#and he didn’t give a shit about collateral damage

[labyrynth]

thinking about trying to make an ace attorney-style investigation/trial game based on mdzs

theoretically would follow plot from wwx’s resurrection, but slightly canon divergent* to get a phoenix wright style emphasis on “no, what’s the whole truth?” …which is to say that jgy actually gets a chance to plead his case

*why is this canon divergent, you ask? because we’re pretending that wwx and lwj actually care about the concept of justice (and not just when it makes them feel nice) and try to keep jgy from dying instead of going “don’t listen to him/he should be silenced”

tbh mdzs actually fits the AA formula pretty well? featuring huaisang as the “twist villain” (not specifically as a Villain but as The Witness whose testimony winds up being highly suspicious and/or full of holes, where it later comes out that they have ulterior motives, and wind up getting the “true face revealed” moment—you know how AA does it) and like six different cases from years ago that all wind up being relevant

i kind of want wwx to play defense (maybe with jin ling as assistant?) but this leaves the question of who the theoretical prosecution would be…lwj i guess? cough jc JUST to play off of franziska’s whip animations

some things would have to be modified slightly to fit the format, and i would probably stick mostly to canon, though i might flesh some things out if canon doesn’t contradict it and if there’s fair reasoning to lead to that conclusion (e.g. nmj broke out of his tomb, jgy did not break in; jgy claims to have killed individuals that were clearly not killed by him, ergo this is a feeling of responsibility, not a confession to any particular action)

in any case: i know that renpy exists, though i’ve never used it…but i imagine the first thing that would need to happen anyway is mapping out events, interactions, and evidence.

if anyone has thoughts or wants to make suggestions or just talk at me about like an AA/mdzs mishmash, go for it 👀👀 (please do, actually)

[charmwasjess]

Still thinking about Galidraan, about the Legends vs Canon treatment of Dooku’s character, namely his exit from the Jedi. 

It’s funny how much it matters to me and improves Dooku’s story that he didn’t leave the Jedi out of growing disillusionment with the Order itself. In the current canon, it’s all framed around a very Padme-esque disenchantment with current political makeup of the Republic, the Jedi being used by the Senate and political machines inappropriately, and how planets with little wealth or influence are left out. In the penultimate moment of crisis, he leaves for Serenno, not because he can’t be a Jedi any longer. Because of a conviction that he could truly make something better. 

And I don’t mean to suggest that he never expresses any criticism of the Jedi or particularly, the Council. He seems to have founded that characteristic trait within the Disaster Lineage. (Ironically, the person in Dooku’s story who should have the most legitimate reason to have a personal problem with the Jedi Order is fucking Sifo-Dyas, who never seems to have considered leaving and literally dies telling the camera he did it all to save the Jedi, but that’s a different post.) But that isn't what compels Dooku to leave. In fact, he remains close with the Order for years afterward.

Why it matters to me is because that detail makes Dooku ultimately betraying the Order SO MUCH MORE FUCKED. 

Because they weren’t an old score he was settling. It wasn't seething resentment that boiled out into revenge years later. They were innocent collateral damage of his decisions. His family. His lineage. His legacy. It makes his treachery so much more personal. He had a wager, power for a horrible cost, and he took the power and paid the horrible cost. Sidious really gets him with:

If Dooku hated them and had always thought they deserved to be destroyed, it wouldn’t have been a true Sith bargain, the trade off wouldn’t have tallied. In the same way that Vader could not have existed if Anakin hadn’t loved Padme and yet still killed her.

If Dooku was just a horrible, conceited, power-hungry ass who expectedly traded the kinda shitty people in his life for a shot at more power, it wouldn’t be a very good story. If he really didn’t give a shit, why would Sidious make that his initiation? But if he does - does care deeply about Sifo-Dyas, does love Qui-Gon like a son, is touched by Yaddle’s kindness and sympathy, begins to see Asajj as a true apprentice, consistently tries to save Obi-Wan out of affection, still considers the Jedi his true family - and yet still dooms them all, how much more tragic and horrible and sickening and real and interesting is his story?

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— ALL I WANNA DO

SUMMARY : aka. part 2 of jump on into the fire. in which she finally makes a decision about ben’s previous offer to start a family together.

PAIRING : soldier boy x supe!reader (f)

CHARACTERS : billy butcher, hughie campbell

WARNINGS : nsfw (18+), smut, mutual masturbation, cum play, dacryphilia (Ben, *said scoldingly*), angst

WORD COUNT : 5.9k

A/N : title from splashh song. daydreaming is so fun, this is the birth of my imagination as i watched the boys. also, i chose the reader’s super name to be ‘guardian’ bc I play too much destiny 😔. edited this to be part two of jump on into the fire Xx

To say things were awkward and tense between her and Soldier Boy was an understatement. Even the rest of the team could feel the tension between them, but since Y/N tried to be as discreet as possible about their relationship, they chopped it up to her being upset at him. Especially after the events at Herogasm. 

She could have handled the situation better, but the implication that he liked her, as in enough to have kids with her, set alarms off in her head. He put her on the spot and she wasn’t ready for that for multiple reasons. 

For one, she didn’t always buy that pathetic, wide-eyed look he’d give them when he was talking about his mistakes, because he didn’t really feel all that bad about it. He’s a soldier, those were just collateral damage, casualties that occurred as he did his job, and so it doesn’t actually matter to him, and it probably never will. The problem wasn’t that he was evil, because he wasn’t, that was all Homelander. The problem was that Ben simply didn’t care. He’s a soldier meant to be ordered around, it didn't matter if he was right or wrong. 

 That night, just for a few seconds, she stopped seeing him that way. He said something sweet and instead of laughing it off or saying ‘shut up’, she actually liked the idea of being his, of starting a family. 

That realisation was terrifying. 

What would the rest of the team say? Even without MM, Annie, Frenchie, or Kimiko around, she could imagine their faces if they ever found out that she and Ben had a complicated relationship. Especially MM, and she empathised with him the most. She felt like she was betraying them, for what? A crush?

“You alright, Guardian?” Butcher asked, standing next to her. He was trying to analyse her, trying to get into her head and why she was now staring off past the glass door. She looked at him, eyes flashing up to his face and then to his posture, curiously tilting her head to the side at the sudden interest he had in her spaciness. 

“Yeah, why?” She asked, looking away from him to stare out the door again, the nice view from the Legend’s place. She knew he’d probably, finally, bring up the awkwardness between her and Ben, his sudden sour mood, and the way he hadn’t tried to make a move on her since that night. Or maybe Butcher was going to sweep it under the rug like he seemed to be doing these days, focusing mainly on the fact that both her and Ben were still getting the job done properly. At least she was. 

Ben seemed to have a lot of other stuff going on and what had happened at Herogasm made it clear that he wasn’t as okay or as in control  as he liked to pretend he was. She was there after all, when Ben had confessed to Hughie that he’d blacked out, with those wet, puppy-dog eyes, claiming to be a good guy. 

He was a bully, but more than anything, Ben was truly pathetic. He wanted to be the best, to stay at the top, to prove he was worth more than anyone else, and he hated it when anyone threatened that. It’s why he was on board with ending Homelander. It’s why he treated everyone around him like complete shit, especially if he felt they were trying to rise above him. 

“Soldier Boy don’t want you to come,” he said bluntly, gazing at her without much of a fuck about how she’ll react. She quickly turned to look at him, confused and irritated as soon as those words came out of his mouth. 

“What the fuck?” She glared at him, but mostly, she was pissed at Ben. Could he not tell her that himself? Then Butcher had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction and she narrowed his eyes. He only raised his hands with a smirk on his face when she shoved him for laughing. “Assholes!” She didn’t wait for him to say anything, just rolled her eyes and started to walk angrily to where Ben was now changing into his uniform. 

When she slammed the door open, the doorknob cracked a hole into the wall and she could hear the Legend shout asking what the noise was but she couldn’t give two fucks about answering. Ben turned around to look at her, his face was serious at first when he zipped up the front of his suit, but then he froze when he saw her fuming.

“Why the fuck are you benching me?” She heard some shuffling by the door and she glared at Hughie and Butcher who were being nosy, only catching Hughie scrambling away and pulling Butcher with him. 

“I’m not benching you,” Ben started, turning away from her unnecessarily to cover his chest with the heavy armour piece. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“I’ve been doing this alone for years. I don’t need you to protect me.” She narrowed her eyes at his back, staring at him as he practically ignored her. This was probably the longest conversation they’ve both had since that night, but the room was still thick with awkward and even sexual tension that set her skin on fire. “I’m going, fuck you if you don’t like it,” she said firmly after a few minutes of silence. 

“The fuck you are,” he replied angrily, finally turning around to face her. 

She hated herself, the way her body was already reacting to his hard stare. With his stupid green eyes practically boring into her, trying to force her to listen to him rather than get in the way of his focus. Because he knew he’d be too busy worrying about her getting mind-fucked to actually focus on anything. He could get Butcher and Hughie killed, but actually he didn’t give a shit about them, he could get her killed. 

He couldn’t tell her that. If he did, she’d push him further away than she already had. To think he fucked up the one good thing he saw coming out of this shit mission, the one good thing in his entire miserable and disappointing life. He wanted her so bad and he wished he could take back what he said so things weren’t awkward between them. Because having her in any way that he could get her was better than this, but it was already out there. The implication of what he really wanted from her. 

He couldn’t force her to want it. He couldn’t force her to like him. Hell, he didn’t even like himself. He was a fucking disappointment, so why would she think he was more than that? He was a fool and she was better than him. She didn’t sign up to work for Vought, she didn’t wear some stupid fucking suit for a slut, or get paid for saving the lives of the people in her city. She doesn’t give a shit about fame. She’s just her. 

Y/N L/N, with a normal, boring job, and a secret life living up to the name her city gave her, the Guardian. 

“Give me one good reason why it’s too dangerous for me to go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly for him to give her something. She knew he’d have way too many things to list and that each one would mean nothing to her. So, all he did was glare at her, cursing softly under his breath knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument, but fuck if it didn’t make him like her more.

It hadn’t gone as bad as Ben had thought it would go. Y/N didn’t get injured or even have to fight at all. Whether he’d liked it or not, he has Hughie to thank for that. There was no struggle or any big fight that broke out when they found Mindstorm with Hughie and Butcher, who was now awake. 

Dan was distracted with Hughie and from a distance and at an angle, Ben threw his knife at Dan’s eye, preventing him from using his abilities on them. Y/N had been shocked, almost as much as Hughie when he’d bashed his head in with his shield, but the news he’d gotten from Mindstorm was something that left him feeling conflicted and angry, but most of all completely disappointed after calling Homelander. 

“Everything good?” He heard Y/N speak up from the doorway. He forced himself to smile at her, not because he didn’t want to see her and wanted her to go away, but because he didn’t want to show that anything was wrong. Nothing was wrong anyway, not necessarily, he just didn’t want to believe that Homelander was his son, but it all made sense. Homelander was as disappointing as Ben’s father thought he was. Basically, Homelander was not the son Ben would have liked to have had.

“Yeah,” he responded, eyeing her every move guardedly. She shut the door behind her and looked around the room at first, probably expecting him to have had some granny or a sexworker in the room. He rolled his eyes, but knew she had every reason to think that about him. When she saw no one, she walked closer to him and he straightened up a little since she clearly was here for more than just small talk.

She didn’t seem to be avoiding him anymore, but that didn’t make him feel any better. She practically rejected him that night and made him feel unwanted. He still remembers the sting he felt when she just brushed him off. Earlier, she’d been pissed at him for slapping Hughie, for abandoning Butcher, and for being insensitive about the nun and the priest he’d killed, and he knew probably other things he did made her angry, but she got over it quickly. Despite having seen him lose it on more than one occasion, she always seemed to see straight through him and he hated it. Like right now, she tilted her head to the side slightly and her eyes moved across his face, trying to and succeeding in easily getting a read on him. 

“Liar. You can’t hide that pathetically sad look on your face. You look like a kicked puppy,” she chuckled, looking away to trace random patterns on the surface of the table she leaned against. He narrowed his eyes at her and scoffed, looking away to stop her from doing that again, even though he missed hearing her and seeing her. “You’re not gonna tell me what Mindstorm said to you?” She bit her lip, watching his reaction to her question. 

“Stop doing that,” he warned, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth thoughtfully. He looked up at her again, really took her in because he missed her despite what she might think about him and despite the irritation she made him feel when she tried to get him to open up or talk about his feelings like he was some sissy. He couldn’t help his next actions, the expression on her face was so gentle and troubled that he found he’d somehow closed the distance between them and thoughtlessly pulled her into a kiss to ease all those things from her face. 

He expected her to hit him or push him away, hell, all of those things, but she just stood there for the fleeting moment in which he pressed his lips against hers. When he pulled away, just slightly, he tried to gauge her reaction and saw mostly confusion on her face. He licked his lips and gently held her face, frustrated and needy for her, but all he did was gently brush his thumbs across her warm and soft cheeks. 

“You don’t hate me,” he said quietly. It was the one thing he was sure of at this point. No one really treated him like he was a person. They were scared of him, for good reason, or they just needed his abilities. Not her. She wasn’t scared of him, not always, and she definitely wasn’t using him despite working with Butcher which she met through Maeve. 

His brows were furrowed, just watching her curiously as she gazed at his face, analysing every twitch in his face, every change in expression. Her mouth opened slightly to respond, but she mimicked his face, brows furrowing as she thought about why she just couldn’t hate him the way everyone else did or even why she wasn’t afraid of him. 

To be fair, she didn’t know anything about him except from what she’d seen of him getting tortured. Somehow, that meant more to her than all the people that died while he was doing his job. Somehow, her feelings for him seemed to sprout and bloom despite knowing how MM felt about him. She cared about the team, probably more than they cared about her, and that made Ben angry. They didn’t deserve her and neither did he.

She should have been afraid, she should hate him the way everyone else does, especially with knowing he’s killed dozens of innocent people, with his temper that would drive him to be unnecessarily violent, the toxic masculinity that exuded from him. He was everything she’d hate in a person, but for some unknown reason, she didn’t hate him. She wanted to help him get better and to be there for him every step of the way. As foolish as it sounded, she felt she could fix him or at least soften his personality because so far, she’s learned all the reasons why he is the way he is, and she thinks given the chance, he could actually change. Not that he’d ever let her help him. 

That was why she was so panicked when he’d shown genuine care and interest in her. What if she gave him the chance to be with her? What if she ended up falling for him only to be discarded once he was bored with her? What if he was incapable of changing and he treated her just like he treats everyone else? If he loved the Countess and he treated her the way he did, why would it be any different with her? 

He interrupted her thoughts with another kiss, a gentle and almost sweet kiss that was so unlike him. It was meant to put her at ease and it nearly did, she felt her stomach flutter either nervously or because it made her swoon. She felt how loosely he held her face, giving her an out, and easy escape from being anywhere near him. And even though her mind once again screamed at her to get out, her feet were planted where she stood and she started to kiss him back just as softly. 

HIs beard tickled the skin around her lips, but she didn’t mind. Instead, she had memories of other times she’d felt that when he kissed her, times where he worshipped every inch of her body with his mouth, and had his head buried between her legs. Her heart was beating quickly and roughly in her chest at the feeling of him kissing her so gently, for the first time, it wasn’t rough and careless. His lips moved tenderly and slowly against hers, stealing the breath from the lungs and making her knees weak. 

She’d never been kissed quite like that and she didn’t think Ben even had the capacity to give someone a kiss like that. He was gentle and he wasn’t pressing, but there was still a hint of desperation and need for her that made her cling to the straps on his thin waist. 

