a few feet away.  “Great,” you say, smacking the bedcovers.   “Fucking fantastic.  We’re back to the silence, I guess?” 

“I know,” he says.  “Sorry.” 

You wait for more but that non-committal reply is all you get. 

 “You told me that you trusted me,” you say, mortified when your voice breaks.  “You said that one day it would be my turn to help you, but every time you start to feel something you hide it or turn away or say you’re fine or run out the fucking door with no explanation!”  You stand up to put more space between you, marching to other side of the room.   You wipe your eyes.   “You know, I feel like I don’t even know who I’m talking to half the time.”  

“I’m always me,” he says.

“And who is that?” you ask.  “From the start, you’ve basically asked me to blindly trust you.  One second you’re this terrifying agent who does everything my father asks, and the next you’re just standing there letting me kill him.  I haven’t demanded explanations.  You said it was just your mission and I accepted that, even though I knew it was bullshit.  I know this is about more than jobs or missions and I – I – I’m sorry everything’s all fucked up.  But we’re all we have right now.”  Your voice breaks again and you choke back a sob.  “You can’t ask me to trust you then push me away.  You can’t say you trust me but never let me in.  I’m terrified out here.  We’re doing something insane and I can’t have the person I’m relying on the most shove me away.  I want to be on your side.  Chan, I want – I want so badly –”

He takes a breath but stays silent.  His gaze is heavy. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” you say.  “I know you’re not what Miroh tried to make you.  I know what they did to you.  I know it was terrible.   But I’m not afraid of you and I’m not judging you.  I want to know you.  I need to know you.  I know you can remember some things.  I know it’s causing you pain.  If I could understand—”

“I remember everything,” he says. 

You are not expecting an interjection.  It takes a second to comprehend. 

“What?” you say. 

“I said I remember everything,” he says.  He looks at you as he slowly approaches.  “There isn’t a single moment of my life that I’ve forgotten for even a second.”

He stops a foot from you.  This close, you can see he has been crying too.  Even through your frustration, you want to touch him.  You are so bad at comfort, receiving and giving, but your fingers itch to smooth his brow and cup his jaw. 

You curl your fingers at your side. 

“Everyday,” he says.  “Every single day I think of my mistakes and what it cost.  I haven’t forgotten anything.” 

“What do you mean?”  Your adrenaline is starting to spike.  “There was a reconfiguration program.  I know about it.  That’s how it happened.”  You know about the torture.  You can see the light at the top of the well and feel the cold in the bottom of the Cell.  You know about it.  You can picture it.  You saw that place yesterday. 

You know.  You know.  You know.    

Your chest starts to tighten with panic. 

“You did all of Miroh’s work willingly,” you continue.  

“Yes, I did,” he says.  “But it wasn’t willingly.” 

“Because they tortured you.” 

“In a way.”  He sucks back a breath.  “I thought I was smart.  I thought I could beat Miroh.  I almost did, but then everything—”

A memory from a dream: a flash of grey smoke. 

“It went wrong,” he says with a resigned sigh.  “I was punished.  That’s true.  But I didn’t care what they did to me and Miroh knew that.  So he took someone else.  Someone I cared about.  And when it was all done, I was given a choice.”  His voice breaks on the word choice, the whole phrase utterly dryly.  “And it wasn’t really a choice,” he says.  “I could walk away.  He wasn’t even going to try and stop me.  But Miroh wanted a soldier.   He said all the blood on his hands was going somewhere one way or another – and he said it could be on mine or hers.” 

You are not sure if you are breathing anymore. 

“The things they did to her – the things they made me watch.”  He presses a hand to his forehead as he takes another breath.  “She was a good fighter, but she wasn’t a killer.  It never mattered what they did to her, she always knew who she was.  She knew whose side she was on. She wanted to help people, not hurt them. I couldn’t let her become that thing.  If she ever – if she ever came back to me—”  He swallows.  “I couldn’t let it be her.  I couldn’t let her have all that blood on her conscious.  I’d already failed her.  Again and again, I let her down. I couldn’t do it again.  I told Miroh I’d take her place willingly.  I’d do anything he asked so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty.  She could come back one day and… and…”

“What are you talking about,” you say.  You fumble towards the bed and drop down heavily. 

Chan looks at you.  That silent conversation. 

You already know what he is going to say. 

“Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program,” he says.  “And it wasn’t me.  It was you.”    

[wttcsms]

if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | TWO

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn’t get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn’t just a pro soccer player, but also your ex’s rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

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pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 5.9k chapter synopsis the busier your schedule, the less time you can spend thinking about rin. the only problem is, you see something you can't unsee. nothing a bottle of tequila can't fix, right? (spoiler: tequila isn't fixing a broken heart) chapter contains partying and drinking to cope, diet culture author’s notes i have nothing to insightful to add rn, but send me any asks discussing this fic and i will have a lot to say LOL

From: fumiko.gima@apextalentgroup.com To: [USER EMAIL HIDDEN] Cc: wfitch@everlanefitch.com, mai.sasaki@apextalentgroup.com, hideakitakeda@titansecuritysolutions.com, benji1968@gmail.com + 3 others Subject: 6/19 — [NAME] [SURNAME] AGENDA Attachments: 📎 [6.19 AGENDA.pdf]

All — 

Attached is the PDF copy of [Name]’s itinerary for today. Reminder that these times are STRICT. Stay on schedule. 

Fumiko Gima

Get Outlook for IOS 

Your first alarm goes off at 4:50 AM to what you assume is the noise they play on repeat in hell (By the Seaside, an Apple classic). After waking up, you roll over in your king size bed (the problem with always choosing to go big instead of just going home is the fact that when you’re all alone, the luxury of extra space just becomes empty space) to promptly hit the snooze button. You’ll allow yourself five more minutes of sleep (as a treat). When the second alarm you set up goes off at 4:53 AM (By the Seaside, once again), you scream into your pillow, and shut it off for real this time. You knew you weren’t going to give yourself the full five minutes, but it felt really good to trick yourself into believing that you would. You always start the day with this tiny disappointment; that way, no one has the privilege of being the first person to piss you off. 

At 4:54 AM, you slide your feet into your Ugg slippers, readjust the loose straps of your silk camisole, and shuffle into your marble-floored bathroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes, brush your teeth with your pink electric toothbrush, and wash your face. By the time you’re done with your morning skincare, it’s 5:06 AM. You honestly can’t remember the last time you did your own makeup, but you bring your makeup bag with you anyway. If there’s downtime between shoots, you’ll post a faux-GRWM TikTok where you apply three miniscule dots of concealer on your seemingly already flawless skin and add a fresh layer of the brand new, limited edition Rhode peptide lip treatment that Hailey Bieber’s team gifted you. They also gave you twenty grand to do so, with a personal “hey girlie, would love to catch up with you one of these days!! life has been so hectic, sorry for not keeping in touch x btw, i just came out with a new shade of my…” text from Hailey herself. (You replied back with a “yessss, we need to meet up soon!! Also, LOVE LOVE LOVE the new shade omg 😍” — neither of you have any intention for planning a meet-up, and you don’t “LOVE LOVE LOVE” the new shade as much as you “LOVE LOVE LOVE” to deposit a fat check.) 

You’re sliding into the backseat of the glossy black SUV parked in front of your driveway at 5:14 AM. Your chauffeur, Benji, holds open the door for you. 

“Good morning, Ms. [Surname],” Benji never drops the formalities with you, except for when he’s lecturing you. Thank God he doesn’t own a smartphone; if he saw half the things Daily Mail wrote about you, his voice would be gone from scolding you so much. Even if he’s technically on your parents’ payroll and is paid to make sure you get to and from places safely, it still feels nice to have someone who cares about you enough to call you out on your shit. 

The first stop is an exclusive, members-only pilates studio. If you’re home, you have to work out in the morning, no matter what. You like your routine. Out of all the things online magazines put out about you, it’s kind of embarrassing how the most accurate one is revealing how you stay “fit ‘n flawless even after going out every night.” Most people didn’t believe it. Rin got it, though. Rin would actually work out with you, when the two of your schedules aligned, and— Time to start your workout early! Nothing takes your mind off of matters more than focusing on the burn of your core and arms. 

By the time you finish your private session, you’re walking out the studio with your puffy tote bag slung over your shoulders. Your body is still a bit damp from taking a quick shower but not drying off properly, and Benji drops you off at your first business stop of the day — ELLE Japan.

You smile brightly as the team of makeup artists surrounding you shower you with compliments. One of the girls brushing on your foundation tells you that you have really nice skin. When she goes in for a second layer, you almost consider rescinding the thanks you gave her.

The set is hectic, as expected. No matter how long these people have been in the industry, no matter how big the host is, something always seems to be going wrong. Apparently, there’s been a mishap over in wardrobe, and ELLE’s people are not very happy with how this is going to delay everything. With your hair and makeup done, there’s nothing for you to do besides sit down, be quiet, and look pretty. 

Downtime is the last thing you want. You’re used to a busy schedule, but you convinced Fumiko to accept as many projects as possible. If you have to rank at the top of the list for celebrities who emit the most CO2, then so be it. You’ll pollute the whole damn planet if it means you won’t have a single second to be alone with your thoughts. 

At 9:00 AM sharp, you go on your phone to inform your manager that the agenda is fucked. ELLE Japan is definitely going to push back this session with you for at least a good hour, which means Fumiko is going to have to explain to Your Style (the YouTube channel name for a famous fashion commentator who’s amassed nearly twenty million subscribers) why you’re going to be late for the Zoom debrief on what you two are going to talk about in an upcoming video. At 9:02 AM, you receive a text.

juli ᡣ𐭩: u know i love u 

It’s two in the morning in Paris. When Juliette said she was going to visit her father, she said it was going to be a much-needed vacation — just something chill and lowkey, like going to all the designer stores and eating croissants on a balcony. Those were her exact words. 

juli ᡣ𐭩: [photo attachment] 

Somehow, from the neon strobe lights, bodies pressed against one another’s, and the way the image is blurry because she couldn’t get her phone to focus, it feels like Juliette’s “something chill and lowkey” morphed into club-hopping all over France. You roll your eyes with affection. You should’ve known her vacation was going to turn into this; as if Juliette would eat bread for pleasure — she’s been quoted for claiming that carbs are a necessary evil. She probably hasn’t even touched a croissant for the past week she’s been there.

juli ᡣ𐭩: showing u before TMZ posts it juli ᡣ𐭩: [video attachment] juli ᡣ𐭩: do not freak out. not worth it. juli ᡣ𐭩: ugh i knew this club sucked ass for a reason 

You wait for the video to load. It’s almost as blurry and unfocused as the original image she sent, but you can tell she had to zoom in pretty hard to capture what she wanted. It’s two figures with a minimal amount of space between them. One of them is definitely a girl; she has the build of the usual French models. A thin, leggy brunette who has mastered the intricate art of Just Had Sex hair. Perfectly messy, but could never be considered sloppy. She’s wearing a sparkly, tight minidress. The fabric shimmers when the strobe lights pass by her body. The person she’s practically pressed up against is a man. Tall, lean. He’s leaning down, presumably so he can hear her better. When the video clip ends abruptly (someone bumped into Juliette, and the video ends with shaky footage and a loud “putain!”), you replay it. And replay it. And then you play it again, just for good measure.

Each time you watch the stupid video, you find something new to notice. Her red lips brushing against his ear. The way his hand hovers near her hip. The way you’re certain she’s smiling when she speaks, like the smirk of a victor. The exact same self-satisfied, smug grin you sport whenever you get a guy right where you want him. Upon every rewatch, though, one thing remains the same: you’re constantly fixated on him.

Right now, it’s two in the morning in Paris. You know that when you weren’t in this fucked up headspace you’re in right now, you’d be in bed, snuggled underneath your blankets, by 11:30 PM. You know that when you felt your best, you could be in bed, whispering in the dark to the person you felt safest with, at 10:00 PM (at the latest, because you both would have a busy day ahead and needed the rest). He likes sleeping early because he likes being well-rested. 

So why the hell is Rin Itoshi at a club right now?

At 9:39 AM, ELLE Japan gets right back on track. Before your editorial shoot for a special anniversary edition of the magazine, they get you to sit down to do a video interview that they plan on posting all over their social media. 

“This is a very special edition that will be coming out, and you are not only having the biggest spread dedicated to you, but you’re also going to be on the cover. Knowing this, how are you feeling right now, [Name]? This might be the most high-profile photoshoot you’ve done so far in your career, and that’s saying something. You have quite the impressive resume.” 

The ring lights are shining directly in your eye. The stool they have you sitting on for this interview is uncomfortable, and you have to focus on remaining balanced. Your back is perfectly straight, and your hands are folded in your lap. You blink, and you see the video playing in your mind. You have God knows how much makeup caked on right now, and you still have a long day ahead of you. Rin is at a club right now. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl, and they’re basically grinding against each other, and he might just have forgotten all about you.

You smile brightly. At 9:40 AM in Japan, you let everyone know, 

“I honestly think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been before in my life! This is a great way to establish a sort of, I guess, new era of my life and my career.” 

You turn to face the camera directly, giving them a dazzling view of your pearly whites. “Not trying to rush the process or anything, but I am definitely looking forward to seeing how this will all play out in the future.” 