His warm hands slowly moved from her face to the hem of her shirt, which he played with contemplatively before simply moving them underneath it. He grasped her hips and tugged her forward until she was pressed tightly against his body with a quiet moan from her being muffled against his mouth. He could feel all of her even when clothed fully, but the soft and flimsy material of her sleepwear only triggered all the memories he had of her own body being trapped beneath his. The way she felt so perfect under his hands, every curve and every dip of her body felt as if it had been sculpted just for his touch. 

He pulled away from her plush lips just to pull her shirt up and off her body. Carefully and deliberately, he stripped her, dragging his hands and mouth along her form to replace every article of clothing removed from her. Her skin started to heat up the longer he took, her body tensed with each teasing touch of his, waves of shivers following every touch, kiss, suck, and bite. And soon, she was standing naked in front of him. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing as heavily as he was. Her eyes just stared up at him, filled with an endless conflict and desire that he understood, but it also hurt more than he’d like to admit.

Still, she was the one who slid her hand to the back of his neck to pull him back down for a searing kiss. Her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close as he busied himself with taking his suit off with her help. He was impatient with himself, undoing every buckle and loosening every strap, zipping everything down as swiftly as he could until he was as naked as she was. 

This was new for him. He wasn’t in a frenzy to fuck. He took his time, moved slowly, watching her desire for him bloom the longer he took. Suddenly, it hit him that it felt different and new.

He stared down at her, eyes sweeping over the expanse of her face as he slid his hands down her back and he bent his knees to reach the back of her thighs. Looking up at her and the way she looked down at him, it turned him on. Like he was worshipping her. It was short-lived when she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him control of her body. He moved forward with her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and he kissed her neck and shoulder, nuzzling her sensitive skin and inhaling the clean scent of her skin. 

Her uneven breaths and the little sighs that slipped from her parted lips spurred him on the whole way to the bed he’d claimed as his own. He placed his knees on the soft mattress and carefully dipped her until she let go of him and let herself bounce slightly against the soft sheets. There was a little smile on her face when he gazed down at her, and for once, she wasn’t thinking about what her team would want or how anyone would feel if they saw her with Ben, she focused solely on what she wanted and how she felt. 

At that moment, everything seemed to click. When she reached out for Ben’s face, he leaned down to meet her resting his arm by her head. Her fingers once again tangled in his soft hair when he sealed her lips with his in a purposeful kiss, firm and full of promise before he moved his mouth down to her jaw. His teeth grazed her jawline, sliding down until he bit gently at her pulse point, drawing a gasp and a little moan when he swiped his tongue across the spot and sucked possessively. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her nails pushing into the muscle of his shoulder.

Heat flooded between her legs and she arched her back, his hand sliding up her side and under the curve to hold her in place. She couldn't decide whether to squeeze his legs in attempts to close her own or to open them wider for him. He pretended not to notice that and continued to kiss her neck, his lip lingered on her skin, proprietorial and ravenous as they trailed down her body. He took his time and made sure his mouth had been on every inch of her skin as he moved lower, biting at her collarbones and sucking on the skin above her breasts. 

Little by little, she became more impatient. His plump lips wrapped around one of her nipples, lapping and sucking so her breathing would pick up. He slid his hand up from the arch of her back to tweak her nipple and pinch it between his forefinger and thumb, on the edge of being painful and pleasurable. Her clit throbbed, desperate for him to pick up the pace or give her what she wanted, and she could feel just how wet she was as the air around them hit her core. 

She could have touched herself if she wanted, but she liked the torture, the ache that grew between her legs just waiting and letting him take his time with her body. It was hard to stay in control and she pulled roughly at the soft strands of hair that she clung to in order to stop herself from ruining the fun. Everything felt so sensitive and a million times more delicious, as if induced by drugs, but there was something about him that gave her that high every time. Maybe it was the fact that she’s never quite been fucked or touched like this before.

He’d look up at her every now and then, smirking occasionally at the sight of her with her head tipped back, moaning and squirming impatiently. He gently teased her skin with his nose, trailing his lips down the centre of her stomach, squeezing her sides when she wiggled her hips to get his attention. He smiled and nipped at her hip bones, dragging his bearded mouth across her thighs while avoiding where she clearly needed him. 

Eventually, there was no part of her body that was untouched by his mouth and hands--except for her aching and wet cunt. But when he got to it, he just huffed out a breath over her dripping cunt to watch her squirm and lifted himself back up her body. He pressed a hard kiss to her neck and then kissed her lips, his tongue easily entering her hot mouth. They both moaned into each other’s mouths as he practically devoured her mouth, firm and needy while holding the back of her neck and tilting her head so he could kiss her as hungrily as he wanted.

“You’re so goddamn delicious, doll.” He pulled away from her breathlessly, his lips wet and swollen. He sat back on his legs, enjoying the sight of her looking just as wrecked as he felt. She was flushed and warm and her hungry eyes were slowly dragging over his face and down his body. She licked her lips when she got to his cock, hard and throbbing and leaking at the tip. 

“Ben,” she murmured, a hint of neediness in her voice that made him smirk. Using her elbow to lift herself up, she reached over to wrap her hand around the base of his cock before he could continue to tease her. 

“Shit,” he groaned. His hips bucked into her hand and she slowly started to lift her hand up, thumbing some precum over the soft head, and squeezing all the way down until he let out a strangled moan. 

“Touch me,” she whispered, and even though he detected it being a command more than a plea, he complied. He dragged his hands up the back of her thighs and spread her legs, his hooded green eyes glued on her glistening folds. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart,” he praised, dragging two fingers from her slick entrance to her clit. He lifted the wet fingers to his face and she blushed when he inhaled the scent of her arousal before slipping the two fingers into his mouth with a satisfied moan. “Christ, you taste so good.” He brought his fingers back to her pussy, pushing his two fingers into her entrance, his fingertips curled to rub against her walls everytime he pushed them in and out, going deeper and deeper, slowly, and only going fast when he felt the way she expanded inside. 

“Holy fuck, Ben,” she gasped, her pussy squeezing his fingers and gazing up at him with her pretty glazed eyes. 

Even in her dazed state, she continued to jerk him off with quick, stuttered and uneven tugs. He could feel his own orgasm beginning to form with the way she was looking at him, his stomach tightening when his eyes flickered down to her hand, now wet and coated in his precum. 

She moved her hips eagerly against his hand and only stopped when he flattened a large hand on her stomach, a small cry leaving her lips when he added a third finger into her squelching cunt. “That’s right, baby, cum on my fingers,” he encouraged, lowering his hand to her pelvis to quickly massage her clit with his thumb.

“Shit… Ben,” she hissed, letting her orgasm wash over her, wave after wave of pleasure making her body shake. He groaned softly, shoving his fingers deep into her cunt to brush his fingers against the sensitive spot deep inside over and over until she collapsed onto her back, her hand becoming still on his cock to wrap around his wrist instead. 

“That’s my good girl,” he lauded, slowly slipping his fingers out of her. She murmured his name softly at the praise as he slid his hand up and down her sides comfortingly and stared down at his fingers. They were coated in clear slick and creamy cum that made his mouth water. “Shit, look at that,” he chuckled, licking his lips. He leaned over her, shoving a clean hand to the back of her head to grasp her hair. With a harsh pull, he forced her eyes open so she could watch him lick away her release from his fingers. “Make me cum and I’ll fill you up,” he promised, then shoved two of his saliva-coated fingers into her mouth, thrusting them in and out of her mouth the way he would if it was his cock. 

He scooted closer, close enough so that her thighs were thrown over his and his cockhead brush against her stomach with every quick drag of her hand on his wet cock. He purposely pushed his fingers deeper into her mouth, moaning softly when she gagged momentarily and closed her eyes to blink tears away when he kept shoving them as deep as he could into her throat. 

“No, no, look at me, honey. You’re so fucking pretty when you--oh, fuck,” he rasped, grunting softly in surprise. His cock twitched excitedly as hot tears flowed down her cheeks and she moaned softly when he tightened his grip on her hair. He came with a soft growl of her name, spilling hot and messy on her stomach and breasts, feeling an overwhelming intensity in his orgasm while gazing into her watery eyes. He didn’t know if it was the eye contact, or the way her eyes glazed over with tears with her lashes sticking together that pushed him over the edge, but whatever it was, it made him cum faster than they both expected. 

“Jesus, Ben,” she laughed softly, releasing his now limp cock. He just panted heavily, leaning back on his legs with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He basked in the aftershocks of the mind-blowing orgasm he just had with his hands on her hips and she licked her lips while wiping away tears from her cheeks and eyes.

He looked back down at her once he recomposed himself, catching her playing with his cum splattered on her chest and in the middle of lifting her fingers into her mouth. She looked at him and snickered when she saw the look on his face as she started to lick at the cum on her fingers, his eyes darkening and his cock hardening all over again. 

 “I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss her roughly. She moaned softly, pleasantly surprised when he rocked his hips against hers, sliding his cock through her folds and over her clit teasingly. He reached between their bodies and lined himself up with her entrance, easily thrusting into her with a snap of his hips. 

He carefully rocked his hips against hers, lifting himself up slightly so they parted from the searing kiss to gaze down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t protest, just slid her hands along the hefty planes of his back, stopping only when she got to his broad shoulders to hold onto them. He stopped suddenly after letting his eyes drift over her face, then he hid his own in her neck and slid his arm under the small of her back.

“Homelander’s my son,” he mumbled against the connection between her neck and shoulder. She froze and her eyes widened when she deciphered what he’d said and slid her hands from his back to push at his shoulders, but he didn’t budge. “That’s what Mindstorm told me,” he added quietly.

“What the fuck, Ben?” She grumbled, yanking his hair in attempts to get him off her, but he just growled and swivelled his hips defiantly. “You’re gonna tell me that now?” She protested and he gave an unhumourous nod into her neck, lifting himself up just to kiss her to distract her from what he’d blurted out. She kissed him back begrudgingly with her eyes open.

“I knew you’d react this way,” he said softly against her lips. She bit his lip roughly and he hissed, pulling away to glare at her and was met with a fierce glare from her. 

“Yeah, fuck you,” she muttered, squirming angrily in attempts to get away from him. She felt used, as if he’d hide that from her just to get a quick fuck. 

“Please,” he whispered, pulling out when he realised she wasn’t giving him a chance to explain himself. 

“Please what?” She spat, shoving him away to think about what he just revealed. Out of everyone she’s ever met, Homelander was someone she truly despised. He was an utter piece of shit and he had a long list of vile traits that she despised in people, supe or not. He was a fucking child and he was out of control, no one ever having told him ‘no’ his whole life. “What the fuck do you want from me?” She asked, moving away to pace around the room or even to leave Ben the same way she had before.

“You know what I want,” he retorted, suddenly it wasn’t about Homelander. Fear of being left alone again made Ben grab her arm to stop her from getting out of bed. “You’re not fucking stupid, sweetheart,” he reminded, gently tugging her back to him. She didn’t budge, but she looked over at him when he let her go. She caught a glimpse of the resignation on his face, the vulnerability she’d rarely seen on his face, before he could mask it. She sighed in defeat, deciding to hear him out after all.

“Ben…” She sat on the bed, facing him and reached out to brush his hair away from his face. He moved away from her touch, sitting at the edge of the bed with his back to her. She dropped her hand in her lap and watched him, her eyes drifting to the large window in front of him that let her see what he could no longer hide from her.

“If you’re not gonna say what I wanna hear, don’t say anything and get out,” he said harshly, his shoulders slumped and overall, he looked defeated. She’d expected him to lash out or to hear how he didn’t want to kill Homelander, but it was probably worse to see him like this.

“Ben, it won’t work out.” She said it softly, but it hurt him like a million knives in the chest. In reality, the hurt he felt hearing her say that didn’t compare to the forty years of torture he was put through in Russia. 

“It could work… I could make it work,” he said quietly, “when we’re done with Black Noir and Homelander, and I will kill him… It’ll just be you and me, Y/N. Maybe… we can start a family somewhere else, far away from all this bullshit.” He looked over his shoulder slightly just to read her face when she remained quiet. 

She chewed on her lip, frowning as she considered his words. He was still willing to kill Homelander, his son. That should be worth something. He actually wanted something normal when he was done with this and she was more surprised than doubtful of his words. He spoke so softly, as if he’d had this plan all his life and finally found someone who could fill in the faceless mother of the children he wanted in his fantasy. He was willing to retire and he wanted that with her.

After spending years being an abusive and toxic asshole, then wasting decades more of his life being tortured, it made sense to her that he just wanted to cherish the rest of his time doing shit he’s always wanted rather than trying to prove he was worth something. In many ways, being a father could fulfil that need to prove he wasn’t a complete disappointment. After he’d been told that so much by his father, he was incapable of seeing himself as anything but a disappointment. This was his way out and she could easily open that door up for him.

Or she could slam that door in his face like a coward. She could continue to be too afraid to be hated by a team that didn’t give two fucks about her. Why she prioritised their opinions on her puzzled her as much as Ben being vulnerable right now. 

“Get out,” he muttered, staring at her with his face hard. She blinked and focused on him again, her mouth fell open to say something, but he turned away and was sitting straight. The walls he’d let down were up again, probably stronger than ever before, and she made her way over to him on her knees, sliding her hand up his neck to cup his chin and tilt his head back so he’d look up at her. 

He stared at her with steely eyes, but she kissed him, painfully squeezing his chin until he moaned and opened his mouth to let her tongue slip past his lips. He reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrist, silently telling her to loosen her grip and she did, kissing him firmly, saying everything she couldn’t say with the heated kiss. He melted into her, turning slowly until she had to pull away to accommodate the new position he was kissing her in. 

“I’m not gonna let you push me around and tell me what to do,” she murmured between kisses, moving up the bed with him until her head was settled against the fluffy pillows. 

“I won’t do that,” he promised, taking his soft cock in his hand and jerking it until he was stiff and ready again.

“There’s a lot more,” she murmured distractedly. 

“I can imagine,” he laughed softly, gently pushing himself into her, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

➥ your sword versus my dagger

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[mcverse]

☆ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐘𝐞𝐬/𝐍𝐨

☆ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

☆ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 619

☆ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞 (𝐧𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨)

☆ ​𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

✮ No surprise, Sniper Mask would rather combust where he stands if he ever does something so uncool in front of his darling.

✮ That goes for if his darling ever, at any point, thinks he was uncool. His heart couldn’t take his darling thinking so lamely of him.

✮ His darling was his before he even got the chance to introduce himself. Like the first time he saw his darling, the very first thing that went through his head was an assertion of scenes on their future together.

✮ Like all Yanderes, Sniper Mask is protective of his darling. It doesn’t matter if they’re a player or a masked person like him. Neither of those are good odds. He’s stuck to their hip like glue.

✮ He’s a starer but his darling can’t tell from looking at him because of his mask. They could probably feel it though, but most of the time, they shake it off as the world has eyes on them.

✮ He knows his darling’s injured before they do; he remembers everything about their body and that new bruise wasn't there before. How they didn’t feel it, he’s not sure but he’ll tend to his darling’s needs.

✮ He knows when his darling is hungry based on how sluggish they are. A tired and dazed darling gives him more to worry about instead of using his time to admire them.

✮ Nothing about his darling goes unnoticed by him. Nothing. He’s his darling's second pair of eyes. And hands if needed.

✮ Speaking of hands, wherever he goes, he is always hand in hand with his darling. It just reassures him they’re there and safe for now. It also helps him know if they separate.

✮ When he’s not helping his darling in a crisis, and where the moment feels just right to pass up given their situation; he’s more talkative and soft spoken because usually it’s about what happens once his darling gets out of there—and his darling is sweet enough to include him in their future plans. That’s the type shit that makes it difficult for him to not want to scope them up in his arms and kiss them breathless.

✮ I wanna say he doesn’t get jealous, but that’s not true. One, he’s Yandere. Jealousy is canon. Two, for someone so worried about looking cool or uncool in front of someone, that doesn’t sound like a very secure man.

✮ Hates when another man saves his darling. He’s grateful, really, but they're stealing his shine. He’s his darling hero, not whoever the fuck.

✮ And if his darling praises whoever saves them, omg, there is no reason to be so upset as he is. The silent treatment is double, and the person is on his kill list—he’ll remember this to the day they actually die; whether it be collateral damage or purposely planned.

✮ He’s the Yandere that knows the way he thinks is unhealthy but he’s too far gone to do anything about it. Right around the same time, he starts to care less about how wrong his obsession gets because it only ever benefits his darling.

✮ He doesn’t need to kidnap or stalk because it’s the middle of a survival game, where could he stash his darling? And why stalk his darling if he can observe them from a few feet away?

✮ Kuon compliments don’t have the same effect on Sniper Mask as if his darling gave them.

✮ Like he’s still semi speechless because like okay???? You're weird girl.

✮ When his darling compliments him, he’s speechless—-his face is on fire under that mask & his heart is literally beating in his ears. He just knows if he opens his mouth, he’s gonna fumble and humiliate himself. Don’t stop though, he likes that!

[coloursparks]

Not Like That

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC Summary: Things change over the summer holiday with Sebastian, and then things get messy. Might as well spend the first few weeks of your last year fighting about it. WC: 6.1k Notes: Oh god, the first fic I've written in like six years and I am sure it's shit. I am sorry if characterization is off. It takes me a minute?? I also have zero clue if I want this to be canon compliant or not so there's absolutely no mention of Anne or what happened! Also, no beta so please don't be too harsh. I just wanted to have fun writing a thing and hopefully someone else enjoys it!

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“How else am I supposed to look?” you asked Imelda. “Do you hear yourself talk?”

“Do you?” she shot back, giving you the same exasperated look you were giving her. “If you don’t say something about it soon, you’re going to lose your chance. I’m not sure I can hold them at bay much longer.”

“I don’t know what chance you think I should have,” you said, though you didn’t sound as confident about it. The fact of the matter was you knew exactly what Imelda was talking about, and she was right. You hated that she was right.

“Sallow’s come back a foot taller and just bigger and you aren’t the only one who’s noticed,” she pointed out. “Violet’s determined to slip him a love potion. I’ve been trying to tell her he’s already involved, but considering I can’t say who, it hasn’t worked all too well.”

“I hate her,” you muttered, feeling a prick of jealousy. 

“You hate anyone who so much as bats an eyelash at him,” Imelda pointed out. “You can save yourself the trouble but just telling him that you fancy him and snog in the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks already.” 

“Imelda!” 

“Or snog him somewhere else. I happen to quite like the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks for that sort of thing, but to each their own,” she said simply, shrugging. She was unashamed, and part of you envied her for it. 

“It’s not that simple,” you sighed, giving her a pleading look.

“And why not?”

“Because���because…” you stammered, trying to find a reason that would satisfy your friend. When none came to mind as she stared at you expectantly, you groaned and rested your head on your crossed arms on the table in front of you. “He’s going to have a right laugh at me, Imelda.”

“No, he will not,” she said, poking you in the shoulder. You looked up at her, already defeated and resigned to the fact that despite your years-long pining for Sebastian Sallow, nothing would ever come at it.

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“Because Sallow’s a lot of things, but he’s not that cruel. Besides, for all you know, he could be whining to Ominus about how much he fancies you but thinks he has no chance,” she pointed out. “Now, come on. We’ll be late, and Hecat swore to put me in detention if I was late again.”  The two of you stood from the table in the library where you had been sitting, gathering up your belongings before heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

“Why are you so late all the time anyway?” you asked curiously as you held open the door into Central Hall for her. 

“Flying,” she answered simply. 

Of course. It was Imelda - you should have known. 

___

“Mr. Sallow, why must you always duel in my classroom?” 

Professor Hecat was only just leaving her office as you and Imelda entered and seemed too busy repairing the collateral damage from Sebastian’s duel with Leander Prewett to notice the two of you sneaking to nearby seats. The room was righting itself as Sebastian raised his hands up to the professor, taking a few steps away from the dueling platform he had been standing on.

“Because, Professor, there isn’t another place where dueling is sanctioned,” he pointed out, his voice conveying innocence he didn’t possess. You rolled your eyes because you knew full well that dueling being sanctioned didn’t stop him from doing it. Crossed Wands meetings and plenty of adventures proved otherwise, and the look Hecat was giving him also showed she knew otherwise.

“Let’s see if we can make it through the term without you destroying my classroom, Mr. Sallow.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said, raising his wand and muttering a hasty spell to repair the nearby broken desk. It righted itself in one piece, still smoking slightly. “It won’t happen again.” He shot her a smile before heading to a nearby seat. “Imelda, what are you doing here? I didn’t realize Quidditch players needed N.E.W.T.S. Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he chuckled as he leaned forward to look at her.

“I take no chances,” Imelda replied cooly. “You never know what an opponent will do to get ahead, and knowing how to unjinx a broom can’t hurt.”

“If you say so,” he said, still smiling as he shook his head. “And my favorite Hufflepuff returns. I was starting to wonder if you even still went here,” he joked, elbowing you gently in the arm. 

“No, still here,” you chuckled awkwardly, trying to rub the tingling feeling out of your arm where he had touched you. It was ridiculous, letting a simple touch get to you, but everything was ridiculous when he was involved. 

Before either of you could say anything else, Professor Hecat was calling for the class to focus on her so she could teach. You tried your best to pay attention, but the fact you were next to Sebastian was nothing short of distracting. Words came out of the professor’s mouth and you tried to hold onto them, only for them to slip through your fingers because Sebastian was making that focused face he always made when he was trying to learn something, brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue poking out as he scribbled on parchment.

It was the first time you had really gotten to see him up close. Sebastian had certainly grown over the summer holiday – he was broader and if there were any doubts, the way his sleeves were pulled taut over his arms put them to rest. He was a head taller than last year, and you cursed him mentally for somehow having even more freckles. He had left sixth year looking more like a boy and returned for seventh year looking like a man, and you certainly hadn’t been the only one who noticed. 

Part of the reason why Sebastian had joked about not knowing if you had come back to Hogwarts was that you hadn’t been able to get his attention before now. You had seen him on the Hogwarts Express, but he and Ominis had been having such an intense-seeming conversation that you hadn’t wanted to interrupt. You had tried to end up in the same carriage on the way up to the school, but before you could tell him that you had room in your carriage, Violet McDowell was pulling him into hers with Sebastian tugging Ominis in too.

Dejected and a little annoyed, you had ridden up to the school in huffy silence with Imelda and Poppy. 

Outside of trying to wave at Sebastian from the Hufflepuff table after the sorting, you hadn’t bothered to get his attention. He was clearly enjoying the attention of the girls that somehow seemed to find every free space around him. You could have sworn that you saw Imelda notice the upset look on your face, but you decided to jab at your roast potatoes instead of looking at the Slytherin table any longer. 

It was the bell to signal the end of class that shook you from your stupor. You had zoned out watching Sebastian, who blissfully hadn’t noticed the attention. Unfortunately for you, Imelda certainly had. She gave you a look that very clearly said that her thoughts from your earlier conversation hadn’t changed. Luckily, before she could say anything about it, Sebastian was ducking in the way.

“Imelda, Quidditch,” he said quickly, noticing he needed to head her off talking about something, even if he didn’t know what it was.

“What about it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she packed her belongings.

“Tryouts,” Sebastian said simply. “Want to know when they’re happening. Decided to finally try out.” When Imelda gave eyed him suspiciously, like she thought she was walking into a trap of some kind, he sighed and added, “I was told to do something more productive and sanctioned with my time.”

“You’re serious?” Imelda asked. “What position?”

“Beater. You need those, right?”

“We do,” she agreed. She glanced over at you, sighed, and then looked back to Sebastian. “I’m going down to the pitch before Potions if you want to practice before tryouts and I can give you tips to improve.” 

You wanted to laugh. As much as Imelda probably wanted you and Sebastian alone together so you could confess the feelings you still wouldn’t admit to, her love of Quidditch won out. Secretly, you were thankful for it.

“Do you want to join us?” Sebastian asked hopefully, looking over at you. “Get a leg up on your Slytherin competition.”

“Hufflepuff still wouldn’t stand a chance,” Imelda pointed out, and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I’ve got Divination,” you told him, choosing to ignore Imelda’s teasing. 

“You’re still taking that?” 

You shrugged in response. “I like Professor Onai. Plus, someone has to keep Natty company,” you explained. “You two don’t get bloodied up too bad without me.”

“Don’t worry, if Sallow’s any good, his pretty face will stay pretty,” Imelda laughed, and you knew that she was trying to get a rise out of you. Sebastian, thankfully, seemed a bit preoccupied with the comment himself to notice the color rising in your cheeks. You excused yourself with the excuse of not wanting to be late to class before things could get any more awkward.

____

In the weeks after, you had seen more of Sebastian, and then suddenly a lot less. Unsurprisingly, he ended up making the Quidditch team. With the beginning of the Quidditch season coming up, Imelda had them practicing at all hours, meaning that her time to try and press the issue of your feelings for Sebastian was blissfully cut short. 

Luckily, you could at least still spend time with other friends who either didn’t notice what Imelda had or at least had the grace not to press you about it. Without Sebastian around, you seemed to find Ominis on his own more, and the nice part about spending time with him was that he didn’t seem to give a damn about your romantic life nor did he want to divulge on his own the way Poppy and Adelaide had been as of late. You were happy for your friends, but the constant questions about your own because the two Hufflepuffs weren’t as well-versed in your emotions as Imelda was getting to be a little much.

“What do you think you’ll do once you graduate?” 

Ominis had been talking about what his own plans were as the two of you walked toward Hogsmeade. The two of you were friends, sure, but more because you had a mutual friend than because you spent any significant time together before now. You were catching up on the more interesting things now that the two of you were spending time together without Sebastian. 

“When we did career conversations with our Heads of House, I thought I wanted to work for the Ministry but something about it doesn’t feel right anymore,” you told him, stepping out of the way of a witch carrying a stack of books with a cauldron perched precariously on top. “Bit mad to expect a bunch of children to decide what to do with their lives just like that, you know?”

“You sound like Sebastian,” he pointed out, chuckling slightly. “Says he might not bother with curse-breaking at all now. Might want to play Quidditch professionally instead.”

“He hasn’t played in a single game,” you laughed. “The season doesn’t start for another week and he wants to be a professional now?”

“Apparently so.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Well,” Ominis started, “you can ask him all about it later. He’s meeting us here after practice–if Imelda’s left enough of the team.” 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” you said casually, trying to ignore the excitement from the news and the slight feeling of dread. As much as you liked Imelda, you hoped she wouldn’t be joining because you weren’t ready for another round of heavy-handed comments about you and Sebastian. 

“The second I said you and I were going to Hogsmeade, he said he was joining,” he explained, shrugging. “You haven’t seen much of him lately, have you?”

“Outside of classes? No,” you sighed. “He seems too busy for me these days.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” you said, biting your lip. 

You didn’t want to get into it with Ominis. He didn’t need to know how much it bugged you to see Sebastian at meal times, talking to the rest of the team or those girls that somehow always seemed to hang around him. He didn’t need to know how disappointed you were every time you couldn’t even get Sebastian’s attention to say hello, and when you did, half the time he was rushing off somewhere. You felt thoroughly left behind and the fact you cared so much about him made it hurt all that much more. The less Ominis knew about all of that, the better. 

“He’s just been busy with Quidditch,” you replied finally, in too airy of a voice to be entirely convincing. 

Thankfully, he let the topic of your mutual friend slide as you got into the village. You had needed to restock for Potions, and Ominis seemed uncharacteristically cheery in Honeydukes 

and you didn’t have the heart to suggest going elsewhere when he wanted to explore. Leaving close to an hour later with your coin purses lighter but pockets heavier, you managed to get into and out of Gladrag’s with only the new scarf you had intended to buy before heading to the Three Broomsticks. 

“There you two are!” Sebastian was sitting at a table in the corner, waving at the two of you. Your heart skipped at the look of the smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back and wave to show that you spotted him. 

“Would you mind grabbing the Butterbeers?” Ominis asked, turning towards the sound of Sebastian’s voice. 

“Consider it done,” you told him, giving him a pat on the arm before heading to the bar. “Sirona! Can I get two Butterbeers?” She waved to show that she heard you, even as she was dealing with something else behind the bar. You looked around to see if there was other students in the pub, and you spotted a few younger Hufflepuffs and, a few tables over, Garreth Weasley and Everett Clopton discussing something on a piece of parchment in front of them. That was…dangerous. 

The only other table of interest was the one you were heading to, and as you looked over at it, you saw Sebastian looking at you, still smiling. You smiled back, feeling a little silly at how easy it was for him to make you feel the way he did.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Sirona commented as she slid two full glasses in front of you. You whipped around, giving her a confused look.

“What do you mean?” 

“Sebastian’s been watching that door like his life depended on it,” she said. “Waiting for you.”

“Well, Ominis doesn’t come to the village often,” you pointed out, taking your drinks. “He was probably just worried about him and won’t admit it. Boys, you know.” 

“Perhaps,” Sirona said, but the look on her face showed that she didn’t believe what you were saying. You pushed what you owed for the drinks toward her, and picked up the Butterbeer. She left it there, and you headed over to your friends. You placed Ominis’ drink in front of him before settling in the free seat.

“If we don’t win, I’m quitting,” Sebastian was telling Ominis.

“Already?” you asked, giving Sebastian an amused look.

“You have no idea what Imelda is like Captain,” he responded, shaking his head. “She woke us up before dawn this morning.”

“I feel like you knew what you were signing up for,” you laughed. “It’s not like it’s a surprise that Imelda is…intense.”

“But add a little power over people,” he sighed, “and you’ll be playing Quidditch every moment you’re not in class or asleep.”

“Just the way she likes it,” you pointed out, taking a sip of your drink. “I thought you wanted to play professionally?”

“Yeah but…” he trailed off. “When did I tell you that?”

“I told her before,” Ominis piped in. “She talks to you even less than I do. We compare notes,” he added dryly. You laughed at the comment. It was perfectly true. Sebastian and you would talk maybe for a minute before class or after, but Ominis at least saw him in the Slytherin Common Room. The two of you talked about other things, but the conversation would always turn to Sebastian at one point or another. 

Sebastian frowned, but before he could say anything else about it, Ominis was talking about something else. For a while, Sebastian was uncharacteristically quiet as you two chatted about nothing in particular and drank your Butterbeers. Slowly, he became more himself, and you had to admit, it was nice to have what felt like the “old days” back again. It felt like you were back in the Undercroft, and not fighting for Sebastian’s attention. 

Once all three glasses were empty, you stood up and scooped them into your arms. “I’ll go get us more,” you declared, smiling brightly. You didn’t want things to end just yet, so another round of drinks made the most sense. You had barely been up at the bar for a minute when your seat was taken by Violet McDowell. She had pulled the chair closer to Sebastian and was leaning so near him she might as well be in his lap, and Ominis was looking almost as annoyed as you were. Sirona said nothing about the look on your face other than a glance over to your table and a head shake. 

Unable to carry all three drinks, you instead charmed the filled glasses to float in front of you as you headed back to the table. You let the three of them fall with more force than you meant to, causing loud thuds and Butterbeer to slop out over the rims and onto the table. Ominis, who couldn’t know that he should move back the way Sebastian had, got the brunt of the spill.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, more to him than the other two. “Just got away from me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the castle with me?” Violet was simpering, ignoring what had just happened. “You said you’d help me with my Charms work, Bas.” You almost snorted at the nickname but managed to cover it up with a cough.