You’re operating on autopilot for the rest of the day. The ELLE shoot wraps up close to noon. You forgo lunch, but knowing you and your tendency to skip meals, Benji refuses to start the car until you eat the lunch his wife packed for you. It’s light and refreshing — they want you to eat well, but they’re not cruel. Even if they want to bring you a feast of a nice, hot, home cooked meal, you’ll eat it out of obligation and then suffer the consequences on set when everyone asks why you’re so bloated. You don’t even taste what you’re consuming. 

At 12:30 PM, you hop on the Zoom call and pretend to care about discussing matters such as the lack of personal style affecting the younger generations. Every topic is a trivial topic to you. The only thing worth dissecting is that damn video. You should’ve asked those twenty million subscribers to help you analyze that, instead of nodding along when the YouTuber starts going on a rant about how Shein and other fast fashion brands are ruining everything. 

Late in the afternoon, you get another text. 

kenyu: So the team wants to host a belated birthday party for me lmao. Team’s planning on having it at 10 tonight kenyu: Sending you the address right now

A party is exactly what you need right now. Endless drinks, no need for rational thinking, and you’ll be (mostly) surrounded by people who think models are all vain and vapid. No one there is going to expect a decent conversation from you, and with the state you’re in, it’s a wonder how all your sentences are even making sense. 

You give Kenyu’s next message a like in response. You were expecting a club, but when you click on the address, Maps reveals that it’s residential. Rin is gallivanting around European nightclubs, and meanwhile, the best you can do are house parties. This is how the future is playing out? 

At least even at your worst, people still think you’re on top of the world. 

Maybe life without a man dragging you down and invading your space is for the best. After all, once you got done with all your professional obligations, it’s only eight at night. You’re used to going out with whatever makeup they did for you on set at your last shoot of the day, which is a shame. You have shelves full of makeup that’s been sent to you by different brands, and one of these nights, you plan on just messing around at your vanity. 

You like living alone, you decide. You can leave all the lights on if you want, and no one complains about it hurting their eyes. You have full control of the thermostat. You don’t have to fight for counter space in the bathroom. Plus, no one can see how you’re living. 

At 9:13 PM, you’re sprawled on the cool marble floor of your bathroom (squeaky clean thanks to the housekeeper you have come once a week), and instead of rewatching that dreadful video and subsequently crying, you had a quick retail therapy session. Your new Prada heels should be coming within the next two days. 

You don’t get Benji to drive you. Nobody bats an eye at a rich girl having a driver, but it does seem kind of weird to have him drop you off at a party as if you're a tween girl getting taken to the mall. If the house is owned by one of Yukimiya’s teammates, surely it won’t be too awkward if you had to leave it there because you got too drunk to drive yourself back home? 

Because — no offense to Yuki, you’re happy he’s getting another birthday celebration — the whole point of even going to this party is to get fucked up. You already know that Juliette had a point — if not TMZ, then at least Daily Mail will be all over Rin and that girl in the club. If that gets leaked, then you might as well have your own headline to combat his. Sure, lately you’ve been out partying, but that was with other models so it doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. Rin being caught at a club is basically him hard launching the breakup. You need to raise some speculation on your side of things, too. 

you: can you get someone to pick up my car from this address tomorrow morning? you: please :) 

When you see three dots appear, you smile for real. You can practically hear her sigh and see the shake of her head.

Fumiko Gima: Yes. Fumiko Gima: Be safe.

Aw, maybe your manager does have a heart. Right before you can send her a heart, she adds:

Fumiko Gima: Don’t stay out too late. You have your first shoot at 8 AM. 

This is the message you give a heart reaction to. Maybe everything really is just business with her. 

You suppose you can’t fault Fumiko for always seeming cold. She’s your manager, not your best friend. 

In this industry, her honesty is refreshing. You normally find this to be the case, but you really feel it now when you step into the mansion and hear a cacophony of laughter swarming you from all sides. At every turn, there’s a celebrity with a drink in hand. Everyone’s leaning towards each other, as if they’re so captivated with the other’s words. 

You see an actor leading a stumbling model up the spiral staircase. To your side, you see a baseball player chatting up the daughter of one of the baseball league’s board members. Upstairs, someone’s probably snorting a line off Yukimiya’s teammate’s bathroom counter. There are only three reasons why people in your social circle attend these parties: to get fucked, to get fucked up, or to make business deals. Considering the fact that you’ve been here for nearly five minutes and have yet to see a birthday cake — or the belated birthday boy himself — you’re pretty sure everyone here has lot the damn plot for the original celebration.

When you venture some more, you end up in the massive backyard. Some people are drunkenly making out in the pool, some people are watching them, and in a table in the corner, you spot a group of girls giggling and cheering as they all do shots. Perfect. This is exactly where you need to be. 

One’s a model; you’ve seen her on a couple pages you flipped through in Harper’s Bazaar. You go up to the table and give her a bright smile.

“Hey, girl! Or should I say Miss Bazaar?” You greet her like how you think people would tease a friend. She’s not your friend; you don’t even know her name. You know she knows your name — everyone here does. And it’s because of the fact that everyone knows you that she lights up when she realizes you’re speaking to her. 

A photo op with you guarantees that even if the headline coming out tomorrow is centered on you, she’ll still be in the frame. Daily Mail will add a caption naming everybody from left to right, and she’s planning on being the one captured right next to you. 

“[Name]!” She squeals, giving you a quick side hug. “How have you been?”

All your friends, the grand total of exactly two people, know how you’ve been. You grin, pointing to the bottle of tequila they have on their table. 

“After how this day has been, I honestly just need a shot.” You play it off like a joke, and as someone pours you one, you add, “Or maybe like five.” They all giggle before throwing back the tequila straight. They might think you’re joking, but this table full of strangers are the first people you’ve been honest with all day. 

At 12:15 AM, they aren’t strangers anymore. In fact, you think they might be your best friends in the whole world. You don’t know the lyrics to the rap song blaring through the bass boosted speakers, but you’re laughing as you take another shot. The Harper’s Bazaar girl is doing another shot with you, but she has her phone in her other hand. She makes sure that the both of you are in the frame together, and a second later, she’s tagging you in an Instagram story you don’t bother to view. You’re not even following her. 

“Okay, so out of all the guys here, who looks the most fuckable?” One of the girls leans on the table for support as she asks this question. You can’t help but notice how glittery her lipgloss is. Wow, even after all the shots she’s taken, there’s no transfer. Impressive. “I say Theo Sachs.” 

“Who the fuck is Theo Sachs?” Harper’s Bazaar asks, and the whole entire table giggles. Honestly, at parties like these, laughing comes easy. In fact, you’re giggling right with them, even though you also have no fucking clue who Theo is. There’s just something so freeing in tequila-induced joy. 

“Um, the host of this party?” Glittery Lipgloss says. “Oh my God, girl, he’s like, one of the players for Bastard.” 

“The fuck is Bastard?” Another girl asks, adjusting her blue minidress. 

“The soccer team!” Glittery Lipgloss is too drunk to be fed up, but you’re sure she would be rolling her eyes if she could. 

“I didn’t know we had soccer players here. I only saw baseball players.” Blue Minidress frowns, before adding, “I would totally fuck one of the baseball boys, though. No preference whatsoever. Matter of fact, I could take the whole team.” 

Harper’s Bazaar laughs. “What about you, [Name]? Who are you taking home tonight?” 

Before you can think of something to say, Glittery Lipgloss groans. “Oh my God, she has a boyfriend.” She looks at you for confirmation. You don’t give her any, but thankfully Blue Minidress has her own insight to add to this conversation. 

“So what the fuck does that have to do with her question? [Name], who are you taking home tonight?” 

Nobody. Out of every party you’ve gone to this past month, you went back home, completely and utterly alone each and every time. It’s not even because nobody offered — they have — but because no matter how lonely you may get or feel, you don’t like strangers in your space. It took you three months of dating Rin to let him into the penthouse you were originally staying in, and that was with you being in love with him. 

Once again, you’re saved from answering when someone behind you goes, “[Name]?” 

You turn around, only to come face to face with Yoichi Isagi. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the rescue you thought it was. Drunk You can’t hold back your frown when you see him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo shirt and chinos. He looks perfectly business casual and could pass off as an off-the-clock investment banker instead of the world class athlete you’ve heard he is. Then you let out a little snort of laughter, which only makes him look more confused. You don’t want to tell him that it’s kind of funny how normal he looks. 

Not in a bad way. You’re surrounded by models for practically the whole day. Looking unattainably hot or having ethereal beauty is the one non-negotiable job requirement. Even Rin, with his stupidly long lower lashes and impossibly high cheekbones and his pretty boy resting sulking face, is serving standards some male models can’t achieve. Isagi looks like the type of guy you would have a crush on if the two of you were completely normal and attended regular high school together. 

But that’s not the reality you’re living in. Right now, you’re getting drunk with girls you don’t know, and every night, you’re making headlines. He’s a professional athlete that everyone at this table would gladly fuck just for a chance to be declared social media’s favorite WAG of the Week. The both of you could have your pick of anyone at this party, but you refuse to let anyone in, and you think Isagi might be one of those intense athletes who only care about their sport.

If that’s the case, he’s doing every girl a favor by not pretending he can commit to anything but soccer. You know someone who could use a few pointers. 

“Hi,” you mumble, and then you want to slap yourself because why the fuck are you acting like you’re nervous? But for some reason, you feel like you're a kid caught with their grimy hand in the cookie jar, like you’re doing something wrong.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

“Well, it’s Kenny’s birthday party. Of course, I’d be here.” You cross your arms against your chest, feeling like you have something to prove. Before Yukimiya became his teammate, Kenyu was your friend first. Like, real friend, not just someone you leave supportive comments on their Instagram post type of friend. 

Isagi actually smiles when he hears that. “Funny. I think everyone but Yukimiya actually wants to be here.” 

You sober up a bit when you hear that. “Yeah, I couldn’t find him anywhere.” Not that you looked very hard. The minute you found this table of girls, you didn’t bother exploring the rest of the mansion. 

“He was upstairs with some of the guys. You know that he, uh, doesn’t really like these types of parties.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You don’t seem like the type to like these parties either.” If he was anyone else, you’d be saying this to flirt. You’re honestly not sure what your intention behind this comment was, either. You’re too drunk to decide if you wanted it to be an insult (some way to defend Yukimiya’s behavior?) or just you trying to make conversation for once (you’re not normally one for small talk). 

“Caught me.” Isagi smiles easily. From now and thinking back to Yukimiya’s birthday lunch, Isagi is rarely not smiling. You wonder if he means it. Surrounded by people who only let you drink with them because being seen with you elevates their own status, you decide that the answer to that is a probably not. “I was about to head out before I thought I saw you, and I wanted to come by and…” For a second, he pauses to choose the right words to say. “Just wanted to see if it really was you.”

“Well, you saw me. Guess your business is done here.” Then you swiftly turn your back to him, as if to abruptly end the conversation. Instead, you’re drunker than you realize, and your heel ends up being wedged deeper into the grass than you expected, and you lose your balance. You think you might fall, which would be so embarrassing, but maybe not as embarrassing as what actually ends up happening.

What actually ends up happening is that Isagi is quick to wrap his arm around your abdomen, pulling you close to him as he attempts to keep you steady and upright. The girls looked shocked, but then they burst into another round of giggles, and since you’re not joining in the laughter, all you can think about is how annoying they are. You squirm around in his grasp, ignoring the whiff of fresh laundry you get from being all up in his personal space (not by choice!!!; he’s the one that pulled you in, after all!), and he releases you. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks you. It’s hard to glare at him when he looks so genuinely concerned. 

“Never better.” 

“Do you have a ride home?” 

What does it matter to you? Is what you want to say. 

“I’ll call an Uber.” You lie, hoping that this will end the conversation once and for all. Seriously, Isagi just killed the whole vibe of the party for you. You want to go back to drinking. 

“But I thought you didn’t do Ubers.” When Isagi calls you out on your bullshit, you soften momentarily. You almost forgot that he heard about your weird thing of having strangers know your home address. Then, you go back to giving him the cold shoulder. Sometimes, it’s a warm and gooey feeling to be known. Right now, you want to drown your sorrows in tequila and be showered with fake affection by girls who probably don’t even like you sober. You didn’t come to this party to be known. You came here for revenge. 

(You’re not going to acknowledge how drinking your sadness away isn’t necessarily showing up Rin, but for nearly an hour straight, you hadn’t thought about him, and that’s good enough.) 

When you have no response to that (wit doesn’t come easy when you’re in the condition you’re in right now), Isagi looks at you imploringly. 

“Let me take you home.” 

You shake your head childishly, almost saying nuh-uh. “Just because you don’t like this party doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m staying right here.” 

He finally frowns. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, then I’ll take you home.”

“I’m with my friends right now. Leave me alone.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Which friend is going to make sure you get home safely? Yukimiya already left early.” Despite the two of you not knowing what the other is thinking, you both give wry smiles about that statement for the same reason. The party is still going on strong, despite the guest of honor not wanting to show his face and leaving early. 

“These are my best friends.” You gesture to the trio of girls you know nothing about, besides the fact that they can keep up with your drinking habits. They all smile at Isagi, who waves back before turning his attention back to you.

“Really?” He asks. “What’re their names again?”

No one has anything to say to that, especially you. When the silence gets too awkward, Isagi clears his throat and also puts his foot down.

“I’m taking you home, [Name].” 

You look at the trio of strangers you just spent hours with. Harper’s Bazaar shrugs, and the other two look away. The sting of not knowing who they are, despite them obviously having enough notoriety to be invited, makes your “best friends” not your friends anymore. Whatever. 

“Fine.” You grumble, following Isagi to his car. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Is what he asks you as he signals to make a turn. The clicking of the turn signal is the only thing that fills the silence in the car. 

No. 

Sometimes, it’s fun in the moment, but that’s only when you’re drunk enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re having a good time. You’re more like Yukimiya (and — gross — Isagi) than they know; the whole “It Girl dominates the party scene” vibe you’ve got going on… It’s just bullshit that your PR team mixes together to get people talking. The high of being adored by everyone in a room vanishes almost immediately the minute you go home and wash off your makeup. In the bright lights of your bathroom, you stare at the sad, lonely girl in the mirror. It’s too dark outside for you to see anything out the window, but you lean your head against the cool glass, and before you know it, you’re waking up…

To Isagi groping you?

You’re groggy and confused and trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but Yoichi Isagi is definitely all up on you. You’re shocked, honestly. He looks like such a sweet guy! No wonder he was so pushy in getting you home.

He’s holding you in some awkward side hug, and he’s patting down your waist, trying to slip his fingers through the fabric of your dress, and finally, because he must be a novice-level pervert who doesn’t know the first thing about female anatomy, you speak up. 

“Gross! You can’t even feel up a girl properly! No wonder you take advantage of drunk, vulnerable girls!” 

“Ah!” He jerks back, shocked that you’re awake. Serves the pervert right. He should be backing up. You took a month of kickboxing classes (your modeling agency thought it would be the next big thing, since all the Victoria Secret models kickbox — they were wrong). “I-I wasn’t feeling you up!” 

“Then why were your hands all over me?” 

“I was looking for your key! You were asleep, and you looked like you needed it, so I just carried you to your door, but it’s locked.”

Oh. Likely story. You’re not letting him off the hook just yet. 

“Obviously my front door would be locked, dumbass. Who doesn’t lock their house?” You point to the perfectly trimmed hedges by your door. “Key’s in the bushes.”

Since you’re making no moves to get down on your knees and rifle through the bushes, Isagi sighs and does it himself. When he holds up the key, you nod in thanks, take it, and then proceed to unlock the door using your fingerprint. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“What?” You repeat back, innocently. 

“You didn’t even need the key to unlock the door!”

“Yes, Isagi. Modern technology is something, isn’t it?” And because you feel kind of bad, you offer him the chance to wash up before driving back. 

“You’re really something, you know that?” Isagi says from the kitchen sink. You’re sitting on a stool by the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing bad.” He clarifies. “It’s just… Rin’s a pretty private person. We always wondered what his girlfriend must be like. Sorry.” He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

“How do you know that?” You’ve been racking your brain, wondering if Yuki spilled your secret accidentally. Or — even worse — Rin himself confirmed it. Rin never even told anyone explicitly that the two of you were dating, so it’s not plausible that he would go blab about the breakup. 

“Well, I didn’t really know for sure until I drove you home that first time.” He admits. “I just thought you made a weird face when I mentioned Rin during lunch, and then you started acting funny afterwards. Just had a hunch, that’s all.” 

Great. So, Isagi, who’s basically a stranger to you, could read you to filth. Is there anyone else that you haven’t been fooling? How embarrassing. Being perceived sucks. 

You don’t say anything else. You can hear Isagi mumbling about something, and you make a half-hearted noise in reply, but you’re sleepy and drunk and coming to the realization that you can’t keep fooling everyone around for long. There’s no point in dancing around the topic of your breakup. It’s getting tiring, anyway. 

It is pretty exhausting to be pining after someone who’s not coming back. 

Because that’s why you’re trying so hard to keep the breakup a secret. Partly for pride, but mostly because… You’re hoping that after learning everything there is to know about you, Rin Itoshi wouldn’t go so far to cut you so deeply by leaving you. Right? He understood your level of loneliness like no one else, and he related to it. For the first time in both of your lives, the two of you suddenly found the right person to fill in all the empty spaces. 

And then he left, and the emptiness just continues to grow in infinite amounts.

You groan as you move around, only to find that you’re moving on top of your bed. You’re tucked into your sheets, and your hair is splayed across your pillow. You turn your head and see a shadowy figure exiting out your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving, too?” 

Your throat is dry, and the words come out small. You hate this feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability, and the figure pauses in his steps. 

He hushes you gently. “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a long night.” 

“Fine. Don’t stay. I don’t care.” You burrow yourself further into your blankets. 

“Do you really want me to stay?” 

At one in the morning, covered in the darkness of your bedroom, you turn every shadow into Rin Itoshi. You don’t know what you mumble in response, but you know that whatever you said, it’s directed towards him.

[thefandomenchantress]

DRDT Character Popularity Poll Results

The results have been tallied! It's finally time to find out who the most popular DRDT Character really is! (...According to this specific format on this specific website).

For those unaware, this poll was conducted by asking people to write down their top 5 favorite DRDT characters in no particular order. Each time that character's name was written, it counted as one vote towards them. And, without further ado, these were the results!

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18th Place: Elliot Cuevas/Felicity Giles/Unnamed Classmate

Elliot, Felicity, and Unnamed Classmate managed to receive exactly 1 vote each, putting them in last place. I can't say I'm too surprised, since there are so many excellent characters in the main cast to choose from. Still, Felicity, a character mentioned only in an ask game, managing to tie a character with a whole-ass MV dedicated to them as well as a character featured in two bonus episodes, is pretty impressive! So props to her!

(Someone wrote 'Relaxation Room Fish' in one of their slots, which I considered including to be funny, but I decided not to. One day the minnows will get the bonus episode they deserve).

17th Place: Mai Akasaki

Mai managed a whole 5 votes. I was a little surprised by that, since she only really has a hypothetical personality, but hooray for Mai! She's the most popular non-main cast member. I can totally see why people would be intrigued by the mystery surrounding her.

16th Place: MonoTV

MonoTV, self-proclaimed most popular DRDT character, is the least popular main cast member. How sad. With only 6 votes, it barely outranks Mai, and ties with her if you count Unnamed Classmate and Mai to be the same person. While it's silly emoticons and lore implications won a few people's hearts, it still can't compete with the human main cast members.

15th Place: Hu Jing

...I doubt many people are surprised by this. While Hu may have been one of the characters helped most by my decision to make people write down their top five characters instead of only their favorite, she still couldn't gather enough votes to get out of last place within the (human) main cast members.

Hu gathered 26 votes. While that came pretty close to 14th place's number, she ended up here. Like I said earlier, this isn't surprising. Hu's behavior is supposed to be flawed, but unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be the kind of behavior that most people enjoy watching as much as the more cartoonish character's antics. Still, she has her fans (including me, in case you couldn't tell haha).

Well, if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that Hu should definitely slap the shit out of David next chapter. /j

14th Place: Min Jeung

Min barely managed to beat out Hu for 14th place with 28 votes. Her low placement, sadly, also isn't a surprise.

Min died in chapter one, and her screentime being limited definitely hurts her here. Not only did she have only a few mentions in chapter 2, but she also didn't haunt the narrative quite like Xander did. Xander managed to leave quite an impact on both David and Teruko. And to put it bluntly, Xander is a conventionally attractive male character with a ton of screentime during his time alive. With the way fandom is, he was almost definitely going to have more staying power than a female culprit, especially one with as little screentime as Min.

That doesn't mean she has no fans, though! There's a ton of cool Min content on this website, and she is one of few characters I have never seen anyone say they vehemently dislike. And how could they? She's such a charming little bookworm.

13th Place: Arturo Giles

Arturo received 33 votes. His relatively low placement isn't exactly something I didn't see coming, seeing as he spent all of chapter 2 stalking J and being generally pretty creepy.

That's not to say he's devoid of charm, of course. His backstory was also expanded on, and I don't think we'll ever forget "Shut your whore mouth!!!!". Arturo's a pretty interesting character, but until we see his full potential in chapter 3, this position in the ranking is pretty understandable. At least Aceturo was confirmed canon in the last five minutes of chapter 2 (/j).

12th Place: Levi Fontana

Oh, Levi. Such an interesting little guy who may or may not have committed multiple felonies.

Levi received 41 votes, beating out Arturo by a good margin. He seems to have gained a little popularity after his backstory was expanded on at the end of chapter 2, and I'm sure we're all excited to see where his character goes in chapter 3! Well, if he survives, but I refuse to admit him not surviving is a legitimate possibility haha.

Overall a decent showing, about what I expected for him! Our next character, however...

11th Place: Xander Matthews/Nico Hakobyan

Attentive readers may have noticed that, despite there being 16 main cast members not including MonoTV, there were only 15 slots when we started ranking them.

And that's because, against all odds, Nico and Xander managed to tie each other at 44 votes each, 3 votes above Levi.

Not only am I a little disappointed I managed to get a tie in these results, but I'm also rather surprised! I was always under the impression Xander was a rather popular character, so I was fully prepared for him to break the top ten. Seeing him underperform like this wasn't what I expected. I suppose the popularity of Xanvid may have always been what carried Xander's popularity, not Xander himself. After all, one of the few things keeping Xander relevant right now in canon is David.

As for Nico, they performed closer to my expectations. I was prepared for them to be somewhere in the middle ground when it came to popularity. I suppose them being alive longer than Xander was evened out by them almost committing murder...Except Xander also did that, but that's a whole other can of worms. A shame neither they nor Xander can make it to the top ten, but maybe next time.

10th Place: J Moreno

Woohoo, J makes it to the top ten! She got a total of 47 votes, and was one of the hardest to count since she has so many name variations haha.

J managed a pretty good showing. With more backstory details and her based-ness during the trial, I'm not surprised she was able to score a top ten spot. As someone who thinks non-violent tsunderes are very fun and amusing, I totally get the appeal.

9th Place: Eden Tobisa

Eden managed to also make it into the top ten with 49 votes, beating J by only 2 votes.

I'll be honest, I'm pretty impressed with Eden. I think she probably benefitted from the top five rule, since she got a lot of points from the 2nd to 5th slots. While the first slot didn't have to be your favorite character, most people probably did put their favorite there. So even if she isn't always people's most favorite, how could they possibly dislike such a sweet character?

8th Place: Arei Nageishi

Next up, Arei Nageishi, the Ultimate Bowler with 63 votes. That's quite a gap between her and Eden. But they still ended up next to each other, which can only mean one thing: Areden is canon /j.

Arei doing well is something I expected, since she's a bit of a wild card. If you like jerk characters, she's got you covered. If you like nice characters, she tried so hard to be good at the end. If you like crying, she died before she could achieve her dreams. Truly a character that pleases everyone, haha.

7th Place: David Chiem

...Holy shit. Seriously? Only 7th place? He barely made it into the top half of the main cast? Damn.

David got 64 votes, only beating Arei by one measly vote. Gotta say, David barely getting to the top half of the main cast in this list surprises me. I mean, he's so popular, right?!? Everyone was so obsessed with him right after chapter 2 ended! Who knows, maybe the hype died down a bit after people got used to his new act--I mean totally 100% real personality reveal.

6th Place: Rose Lacroix

After David shit-talked Rose, I'm sure we're all very amused to see her beating him, haha.

Rose gathered 66 votes, scoring 6th place by only 2 votes. Rather impressive, I didn't expect to see her up so high, but I'm pleased! After her little angsty speech during the second trial, I have to say I'm more endeared to her as well, so it's nice to see her defy my expectations. But then again, she's yet another character I've never seen a single person say they particularly dislike, so maybe I should've expected this.

5th Place: Whit Young

Whit makes it to the top five! Yay! He got here with 69 votes, a number I'm sure he'd have at least one joke about.

This is pretty expected, since I think most people are aware Whit is decently popular. A seemingly happy jokester who's secretly depressed is an archetype that usually endears a lot of people, in my experience.

Though I would like to give a shout-out to the person who wrote: "1. Whit, 2. Whit (mastermind version), 3. Whit (traitor version), 4. Whit (psychotic kanade version), 5. Whit (pinkie pie version)". I considered counting it as only 1 vote, since voting for the same character five times is against the rules, but I decided it was too funny to not count and counted it as 5 instead. So If you want to get technical, Whit is technically only 6th, without me breaking the rules. Sorry Rose.

4th Place: Charles Cuevas

See, my intervention allowed Whit to be next to Charles, it was meant to be. /j

Charles got 71 votes. I expected him to do well, but almost on the podium of top three? Wow! Congratulations, Charles. Like I said with Arei, people who like jerk characters and those who like nice characters are both appeased by characters like this, so it makes sense that he's rather popular. Especially since he has a bunch of cute sprites.

3rd Place: Veronika Grebenshchikova

Our top three begins with...Veronika, who got 72 votes! She barely managed to get past Charles by a singular vote!

I'm impressed with Veronika! I knew she was popular, but not top three popular! I suppose she is basically every Danganronpa fan to the extreme, so it makes sense most people like her at least a little bit. Not only does she have a super awesome design, but an interesting dynamic with many cast members as well.

2nd Place: Ace Markey

HOLY SHIT???? SECOND?!?!