“I’ll meet you back in the common room later,” Sebastian told her, “go ahead without me.” Violet pouted, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek and look away from her. She was certainly shameless. 

“Fine! But you promised,” Violet huffed before getting up and heading out, ignoring the other two people at the table completely. Ominis was trying to clean up the spilled Butterbeer so he either didn’t notice or care about Violet’s departure. 

“I’m going to wash up,” Ominis said, standing up and shaking his hands. 

“I’m really sorry, Ominis,” you sighed, and he just shook his head.

“Accidents happen.” He disappeared upstairs, leaving you and Sebastian alone for the first time since before the summer holiday. You pulled your chair back to where it had been before Violet showed up and sat down.

Things were quiet between the two of you for a long moment. Both of you seemed more interested in your drinks than speaking, and neither one of you looked at the other. It was Sebastian who finally broke the silence.

“So…you’ve been spending a lot of time with Ominis lately,” he mentioned casually. You shrugged, looking over at him.

“I guess,” you agreed. “You and Imelda have been busy with Quidditch, so it’s just been the two of us.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Is that the only reason?” he asked in the same casual voice, leaning forward as if he was expecting you to spill about some secret mission you and Ominis were planning. It was then that you realized that you hadn’t pulled the chair back all the way, and with your back facing the corner where the table was settled, Sebastian was boxing you in. If Sebastian had looked like he had grown before, close up, he looked to have doubled in size with him so closer now. He seemed almost impossibly broad now, and you felt nothing short of tiny in comparison. You looked up at him, confused, blushing slightly.

“Yes?” you said nervously. “Why would there be another reason?”

“Don’t know,” he responded, settling his arm on the table as he continued to lean towards you, resting his head against his hand. “I haven’t seen you much this year so I thought…” he started, but you cut him off.

“That’s not my fault, Sebastian,” you huffed. “You’re the one who doesn’t have any time for me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Sebastian looked taken aback at your words. 

“You’re joking, right?” you said, leaning in a little closer as you stared him down. “You’ve barely said two words for me outside of class. You don’t bother to even say hi at meals anymore.”

“I haven’t seen you,” he explained, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Of course, you haven’t seen me.” You rolled your eyes, frustration that had been bubbling finally coming to the surface. “You’re at practice or going to class or busy showing off for Violet and those other girls that follow you around.”

“I’m not showing off for Violet,” he shot back. “Or any of those other girls. I’m not asking them to do that!”

“And you’re not telling them to leave you alone either,” you pointed out, temper creeping into your voice. “You sure seem to be loving the attention every time I see you. Why would you bother looking up to say hi to me when you have…”

“What are you two talking about?”

Ominis had reappeared at the table. Sebastian slid back, no longer crowding you into the corner, looking annoyed. 

“Nothing,” he told the other boy. He drained his entire Butterbeer before standing up. “I should head back to the Castle. Quidditch doesn’t leave much time for homework. I should catch up.” He didn’t bother waiting for either of you to say anything before starting to leave.

“Tell Violet we say hi, Bas.” The words were out of your mouth before you thought about it, and there was a small part of you that looked satisfied as a guilty look appeared on his face, but then replaced by a look of defiance. 

“I’ll see you back at the common room, Ominis,” he said and was gone a moment later. You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing,” you sighed. You looked at your drink, not really wanting it anymore. “Can we go back to school? I…uh, I think we’re getting close to curfew.”

“Right,” Ominis agreed, nodding. “Floo powder is faster.”

“Works for me,” you sighed, letting him lead the way over to the fire. 

_____

The first Quidditch match of the season had the entire castle beside itself. You couldn’t share in the enthusiasm-–even fellow Hufflepuffs were excited to see Ravenclaw vs Slytherin—because it meant having to see Sebastian out on the field. Even in classes over the last week, you determinedly avoided so much as looking at him. Imelda, blissfully, was too worked up about the game to notice.

In the end, you decided to go to support her. 

It hadn’t been too bad. Most of the other Hufflepuffs you were sitting with were cheering for Ravenclaw, but you and Poppy were too excited for Imelda to join in. It certainly got you two some looks from people nearby, but the excitement of seeing her score twice in a row made it easy to ignore. Despite your annoyance with him, it was still something else to see Sebastian zip by, sending bludgers toward the Ravenclaw Chasers. 

You weren’t any less glad when you two were waiting for Imelda to come out of the changing room that she was the last one out.

“Sallow went up with the rest of the team before,” she told you as you hugged her.

“I don’t care,” you huffed. “I was waiting for you.”

“Why don’t you care? Could have gotten to him before Violet McDowell did.”

“Why would you want to get Sebastian before Violet McDowell?” Poppy asked, looking between you and Imelda. You led the way back up towards the castle, your friends following behind.

“I don’t,” you responded, shaking your head. 

“What happened?” Imelda asked. “He was strange when I mentioned you before too.”

“Nothing happened,” you said. “He’d rather spend time with Violet McDowell? Fine. I don’t care.”

“Why does it matter who Sebastian spends time with?” Poppy asked. Then, she stopped. “Oh, you fancy him, don’t you?”

“Not anymore I don’t,” you huffed. “Now can we just leave it be?” Poppy, who you two hadn’t stopped for, ran to catch up with you. Imelda just laughed.

“He might be big on reading, but Sallow is as thick as they come,” she chuckled. “Good riddance, I say. You’ll do much better.”

“I always thought you and Ominis were cute together,” Poppy offered. 

“You know, he asked me if there was a reason the two of us were spending so much time alone together,” you half laughed, half scoffed. 

“You’re joking,” Imelda laughed. “When did he come to you with that idea?”

“Met us in Hogsmeade last week. He and I got into an argument and I haven’t spoken to him since,” you explained. 

“How did I miss this?” Imelda asked, and looked to Poppy. “Did you know about this?”

“No! I didn’t even know she fancied Sebastian,” she said, “no one tells me anything, apparently! All these times we’ve talked about who I fancy and…”

“I don’t fancy Sebastian,” you sighed. “At least, not anymore.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You two would be cute together too!”

“I don’t want to ever talk to him again,” you said shortly as the door to the castle swung open. “I also don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“That’s right!” Imelda said brightly, “Outside of Quidditch, Sallow is nothing.” When you shot her a look, she shrugged. “He’s a good Beater, you have to admit. But outside of the pitch, won’t talk to him.”

“Am I still allowed to talk to him?” asked Poppy.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” you replied. 

“Well, you aren’t and Imelda isn’t…” she trailed off, looking between the two of you. 

“I’m just doing it because it’ll annoy him,” Imelda pointed out. “Sounds like fun, right?” You rolled your eyes, putting your hands up.

“Do whatever the two of you wish, but I am not getting involved. I’m going to the library,” you announced. “I have work to do that I ignored to come watch the game.” 

“No fun!” Imelda called.

“What? It’s not like I can join the party anyway.” 

“I’d sneak you in,” she offered. “What about you, Poppy?” 

“No, I really should go check on…” she trailed off, pointing in the direction of the Beasts classroom. 

“No fun, either of you.”

You laughed, waved your goodbyes and made your way upstairs. You were barely a few steps towards the library when a voice made you jump.

“You fancied Sebastian?” 

You spun around to see Ominis nearby. Of course, he’d be in the castle. He probably wouldn’t have even gone down to the game, but leave it to him to be right there at exactly the wrong time. 

“I…” you started, sighing heavily. 

“That was why the two of you argued at The Three Broomsticks?” he guessed. 

“No!” you exclaimed. “Not really, no. I mean…”

“You were annoyed about Violet McDowell and Sebastian leaving to go with her,” Ominous stated.

“How were you not?” you shot back, panicking slightly. He was right, of course, but something about Ominis knowing felt dangerous. You could trust Imelda not to say anything to Sebastian no matter how much she threatened to, but you couldn’t say the same of Ominis. 

“Why didn’t you just tell him how you felt instead of arguing?”

“It’s not that easy, Ominis,” you sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about this. Not with you, no offense. But not anyone else either. Can you just…please don’t say anything about it.”

Ominis shrugged, and you knew that was the closest to a commitment that you’d get. “Does that mean you spend time with me to see him?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you replied quickly. “Merlin’s beard, Ominis. I’m not desperate for his attention like Violet is. We’ve been friends for years.”

“You’ve been friends with Sebastian, and I’ve been friends with Sebastian,” Ominis countered. “I didn’t think we were friends without him until recently.”

“Well, we are,” you stated. “At least I thought we were.”

“So did I,” he said.

“Then there, we’re friends, Ominis. Regardless of whether or not Sebastian is around,” you told him. 

“Isn’t this the type of thing friends talk about?” 

“I don’t know! Not always. It’s not like you go around telling me who you fancy,” you pointed out. He chuckled.

“I suppose not,” he agreed, nodding. 

“Now, can we please never speak about this again?” you pleaded. “I get enough from Imelda and Poppy just found out and now I know I’m never going to hear the end of it. I just want one friend who doesn’t care about my love life.”

“I promise, we won’t speak of your love life.”

“Thank you, Ominis. I really appreciate it,” you told him, breathing a sigh of relief. 

When the two of you parted ways a little while later, you certainly felt better about the fact that Ominis knew. You still couldn’t say for certain if he’d tell Sebastian or not. Their friendship was much longer than yours, but you at least hoped he’d take your desire to leave it alone into consideration. 

The rest of the night was dedicated to you trying to forget about the last few hours and actually trying to get your homework done. The number of people in the common room was keeping you more on task for once. If you looked busy enough, everyone would leave you alone, and you didn’t have to speak to anyone. A few people stopped to say hi, but the fact you weren’t willing to more than glance up to greet them kept you in a mostly solitary corner. 

Just when the common room was starting to clear out, and you were just about finished with your Charms work, when Poppy came through the entrance. You looked up when she called your name, holding your quill over the parchment.

“There you are!” Poppy sighed, pointing towards the door. “Sebastian’s waiting out there for you.”

“Sebastian is waiting for me,” you repeated, letting the ink drip onto your essay. 

“He is,” she confirmed. “He tried to follow me in. I had to promise to come get you.”

“I really don’t want to talk to him right now, Poppy,” you half-whined. You had already had enough uncomfortable conversations about your feelings for one day, and something told you Sebastian wasn’t there to rehash the Quidditch match. Just when you had just about convinced yourself that Ominis was going to keep your conversation between you, Sebastian was attempting to break into the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“He really wants to talk to you,” she said, shifting on her feet. 

“Fine,” you sighed, knowing that Poppy wasn’t going to tell him to go away. “He made you promise to get me to come out, didn’t he?” Poppy nodded, and you rolled your eyes, dropping his quill down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“I’m sorry,” Poppy said quietly, and you offered her a tired smile. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assured her. “I’m annoyed with him, not you. Can you take my stuff upstairs? Just leave it on my bed. Please?”

“Sure,” she said, looking relieved that you weren’t upset with her. 

“Thanks, you’re the best,” you told her. You took a deep breath before heading for the door. You tried to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Part of you wondered why Sebastian wanted to talk to you. Maybe make it perfectly clear that the only person he had feelings for was Violet or something.

When you stepped out into the hallway, it was to the sight of Sebastian pacing back and forth. He paused when you closed the door behind you. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, running his hand through his hair before sighing heavily.

“Sebastian, what–” you started, crossing your arms.

“I don’t fancy Violet McDowell,” he blurted out. 

“What?” 

“I don’t fancy her. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe that Ominis told you,” you sighed, rubbing your face. The squirming you felt in the pit of your stomach was back. 

“You talked to Ominis about this?” Sebastian asked, giving you a surprised look.

“Didn’t you?” you responded, staring back at him. 

“No,” he said slowly. “He wasn’t in the common room when we got back from the match. I thought he was with you until he came back.”

“Then Imelda told you I fancy you,” you guessed. There was no other way he could have found out.

“Imelda knew…what am I talking about, of course, you talk to Imelda about this kind of thing,” Sebastian chuckled, running his hand through his hair again. “No, Imelda didn’t tell me either.”

“Then who told you?” you asked, the squirming getting worse. Sebastian looked at you, a satisfied look and a crooked smile on his face.

“You did,” he replied. “Just now.” 

“What?”

“You just said you fancied me,” Sebastian said, amusement written all over his face. “I wanted to be the one to say it first, but you couldn’t let me.” 

“I…what?” you muttered, voice quiet. The words were hitting your ears, but they weren’t making sense to your brain. You stared at him for a long moment, mouth still slightly open as he still had the same look on his face as he watched you process what he had a few moments before.

“You don’t fancy Violet,” you said slowly.

“I don’t,” Sebastian confirmed, chuckling. “I fancy you and you fancy me.”

“You do?”

“Course I do,” he replied, faltering for a moment before pulling you into a hug. The last time the two of you had hugged was to say goodbye at the end of last year, and you hadn’t been much shorter than he was. Now, though, he could easily tuck you under his chin. You managed to uncross your arms and wrap them around him, and he pulled you in closer. As small as he had made you feel at The Three Broomsticks, you were even smaller actually in his arms and you had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian told you. “About the whole…” he trailed off, sighing. “Fight? That was a fight, I think.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you chuckled, squeezing him before leaning back to look at him properly. “It was about something that didn’t actually happen.” You smiled up at him to show it was all water under the bridge and he smiled back, wider than ever. It wasn’t totally clear which of you made the first move, but then you were kissing and the feeling in your stomach was replaced with the butterflies that you’d felt for the last two years.

When the two of you broke apart, neither of you seemed particularly interested in letting go of each other. The thing that forced the two of you apart was the approaching footsteps of another Hufflepuff trying to get into the common room. Deciding you two needed somewhere more private, you took his hand and led him down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” Sebastian asked, squeezing your hand. However, he made no effort to let go of it, and instead just laced your fingers together. 

“Undercroft,” you informed. 

“Great idea,” he said. “Maybe we can talk about the match later.”

“If we have time,” you told him, rolling your eyes. “I think we’ll be a little busy. We have a month or two to catch up on, don’t you think?” He laughed, tugging you closer, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you walked. 

“Definitely,” he agreed. The two of you were all smiles as you walked down the halls, and you were just glad the two of you were on the same page again. It was even better that the page you were on was one where you were the two of you were planning on spending significantly more alone time together from now on.

[muniimyg]

NICE GUYS FINISH LAST // KNJ

you’re still so pretty

+

strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and then.. strangers again?

navi | m. list | ask me! |

pairing:

med student nam joon + med student oc

au/genre: 

high school sweethearts to exes to ???

fluff !! slight angst

note: cute little one shot in my drafts… idrk whats going on but it’s giving meet cute vibes!!! enj!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar

One thing people never talk about is the loneliness that comes hand-in-hand with being ambitious. 

You lose friends, opportunities, and even love. 

Feeling the need to prove the world and others wrong—getting so lost in your strength that you’ve become weak—it’s not a life everyone can live. The exchange of your success came at the cost of having your loved ones as collateral damage. 

Kim Nam Joon was exactly that for you. 

Though you two didn’t end on a sour note, the memories and possibilities of you and him leaves a bittersweet taste in your tongue. Thinking of him, speaking of him, and missing him comes in waves. Yet, with each memory, you gladly drown. 

Others argue that you bloomed late while your parents like to defend you and say you’re too good to settle for anyone less. Your parents, however, kept their mouths shut whenever it came to Nam Joon. 

They liked him. 

He was practically accepted and assumed to be the one you marry… It’s silly, isn’t it? For parents to see stars in their daughter’s eyes at such a young age and understand why. 

From what you can remember, he was a quiet nerd who helped others but was also good at identifying when he was being used. There was a difference. He held your bookbag, dropped you off at class, and always sat with you and your friends at lunch. His friends would tease him about how whipped he was for you and your parents would often bicker about how young you two were to be that inseparable. 

So when it ended—because nothing at the age of 17 really lasts—he didn’t know if it was over or if it was truly over. Partly because you didn’t sound cold when you asked for space and the distance that grew between you two had given you both time to accept the inevitable. Still, when it happened it felt utterly confusing. For weeks, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’d changed your mind before the summer ended and went on to your separate ways… In case you changed your mind—if a single ounce of you wanted to give the long-distance a fucking try—he had a plan. 

The plan.

Calls are to occur every Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. Calling every night might get tiring, but it’s okay if the calls increase due to missing each other. 

Good morning texts every day. 

Visiting each other should be done through turn-taking. He’ll go to you first. 

Fly home every big holiday. 

Shit like that. 

He wondered if you would change your mind before he[‘d have to force himself to get over you. Then, he wondered if you would even think about changing your mind at all. Until suddenly, he realizes that you never even asked.

You probably never even thought about him. 

You two broke up the summer before University. You both told everyone that your dream schools were at opposite ends of the world. Knowing you both could make it; it was hard for others to disagree. However, Nam Joon began to feel a bit of resentment as the breakup became more and more real. Deciding that long-distance would complicate your study and work schedules was a practical decision—but it was not his. 

It was yours. 

He’s almost certain that the decision was made out of 80% of logic, 5% out of love, and 15% out of insecurity.

You’ve never failed anything in your life. Perhaps, love is no exception. 

As the seasons changed, time flew and the breakup felt like a summernight dream. It slowly became a topic that only popped up once in a while, and when it did, you spoke of it like how it felt. It felt kind and sweet. Like the aftertaste of strawberry milk candies and craving for more, like the way you finish a good book where the characters don’t die and nothing feels tragic, but a part of you wishes you hadn’t reached the end. That, if you could, you would reread the pages as if you never knew a thing. You spoke of your puppy love like how love felt; love felt like him. 

The peace you’ve made with your feelings for him suddenly begins to panic as a familiar tall and dimple smile greets you. Cheesy to say, but too difficult to deny—all the memories of him begin to flood your mind as he approaches. 

With his heart on his sleeve, he stands before you. 

“Long time no see, ___.” 

His smile is the same. 

The way his lips curve perfectly reminds you of how they felt against your neck. He had that habit—smiling into a kiss that is. His hair is shaved, earning a good laugh from you. You’ve never seen him so… Manly?

“Kim Nam Joon,” you gush. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

Offering your hand, he stares at it and chuckles. His shoulders are much broader now, so his body language is much more noticeable. It suits him. 

“Too formal, ___.” Nam Joon laughs, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. Gently, he places a kiss on your knuckles and squeezes them. To others, this may be forward… To you, it’s just right. He always greeted you like this. A part of your heart is relieved he hasn’t changed that much. “But, yeah... It has been a while. 6 years to be exact!”

“You kept count?” Your eyebrows knit together, teasingly. He gives you a playful irritated look, causing your heart to melt a little. 

“You know what I mean… I just—I didn’t know you were back in Korea. You don’t use social media so it’s a little hard to hear anything about you.” 

To his dismay, it was difficult to get any news from you. Nam Joon would be lying if he said he hadn’t been asking around about you or if he hadn’t stayed up once in a while attempting to find your name on social media. Your closest friends moved on with their lives and careers; no one had time to reminisce on old high school sweethearts. 

Except him. 

“I finished my degree and then came back here for this med program. That was my plan, remember? It was always the plan. Nothing has changed,” you confess. “I thought you’d be way further into med school than me. You always talked about getting it done as fast as possible.”

He shrugs. “I took a gap… For like, 2 years and then failed 1 course… Twice.”

In complete shock, you gasp. “Kim Nam Joon… Failed? Twice at that?”

“It was a tough class! I fucking hate Psychology. Why do we even need it in pre-med? Like—”

You burst into tears. Tears of joy. Laughter, really. 

“Y-you failed… P-psych? The easiest fucking course in the universe?”

Nam Joon shoots you a glare. 

“My prof was crazy.”

“So are you for failing a fucking psych class!”

Nam Joon lets you have your moment. You continue to laugh, having a difficult time believing in his claim. As you continue to make fun, he makes himself comfortable, taking a seat next to you. 

“Are we done? Can we please move on?” Nam Joon groans in embarrassment. 

Composing yourself, you give in to his wish. “Some things never change, huh? You still make me laugh.”

His eyes soften. “You’re mean for using my failure as your source of joy.”

Then, you laugh again. You hit his shoulder, unable to contain your fun. Then, your eyes widen as your hand makes contact with his body.

Unhinged, you tell him, “Holy shit. You’re huge!”

Nam Joon’s eyes widen and he almost chokes on air. 

You turn red. 

“Y-you know what I mean!” You shove him playfully. It makes no difference. You barely moved him. 

Nam Joon then begins to empty his bag. Taking out his laptop, he explains himself. “Ahhh. I met a few friends who are absolute gym rats. If I’m not studying, I’m at the gym with them.”

Teasingly, you gasp again. “Ohhh? So I have no insane drinking party stories to hear from you?” 

Shaking his head with a smug smile, he answers you. “No.. There are definitely some insane drinking party stories for you to hear… Maybe after class? We could grab a cup of coffee and catch up.” He suggests. He isn’t sure what had gotten into him to be so rash, but he missed you. Seeing you again, his body automatically made its way to you.

You nod, feeling a little warm. “Sure! I’ve missed you.” 

 His heart skips a beat. 

He missed you too.

The coffee hangout goes well. 

You catch Nam Joon up with everything you’ve been up to. All the friends and people you’ve met abroad and how you finally learned how to ride a bike at the ripe age of twenty. He teases you for learning so late and you nag him about getting his driver’s license. To which, he said he acquired… Just a month ago. 

At that moment, he feels like nothing has changed even though so much has. 

You were braver. 

A lot more confident with your words and posture and Nam Joon was calmer and oddly a little funnier than you remember. Maybe you missed his quirky jokes and random “fun facts.” Whatever it was, it caused you to exchange numbers and constantly be texting back and forth. 

Suddenly, two months go by, and he’s back to being your best friend. 

You feel like you’re 17 again. Your days with him are filled with late-night study dates and bike rides around his favorite spots on campus. Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way. For the first time in a while, you finally felt like you were home.

Finally, he had persuaded you to join him and his friends at the gym. Your AirPods are in and you’re running on the treadmill as Jungkook, Seokjin, and Nam Joon crowd around the weights. Nam Joon is spotting Jungkook. As he lifts the heavyweights, Jungkook strikes the conversation first. 

“Are you two getting back together?” 

“What?”

“You and ___,” Jungkook grunts as he finishes his rep. “Everyone is assuming so and I want to be the first one with confirmation... Makes me feel special.”

Nam Joon rolls his eyes and turns to check on you. With longing eyes, he assures his friends: “we’re just friends.”

Seokjin pokes his head in and laughs. “Shut up. Being funny is my thing.”

“Seriously!” Nam Joon urges. “Sure, we talk about the past and all but.. Not about us—nothing about us. And.. And I don’t think she wants to? It’s weird…  And it’s okay. I rather it is like this than to make things awkward and not have her around anymore.” 

Jungkook drops the weights and sighs. 

“Ahh! Exactly my point!” 

He and Seokjin share a look and bump shoulders with Nam Joon. They’re completely aware of how their friend was looking at the girl he had loved once and can’t help but feel like something about this situation felt unfinished. 

“This is fate, you know?” Jungkook insists. “You two were in love and then it wasn’t the right time so you guys broke up. You guys were young back then… It was practical. But, she’s back and you still love her. It’s the right time. Now, this is the part where you try again.”  

Nam Joon can’t help but feel like an idiot.

“Fuck off, Kook,” Nam Joon orders. “It’s over. I’m lucky to even just be her friend again. Besides, she probably has a boyfriend.”

Seokjin squints at Nam Joon in disbelief. “... Well, have you even asked her if she’s seeing someone?”

All three boys look dumbfounded. 

No one knows what to say. 

Would it be weird to ask such a thing? Of course, Nam Joon was curious, but a part of him kind of figured that talking about your current relationship status wouldn’t be the best icebreaker for you two.

“Look man, it doesn’t matter. You’re her ex. Her first boyfriend ever! You have rights.” Jungkook encourages. He picks up his water bottle and begins to chug. 

Seokjin hits Jungkook’s stomach mid-gulp. “Rights? Kook, I think that’s for people who have kids and are having difficulty co-parenting—”

“He has rights!” Jungkook defends sternly. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he pats Nam Joon on the back. “Just ask her if she’s seeing someone… If not, ask her out. Try again.”

“What makes you think I want to try again?” Nam Joon scuffs and his two friends roll their eyes. 

Jungkook and Seokjin share a look. 

“You have been missing her your entire life. She’s back. A few giggles here and there and you ditch us for two months straight… Only to reach out and invite her to our gym to work out with us! No shade, but this is bro time!” Jungkook cries. “Also, you talk about it all the time when you’re 7 shots in. You haven’t had a girlfriend… Since her, right? Just hook-ups and a few flings… But no one is like her and that’s probably why.” Then, Jungkook hits Nam Joon’s head and sighs. 

“No one is her.”

The three turn their attention to you. Two guys approach you and begin a conversation. Nam Joon observes and it causes Jungkook and Seokjin to chuckle. 

“Time is ticking my friend. Tik tok, tik tok…” Jungkook makes an effort to let out a devious laugh. Nam Joon’s eyes begin to glow green and it satisfies his two friends. “Nice guys finish last… Ex boyfriends finish first!”

Jungkook leans towards Seokjin and whispers: “Looks like someone will be pulling ex-boyfriend card soon.” 

With that, Seokjin and Jungkook switch. Seokjin lifts the weights and Jungkook helps to spot him. Nam Joon should look away, but he can’t. His eyes are glued to the way you’re laughing at the two boys who are trying too hard to impress you. 

Mid lift, Seokjin teases Jungkook. 

“You used the term “bro time,” right? You’re such a fucking loser, Kook.”

Nam Joon felt different though. 

He felt like the fucking loser.

Nam Joon doesn’t call or text you as often as he did before. 

Since that gym session, he had begun to act a little distant. Like he was trying to set boundaries or something. It felt odd that his actions felt familiar. You felt a little ache in your heart and your head hurt. 

The past few weeks have not been easy for Nam Joon as well. He felt like an absolute dick for ignoring your warmth. He tried to excuse it by saying that he was too busy with his assignments and studying. So badly does he want to pull away from you; but it felt draining. He wanted to be near you and the fear of you not wanting him back was definitely taking a toll on him. 

It was confusing though. 

In the middle of the night, he’d come over once to give back your textbooks in exchange for a few of his hoodies. It didn’t feel real seeing him at midnight. Some nights, he’d come over a little damp from the midnight rain. As you let him into your place, all you can think to yourself is: damn. I think I’m still in love with this man. 

So, yes. 

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. With each passing day, his presence made you nervous. If his coming over at midnight wasn’t bad enough—it was the 9am’s with him that was worse. It was more about how close you two sat next to each other and how intimate these labs were. With each little moment of fingertips brushing, bumping into each other and him steadying you with his hands on your waist, and the little nose scrunch exchanges—the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy.

Fine.

Maybe you did fail once in your life.

You failed to be honest. You failed to fight for him. You failed to be someone to him that stays.

Nam Joon wasn’t having much fun either. 

You’ve always been so pretty to him. He especially loved whenever you two had study dates because he could watch you furrow your eyebrows, reread the same sentences, and mumble formulas and concepts to yourself over and over again. If he was lucky, he’d look up at the right time and catch you sighing from frustration. Your puffy cheeks and sleepy eyes made his heart soft and confused. To him, it was enchanting to see you so invested. 

Kind of like right now. 

As you look into the microscope, he can’t help but feel nervous. He wants to reach out and move your hair to the side. It’s bothering you and he can tell. He wants to do it, but he hesitates. 

It would be too much, right? He would be crossing the line—especially since you’re the one that broke things off with him.

His thoughts pause as you pull away and blink at him. 

“Oh, shit! I have an interview at a clinic nearby so I can’t stay to help clean up after this. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before we began—“

“___, it’s okay. Go do your thing. I hope you get it.”

Warmly, you smile at him. 

“Thanks, baby—Nam Joon,” you correct yourself, throwing your head back and laughing nervously. In exchange, he stares at you blankly. You clear your throat, trying your best to move past this. “Sorry! For a second, I thought you were my boyfriend again.”

He brushes it off and tells you it’s okay. Again, you go back to looking into the microscope. Focusing on adjusting the lens and pulling away every so often to make notes. 

“Me too,” he says softly. 

Then, you feel it.

He tucks your hair behind your ears. You pretend like his touch didn’t send electric shocks throughout your body and ignore it. Your cheeks instantly flush a rosy pink and spill your secret. 

Nam Joon chuckles, completely in awe of you.

You’re still so pretty to him.

You’re still his.

[hannie-dul-set]

CAN’T HANDLE THIS — N.JM.

SUMMARY. how are you supposed to explain that you and na jaemin started dating just to prove each other wrong and ended up catching feelings.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader GENRE. strangers to lovers, college! au, matchmaking! au, yet another richkid! au, jaemin is an asshole again, romance, humor. WARNINGS. excessive swearing, a near death experience, drinking and smoking, more than a handful of illegal shit, mentions of vomit, again jaemin is kind of a dick but he’s an attractive dick, jaemin also likes it when you tell him his personality is trash. WORD COUNT. teaser: 490 | full fic: est. 10k. RELEASE DATE. next week.

NOTE. i’m sick and tired of jaemin being a sweetheart so i’ve made it a mission to turn him into a piece of shit for this fic and the next. idc if you tell me it’s out of character idc idc i am forwarding my asshole! jaemin agenda once again and no one can stop me.

also, don’t worry about getting blueballed because i’ve already drafted and outlined most of the fic. once i finish my last final exam this week, i’ll be free enough to go feral and finish this.

send me an ask/dm to be added to the taglist. preview under the cut.

“This the girl you’re trying to set me up with this time?”

Your expression falters, but it’s fine because the way his voice just sounded can forgive the disrespect he just rendered for referring to you without even sparing you a greeting. It’s a raspy flavor, almost a mumble in his throat. One offense— you can take it for now. If he can behave for the next hour or so and prove the rumors wrong, you might actually grace your dad with approval that you’re going to give this a shot.

His mother lights up, giving him your name and a brief introduction.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” you smile. Jaemin’s eyes stay on you for a good five seconds. This is dangerous. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that.

Heat swirls around your cheekbones, giddy from the prospect of your love life finally flourishing after all those failed matchups. If only Jaemin decided to shut up for the rest of the night, then maybe the heat in your cheeks wouldn’t have shot up into your head and triggered a nerve.

“She’s pretty cute,” he says, and you’re almost hopeful. “But I doubt she can handle me. I’m going. Don’t wait for me to come home.”

Your smile twitches. Oh. Oh, so he’s like that.

His mother tries to stop him, but Jaemin is already up, not caring about the collateral damage of clattering plates and glasses on the table from his careless movements. 

There’s no way you’re gonna let him leave like this after injuring your ego like that.

“What makes you think I can’t?”

Jaemin freezes, his back turned towards you but his neck slowly cranes, revealing the side profile of his face. His eyes are narrow when he looks at you. There’s a subtle quirk of his lips. He breaks into a scoff. “What makes you think that you can?”

God damn, if only he didn’t start acting up, you would be on your knees.

“I don’t know. You look pretty easy.”