Ace received a total of 77 votes, beating Veronika by a solid number, though not a crazy amount. And I'm...Super impressed with this! I knew more people started to like Ace after he died, but second? Wow! I guess I can never claim he's not one of the top three most popular characters ever again, haha.

Though...Since I hosted this poll, and I'm an Ace Markey-centric account, I should recognize Ace probably had a liiiiittle bit of an unfair advantage, since many of the people guaranteed to see the post the poll was in had to like him at least a little. Whoops! If a completely neutral party hosted this poll, maybe he would've ended up losing to Veronika or Charles, but I suppose we'll never know.

Anyways, Ace probably benefitted the least from this format, since he took an early lead in the first slot only to get closer to the others as time went on. A stark contrast from our champion, the most well-liked DRDT character...

1st Place: Teruko Tawaki

Congratulations, Teruko! She won by a HUGE landslide, getting a whopping 104 votes and blowing everyone else out of the water!

Teruko started out well, but not super well during the first slot, only to consistently get high numbers all the way through the 2nd to 5th slots. She was probably the character who benefitted the most from my top five system. While she may not be everyone's favorite, a lot of people still really like her! Making her the most well-liked, popular DRDT Character!

Since you see so many people saying that Teruko is hated on too much, it's nice to see her being able to pull out a victory on this one! There were 185 voters, which means more than half of the people who participated wrote down Teruko as one of their top five favorites. Her luck truly pulled through on this one!

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And that's the end! Sorry this took so long, schoolwork has been mean to me lately. That's the reason I haven't posted in general that much either. But the results are finally complete! I hope you enjoyed this little experiment, and one of your top five did well!

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 1

Surprise!!! I have six chapters of this and really need to start getting it out, so I figured with Act 1 ending last week and my backlog on this and Of Butterflies and Backstrokes (Olympic Swimmer) being so low thanks to me trying to the Halloween themed sequel to Icarus (Metal Band) that I would put this out until I build that back up and lower the amount of backlog this one has.

Summary: Eddie Munson is a in bind, set to go on a three month reunion tour, he is in need of nanny for his twin girls Janice and Joan since his partner, Ethan blew up their lives a year ago. Enter nanny extraordinaire, Steve Harrington. Both men struggle with treading the line between boss/nanny and their strong attraction to each other. Will Eddie learn to trust again? Will Steve realize that he was always meant to be right there by Eddie's side?

~

Eddie hung up the phone with a sigh. He wanted to do the tour, because of course he did. But he also had two very rambunctious little girls now. Eddie was a good dad, but he wasn’t the nurturing kind the way Ethan was. But sometime in the last year, Ethan had changed.

He had grown distant and cold, going as far as yelling at the girls which he never used to do. So Eddie quit producing music to give Ethan some much needed time for himself. Fat lot of good that did.

Because apparently Ethan was banging...well, just about everyone but Eddie’s friends. The pool boy, the guy who delivered their food, the cleaning lady, their personal trainer, hell even the barely legal dog walker got more of his husband’s dick than Eddie did.

Which he didn’t find out, by the way. Ethan had told him after handing him divorce papers and legally renouncing parental rights to Joan and Janice. He threw it in Eddie’s face the numerous affairs he had. The one thing he wouldn’t tell him was why.

Why was Ethan so unhappy when Eddie had done everything right?

He buried his head in hands. Janice and Joan were only four and they had been adopted at birth. They never met the mother and were only told that she didn’t want them and never wanted to see them ever again.

So how could Ethan look at those two little angels and decide the same?

Eddie was heartbroken and not ready to move on. So he had agreed to the tour as a way to cope with the sudden explosion of his life. His friends knew Ethan had left, but they didn’t know the extent of his ex’s destruction.

He thought about taking the girls with him, but they were too little. They wouldn’t have fun and would be more terrified then thrilled. So live-in nanny it was.

Thankfully he had a month to find someone who would cook and clean and watch the girls. Especially after having to fire all of his help in the wake of Ethan’s destruction.

He had this.

~

Eddie did not in fact have this. He only had three more days until he left and he was at his wit’s end. He had rejected candidate after candidate for a myriad of reasons. One only wanted part-time despite the ad before a live in nanny. Another said she was strict disciplinarian and thought spanking was the only way to teach a child. And even another just gave off weird vibes.

So he called the agency one more time.

“You’ve gone through all of our female nannies,” the woman huffed on the other end of the line. “We only have male nannies left, surly you don’t–”

“Just send the best male nanny you’ve got!” Eddie barked. “I don’t care about gender for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not sure–” the woman protested but Eddie hung up on her.

He didn’t have time to listen to whatever excuse she was going to come up with. He was running out of time before the tour and needed someone. Anyone.

He got a call back five minutes later from another woman telling him that they would be sending over their best male nanny at 2pm if that was acceptable.

He sighed with relief. “Yes, that will be perfect. The girls will be down for their nap then.”

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Munson,” she said cheerfully. “The gentleman we are sending over, his name is Steve Harrington, and I sincerely hope he will be a good fit for you.”

“You and me both,” Eddie sighed again. “You and me both.”

~

When Steve got to the house, he would have liked to have said that he wasn’t impressed because he had seen dozens of large houses and even larger sprawling mansions in his time as a full time nanny, but he was. Very much so.

It wasn’t a gaudy modern monstrosity for starters. It liked a Victorian era manor that had been modernized for living in today. It gave off a spooky vibe, but in a fun way and not a horror movie way. Like the Addams family or the Munsters kind of vibe.

He really dug it.

He went up and knocked on the door. It swung open almost immediately to reveal a pretty, petite woman with sparkling green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. She had a sweet smile.

He knew this wasn’t the mother, the file said that it was a single father of twin girls. A rockstar of some sort, though Steve didn’t recognize the name. This must be some kind of servant or PA or something.

“Hi, I’m Steven Harrington,” he greeted putting out his hand for her to shake. “I have a two o’clock appointment with Eddie Munson about the nanny position.”

Her smile widened, dimpling her cheeks. “Hi, I’m Chrissy Cunningham, I’m Corroded Coffin’s manager. Come on in, he’s waiting for you.”

Steve followed her through the house. It was just as impressive as the outside. It was beautifully decorated in dark browns, reds, and black. God, he hoped he got the job. He could really see himself living here.

She opened the door to the office allowed him to walk through, closing it behind him. Which normally wouldn’t have been a problem for Steve but now he was in a room with the hottest guy he had ever seen in his life and he really didn’t need an erection at a job interview.

Eddie looked up, and yup. Steve was done for. He had the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen outside of a Disney cartoon.

“Mr. Munson?” he said, reaching out for a handshake, mustering up every ounce of professionalism he had. “Steven Harrington, how do you do? You can call me Steve.”

Eddie grinned back. “Hey, Steve. Thanks for coming at such a short notice. I understand you’ve been brought up to speed on everything I’ll be needed you to do?”

Steve crossed his legs and put his hands on his lap. Shit, even his voice was sexy as fuck.

“Yes, I’ll be watching the children twenty-four/seven,” Steve recited dutifully, “with doing all of the cooking and some of the cleaning.”

“That’s right,” Eddie said. “That normally wouldn’t be the case, but I’ve had to recently fire all of my staff. In fact, if you are hired on, you’ll be working with Chrissy over the next couple of months to help bring staff back on. I would be putting a lot of trust in you not to fuck me over.”

Steve nodded. It was a bit like Robin’s period dramas. He would be running the household while Eddie was away.

“Wouldn’t Chrissy be needed on tour with you?” he asked, not sure what her role actually was.

Eddie shook his head. “She usually does, but I need her here to help to get this house running again. It was hard enough trying to explain to the girls why everyone had to leave. Especially their other dad. She just has her own place and a very demanding job. And the other people I trust with my kids are going on tour with me, so...”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve said huffing out a chuckle. “I’m willing and able to take the job. There is just one more thing we have to do first.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think I offered you the job yet.”

Steve burst out laughing. “No, I don’t suppose you did. But you really should. I’m really good with kids, I’m great cook, my references are impeccable, I have a degree in early child development, and you’re desperately out of time.”

“I noticed that all your previous families had older kids,” Eddie said picking up Steve’s resume. “Can you explain that?”

“Yes,” Steve said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, despite being practically perfect in every way,” Eddie huffed out a small laugh, “if I was a woman I would be the most sought after nanny in the whole god damned state. Even more so if I was older fifty. But because I’m a young man not even thirty yet and all they see is a predator.”

Eddie winced. He held up a finger. He picked up his phone and called the agency. “Hello? Hi Nancy, this is Eddie Munson. Yes, I will be taking Steve Harrington on as my nanny. Thank you so much for sending him over. Can you tell me who it was the first person I spoke to this morning? Yes, yes that’s the one. Kindly inform her that pushing harmful stereotypes only makes you look stupid. Mhmm. Yes. Yes. I want her fired. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Steve looked at him in awe. “Oh wow.”

Eddie grinned at him but before he could open his mouth to say something more, Chrissy poked her head in. “Sorry to disturb you but guess who woke up?”

“Janice?” Eddie replied with a fond smile.

“And guess who woke up her sister because she wanted someone to play with?” Chrissy said.

“Also Janice.” He sighed and turned to Steve. “You want to meet my little monsters?”

Steve smiled and stood up. “That was the one thing I was going to suggest we do before you hire me, is meet the girls. But having met their dad, I can already tell they’re going to be a handful.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested. But Chrissy laughed.

“Come on,” he said grumpily, “let’s go see the munchkins.”

Chrissy opened the door all of the way and Eddie and Steve followed her out. They reached the kitchen and there seating at a table were two of the cutest kids Steve had ever worked for. They both had light, curly brown hair and deep brown eyes, but that was where their similarities ended.

The one of the right had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail with a denim overalls over a pink shirt. The overalls had a cute pink kangaroo on the pocket on the front. The girl on the left had her hair carefully braided and wore light blue shirt and a black pleated skirt. They were both munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“Meet Janice and Joan,” Eddie said brightly. “Janice is the one on the right and the other is Joan. Janice is the oldest by seven minutes and she never lets Joan forget it.”

Joan stuck her tongue out at her dad around her sandwich and then went back to munching on it. Janice looked over at Steve and cocked her head to the side.

“Who’s that, Daddy?” she asked. And suddenly Steve was struck by how much the little girl acted like her dad.

“Girls,” Eddie said sternly, “do you remember when I said that Daddy was going to be gone for three months and you were going to be looked after by a new friend?”

Joan scrunched her nose and Steve was endeared. “Is he like one of those nannies that were so mean to us?”

“No, of course not, Joanie,” Eddie said, “not a nanny...” He looked to Steve for help.

“I’m what’s called an au pair,” he said brightly. “I’m here to watch over you and do a little of the cooking and cleaning, too. A nanny wouldn’t do that right?”

Joan and Janice shared a glance. And Steve was struck for the first time that they were really were twins. They acted so differently that he had already put them in separate boxes. But they moved in unison as they both shrugged.

“I guess not,” Janice huffed. “Are you going to be fun like Chrissy or strict like Daddy?”

The adults laughed as Steve walked over to the table. “My hope is to be somewhere in the middle. But I guess we’ll just have to see.”

He turned to Eddie and Chrissy. “If it’s all right, I’d like to get started now, give the girls time to get use to my presence while you’re still here, Eddie. That way we can smooth out any real problems before you go.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a glance.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “that’ll be fine. Great even. I’ll give you a couple of hours to get your things and come back here. Would you be okay making us dinner?”

Steve beamed at him. “Sure, give me an idea of what you guys like and I’ll find something to make you. Let’s consider it part of the interview.”

Eddie smiled back. “Well I think you have yourself a deal.”

Steve and Eddie shook hands.

This was either going to the best decision of Eddie’s life or his worst. Currently the jury and his brain were still out on that one.

~

Part 2 Part 3

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[minkdelovely]

love and power

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chapter one

“don’t call me by my name.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of reader’s demon form, Alastor uses the chain and withholding your breakfast as punishment, Alastor takes pleasure in your fear, power dynamics, reader worries over being punished, lecherous demons in an alley, non-consensual grab and lick of the face, graphic violence, murder, blood, teeth as a weapon, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Why didn’t you bring me a boy to play with?” Niffty pouted, her little foot stomping the carpet. 

She hadn’t been pleased when Alastor broke the news that he had acquired a new maid to help her out around the hotel, and glared at you past his legs. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her tantrum. You still weren’t sure how to feel about this Demon who had taken over your contract. While he had been pleasant enough at the Emporium after Rosie signed you over, he hadn’t spoken a word to you while leading you through the streets of Hell to bring you here. 

“I’m afraid you’ve answered your own question, Niffty dear. Had I brought you a toy, I’m not so sure you’d sustain your productivity. Which is precisely why I brought help.” He turned to look back at you for the first time then, your chest tightening from the eye contact. Alastor maintained contact as he continued, “Sylvie will maintain my quarters for now so as not to take away from your duties, but once the hotel gets busier I expect you to play nice and share. Besides, she’ll need training before we just let her loose around the hotel! We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He smirked at you and broke his gaze, pivoting to make his way up the stairs. Before the others could get a chance to come talk to you, an invisible tug was at your neck and you hurried to catch up with Alastor.

“I’ll show Sylvie to her room so she can settle in,” Alastor said loud enough for everyone, still facing forward as he continued up the staircase.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That had been a week ago.

Everyone else had been fairly welcoming, Charlie being the kindest. She and her girlfriend Vaggie had made the most effort getting to know you, which made sense being they were in charge of the hotel. Though he wasn’t rude, Husker only spoke to you in short quips. You tried not to dwell on the pity in his eyes any time you crossed by the bar in the lobby.

Angel Dust had been nice too, the few times you had managed to see him and always at the bar, joking amicably that you could almost pass as twins despite quite obvious differences. He was a decent amount taller and slimmer than you for starters. Hell seemed to have turned him into a spider of sorts, and if you had to take a guess, you had spawned here as some kind of milky-colored reptile. No scales, but there was a faint pearlescent pattern of something close to that covering your neck, back, and extremities. 

It was still jarring to see your reflection in the mirror. There were parts you still recognized, though even those features had felt Hell’s touch. To your relief, your face still looked more or less the same. Nearly Human passing, until your newly-added nictitating membrane blinked right-to-left. Though your red pupils and pink sclera were also a dead giveaway (haha, get it?). Something you weren’t sure you’d ever adjust to, but hey, you earned it right?

You had just finished getting into the black collared dress Alastor demanded you wore for work when a dark shadow pooled under your feet. Complete darkness and seconds later, you were standing in the parlor of Alastor’s suite. 

“[Y/N],” Alastor’s low, static voice lingered on it, red eyes boring into you. Something he had gleaned very quickly in the week was how unsettled you got when he used your real name, and enjoyed the opportunities to use it. “I find tardiness to be an irksome trait. Do not make it a habit. Am I understood?”

You fought a grimace, loathing his condescension. The Radio Demon’s smile threatened to tear as he watched you struggle to maintain composure. You hadn’t succeeded completely, but you were making some progress.

“Well?” he goaded.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to say evenly, hands fidgeting behind your back.

You knew better now than to play into his tricks. He was trying to get you to react, a sport he took great pleasure in succeeding at. So when he wasn’t ordering you around, he was complaining about the look on your face. Sullen, petulant, ghastly, he had used all kinds of names. And when you had gotten cheeky with him about it on your second day after hours of scrubbing the area rug in his room that he had dirtied on purpose…

The slight ache in the back of your neck served as a reminder of that. Sadistically, the chain was the only true cold you’ve felt since spawning in Hell and it seemed to burn more than acid rain. It wasn’t hard to remember the weight of it, the sweaty feeling of it on your skin. Alastor had enjoyed it all immensely. 

Denying him his fun in pissing you off probably wasn’t good in the long term, but you had to toe the line in order to find the limit. You wanted to learn as much as you could about the creature who owned you. Eternity was never-ending, but learning how to cope was all you could try to do. Being moved to this hotel had turned out to be a true blessing all things considered, so if navigating Alastor’s moods and demands was the price, you would have to pay it.

“Good!” The expression on Alastor’s face quickly relaxed into a more pleasant one. “Now hurry up and run into town to fetch my dry cleaning, and bring me something from that new butcher shop. I’ll leave it to you to decide, I so love surprises! Skipping breakfast will serve as your warning for being tardy. See you in an hour, dear.”

With that, he disappeared before you in a quick melt of shadow.

He was so. Fucking. Annoying. But you wouldn’t risk throwing a tantrum. For all you knew, he was still somewhere in the room, and honestly, you didn’t have time to waste. The walk from here to Cannibal Town was about twenty minutes and Alastor had summoned you before you had been able to put on your shoes, a five-minute setback at least. He had also made no mention of how you were expected to pay for any of this… 

Time to perform a fucking miracle, you thought to yourself, and made your way for the door.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor watched as you took a deep breath and smoothed your pale pink hair before leaving his room. The small click of the door locking echoed in the silence. He re-materialized near the large window that faced the city, grinning when he finally saw you walking off the premises at a hurried pace. You were so close to coming loose, so close to breaking that unbecoming pout. How he loathed it. He would rid you of the self-pity you wallowed in, even if it drove you to madness. A chuckle escaped him at the thought.

When you spoke back to him last week it had been such a thrill. Alastor closed his eyes, reliving the memory. He had allowed himself a moment to enjoy your insolence before inverting it to fear. Now that was a face he could get used to. The cold sweat on your skin, your red-pink eyes wide with shock. The sound of your hands and knees hitting the floor was music to his ears! Though he would never forget the gasp that caught in your throat from the shock.

He didn’t even need to raise his voice when he told you never to speak to him that way again, a direction you had perhaps taken too much to heart. Then again, you didn’t come across as a fighter. No, you were much too apathetic for that, at least for now.

And you had smelled so lovely in your fear. The usual floral sweetness of your scent had turned warm and nutty. For a moment he was certain he had picked up a hint of bitterness before you had mouthed off, but it disappeared so quickly once you were frightened that he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he wanted to smell it again.

With some luck, that would be quite soon; a little over an hour now if all goes according to plan. The Radio Demon had never expected you to return within the given timeframe.

Setting you up to fail wasn’t fair, but it was certainly fun.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Donner’s Butchery had been absolutely packed, but you managed to purchase the last available pound of liver. Their selection had been so low that you were more concerned with walking out of there without anything at all. Whether or not Alastor would enjoy it was a matter reserved for your return, though you hoped he would since you had to open a tab to get it. 

Thankfully, the dry cleaning had been settled upfront so you were actually starting to feel a little optimistic about making it back in time. In fact, you were now determined to be back in time out of spite. Imagining the veiled irritation on Alastor’s face when you arrived within the hour kept you distracted from the hunger pain in your stomach, and your pace subconsciously picked up. The high was short-lived though once your mind wandered to what other tasks Alastor would surely have lined up once you handed him his clothes and liver.

And what if he hated liver? You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even know what kind it was if he asked about it, which he probably would if only to watch you squirm trying to answer. The hotel wasn’t too far off now and you stepped into an alley to search the bag for a receipt, hoping that the butcher had been thorough enough to write it down. You found the receipt taped to the butcher paper, the words DEER LIVER scribbled with thick, black marker. 

“Thank god,” you sighed quietly, relieved to have peace of mind and placed it back in the bag. You were just about to step back onto the sidewalk when you heard laughter behind you.

“God ain’t here, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed?”

You turned to see two demons, already standing much closer to you than you’d like. In your desperation to check the bag, you hadn’t heard them approaching. Something that should have embarrassed you, given the sour smell wafting off their clothes, but there wasn’t time for that. You took a quick glance at the clocktower.

Five minutes.

Of course it was… Even if you ran, you’d probably only get to the gate at best and knowing Alastor, that wouldn’t count.

“You got somewhere to be? Hand over the bag and maybe we’ll let you go,” the taller one continued, his plump sidekick snickering, both moving to cage you in.

God damn it… You were so close. So fucking close. Not only that, but were you were hungry and exhausted. All you had done this week was try your best to manage Alastor’s impossible expectations for what? An easier eternity? The creeps standing near you were right, God wasn’t here. This is Hell. Suffering eternal. 

The sanctuary you thought you’d found at the hotel was anything but. Its promise of redemption was the dangling carrot, always just out of reach. A sick joke, just like everything else here. Not that you had ever planned to be redeemed, you knew why you were here, but living in the hotel had lulled you into a false sense of security. Hell wasn’t clean and filled with mild-mannered sinners.

“Look at that, she’s fucking crying!” the plump demon laughed, bringing you back to the moment. “You’ve always liked ‘em scared, Donny.”

The tall one, apparently called Donny, shot his arm out to block you from leaving, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Is he right, baby? You scared?”

You could feel your heart in your throat. Scared? You were pissed. And when Donny grabbed your face and boldly licked a tear off your cheek, you snapped.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The Radio Demon had been hard at work tuning Vaggie out for the last few minutes. He was aimlessly wandering the lobby when she cornered him, seeming to have finally found her opportunity to interrogate him over acquiring your soul. It would have been easy enough to tell the disgraced Angel that it was the least he could do considering the help Rosie had provided them, but upsetting Vaggie was simply too much fun.

She was droning on about how she and Charlie would be taking over the onboarding of any more new employees when Alastor felt a chain rattle, ear flicking in response. Some fool was messing with his property. He reached out mentally to follow the chain and soon caught the scent of almond. He grimaced. Of course it was yours.

“As much as I cherish our conversations, I’ll need to cut this short Vaggie. I’m afraid duty calls,” Alastor said smugly, grinning at the rage on her face from being so casually brushed off before slipping into shadow.

When Alastor materialized in an alley he was met with piercing screams, and it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. You were on the ground straddling the waist of some poor soul, your face covered in blood as you tore out your victim’s neck with your teeth. The creature in question no longer seemed to have much left of the lower half of his face, the remnants of it no doubt lying somewhere in the gore. His death rattle was nothing more than a gurgle and spurt of blood, but it seemed you were too lost in your rampage to notice he was now motionless beneath you.

Alastor didn’t bother with the pudgy creature that had no doubt been your victim’s friend. Well, perhaps not a very good friend, seeing as the coward ran away once he regained his footing. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to track the cretin down if Alastor changed his mind about it later.

For now, his focus was on you and what a glorious sight it was. He wished for a moment that your dress had been a different color, just to see how much blood and scraps of flesh had soaked into it. Judging from the mess on your face, it had to be quite a lot.

The sounds coming from you were savage, nearly carnal, and you were relentless in your attack despite the damage already done. When would you stop, he wondered. When there was nothing but bone? The aspect thrilled him to the core and he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of blood and almond. There it was — that delicious, bitter, nutty warmth. He had been right. Letting out a satisfied, pleasured sigh, he waited patiently for you to finish. After a minute or so you succeeded in decapitating the fool, and Alastor made his approach as you struggled to catch your breath. 

Gingerly tapping you once with his foot, you startled with a growl and snapped your teeth. Alastor let out a low chuckle, taking in the wild look of your face, eyes glowing pink.

“I believe he’s had enough for now, dear. You made good work of him, I’m quite impressed,” he said, giving you a proud smile. “Now let’s get you home before you cause a scene.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This one's the first of many doozies. I recommend you clock out now if you think the following will distress you: mentions of rape, but no scenes or explicit description. If not, read on! Chapter Title is from Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Your first mission is delivered, and it goes about as expected. Contains usual tags, emphasis on mention of rape/non-con.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When your team stepped into the safe house, you could see the moment the smell hit their noses.

“Merde,” Frenchie was the first to speak, a poor omen within itself. “What the fuck am I smelling?”

“Uh, probably the milk and meat. They’re the strongest.”

Annie said your name carefully, watching your reaction as she spoke. “What happened.”

“He wouldn’t put away the groceries.” You said with a shrug. You were over it. It was like, ten bad things ago.

“So you just. Left them out?” Hughie said, seemingly baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Mallory said she delivered them on the first night.” Annie glanced between you and Hughie.

“She did.”

Hughie’s eyes widened further. “That was almost two weeks ago.” When you just nodded in agreement, he pushed further. “They’ve been out the whole time?”

You frowned. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“What are you, five?” 

You just sighed, giving Hughie a pleading look. “Don’t tell MM.”

“What?” Butcher taunted from the back of the group. “That he was right, and you can’t handle Soldier Boy?”

“I thought you were on my side about this.”

“I’m on the side of the truth, Love.”

Both you, Annie, and Frenchie let out huffs of amusement at that claim, with Hughie looking sheepishly amused.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” Annie gave Butcher a pointed look. He only winked in response, leaving her to turn back to you with an eye roll.

“Has it been like this,” Hughie gestured vaguely around him. “The whole time?”

“Nah. Worse.”

Really, hell would be a better word for it. After the knife incident, there had been the toilet paper incident, which you had won, the coffee incident, also your victory, the laundry incident, point Soldier Boy, the TV incident, point you, and the Lord of the Rings incident, another point Soldier Boy. The Elton John, Jimmy Carter, and Rockefeller Center incidents had ended in stalemates akin to the Cold War, but should those fuses reignite, you were sure you could take them home. Overall, you’d burned him seven times, he’d thrown two chairs at you, you tossed shit in his face once and threatened castration on fifteen separate occasions, and he had offered to sleep with you thirty-one times.

“He hasn’t, he hasn’t hurt you. Right?” Hughie wasn’t fully looking at you when he asked, his voice soft and nervous.

“No. I mean, he’s tried. Not in… that way, but I’ve had a few things thrown at me. All the physical violence died out around the laundry incident, though. Now we’re using psychological warfare.”

“Laundry incident?” Hughie said at the same time that Frenchie said, “Psychological warfare?”

“Don’t ask.” Was your response to both. You’d avoid revisiting the laundry incident in your mind for the rest of your life if you could help it, and the actual practice of your warfare was more childish than you’d like to admit.

“Well, as lovely as a reunion this has been, we need to talk to you both. Where’s the cunt,  anyway?" Butcher craned his neck to look down the hall.

“Probably moping around in his room.” You shrugged. “Let’s talk in the living room, standing at the door is weird.”

While the living room hadn’t taken even close to as much damage as the kitchen, it had not escaped you and Soldier Boy’s sparring unscathed. Books provided by the CIA, which were mostly stereotypical classics, had been upended from their shelves and strewn across the floor. The TV was still intact, as was the sofa, but the former was stuck on PBS, and the latter was, at this point, compromised of 70% trash.