Something tugs on the corners of his mouth, then he fully turns around, walking back up to the table. He plasters his hands on the tablecloth, slightly leaning forward that his head blocks the chandelier light and his shadow hovers over your face. “Free tomorrow?”

“I can make time.”

“Great.”

Jaemin leaves behind a choking, arid tension when he exits the booth. You look at your father who seems like he can’t choose between feeling horrifically alarmed or pleasantly surprised. Clearing your throat, you take another sip from your drink before resuming your meal. You’re sure you’re going to get indigestion, but you can’t think of another way to get your parents and his to move on from the events that just transpired.

Eventually, the tension was swallowed by the clatters of knives and sauces and conversations once again. The only conclusion you can come up with is that this time, their matchmaking failed successfully.

can’t handle this. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine trying to warn Sherlock that Moriarty is free…

The verdict was in - not guilty. You honestly wanted to shake the jury by their shoulders and ask why they had left their rational thoughts at home. The judge slammed the gavel, signalling for Moriarty to be free of his bonds and when you looked at the man, you could have sworn that he winked.

John nudged your arm, reminding you that it was time to follow the rest of the courtroom out. Once the pair of you were out on the street in much cleaner air, John pulled out his phone and began punching in a number.

“I’m calling Sherlock. He needs to know that this maniac is going to be walking about like a free man.”

Giving him a nod, you pulled out your own device. “I’m going to head back to Scotland Yard.”

John instantly pulled his phone away from his ear as it started to ring.

“What? Y/n we need to stay together.”

“I know but I need to set up a protective detail on Sherlock and Baker Street. Moriarty doesn’t care about collateral damage.” You reminded the good doctor.

Pointing at you, John’s expression was stern and serious. “Okay but be careful. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

You gave the man a brief hug before turning and bolting down the street to hail a cab. Thankfully, the area was crawling with the vehicle you required. Once you had hopped in, you dialled Lestrade’s personal number and hoped with each ring that he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Your heart was pounding in your ears, the traffic felt slower than normal and the phone wasn’t being picked up as if the matter wasn’t of import.

“Come on.” You edged nervously, staring outside at the pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk.

When the signal turned green, the call was answered by the man you had been trying to reach. “Greg? Oh, thank god.”

“Y/n, I just heard the news. How are you holding up?” The detective inspector asked.

“Honestly I’m pissed but we can get into that later. Listen, I need a favour. I need a-“

“You need a protection detail on Sherlock, I know.” Lestrade guessed correctly. “I filed in the paperwork as soon as Moriarty’s trial started and got it fast tracked. It felt appropriate since you, Sherlock and John have thwart his schemes the most.”

You frowned. Something didn’t feel right about the way he was talking about the detail. “And?” You prompted.

“And it got rejected as soon as Moriarty was acquitted.”

You were mad and disappointed - in all honesty, you wanted to scream. But you pushed it all down and did what you could to tackle the problem. Leaning forward, you tapped the driver on the glass to get his attention.

“Yes, dear?” The elderly man smiled.

“Change of plans - take me to 221B Baker Street please.”

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Shit, you almost forgot Lestrade was on the phone.

As the car turned left onto Baker Street, you kept a tight grip on the device. “If Scotland Yard won’t help, I’ll do it myself.” You told your friend before hanging up just as the taxi pulled up to the curb.

Paying for the ride, you made a mad dash to the front door, pushing it open to get inside. It was mostly quiet. Mrs Hudson was running the cafe and it was clear that John wasn’t home from the lack of his coat from the hallway rack.

There was an absence of people and yet you heard teacups being set upon saucers and very low voices speaking. Heart leaping into your throat, you raced up the stairs and burst into the open flat of 221B.

“Sherlock-”

The rest of your sentence died on your tongue, ice running through your veins when you saw the man who had almost killed you and your friends without any remorse standing in the living room.

“Hi Y/n.” Moriarty greet when his eyes laid on you. “I take it that your little bid for a protection detail fell flat?”

He knew and he was mocking you for it. Stepping into the flat, you scowled at the enemy. “I’ve kept my friends safe from you before. I can do it again.”

Moriarty smirked. He moved away from Sherlock and across to you on his way to the door. His eyes skimmed over your features before he inhaled.

“You’re just delectable. Ready to give your life for a man who isn’t ready to return the favour. A pity really.” He commented and walked off.

~ More imagines here ~

[wtf-a-psychoanalysis]

ULTRASONA REVEALED

Ultraman Stage, the ultraman on the other side of the ring of fire.

He's in Ultraman Rising Universe to justify some timer mechanics

Age: early 20s (younger than Ken by some years)

Height: 50 meters (Actually 45 meters just "hovers" all the time, abuses his flight privileges all the time.)

Named after signature move that moves both combatants 5-8 meters above ground level using a light/spacium barrier for 3 minutes leading to disorientation of the enemy and reduced ground damage. He's an ultra(?) hybrid who now defends the West Coast some time after Ken leaves for Japan. Turns out SoCal has perfect conditions to grow Kaiju. Discovered this power trying to fight a Gesura whilst walking home from karaoke.

He doesn't talk, relying on pantomiming, body language and dramatics to convey meaning. He doesn't like his voice bc he feels that it doesn't fit him. And it ensures everyone can understand since not every one speaks English or Spanish. Outside of fights he's quite reserved and stares. The only time he speaks is to activate Stage and signal Curtain Call

The noises he does makes are usually grunts, and mimicking his monster opponents.

He's very defensive and evasive when fighting mainly because he hates making a mess so he puts up barriers for minimal collateral damage. The "stage" is a last minute resort when he thinks someone is about to be squished. He also fights very meticulously inorder to avoid damaging surrounding buildings. This is also because he's not properly strong yet, poor diet and lack of training is a contributing factor to his lack of physical strength

If he's not feeling it he just shoos off a developing problem until it bites him in the ass.

Blue and silver body with gold accents invokes a night time vibe especially during the stage phase since looking from below the stage it looks like night.

Other than the basic spacium beams, razor and shielding techniques he has the following moveset.

Platform: Default hovering while walking and sitting down is called Platforming, it's not as intense as the Stage phase so it doesn't result in the countdown. It's an ongoing conscious process but does it all the time bc he's just really scared of messing shit up. Likes to walk the beach using this technique.

Curtains: flexible shields that he puts up on surrounding buildings and himself, has the properties of fabric so instead of breaking it tangles and tears. Can be used to contain Kaiju and drape over buildings.

Curtain call- Not to be confused with Curtains, ALL shields, curtains and stages are shattered and his power is depleted lasting 3 minutes. He must de transform before the 3 minutes are up. Often uses this time to clean up

Color Timer is like the moon phases counting down in yellow during the Stage phase. It just flashes red during Curtain Call

In practice he can last transformed longer than 6 minutes as long as Stage isn't invoked. Literally sat thru a baseball game and a concert as Ultraman bc he could. Using Platforming to chill as much as he can.

There's this rivalry between Ultraman Kenji and Ultraman Stage mostly because of a sort of feeling of "what if?" On Ken's part.

They met when Ken was visiting the states again and Ken sees that Stage manages to kill a Kaiju,

When they do meet, Stage is immediately threatened by the "original" (since he didn’t have the resources *money and ultra parent* like Kenji)

He relies on the fact people don't know what the fuck he is, in desperate measures cries when upset so he uses that to shift public perception.

*gets punched by Ken and starts to cry*

Ken: Are you crying?!

Jeers from LA

*Stage gets his shit rocked by Emi with the metal bat*

Ken: EMI NO!

Eventually Kenji does give his blessing to stage to keep the area safe and some fighting tips

Ken: We never really got over that language barrier

Stage: its not your fault

Ken: TF You speak English?

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Lol.

Yeah… the more news that comes out just confirms more of what I thought. This unnamed character who moves from HYBE to ADOR, and mere weeks later, HYBE gets a ‘tip-off’ and all the incriminating documents are in his work diaries where he narrates things MHJ has supposedly said, including that she believes that Bang establishing BTS or groups with the same cache as BTS, was him copying her…. Everything that’s found in his documents is almost clinically incendiary lmao. Like, weapons-grade rage bait. Partly because of how bizarre it is. And the sinker - they tie it to Min Heejin supposedly wanting more money. MHJ has meanwhile released another, stronger statement refuting the allegations about trying to stage a management takeover, or artists contract leaks etc.

Of course, the discourse about this is going to develop predictably, especially after the mention of BTS and other groups MHJ supposedly says copied her.

This has all the makings of one thing and only one thing, to me. It doesn’t change my opinion about Bang PD but it does make me revise my view on Min Heejin, she’s a bit more naive than I assumed her to be. I feel a bit sorry for her, because she’s been got. Again. It’s similar to the ig situation that also started with ‘a gift’ her ‘friend from SM’ gave her to congratulate her on launching ADOR - a gift that ended up being the most damning controversy that almost sunk the group. A controversy where the primary demand was for her to leave NewJeans and HYBE. Now, a ‘right-hand man’ transfers from HQ to her team and it’s his uncorroborated narrations that match what’s in the ‘tip-off’… the demands are the same.

I like MHJ, but I’ve always watched her with caution because in Korea, no woman makes it to the c-suite without making a shit tonne of enemies. Imagine it to be triple the amount a regular working class man makes on his way up the ladder, because that kind of status in Korea is something you’re either born into, or born close to. It’s rare for working class men to work their way up and even more rare for women. In fact, I’d say it’s an aberration.

I see all the flack MHJ gets for being a narcissistic bitch, wanting to constantly assert ownership of her ideas, wanting to be widely associated with her successful projects, etc. I see people irritated by her arrogance, but full disclosure, I like her for it. For several reasons, but one reason is that in her environment, the default is to let your male superiors take credit for your work. It happens in corporate environments all over the world, but in Korea it’s a mentality entrenched in the DNA. Pushing against that earns you enemies every time you speak, by default. But I suspect that’s how she worked her way up from being a graphic designer to having a seat on the board of directors at SM Entertainment before leaving when they wouldn’t give her more autonomy. So, in my eyes, she’s got spunk. But also, now I see she’s clumsy.

Oftentimes with corporate drama, there’s no point using moral language because it’s just business. You either pitched the best deal or you didn’t. You either fucked up or you didn’t. It’s cold numbers and rationality - business. But… there are some cases where it’s not really about the business, cases where it’s personal.

I don’t have meaningful insider information, I’m reading the press releases and ‘leaks’ along with everyone else, so I can’t be certain and that’s why I’m talking in this long-winded ramble without coming right out to say exactly what I think. What I’ll say though is that this is less about NewJeans and more about Min Heejin. And she’s the first person who should’ve understood that and taken necessary precautions.

Clearly, it doesn’t look like she has, and in that sense she has no one but herself to blame. She’s being stupid, in fact I’d say delusional in some ways, but I guess some things can’t be helped. NewJeans isn’t exactly fucked, but it’s clear that yet again, they are collateral damage. And it’s a shame.

[leiflitter]

ghost!chorus- Venetia reacts to (your choice of) CH39 intro with Felix crying and Ollie comforting him; CH42 with Felix and Farleigh and Felix and Lucia; or CH44 Felix tells the kids about Lucia’s affair? tysm!!!

OKAY so these sorta got mushed together with a general uh… Ghost!Vee perspective, but it’s fun so let’s go~

Perhaps it was, well, being dead, but with hindsight… It was honestly amazing that it had taken Felix this long to find out. Oh, yeah, he and Lucia had been spiraling slowly towards divorce before they were even married, but it was so obvious… Or maybe it was just that walls didn't mean much to her any more, and Venetia'd wandered into Farleigh's room the first night he'd shown up. Paying her cousin a visit had led to way too much information, thank you very much, and she’d been giving the little shit a wide berth ever since. She hadn’t cottoned on while she was alive, at least, because if she had… But there was no point in being vindictive. She’d tear Farleigh a new one when he shuffled off the mortal coil and showed up here.

For the time being, it was initially far more fun to hang around Felix. It was what she normally did, when she was focused on the living. He'd been crying a lot, when she'd first crossed over. It had only seemed fair to comfort him; mum and dad were preoccupied with spectral dinners and parties and hobnobbing with Cattons Long Past. He was all by himself now, he needed her in the same way he’d needed her after he overdosed- it wasn’t Venetia’s fault that he couldn’t sense her. She’d sat beside him, pretending to stroke his hair and ignoring the way her fingers slipped through him as if he was liquid. Thicker than air but impossible to get a grip on. She’d read, somewhere, that you can’t actually feel wetness, that it was a weird collaborative illusion courtesy of the senses, but she didn’t have a physical body any more, so... What did it matter? Felix was distinctly soggy, and his moping had been starting to verge on boring.

She’d been a hair off of leaving him to it- maybe she’d hold out til after Christmas, maybe not- when things had taken a turn for the interesting. Felix had stopped crying, distracted by his phone, and what do you know? Vee had peered over his shoulder as soon as she noticed the change in him, from morose to giggly, and surprise! Her brother was texting incoherent, mushy messages to Oliver fucking Quick, squirming as he waited for a reply like a tween with a crush. Heart emojis and I love you, practically kicking his feet and twirling his hair. Oliver, returning? There wasn’t any point in wondering how the fuck he’d resurfaced; from her current position, it seemed inevitable. That summer had changed them all, and Oliver had been the catalyst. Of course he’d pop up again when everything had gone to shit. He could probably sense it, like a shark. At least, given her spectral condition, she wasn’t going to be their collateral damage any more; besides, she had to admit it was fun. It was basically a soap opera, after all, Venetia an intangible witness to her idiot brother happily smashing his life to bits. 

She'd even been watching them as they fumbled about. It was highly unimpressive, if she was honest, they kissed like they were trying to lick each other’s ears from the inside, but at least they were having fun. Yet it also showed that Oliver had changed. He wasn’t posturing the way he had with her; he’d had the audacity to grow up. Venetia had been expecting… Well… Ollie. The Oliver who’d sidled down those stairs towards her, as suave as a teenage boy in a borrowed suit could be. He’d tasted her blood, and she’d gotten off mostly on the taboo and how public it was, but it had been stupid to think he could be anything other than Felix’s property. He ought to have FRC written on the sole of his foot, like Woody in Toy Story, it was so blatant. This small, sensible man in the boring clothes was nothing much to look at, but he was still so devoted to her brother that it verged on pathetic. It would have been so pitiable, if Felix hadn’t gone off the deep end and kept on making increasingly poor decisions. 

Horribly, though, she had to admit that they seemed happy. It was fucking annoying, watching Felix fall in love as if he were some beleagured Disney princess rather than an adult man with a wife and children… But his wife wasn’t faithful, and she’d heard the pain in his sobs as he realized that his children may not be fully his. Venetia couldn’t have waited with baited breath- she didn’t need to breathe, after all, although she mimicked it reflexively- but she’d been wound so tight just watching. Waiting for Oliver to reveal his snakey little plan, to tell Felix to leave them, be with him, that the kids didn’t matter… 

Until he didn’t. 

What was his plan? 

Venetia wasn’t sure, but she stayed close, trying to piece it together. Oliver was consistent, she’d give him that, but all of his talk about doing it right for the kids just didn’t seem… Like him. He was a liar, he had to lie, but what was the angle? 

It hurt to consider that there might not be one. 

It had hurt to hear his confession, that he’d responded to her dangling herself like bait because of Felix and her mother’s casual cruelty. Venetia had already known it, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting; so much so that she’d tried her best to appear before the both of them that evening as they tangled up in each other, vengeful and pointing, but had given up when Harriet cockblocked them far more effectively. 