“Holy shit,” Hughie muttered as he stepped over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You can’t plan on living like this the whole time?”

“Well, if America’s number one man-baby would stop moaning and bitching about his glory days, then maybe, yeah.”

Annie gave you a concerned look. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll castrate him.” Though the threat had now been made sixteen times, it never satisfied you less to say it.

“I’ve told you, Sunshine, if you did that, you would only be hurting yourself.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained over you with tense gazes. You turned to find Soldier Boy almost directly behind you. “I’ve told you, by definition, I’d only be hurting you.”

He gave a mocking pout. “Wouldn’t that plague your perfect little conscious?”

“I’d live.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“Prude.”

“Manwhore.”

“Whiny Brat.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of good pussy.”

“Waste of government money.”

“Waste of Compound V.”

“Pathetic, assfaced Dickwad.”

“Stuck up, pretentious Ice Queen.”

“Geriatric, entitled, blue-balled G.I. Joe Fuckdoll”

The room had practically vanished around you as you and Soldier Boy fell into your now well-tread path of insults. Your blood was burning with that feeling, aching to burst across the room as both of you glared hard enough to, fingers crossed, kill the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie said, breaking you out of your own spell.

“What are they doing here?” Soilder Boy asked, somehow having only just clocked their presence. “Do I finally get to do my job and leave?”

“No,” Annie answered. “We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be here at this point.”

“That’s what I said,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to your team.

“Yeah,” Soldier Boy said at full volume. “And I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Will you get off my ass about it now?”

“I think you like me on your ass, Sunshine. My offer never leaves the table.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Helpless man-child.”

“Prissy tease.”

“Glorified propaganda poster-“

“No,” Annie cut it. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Party pooper,” Butcher grumbled. “I was hoping they’d kill each other this time. Then we could just go home.”

“Well, did you at least bring me drugs?” Soldier Boy seemed to search the room, as if a pile of weed and coke would miraculously appear on the floor amongst the mess of wrappers and fluid-filled paper towels.

“We’re not buying you drugs with government money.” Annie said, giving you a look of apology. “As I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Many times,” you affirm under your breath. You’d had to hide the glue on day five, which had let to the toilet paper incident on day six. A day had not passed since where you didn’t catch him trying to turn a new household object into something to snort.

“I thought weed was fucking legal now.” Soldier Boy glared at you, as if you were personally responsible for the CIA not buying him blunts. “It’s a free fucking country. I should be able to smoke whenever I damn please.”

“Porn is legal,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean the federal government is going to bring you some.”

“If they brought me porn and weed, I’d be far more open to whatever shit you want from me.” He winked at you.

“We gave you that last time,” Hughie pointed out, shifting nervously. “It barely helped.”

“Will you be a good little supe if we come back with porn and weed? Because we can go and-“

“No, we need to do this now.” Annie spoke over Butcher, and you noticed a line of worry on her forehead, along with Hughie’s nervous fidgeting. Though Butcher didn’t seem plagued by an anxious tell, he relented to Annie faster than you’d ever seen, and alarm bells went off in your head.

“Annie,” you bit the bullet, asking softly. “What is the ‘this’ you need us for?”

She gave you an apologetic look. “Trial run.”

“Trial run?”

“We’re giving you a test, Love.” Butcher said with a smirk. “See if your little experiment is even viable. Maybe take out a player in the process. All depends on if you and him,” he jerked his head to Soldier Boy. “Do your jobs right.”

“I don’t need your little ‘test’ to know if I can do my job.” Soldier Boy snapped.

“Last time you failed,” Hughie muttered.

Frenchie nodded in agreement. “In a spectacular manner, yes.”

“Because that bitch and that pussy stopped me.” An angry scowl was thrown at Annie and Butcher, who returned it and grinned widely back respectively.

“You were going to kill a kid,” Annie said coldly.

“He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“The line of fire? Do you hear yourself? Do you really care about others so little that-“

“I’d do it again,” he snapped back, unbothered by Annie’s disgust. “You don’t get to ask me for help and get mad when I do.”

You gave Butcher a pointed look. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

Though all you got in response was a grunt from Butcher, Soldier Boy’s eyes shot to you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You returned his glare, steeling your own eyes to match his interrogating gaze. “We’re removing the ‘kill a kid’ option from your choices. You want to know why we’re stuck here? Because you fucked it last time, and we won’t let you fuck up again.”

“You won’t let me?” He sneered, leering at you coldly. “You don’t let me do anything, Sunshine.”

If the “Sunshine” thing continued to stick, you might have to throw yourself off a roof. But you didn’t flinch, just tilting your head mockingly. “You wouldn’t need a shock collar if you hadn’t bit the hand.”

“I wouldn’t bite the hand if it hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“Nobody tried to kill you, Mate.” Butcher interjected. Soldier Boy’s anger switched back to him with fists curling at his side, but Butcher kept talking with a bored drawl. “You shouldn’t have bloody fucked up.”

“And, like I said,” you shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

“If I see the shot, I’ll take it. Whether you like it or not.”

Looking into his eyes, you believed him. No doubt fogged your brain that, given the opportunity, Soldier Boy wouldn’t hesitate to take out Ryan Butcher with Homelander. Part of you, the angry and bitter part still trapped underground, understood that. But you’d see Ryan once, from afar, and he had looked so young. You didn’t have to imagine his fear or touch him to understand what it was like. For your life to change abruptly and without reason, to have to sprint to keep up with your new one. Soldier Boy had volunteered for this life. Ryan hadn’t. You hadn’t.

So, holding Soldier Boy’s gaze, you made your voice clear and steady. “You don’t get to take the shot until it’s clear. Ryan will be out of the picture before you even see Homelander.” You turned to Annie. “What’s the test?”

“Head-popper.” Butcher answered for Annie with an odd look at you. His voice carried the usual light and oddly joyful tone he used when discussing murdering supes, but his eyes on yours were quieter, with less manic vengeance than you’d seen before. If you didn’t know better, you’d call them thankful.

“Head-popper?”

Hughie jumped in at your confused frown. “Neuman.”

“Oh,” you paused, looking over Hughie’s worried face. “We’re going after Neuman?”

“Who the fuck is Neuman?” Soldier Boy asked with a reluctant grumble. You had picked up on his consistent annoyance with new things after you’d found him screaming at the microwave three days ago, and not knowing new people didn’t seem to be any different.

“She’s a supe who can pop people’s heads like balloons.” Frenchie gestured in imitation for effect. “It’s disgusting.”

“And she’s the VP elect, which would put an ally of Homelander in the White House, one step from the Oval Office.” Annie said pointedly, giving Frenchie a look. You offered him a small smile over her head. Though the demonstration hadn’t been helpful, watching his hands fly around mimicking Neuman’s powers was undeniably entertaining.

“She's dangerous,” Hughie added. “But she’s not a bad person. We don’t want to kill her, just remove her powers.”

“What do we need her for then?” You didn’t have to look to know Soldier Boy’s accusation was directed at you. You bit your tongue, trying to ignore the way the words seeped into your skin.

Because he’s right. A cruel whisper said into your ear, and the itch on your skin began to feel like a rash. You were saved from the plague of your thoughts—the urgent feeling to fall prompted by almost nothing—by Butcher.

“If you think you’re going anywhere without her, Governor, you’d better get used to being wrong. She’s there for the same reason she’s here. So you don’t go postal.”

Soldier Boy gave you an unreadable look as the rush of your heart in your chest slowed from Butcher’s words. You turned away from him, but you could almost feel his eyes through your skull as you looked at Butcher with a blank face.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, praying it would be simple, with as few people as possible around and, ideally, in the middle of a desert filled exclusively with fire extinguishers.

“MM and Kimiko are doing recon on one of Bob Singer’s rallies. Frenchie will create a distraction for the secret service, and Neuman’s personal detail is going to suddenly disappear-“

“Disappear?” You interrupted Butcher with raised eyebrows.

“Keep your panties on, they’ve been bribed. Once she’s isolated, Soldier Boy’ll blast her, and we can all go home confident in your little gambit.”

You hesitated, trying to imagine the last political rally you’d seen. Group of people in tight groups, electrical wiring for microphones, speakers, and lights. Gates and closed doors, hallways leading out onto streets. “How are we going to isolate her?”

“Me and Butcher will work on that,” Annie said, almost reaching for you with a reassuring pat, but thinking better and jerking her arm back. She opened her mouth, an apology certainly on her, but you raised your hand to cut her off.

“How long until we leave?” You asked. Maybe they’d say ‘three hours’ and you’d get to talk to someone who didn’t think swing music was sonically viable for a bit.

Hughie checked his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Ago?” Your eyes widened.

He gave you a sheepish look. “We thought it would take less time to get you.” He turned to Soldier Boy. “Your suit’s in the van. I can bring it out-“

“I can change on the way.” Soldier Boy grumbled, ignoring Hughie’s start of sputtering protests. “Let’s get this over with.”

———-

Much to his annoyance, they had forgotten Ben’s shield, and nobody would let him change in the van. He tried several times, only to be met by a chorus of groans, shouting, and swearing. He had listened to their complaints only because she had started giving him a look he recognized as a flag for a storm of uncontrolled fire. No hot disgust or sparks of rage, only a cold and quiet, almost glassy-eyed stare. Her heart steady but her breathing too fucking controlled to be natural, measured so equally that it sounded mechanical. So, because he figured she would only become more bitchy to live with if she incinerated her alleged “friends”, Ben stopped trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Once he did, the van fell insufferably silent. The edged pleasantries and conversation he’d overheard during Butcher and his band of Assholes arrival had ceased save for tense questions and hushed conversations. Ben didn’t fail to notice all the spineless avoidance and careful words directed at them both. She, even after the foggy look faded, remained curled into a corner, trading small and toothless smiles with her team. More timid than he’d seen her before, almost like a scolded child as she looked around the van nervously. Her eyes watched the shadows as though Homelander himself might jump from them, the chew of her lip giving Ben a headache. The only words she spoke were a jab at Ben when he’d said something about political rallies post-election being fucking pathetic—giving him a lecture about American politics now heavily depending on something called “going viral”—only to fall silent once more after. Her team looked at her like a glass bomb, as if she was a delicate statue looming over their heads and not the vulgar, violent woman who slept down the hall from him. That woman infuriated him, testing his patience every time she opened her mouth, but this paranoid, skittish pussy of a girl was so much worse. So when the van halted and Butcher’s team began to filter out, he called her name. When she ignored him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck!” She pulled herself out of his grip in a second, staring at him with anger. She glanced down at her arms, a look he didn’t understand crossing her face, before returning her attention to him. “Do not touch me.”

“I barely touched you,” he glowered, annoyance quickly flooding him. He had only brushed skin, with a light grip she had thrown off, there was no need to be so dramatic. “When I touch you for real, you’ll fucking know, Sunshine. And you’ll fucking beg for it. I needed to make you listen, you were fucking ignoring me.”

Her brows knit, and he heard the chew of her teeth on her tongue. “I’m not going to beg for anything, and I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“I said your name, and you kept fucking walking.”

“I didn’t hear you.” She snapped, but didn’t relent. “Speak up next time.”

She knew just as well as Ben did that they were both far from quiet, pussy-voiced fuckers. And while he definitely hadn’t yelled for her attention, it shouldn’t have fucking mattered. He’d seen her pick up his grumbled insults and mocking comments just fine over the past two weeks. “Bitch.”

“What do you want?” She asked with a sigh, ignoring his jab and looking at him as if he exhausted her just by breathing. “We have to go, and you still need to change.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.” He said, not hiding the contempt from his voice. He wasn’t going to skirt around his thoughts, lining them gently to help her fucking feelings.

Her body tensed, her limbs looking as if they’d locked into place. “Like what?” Ben heard her swallow as she answered, her voice not lost enough to make her sound clueless to his words.

“Like you’re a child they have to coddle. A problem they have to deal with.”

She stared at him, her glassy-eyes returning. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, cunt-face.”

Ben snorted. “They don’t treat you like the bitch you are. They always use that sweet, pussy voice, like they’re talking to a fucking puppy, when they say something to you. They’re always all fucking pouty when they look at you, pussyfooting around so they don’t make you sad.” He gave her a mocking grin, hoping the next words landed like a bullet. “They treat you like me.”

It had clearly worked, as the van had grown hot, and her eyes were clearing as her heart began to pick up. Ben felt an odd feeling cover him as he heard it, almost familiar and sparking pride in his chest. She wasn’t a jittery shell anymore, she was going to try and kill him. It made his grin grow genuine, and the van grew only more heated, the air waving around them.

Her mouth opened, and Ben hoped whatever came out of it would be vile and crude.

“Hey!” She turned her head and clenched her jaw as someone called her name from outside, the van rattling as a fist banged against it. “We need to go!”

The door opened to reveal the Cocksucker, whose face grew quickly red, a bead of sweat falling from his hairline, as he was blasted with a quickly dying wave of heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning from Ben as the heat dropped further. “Coming.”

Cocksucker gave her a worried look, his gaze flying quickly to Ben, but just nodded and stood aside for her to move past.

As the door closed and Ben began to change, he listened for their soft, tense words.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Cocksucker’s voice was nervous and gentle, like being suffocated by one of those fucking fluffy blankets Ben had seen in the empty bedroom of the safe house.

“No, he just grabbed me to talk. And you don’t have to keep asking me that. I’m fine, and it’s not as helpful as you think it is.” Ben frowned at her voice, the malice from it drained entirely in only a few seconds, replaced with only a tired hollowness.

“Grabbed you?! Like, he touched you?”

Having anticipated Cocksucker being more interested in the “talk” part of her sentence, or the shit that sounded like it was about feelings, Ben's brain rattled over Cocksucker’s word, his tone of panic looping in Ben’s head. He spoke of Ben’s touch as though it were a plague, and not something many people would kill to feel. Ben almost burst out of the van to say just that, but froze when he heard her answer.

“It was fast, I didn’t feel much. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go the rest of my life without touching people.” Her voice had a finality to it, and Ben could almost picture her downturned lips and wrinkled brow.

“You touch us when you heal us.” Even Cocksucker’s voice didn’t sound sure of his response.

“It’s not the same, and you know that.”

There was a momentary stall in their words, and Ben took the opportunity to emerge, securing his belt as he walked to the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see, but Cocksucker looking pathetically around, anywhere but the woman as she curved into herself, wasn’t it. She held a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of her jacket, her thumb running up and down in small movements. They both turned to him as the door banged open, and Ben caught the empty look behind her eyes before her indifference slipped back into place.

“Did you hurry me just to sit around like pussies, or are we going to start fucking moving?” He asked, the air feeling too uncomfortable to sit in.

Cocksucker blinked, glancing at his watch. “We have a few minutes until they arrive, but I guess it can’t hurt to be vigilant-“

“Arrive?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Ben saw smoke curl from her hold on her jacket. “They’re coming here?”

Cocksucker nodded. “It’s a high-security escape exit-“

“It’s a fucking street, Hughie.”

“That’s used as a high-security escape exit.” After a moment of searching the area, Cocksucker pointed a few yards down, at a large door set against brick. “Neuman will come right out of there, and her guards will close her out here, where Soldier Boy will blast her.” He paused, glancing at Ben, before looking back at the door and taking small, cowardly steps away from his spot between them.

“It’s a public area, anyone could walk past! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Her voice was hushed and agitated, and Ben had never seen her face lose color at that speed before, had never heard her heart stutter and jump as if trying to escape her body.

“It’ll be fine,” Cocksucker’s voice wavered, giving them both a nervous look. “It should be fine. MM said it would be fine.”

“You heard him, Sunshine,” Ben gave her a wink, adding a half-cocked smile when she didn’t even return him with a dirty look. “MM said it would be fine. And have some fucking faith in me, I’m not a fucking monster. I won’t blast any running pussies except for this head-popper broad.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.” Her tone wasn’t quite the vicious mockery he was used to, but it was better than the apathetic, empty voice she’d been using. She was rolling on the balls of her feet, speaking without looking at him, her eyes moving restlessly from the door to the end of the street. “And I don’t believe you.”

Ben just shrugged, allowing the silence to hang. The wind was picking up, whistling through the chill of winter air, making the heat around them, emitting from both Ben and the woman, all the more obvious. Despite the biting cold, Cocksucker had taken off his stupid puffy jacket, even stepping back further from where they stood, with Ben in the center of the street and the woman off to the left. Despite her slowly stepping further and further back, her back now almost against the wall, Ben could feel her watching him, hear her heart continue its new and erratic beat.

“How long now, Hughie?” Her voice was raised to carry over the wind, though it hadn’t lost that stupid fucking weakness. Cocksucker, thank fuck, didn’t get a chance to respond with pathetically comforting words, as only one skipping heartbeat after she spoke a shrill fire alarm sounded.

“I’m assuming that’s your stupid French fuck's plan?” Ben asked dryly. “Start a fucking fire? I thought you pussies were all about minimal damage.”

“He probably just pulled the alarm.” The Cocksucker’s answer lacked any confident assurance. “And I think we’re just against needless murder.”

Ben almost started to rant about their so-called needless murder being a mighty high horse for a group of people who had manipulated him just as much as Vought, who’d been willing to help him kill all those backstabbing pussies from Payback so he’d help them. About how their stupid fucking moral purity complex seemed to adjust perfectly to aid them, and maybe he wasn’t a fucking angel, but he was strong and powerful—something they fucking needed—man, and he wasn’t a pussyfaced liar about what he was, what he did. The words died on his tongue, though, as hundreds of frenzied footsteps reached his ears.

“Fuck!” he growled, turning around and pointing at Cocksucker. “You fucking pussy.”

Cocksucker gave him an idiotically confused stare. “Dude, uncalled for.”

“She,” Ben pointed to the woman, whose heart was beating impossibly fast and looking on with a bloodless face. “Was fucking right. This is a stupid plan, because unless your head-popper walks like a human centipede, it’s not going to be just her that I fucking hit when that door opens.”

Cocksucker only gaped at him like a fish as the footsteps grew louder, annoyingly unsure stutters  escaping him, and just as Ben decided it might be good to slap the idiot out of his daze, the woman stepped forward.

“We need to move, Hughie. Now.” Her voice wasn’t steady, her whole body was tensed and hyper, but it held a determination Ben almost admired. “We can’t be here.”

“He- he could be fucking lying, or wrong-“

“That’s not a risk we can afford to take.” She cut off Cocksucker’s doubts, and Ben found himself surprised at her defense of him, even if it could barely be called that. Her hands were smoking once more, but she had firmly planted herself in the middle of the road, eyes turning sharply to Ben. “If people see you, any element of surprise over Homelander would be lost. We need to fucking move, you need to get in the fucking van now-“

The door banged open, and the streets flooded as hoards of people in star and stripe-themed outfits flooded the road. Everything became so loud, and that rapt, snapping sound in Ben’s head started to spread through him, spurring the drum in his chest. They were finding rhythm so fast, everything fading as Ben tried to slow it. But there were screams and shouts, and everything was getting further and further away from him while carving into him all the same, so though Ben could hear the sounds of metal clanging and shouts of his supe name, he couldn’t think anything past the beat beat beat, until he lost it all at once.

As his vision grew clear with his head, Ben expected to see shattered bodies and bloody walls. Instead, all he saw was the woman and fire. Her face was flushed red, her eyes crazed, and her clothes had become charred with holes as the fire surged from her into a barrier, cutting them off from the crowd. Cocksucker was yelling her name, urging them both to return to the van and leave, but as Ben moved, he glanced back to see the woman frozen and heard her heart as if it were his own. The wall was growing wider and shooting high, Cocksucker wouldn’t shut the fuck up about moving, but her eyes had squeezed shut, unresponsive to anything but the growing flames.

“We need to fucking go, now!” Ben turned to see a large man he vaguely recognized barreling down their side of the street, his face twisted in anger. Butcher, Starlight, a small woman he remembered fighting, and that French prick followed him, all loading into the van as the large man stopped beside Cocksucker.

“I told you he’d fucking blow it,” the man said, giving Ben a disgusted look, so flawlessly revolted Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fucking practiced in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t fucking blow it, you pussy-“

“You said that Neuman would come out of here, that it would just be her!” Cocksucker, much to Ben’s shock, cut him with a high voice and a wave at the wall of fire. “That’s way more than just her! Is she even there?!”

“No,” the man said gruffly. “Neuman saw Butcher and figured out something was up. She’s long gone.”

“Fuck!” Cocksucker yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Oi, we can go over how MM fucked up later,” Butcher leaned out from the van. “We need to go before she sends Homelander.”

“How I fucked up? You’re the one who disobeyed me and blew our cover-“

“What’s wrong with Madame Anomaly?” The French Prick appeared at Butcher's side.

Cocksucker glanced at the woman, calling her name before turning to the large man Butcher had called MM. “She absorbed Soldier Boy’s blast. I think it got her stuck.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get Soldier Boy in the van, I’ll take care of the Anomaly.” MM repeated the French Prick’s words, and Ben realized they were, for the first time, using the woman’s supe name.

“You heard him, Gov. Get in the bloody van.” Butcher’s words were clearly directed at Ben, but as he climbed into the van Ben saw Butcher’s attention locked on the woman.

MM had moved closer to the woman, a move Ben deemed more fucking stupid than brave. If she had “absorbed his blast,” as Cocksucker said, he wouldn’t recommend any non-supe be anywhere near her. MM seemed to realize this himself at the last possible second, taking a pathetic, stumbling step back with a pause. He and Cocksucker exchanged a look, something passing between them that Ben didn’t understand, before Cocksucker leaned down to grab a pebble from the road. Ben watched as he shakily shook out his arms, wound up, and tossed the pebble at the woman.

It was a terrible fucking idea, Ben didn’t have to be Einstein to know that, but the chain reaction that played out still managed to go worse than he might have guessed.

The woman whirled around, her eyes blazing, with a roar sounding from her chest. Fire shot from the wall directly at Cocksucker. In almost slow motion, Ben watched her face become painted with horror as she recognized her target, a different, fearful sound leaving her. She reached an arm out, her heart seeming to falter, and barely redirected the flames before they hit Cocksucker in the chest. The blaze just grazed Cocksucker’s arm, passed the van clear of anyone else, and hit the building with a boom.

The moment the bricks caught fire and the ground began to shake as the building crumbled, the woman's wall of fire fell. The woman herself remained upright, but only barely as MM shouted her name and she started to stumble to the van. Cocksucker was hauled in by Starlight and the French Prick, the former fussing over his burnt arm—Ben had seen worse at Herogasm and nobody whined about it—and Cocksucker waved her off. The woman pulled herself in, ignoring Butcher’s outstretched hand, and the door closed behind her. MM appeared in the driver’s seat, and as the engine started everyone fell into a heavy-breathed silence.

Through the ride, Ben watched the woman open and close her mouth a million times, returned to her fetal position in the corner but watching Cocksucker with a strained face. Her hands tapped against her still-smoking jacket, reaching out hesitantly before she pulled them back into herself. No words were spoken, not even the anxious whispers of the ride there. Ben felt relief as the van stopped, MM climbing out and opening the doors to reveal the exterior of the safe house, grateful for any excuse to leave these stupid, sniffing pussies to wallow in their failure.

MM led Ben and the woman to the doors, opened them by leaning oddly at the doorbell, and gestured for them to walk through. The man followed them in, shutting the doors behind him with a rough push.

“If we failed the test, I am not doing that fucking shit again.” Ben grumbled as MM turned around from the now-shut entrance.

“Butcher told me about the fucking mess you and him made in here.” MM ignored Ben entirely, speaking to the woman as if he wasn’t even there. “A team cleaned it up while you were gone, and Mallory will send more groceries tomorrow night. I saw a picture, it was fucking gross. I’m only doing it once, because I don’t want a new disease to develop in here. You’re an adult, you should take care of this place by your goddamn self.”

The woman looked at her feet, humming a small acknowledgment. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Is Hughie going to be okay?”

MM sighed. “The kid will live. I’ll look at him when we get back.”

“I could help-“

MM cut her off with her name. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

She gave another nervous hum, and Ben jumped in.

“Can you answer my fucking question-“

“We’ll let you know what our next steps are after we talk to Mallory and Singer. This wasn’t good, but it’s not the end of the damn world.” Once again, MM ignored Ben. It was starting to feel personal. Before Ben could push further, MM reached a hand out to rest on the woman’s shoulder, right over a hole in her sleeve. Her head shot up with her heart, but the panic in her seemed to evaporate just as soon as it appeared. Her name was gentle as MM spoke it, eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t fuck up. You did your job.” She nodded slowly. “It’ll be fine.” With those last words, he exited the building, leaving Ben and the woman in the hall.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Ben grunted, half directed at the woman, half to just say it.

She gave him a flat look. “You killed his family.” Before he could come up with a clever response, honest or dodging the annoying feeling of guilt forming in his throat, the woman turned from him and walked away.

———-

You were so tired. Your bones ached, oddly cold in a way you hadn’t felt in a while, your skin crawled with feverish chills, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the flames graze Hughie and the building turn to dust. As MM’s lingering calm he’d offered you faded, all you felt was tired. Worthless. A liability. You had fucked up, just as much as Soldier Boy. Maybe more so, because he had PTSD, even if he would deny being a “hung-up pussy”. He had lost control because he’d been tortured by Russians, you’d almost killed your friend and definitely destroyed a rec center because you’d been startled. You just wanted to sleep, to deal with the inevitable fight about groceries in the morning, running on more than quickly expiring adrenaline and caffeine pills stuck in your throat.

You made it to your room, changing into one of the pajama sets folded in your drawers, hoping someone mentioned that the allegedly fire-proof wardrobe you’d been given apparently wasn’t strong enough for the full force of your fire combined with Soldier Boy’s nuclear explosions. A shame, you’d liked the pants you’d chosen for the mission. You’d live without the jacket, though. You’d hardly pulled the shirt over your head when the door ripped open, a still suit-clad Soldier Boy standing at your door.

“What fucking happened to you?” His question was blunt and confusing as he entered your room, remaining near the door but over the threshold.

Your body was too heavy to fight with him right now. There was no tense prickling on the bridge of your nose, only the throbbing stab of a headache. “Go away, Soldier Boy.”

“All of you have a fucking thing. A weird, sad reason to whine around and pretend you’re better than me.” He didn’t budge, but rather leaned forward. “What’s yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I killed MM’s family. Butcher’s always pussying around about Homelander stealing his girl. Cocksucker mentioned something about that fast asshole doing something as well. I’m not sure what the French Prick bitches about, but I’m sure it’s something.”