It also hurt to look at them. The youth returning to their faces, despite the deeper creases around eyes and mouth. They hadn’t aged poorly, not at all, but it was bitter to see her brother grow younger. She’d be young forever, but nobody she truly cared about could appreciate it. It was bitter to think that Felix would grow old with someone, be in love and so sickening, and they’d show up here one day having shown her everything she’d never been able to find. They’d found extra reserves of life, hidden within how grossly soppy they were, and it felt like every slice of birthday cake she’d politely refused. 

The real Felix was back after a hiatus, back to devouring life by the fistful, and Venetia had watched him but never been brave enough to follow his example and gorge herself. 

Yet she’d watched. Waited. Hovered in the background, watching Oliver Quick hold her brother and comfort him- her job- and saw the looks they exchanged and heard the quiet conversations. Sat in the window seat while Felix and Oliver made muffled, animal sounds on the sofa bed. Mostly Venetia wondered if she ought to just… Go to where the others were. Slide away from the physical world into the endless summer of Saltburn After, join all of those accumulated souls in the whirl of parties and petty squabbling.

But she just wanted to be sure. Be there. Be part of it. She lurked around with Farleigh as he muttered and coughed in the cold, waiting for Felix to notice him. A shame that he didn’t notice her; she’d done her best to berate him, tried to lob a shoe at his head, but it was hard to keep up the energy when your audience didn’t react and your missiles didn’t connect… Then Felix was, as ever, about as capable of holding a grudge as a goldfish was at algebra. She’d tried to hold her nieces and nephew as Felix delivered the news of Lu’s bad behavior as deftly as a boot to the crotch, but it had been an exercise in frustration. She couldn’t stand passing through people; it was too much of a reminder of what she was, but she let her fingers ghost through Ru’s curls and tried to feel love at him. 

She’d seen the look on Oliver’s face when Lu confronted him. Blank, devoid of emotion, and oddly enough… That had helped her turn a mental corner. Set it into place.

Oliver was telling the truth. He didn’t lie these days, but honesty could be just as caustic. 

She sat, heavily, on the blue bed, watching them. Her brother was between Oliver’s legs, but that was hardly impressive. He sounded like a posh bulldog, panting away, and they hadn’t even gotten their boxers off yet. Idiots. They couldn’t even fuck tastefully, and she was trying to be maudlin. 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Felix had shoved his stupid foot through her stomach, and that was- frankly- more than enough for Venetia. She’d come back tomorrow. 

“Just you wait, Felix Catton. Once you get here, it’s over for you.”   

[bittersweetarts]

How to Disappear - Chapter 1

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Word count: 2389 words

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

WARNINGS: Some depiction of violence, misogyny, and the usual TW for it being The Boys (Amazon)

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Eden Reid was at the start of her daily fucking crack ass of the dawn morning jog across Laurance Harbor Beach, sandy-brown hair up in a high pony, dressed in her usual bland sweats and black running shoes, when she came across him, unconscious along the shoreline, the waves repeatedly caressing him, gently, before retreating.

As she stared at him, the young woman noticed his tattered costume and the bruising littered on his face and skin, and that he did not appear to be breathing. For a moment, Eden contemplated what to do, because she knew that she couldn’t take him to any emergency room or call 911.

Because she knew exactly who he was.

Of course, she knew exactly who he fucking was, pretty much most of the world knew who exactly he fucking was.

He was Soldier Boy, the old leader of Payback, fought in all those important wars in the last century, America’s first and greatest Supe, a man who was supposed to be dead and yet somehow was now alive, lying on the beach in front of her.

And apparently now a Super-Terrorist, according to the news outlets, who for the past week have only been reporting on the attack on the Seven Tower, and how Queen Maeve had successfully saved the country with her sacrificial takedown of Soviet-brainwashed Soldier Boy; his defeat was supposed to be symbolic of a new age for freedom and safety for the masses.

Unlike most of the people Eden knew though, she wasn’t blinded by the lies fed to the masses on a silver spoon by the media and corporations like Vought International.

Eden knew, Eden knew all too well that Supes were nothing but selfish bastards at best, and that none of them give a single fuck about saving others. Eden knew that the mainstream media hyperinflated the heroism of ‘heroes’, and failed to report the deaths of normal civilians, who were nothing more than simply collateral damage. And Eden knew that if she was told that unconscious man lying before her was nothing but a villain, then that was not the full story.

And she knew this all this because if her abilities were not so weak, she would have been just another Supe on Vought or some other fuck’s payroll, spouting the exact same bullshit.

But no, her ability of super strength was, ironically, too weak to even be considered as a D-list Supe, despite her family’s dreams for her, and now in her mid-twenties, she wastes her days away as a receptionist at a private clinic in East Brunswick. So much for the glamorous life of the ‘super-abled’.

However, her abilities were not weak enough apparently to carry the heavy ass man before her. Although he did not appear much taller than she was, he was at least twice her size, and as she lifted him up into her arms, Eden gave a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn’t see a single living soul as she carried the unconscious vigilante to her car, and that the oversized grey zip that she draped over him concealed his appearance well enough.

What the fuck was is my problem? Eden thought as she dropped Soldier Boy into the trunk of Mazda, a black SUV she bought years ago when she moved out of her childhood home.

Eden didn’t need this shit. It’s been years since she dropped out of Godolkin and left behind the world of fucked up Supes and drugs, and she was at peace living in solitude at her cabin by Norvin Green Forest. She didn’t need to get herself involved in dangerous shit. So why had she gotten herself involved by kidnapping the unconscious man who was lying in the trunk of her vehicle?

Eden couldn’t explain it. To call it a curiosity would be an understatement; it was more like a compulsion. She had acted thoughtlessly, as though she were possessed by something, and now, on her half hour drive back to her home in the woods, Eden began to regret what she had done.

Days passed and life continued as normal for Eden. She kept her unconscious house guest in a spare bedroom of her small cabin, and went to her 9 to 5 throughout the work week as usual.

In a way, Eden hoped that if Soldier Boy woke up in her home, he would simply leave, and that she would not have to meet him or explain anything. But every evening, following her commute, Eden was greeted by her dark home, and when checking on her guest, she found him unconscious, but still alive and in her spare bed.

Eden often thought about whether she should call the cops or to dump the unconscious Supe back at the beach (or literally anywhere else). But she did not do that, because she knew that by this point, it would simply make her a walking target either for Vought or the government, and really, it was a miracle that she had not been caught transporting him to her place from the beach. For all she knew though, some government entity or Vought was spying on her this very minute.

So instead, the young woman resigned herself to the guest bedroom, where she left Soldier Boy to lay on the queen-sized bed, most of its real estate which he occupied. As he lay there motionless, Eden would periodically cleanse his face and exposed skin with a damp wash cloth (not knowing what else to do that would help him), before covering him with a light blanket. For the rest of the night, Eden would sit on the cream armchair by him, mindlessly watching the news on the small TV set in the room, on low volume, while thinking about anything and everything.

It's not that Eden did not have anything else to do, or that she had no one. Eden prefers to consider her lifestyle as a self-imposed exile, because she knew that she could not rely on anyone. Disconnecting herself from the world, being in nature, was healing to her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get herself to trust anyone, not anymore.

And so, Eden spent several weeks like this, working during the day, going on her daily runs (though now in the forest rather than the beach), and barely sleeping at night, passively watching the news and her unconscious guest, who’s bruising slowly faded away. Soldier Boy looked exactly as he did in his old film, Red Thunder, Eden noticed, and had not aged in the slightest, which bewildered her.

But despite being the vision of health, Soldier Boy did not wake, and Eden did not know what to do.

More often than Eden would like to admit, Eden watched Soldier Boy, observing his long lashes and the way his now steady breathing never wavered – not even when Eden would wipe a damp wash cloth across his body – and she noticed how quickly his stubble grew into a fuller beard, but never to the point of the point of overgrowth, despite the lack of grooming.

Eden also noticed how humorous it was that practically the only topic on the news channels was Soldier Boy himself, and how it was reported that he was not a Super-Terrorist anymore, but an odd dichotomy of hero and victim to Soviet radicalization. And so, the narrative shifted, not that she believed it to be the full truth. Yet something Eden knew to be true was not on any news channel or online forum: Soldier Boy was not dead but alive, albeit unconscious in some cabin hidden away in the mountains.

Or rather that was the truth, until Soldier Boy regained consciousness.

It happened so quickly, and Eden was not entirely awake to even process exactly what happened.

One moment, Eden was drifting into sleep, in her usual seat on the armchair, with the lamp lights dim, the moonlight from the window behind filtering into the room, and the TV white noise drowning out the silence. The next moment, Eden found herself gasping for breath, suffocating, as two strong hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the armchair.

Eyes still half-asleep but now tearful, Eden met the vicious stare of her now-awakened guest, and suddenly, she came to her senses. Mustering up all her strength, Eden pushed against his chest, the supe-strength of which took her attacker by slight surprise. His hold on her throat relaxed slightly, and Eden quickly grabbed his wrists to keep his grip loose.

“Let me go –” Eden choked out, trying to breath.

As though confused, Soldier Boy tilted his head, but his expression remained in its remorselessly neutral expression. Fear shot through her veins when Eden realized that her strength did not affect him but rather spiked the smallest amount of curiosity.

“I was just trying to help you.” Eden sputtered out incoherently as she felt the grip began to tighten again. Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes at this, and then right on cue, something else caught his attention.

The tiny TV in the room switched to midnight rerun of The Cameron Coleman Hour on the Vought News Network, and broadcast invaded the room, with the image of Soldier Boy plastered over the screen.

“Good evening everybody, welcome back …” Cameron Coleman’s voice echoed throughout the room.

As it did, Soldier Boy loosened his grip on Eden’s throat, letting her go. Eden’s hand shot up to her neck, strands of her sandy-brown hair falling to her face as she gasped for more air. Her skin felt sore, and she knew that if she were a normal person, she would have been dead by now, at the very least from a broken neck.

“… and please welcome our guest of the evening, Defense Secretary Chris Barney.” The cheering track played on TV bounced off the walls in the guest room, while the camera panned from Cameron Coleman onto a burgeoned man his early-thirties, already balding, and Soldier Boy’s attention was entirely captivated by what was on TV.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you so much for joining us.” Chris Barney, in his mechanical voice, thanked his interviewer as well, and Eden, with her hands on her tender neck, watched as Soldier Boy was entirely captivated by the TV interview.

“I want to kick off by asking you to directly respond to the idea that Soldier Boy and this new age of Super-Terrorism, which involves Supes living in our country, should be the Pentagon and American public’s top concern.”

“See Cameron, I am not going to beat around the bush. Soldier Boy’s attack in Manhattan is an isolated incident, and the FBSA has taken great strides in tackling this matter, and in the mere weeks past, there is already a significant reduction in the number of violent incidences within the public, both super-abled and not. So to answer your question, no it is not a concern for both the Pentagon and America, especially as Soldier Boy is an isolated incident, and dead at that.”

Chris Barney’s voice bounced off the walls, and as it sounded off, and he answered follow up questions relating to terror attacks, which Soldier Boy ignored, as he began to speak over him, his voice both low but loud, full of contempt.

“So that’s it, huh – I’m dead. I’m fucking dead to the American people. Again.”

Eden did not know what to say, and took a step back, the back of her legs now pressed to the wooden side table by the bed.

“I fought for this country. I fucking gave up my life for this fucked up country, and what do I get in return? Fucking nothing.”

As he spoke, spitting out each syllable, Eden noticed how Soldier Boy clinched his fists tightly, and wondered whether he would just destroy her home, or kill her as well. She remained silent, not daring to even breath too loudly as though that would set him off. But Eden’s heart was beating at a million miles per minute, and she was sure that Soldier Boy could hear it.

Reminded of her presence, Soldier Boy turned around and glanced over Eden, as though he were a predator contemplating whether his prey was worthy of slaughter. His deliberation lasted only a few moments. With only two tall strides, Soldier Boy, in his tattered costume, came face-to-face with the young woman stood before him, brushing away a thick strand that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“What’s your name doll?”

Soldier Boy’s voice was deep, and though he did not swear or say anything malignant, Eden was still frightened, but willed herself to not shake in her fuzzy slippers.

“Eden,” Eden responded quietly, but Soldier Boy’s furrowed eyebrows made her paranoid that he either hadn’t heard her, or that she hadn’t actually said anything.

“Eden Reid, um, Sir.” Eden said once again, only slightly more audibly, while looking to the ground, so as to avoid his burning stare. At this, Soldier Boy chuckled and gently took push a hand to her chin, tilting her face upwards, making her look back at him again.

“Well, aren’t you sweet, Miss Reid.” Soldier Boy spoke, the side of his mouth tilting upwards. Inching his face closer, he continued speaking, his breath blowing over Eden’s face. “Have you got any pills, sweetheart?”

Eden shook her head slowly, now shaking slightly and regretting her personal stance on being drug-free.

“Weed?”

Eden shook her head again, and she felt her heart speed up anymore. At this, Soldier Boy turned away to let out a frustrated sigh, before facing her again.

“A good girl. Surely you can be resourceful and find something, doll. Age of feminism and all.”

Soldier Boy’s tone was condescending, but thankfully, Eden knew that her co-worker, Matt, had an affinity for her and substance abuse, so she might be able to score something from him. Pressing her lips together, Eden nodded, which made Soldier Boy smile. Letting go of her chi, Soldier Boy turned around and sat on the armchair to his right, paying attention to the TV again, which was still playing the Cameron Coleman interview rerun.

“Well then, chop-chop sweetheart. And afterwards, you can tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I’m here with you.”

Author's Note: This is an AU story where rather than getting captured, Soldier Boy/Ben ends up projecting himself into the Hudson River. I am not a Geography or Physics major, so none of this actually makes sense or is realistic.

– Chapter 2

[daisysouthmoore]

Warnings: Explicit (18+) angst, language, and eventual smut. (Lots of smut.)

Note: This chapter is dedicated to @sanctuaryforthelost If it hadn't been for you and your kindness, I would have never found a reason to finish what I started. It's been four years since my last update, my friends. Here's hoping I haven't lost my touch. Thank you so, so much for reading even after all this time. <3

[ Daddy’s Girl Masterlist ]

CHAPTER 16 - Nightcap

Le Bernardin was more than a meal. It was an experience. Beneath the warm and inviting glow cast from its teak ceilings, we feasted on caviar tartare, scallops in brown butter dashi, salmon in black truffle pot au feu, Parisian chocolate cake. All paired beside wines with notes specifically tailored to each artfully composed dish. It was the sort of luxe four-course meal that dream dates were made of. The kind made to set the tone for a night of blissful passion for any soon-to-be newly weds. And yet, I struggled to endure another minute of it.

I couldn’t seem to get past the insufferable sound of Benny smacking his lips between bites. I gritted my teeth as he ungratefully scarfed without bothering to acknowledge or appreciate the subtle and aromatic flavors infused with each course. This was hardly an experience to him. Since the day he was born he’d been served heaping silver spoonfuls from lavish silver platters. It meant nothing to him but the least he could do was pretend to give a shit.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. The scallops were decent at best.” Benny picked and sucked his teeth as we settled into the car.

“Really? I thought it was fabulous.” I sighed and tried not to visibly scowl.

“You’re a New Yorker. Of course you did.” He snorted in contempt.

“Well, since you know so well, maybe you can take me to Paris one day for the real experience?” I forced a smile and scooted closer. I even attempted to flirt as I fiddled with his lapel.

“Paris… And you think I’m pretentious.” He mumbled as he scrolled through his phone, hardly fazed by my affection.

“So, if New York is only decent and Paris is too pretentious, is there anywhere in the world where you’re happy, darling?” I feigned humor at his arrogance.

“I’d be pretty content in bed right about now.” He sighed tiredly as he tucked his phone away in his pocket and draped an arm over my shoulder.