“First of all, you did kill MM’s family.” You really don’t want to do this right now, but maybe he’ll give up and fuck off. A fruitless wish, a small part of you knows, but you have nothing left to push back with. “And Homelander didn’t ‘steal Butcher’s wife’, he raped her.”

“Right.” Soldier Boy watched you, his expression unreadable in the shadowy room. “Those are all fucking things. So tell me what yours is.”

“I don’t have one,” even as you speak the insistence, it sounded fake and hollow.

He takes another step forward. “Yes, you do. I saw how you froze, nobody without a thing locks up like that. I heard Cocksucker ask you if I ‘hurt you’. Just for the record, Sunshine, I may not be a Boy Scout, but I’m no fucking rapist.”

“You’ve tried to sleep with me thirty-three times.”

“And I’ll blow your mind when you realize how much you’d love it, no sooner. What’s your fucking thing.”

You stare at him, the intensity in his voice throwing you off. He’s insistent, comfortable in your room but standing at his full height, attention fixed entirely on you. That impression of dissection has returned—the feeling as if he’s trying to pick you apart for him to play with. “Why do you even care?”

“Because maybe if you tell me, I can kill what supe fucked up your pretty little head and you’ll be less of a bitch.”

You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. “What a selfish fucking cunt reason.”

He shrugged in something that could’ve been an agreement. “Maybe.” He falls silent, but doesn't leave.

You collapse to sit on the edge of your bed, staring ahead as you rub your temple. “Please just go.”

“No.”

You look at him, not caring if he sees the desperation in your eyes. “Can this not wait six hours for the morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know any words but no?” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t miss his annoyed humph. “Oh, just fucking tell me.”

“No.” It was your turn to snap. Your exhaustion was becoming lined with bitter childishness, and you didn’t care enough to try and suppress your urge to sneer at him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an idiotic, self-absorbed, sadist asshat who wouldn’t know empathy if it started sucking his dick.” You mocked.

He grinned. “Ok, now name my bad qualities.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll start guessing,” he took another step forward, now almost directly before you. “Did that red-headed lesbian steal your puppy?

You frowned up at him. “Maeve was bisexual.”

“Did Noir take credit for a college project?” He ignored your comment, leaning down with a mocking smirk.

“Trust me, I got all my dues in college.”

“Did that gay-for-Jesus blond steal your boyfriend? Did the fast asshole that stole Cocksucker’s girl break up with you? Did water-boy eat your goldfish?”

“I’ve never met Ezekiel, A-Train actually murdered Hughie’s girlfriend, and The Deep famously doesn’t eat seafood, he fucks it. But by all means, keep going.”

Soldier Boy blinked. “He fucks it?”

“Yep. It’s gross.” You shrug. “Are you done?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You give a toothless smile. “Not until you get all your guesses out.”

“Oh?” There was unquestionable surprise in his voice at your relent, only making your fake cheer grow and your immature anger fully overtake you.

“I want you to feel like a real fucking asshole when I tell you.”

His face split open with a grin. “Well then, did the Twins kick you out of Herogasm? Did that bitch, Crimson Countess, overshadow your big debut? Did a Z-lister get more attention than you from the Vought pussies?”

You just raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms as Soldier Boy continued until the list of supes ran dry. As the last jeer left his mouth, he mirrored your face of cold amusement.

“Well?”

You leaned back, watching him closely as you spoke. “Homelander kidnapped me, kept me in a dungeon, raped me in an attempt to make more mini-Homelanders, and, after you returned, started experimenting on me to try and recreate the V used on you.”

A small shock rushed through you after you spoke. You hadn’t said any of that out loud, not fully, since you’d escaped. You danced around it with Butcher and his team, with Mallory and the CIA leaders, always picking and choosing parts to omit so nobody would look at you with pity and fear. It hadn’t worked, they did anyway, but there had still been control over it. Up until this moment, nobody had known why Homelander had done all those things to you. Everyone had seemed happy to chalk it up to him being a fucking psychopath, not anything deeper. Certainly not attempting to create a small army of additional Ryan Butchers. Small things were still yours, flashes of hunger and warped sounds remaining in your head, but everything else you had just told him.

Why did you do that? A voice hissed as the high from your petulance faded. Why did you let him win? Why did you give him a weapon to use that could hurt you?

But looking at him, he didn’t appear to be a portait of self-satisfaction and heartless triumph. He was staring at you, scanning you as though the scars Homelander left would be visible on your bare legs and arms. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t weak or coddling, but angry.

“He kept you locked up?”

You nod, part of you getting ready to fight him over something.

“He hurt you? To try and recreate me?” Your repeated nodding only seemed to inflate whatever was happening. “Did it hurt?”

Your arms and face started at that, an uncertain feeling spreading through you. There had been no reverent tone as Soldier Boy had asked the last question, no sadistic for affirmation. But you didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Why he even wanted to know. But an involuntarily honest answer escaped you. “Yes.”

He stared at you for another second before he opened his mouth, only to close it without making any sound. Abruptly, he whipped around and began to leave, giving you only one more indecipherable look as he closed the door behind him, leaving you on the edge of your bed, alone in your room.

You lay down slowly, half expecting him to storm back in at any moment, but minutes passed, quickly turning into a half hour, and your body sat at the edge of collapse once more. Soon it was unbearable, and you lay down, your racing mind being forced to a halt as sleep pulled you under.

Your sleep, as had been the case for a while now, was haunted by nightmares of blue eyes and yellow, fluorescent lights. You woke up in a cold sweat, and took a long, needlessly warm shower before forcing yourself to leave your room around 9:30. Despite your lingering fatigue, no part of you wasn’t restless as you walked down the stairs. Your body tense and ready to run, your head spinning with hypotheticals and lining up words you may need—that feeling under your skin creeping up your spine and fluttering in your gut. But Soldier Boy wasn’t in the living room or the hall. You poked your head in the dining room, hoping to avoid the minefield of the kitchen, but it was empty, the plastic chandelier lights off, the table occupied only by a vase of wilted flowers. You moved to the kitchen, ringing growing in your ears, but he wasn’t there. You turned to walk away, continue your search, but double-back as it hit you.

Nothing was in the kitchen. It was empty. Of Soldier Boy, and of the groceries MM said would be delivered.

You wandered in slowly, watching the counters as if they might start to glitch and flicker, revealing hidden produce and dirty dishes. But, leaning over the sink, there was a single plate, soaking in water that was dotted with crumbs. Slowly, you moved to the refrigerator, slowly opening it as you glanced around the room. Your eyes widened at the sight inside. Milk, drinks, and produce had been placed inside, disorganized and haphazardly. There was a jar of mayonnaise in the fresh drawer, along with a box of pasta on a side shelf, but the fridge was full. You moved quickly to the pantry, which had been sorted in a similar fashion, but filled. And when you opened the last cabinet, you saw a piece of paper stuck under a jar of peanut butter.

I know I did a shit job. Clean up if it bothers you, but don't bitch to me about it. And tell Mallory to get smooth peanut butter next time, or I’m not doing anything for her but killing Homelander - Ben

[reasonsforhope]

No-paywall version.

"You can never really see the future, only imagine it, then try to make sense of the new world when it arrives.

Just a few years ago, climate projections for this century looked quite apocalyptic, with most scientists warning that continuing “business as usual” would bring the world four or even five degrees Celsius of warming — a change disruptive enough to call forth not only predictions of food crises and heat stress, state conflict and economic strife, but, from some corners, warnings of civilizational collapse and even a sort of human endgame. (Perhaps you’ve had nightmares about each of these and seen premonitions of them in your newsfeed.)

Now, with the world already 1.2 degrees hotter, scientists believe that warming this century will most likely fall between two or three degrees. (A United Nations report released this week ahead of the COP27 climate conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, confirmed that range.) A little lower is possible, with much more concerted action; a little higher, too, with slower action and bad climate luck. Those numbers may sound abstract, but what they suggest is this: Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders,

we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years.

...Conventional wisdom has dictated that meeting the most ambitious goals of the Paris agreement by limiting warming to 1.5 degrees could allow for some continuing normal, but failing to take rapid action on emissions, and allowing warming above three or even four degrees, spelled doom.

Neither of those futures looks all that likely now, with the most terrifying predictions made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse.

Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.” Personally, I find myself returning to three sets of guideposts, which help map the landscape of possibility.

First, worst-case temperature scenarios that recently seemed plausible now look much less so, which is inarguably good news and, in a time of climate panic and despair, a truly underappreciated sign of genuine and world-shaping progress...

[I cut number two for being focused on negatives. This is a reasons for hope blog.]

Third, humanity retains an enormous amount of control — over just how hot it will get and how much we will do to protect one another through those assaults and disruptions. Acknowledging that truly apocalyptic warming now looks considerably less likely than it did just a few years ago pulls the future out of the realm of myth and returns it to the plane of history: contested, combative, combining suffering and flourishing — though not in equal measure for every group...

“We live in a terrible world, and we live in a wonderful world,” Marvel says. “It’s a terrible world that’s more than a degree Celsius warmer. But also a wonderful world in which we have so many ways to generate electricity that are cheaper and more cost-effective and easier to deploy than I would’ve ever imagined. People are writing credible papers in scientific journals making the case that switching rapidly to renewable energy isn’t a net cost; it will be a net financial benefit,” she says with a head-shake of near-disbelief. “If you had told me five years ago that that would be the case, I would’ve thought, wow, that’s a miracle.”"

-via The New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2022

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Percy Jackson Reverse Harem x Reader|| Chapter Five

<<< Chapter Four

"My back hurts so bad right now"

"It must be the seats...There is no way this is what sacred smells like"

Percy whines, as all four of you sit in the back of the bus.

The blond boy feels bothered for not being able to sit beside you.

"We’re soldiers on a mission. It’s not a vacation." Annabeth shoots back.

You start scratching your back from the itchness and the pain.

"I will go to the bathroom in the store, be right back"

You announce and leave before they can say anything to you.

Percy stands up to follow you, but Annabeth forces him back in his seat.

"No, you will stay right there, I'm going to go check on her"

°°°

The moment Annabeth enters the toilet, she is shocked to see white wings on your back.

"Are those wings? And your eyes, they are red"

"Yes" you answer nervously.

"Oh...wow"

"I know, do you think I can fly with them?" you ask excitedly.

I mean it's every child's dream to have wings to fly.

And now you got the chance to do that.

"Your wings might cause a huge problem it will attract monsters"

"Don't worry, my dad gave me a music box to keep the monsters away"

You pull out the music box from your bag.

"Also, can humans see my wings?"

A woman enters the toilet after you ask that question.

She only washes her hands then walks out.

"No, they don't" Annabeth says after the woman leave.

"We need to leave, I sense that we are being followed by a monster"

You turn on the music box as a beautiful melody begins to play.

"This will keep us safe"

°°°

You and Annabeth walk into the bus with Annabeth shouting to the two boys to open the windows.

Percy only stares at you in surprise at your new appearance, then hurries off to break the window with Grover when he sees Mrs. Dodds.

As the passengers get off the bus when the driver announces emergency, one of the furies fly into the bus through the broken window.

The monster looks at you ready to approach you.

But the melody makes it scream in pain when it was close to touching you.

Annabeth takes her chance and throws her dagger at the fury, killing it as it turns into dust.

All four of you escape quickly.

°°°

"Hades has kidnapped your mother, (Y/n)"

Annabeth says, as you walk all together in the Satyr path.

"What? Why would he do that!" you exclaim, worried for your mother.

"Who told you that?" Percy inquires, looking at her in suspicion.

But before she could answer, Grover sniffs the air.

"Do you guys smell that?" 

"Grover, I’m not kidding..." Percy asserts.

"No, neither am I. Just shush."

"Hamburgers" you sigh at Grover, causing him to blush.

"I think you are just hungry, Grover"

"No, I'm not, somebody's making hamburgers in the middle of nowhere, on a satyr path. Whoever it is... they’re from our world."

°°°

You don't know what made you trust Percy and go inside Medusa's house along with Grover and Annabeth.

Probably because Mrs.Dodds is outside waiting to snatch you and Percy away.

"You're concerned I would hold a grudge against you simply because you are a daughter of Athena?"

You don't dare to look at Medusa even if she is hiding her eyes.

Medusa continues speaking to Annabeth.

"You shouldn’t be. We're not our parents after all. And you and I might have more in common than you think. Please, sit and eat."

Letting out a nervous breath after Medusa starts speaking to you.

"You must be the daughter of Calista, you look like her when she was your age."

Medusa notices that you are not looking at her, she could feel your fear.

"Your mother was a friend of mind, she visited me and told me about her encounters with the gods, poor thing, they wouldn't leave her"

"...They" you inquire.

"Your mother is the daughter of Nyx, her beauty attracted the attention of many gods including Poseidon, Hades, Apollo, Hermes, and Eros" 

Percy shivers at the thought that his father loved your mother.

Maybe he can succeed where his father failed.

"Your mother is an enchanteress not a demigod"

Grover jokes, but stops when Annabeth glares at him.

That must be why Hades kidnapped your mother.

Little do you know that you might up having a similar fate like your mother.

But with demigods instead.

Masterlist