Though he seemed to be returning my affectionate gesture, it was more out of habit than with any physical or romantic intent. I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t interested in any sort of adventures to be found in bed. Not with me anyway. I already knew there was someone else. Maybe several. Most of the time I pretended not to care but sometimes I wondered why. What was so wrong with me? I was confident enough in my looks and it damn sure wasn’t a matter of whether or not I was good in bed. I’d built a successful career on my skills after all. A slight tingle of panic ran through me as my inevitable guilt came into question. Was that the reason? Had Benny found out? Had my past finally caught up with me? But how?

In the dark and seedy underground of the business world, the usual legalities and moral principals didn’t apply. Blackmail and sabotage ran rampant but there were still a few unspoken, loosely enforced rules. Stones that couldn’t be cast in glass houses. Prostitution was one of them. That sort of ammunition was off the table to most because they all had a hand in it. There would always be some form of collateral damage. Not to mention, I was hardly the first escort to find her fairytale ending on a wealthy man’s arm. Who would care? Unless the business man in question had nothing left to lose… Then suddenly a strong suspicion began to rise in me.

“So tell me about your day. You mentioned to Negan you were meeting with Mr. Berkley?” I asked in a deliberately innocuous tone, as if the mere mention of my former peddlers didn’t make my palms sweat.

“Yeah. Just some corporate formalities. You know, boring legal stuff.” He shrugged it off and focused his attention on his phone again. That wasn’t really all that unusual but the way his shoulders tensed was.

“Oh.” We fell silent for a brief moment as I tried to read his expression but his eyes were blankly fixated on some lengthy email. My eyes shifted as I considered dropping the subject but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling me. “Well, with a client like Berkley you must have your hands full.” I feigned a light hearted barb.

“What do you mean?” His eyes finally flicked up with a hint of skepticism.

“You said he was a shady guy didn’t you?” I asked innocently.

“Dahlia, all business men are a little shady. That’s exactly what corporate attorney’s are for.” He laughed it off in a bored way, in a way that didn’t really reach his eyes as he reflexively reached to squeeze my shoulder, like that would be enough to quell me but I felt nothing if not more suspicious.

“Well, it’s a good thing he hired you then. So what kinda shady stuff-?” I started but he abruptly cut me off with a loud and exasperated sigh.

“Jesus, Dahlia. What’s with all the questions?” He seemed to have lost his patience and my own quickly followed.

“I’m just trying to have a fucking conversation, Benny. That’s what couples do. They talk about-” I started to bicker but he had even less interest in that.

“-I talk enough about work at work. So if you don’t mind I’d like to leave it there. Can’t you just hound me about something else? Fuck’s sake…” He yanked away his arm to run a tired and flustered hand down his face.

“Just forget it.” I rolled my eyes and scowled dully out the window instead. I felt restless and unsettled. But then again, I’d felt that way for quite some time now.

***

Coincidentally, Benny and I made it back to The Sanctuary hotel well before midnight. Not that I’d been even remotely concerned with making it in time for Negan’s ‘curfew’, but I couldn’t help noting the irony. Granted, it was only by circumstance, but it wasn’t like me to be so obedient. At least not without a stern and heavy hand to convince me. The thought of it was enough to make me squirm. And while it didn’t take long for Benny to find sleep, I was far too restless to join him.

I took a moment to freshen up and let my hair down. Then I snuck away to the hotel bar for a nightcap. Nothing more. At least that’s what I told myself I was doing there but I was hardly surprised to find Negan waiting for me. He looked handsome as ever among the warm and inviting candlelight. Dapper as usual in his fitted suit that seemed to accentuate the seemingly endless length of him. And it seemed he was expecting me too when the sound of my heels caught his attention. He tucked away his phone and greeted me with a wicked and knowing grin. I knew I should have been ashamed of myself. We both knew what sort of scandalous prospects had coaxed me there to begin with. And with my fiancé peacefully sleeping only a few floors down. Yet something about that stirred up a deviant flutter inside me.

“You’re on time. That’s a fuckin first.” Negan stood and placed a swift an amiable kiss on my cheek. He even pulled out my chair for me like a perfect gentleman. But the way his eyes devoured the sight of me…

“Only by chance.” I smirked as he took my hand helped guide me to my seat. “Besides, I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Oh, I was very fuckin serious, darlin’.” He promised as he leaned to speak in my ear so closely the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. “You look fuckin gorgeous, by the way.” He complimented in a low growl.

His hands slithered up the sides of my chair to grip the sudden tension that rolled up my neck and shoulders. His fingers lingered and glided on my goose-bumped skin before he slinked around my chair to sit across from me. I could tell by the spark of mischief in his darkened eyes that I must have been blushing just the way he’d hoped. He gestured for the bartender to bring me a drink before carrying on.

“So… Tell me about your date. How was Le Bernardin with Benjamin?” He grinned with far too much amusement as he draped one long leg over the other and patiently sipped his whiskey.

“It was lovely. The scallops were to die for.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Is that all?” He chuckled deeply.

“Well, no. The salmon was a close second.” I said remaining purposefully vague.

All the questions were a waste of time. He didn’t have to ask to know the date itself was an inevitable flop. It wasn’t news to either of us that Benny would always leave me with that insatiable craving for something more. He just wanted to hear me say it. So he leaned closer to rest his elbows on the table as if daring me to come closer. His eyes held mine with a demanding grip as he lowered his voice to a tone that vibrated my insides.

“And what about dessert?” He asked.

“Parisian chocolate cake. It was decadent.” I bit my lip as I mirrored his posture and further closed the gap between us.

“Sounds pretty fuckin’ romantic.” He smirked as he raised his dark brows inquisitively.

“It was.” I laughed and nodded reluctantly.

“And yet, here you are. All by your lonesome.” He gestured his hand at the empty bar around us.

“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” I smiled fondly.

Negan returned the same doting smile as he regarded my eyes for a long moment in silence. We savored the sound of a soft, mellow saxophone crooning in perfect harmony with a slow and melodic piano. They seemed to speak well enough for the both of us but now I wanted to say it out loud. 

I wanted to tell him how good he made me feel in these fleeting moments. How Benny never even came close. I wanted to tell him how much I wished we could erase the past and lie to ourselves, pretend like all the bad never happened. We could pick and gather the good parts, those few and far betweens. What if we could just…? I’d just parted my lips to speak the unspeakable when suddenly the bartender arrived and set a cocktail neatly before me. Negan offered him a nod of thanks before gesturing him off and turning back to me with a wink.

“A Manhattan. How fitting.” I noted nostalgically as I swirled the pick and cherry through my cocktail glass. He watched my mouth closely as I took my first sip of the amber liquid. The same rich color of his eyes. Which one was more intoxicating was debatable.

“How’s it taste?” He asked as he licked his lips.

“Like a lot of bad history.” I jested but it was the honest truth.

“Oh, well, if you don’t like it,” He reached over and plucked the Luxardo cherry from my glass.

“No way! That’s my cherry!” I gasped and playfully fussed at him.

“You just had a five star meal and you’re gonna fight me over a fuckin’ cocktail cherry?” He laughed, his gorgeous smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Come on! That’s the best part!” I resorted to a full on pout as he brought the cherry to his lips.

“I’ll say it is.” He laughed inwardly at his own adolescent innuendo before he leaned a little closer still. “Okay, brat. Take it.” His deepened voice coaxed me as he brought the cherry to my lips instead.

Our eyes met for another long and amorous gaze. As the silence and tension grew between us I found it impossible to resist his offer. So I took the dark, glazed cherry between my teeth and lapped up its sweet syrup on my tongue. I’d hoped I could have pulled off a seductive smirk but I couldn’t help grinning like a fool instead before I hid behind another sip.

“Better than Parisian chocolate?” He asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Meh.” I wrinkled my nose with a shrug of indifference.

“You little shit.” He laughed with me.

It seemed we were both charmed by the sound of each other’s laughter as our gaze lingered and we drifted even closer. So close that I felt the brush of his knee beneath the linen table. That small bit of friction was enough to spark the constant smoldering flames between us. So I stoked them further by slowly brushing my high heeled foot up the length of his calf and watched as the sensation registered in his gaze. I saw a flicker of desire followed by his usual smug smirk.

“Didn’t you tell me last time was the last time?” He said, narrowing his eyes in amusement.

“You and I both know it’s never the last time.” I confessed. 

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached forward to take my hand. He stared down at the rock on my finger and brushed his thumb over it with a long pause and contemplative gaze. “Tell you what, I’m gonna give you one last chance to get out while the gettin’ is fuckin’ good.” Then his eyes, those deep, penetrative, captivating eyes flickered up to capture my own in a sultry glare. “Or you just give me the word I’ll fuck your brains out right here and now.”

In a way, it felt like sitting face to face with a lion. It was reckless and dangerous but I never felt more elated, I never felt more high than I did in those fleeting moments while adrenaline coursed through me. While I waited in suspense and counted down the seconds before he pounced and ravished my body the way I so deeply yearned for. Only this time, he was giving me a choice. This time, he was giving me a fair chance to weigh my options.

I was engaged to another man. I had a diamond on my finger and flawed or not, I knew the stakes. I knew better than anyone that Negan was infamous for knowing exactly how to swoon an unsuspecting woman. Hadn’t I learned the first time? Or the second time? Or the time after that? Hadn’t he been just as toxic and selfish as Benny, if not worse? Hadn’t all of the most debilitating heart breaks of my life been by the dick of this man? This big, hard, lip smacking, sheet gripping, toe curling, earth shattering specimen of a dick? Yes. Absolutely. One thousand fucking percent. And I hadn’t learned a damn thing.

“I want it.” I said outright.

“Oh, you’re gonna fuckin get it, princess.” He promised as he reached down and snaked his long fingers into a tight grip around my ankle.

Without even the slightest bit of hesitance, he slipped my stiletto away and brought my bare foot to rest on his hardened cock already pressed tightly against his slacks. My breath hitched in surprise as he stroked my arch along his shaft. He thrust into the motion and in an instant, my panties were drenched. My clit quivered as a deep moan hummed in his chest and his eyes slid shut.

“You feel what you do to me, Sugar? How fuckin hard you make me?” Jesus christ. As if I wasn’t dripping down my seat already. “Come here.” He yanked me by the ankle.

I all but leaped across the table to straddle his lap. My head was still spinning as he wrapped me in a deep and all-consuming kiss. While his tongue greedily lapped up the lingering taste of cherry, his large hands slid up my thighs and under my skirt to clutch and squeeze my ass coaxing another needy moan from my lips. My heart raced as he stood and lifted me with him to set me on the edge of a barstool.

“Spread for me, baby. Show me what your husband-to-be is missing out on.” He said shamelessly and like a fool I obeyed him. But how could any woman with a pulse say no when he licked his grinning teeth that way?

He took a few steps back and casually shrugged away his suit jacket as if I wasn’t gawking hungrily at the way his cock tented his pants. I watched eagerly as he draped his jacket neatly aside and began meticulously rolling up his sleeves. All the while, he kept his eyes on me, gauging my expression as my own patience grew thinner. I squirmed and writhed in anticipation while he came ambling back, a smirk tugging his lips as he came to stand between my legs again. His hands came to rest on my knees and slowly slid up the tops of my thighs as he spread me further. He loomed tall and lean and perfect above me and I gazed up at him with pleading eyes as his own lowered to the sopping wet puddle I’d become. A grin slowly spread across his face.

“Damn… Look at you, babydoll. Is all this for me?” He chuckled as his hand slid down the inside of my thigh to brush over my throbbing heat.

He teased me relentlessly. Only allowing his fingertips to stroke and coax me through the sheer, damp silk of my panties. I was bucking my hips off the edge of the barstool while my body begged for a deeper touch. My voice cooed and pleaded for him but he was so painstakingly patient, drawing out every brush and swirl of his fingertips. He slipped his thumbs just beneath the hem of my panties and with a gentle tug he slowly spread my pussy open.

“Hmmngh… Negan, please…” I squirmed restlessly but he only brought a finger to his smirking lips and shushed me.

“Shh… Let me savor this fuckin moment, sweetness.” He said as he reached back down and with his thumbs made slow circles, carefully kneading my plump and supple mounds to tease the very outskirts of my clit. As my panties gathered and bunched in the cleft of my lips he taunted me further. He gripped and tugged the fabric up into his fist, wedging my panties deeper between my slit, pressing the tension against my clit. 

With his free hand he worked on his belt buckle. I writhed in anticipation. My eyes were wide and eager as he reached into his slacks. I licked my lips as his hardened cock sprung free and he stroked his fist over the length. I could already see the tip glistening with his own desire to fuck me but he wasn’t done savoring.

He tapped the head of his cock on my clit. Three hard and heavy smacks. It was enough to make me jump and quiver. I rolled my hips toward him, aching with a desperate need to feel him stretch me open. I thought my pleading moans would finally be answered as he tugged my panties aside but cruelly and relentlessly he only allowed his shaft to glide through my folds. A deep laugh resonated in his chest as he watched the head of his cock spring up and out of my panties while he fucked my clit.

“You poor, sweet thing… So sensitive… I’m willin’ to bet I could make you cum just like this.” He grinned.

“Negan…” His name dripped from my tongue in a pitiful whine.

“No. Look at me.” He said firmly as he snatched me by my chin and peered into me with a stern and demanding gaze. “I don’t give a shit about that ring on your fuckin’ finger. When you spread your pussy for me, you call me by my fuckin name. Now, who does this pussy belong to?”

“Daddy. My pussy belongs to Daddy.” I panted like a dog.

“There she is. There’s my good girl. My Sugar.” He said with affection as he pulled me into a kiss so deep I moaned into his mouth. 

His lips lingered a moment longer before he brushed his thumb across my pouting lips. And though he didn’t speak, the look in his dark and hungry eyes held me in an inquiring gaze as if preparing me for what was to come. Arousal swelled in my chest because I already knew and my body was aching to feel it. My eyes remained fixed on his as I nodded eagerly and sucked his thumb between my lips. His mouth parted just enough for a hitch of breath to escape his throat and his eyes flickered with lust. Then I felt it. The sudden and deep plunge of his cock. I threw my head back with a sharp gasp and shrill moan of agonizing bliss as the sudden intrusion made me tremble all over.

“God, yes! Daddy!” I cried out.

“Jesus fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” He gritted through his teeth as he clutched the back of my neck. He slowly pulled his hips away, gliding his cock out to the very tip before plunging back into the hilt with a lewd and wet squelch. Then again. And again. And again. “Come on, Sugar. Do that thing I like. Squeeze Daddy’s cock with that pretty little pussy.” He said, his voice bordering on a plea.

I knew the ‘thing’ he was referring to. It used to be my signature. So, I squeezed my pussy tight around his cock and in a fluid motion I scooped and rolled my hips to drag out every delectable inch. His head dropped back and he let out a long and deep groan.

“Ooohhhh ffffuuuuck yyoouuu!” He huffed out a breathless laugh as he clutched the bar to keep from losing his footing. "Still fuckin' got it don't you, Sugar?" And even though I was in the throes of my own debilitating pleasure, I couldn’t help the smug little smirk that curled my lips. It didn’t last long though. He took hold of the reins again as his long fingers raked up to curl into my hair, gripping it tightly as he pulled me down into the brute force of his thrusts that made our skin clap. 

“Tell me, baby. Does he fuck you like this? Does he make your pussy feel like this?” Negan murmured against my skin as he clutched me tightly.

“No! No one fucks me like you, Daddy! No one! No one fucks me like you! Oh god! Oh fuck! Please, don’t stop! Please, please, please!” I begged as I coiled my arms around the back of his neck.

“That’s a good girl… That’s my good fuckin’ girl.” He growled as he reached down to glide and swirl his fingers over my clit. “Now, show me. Cum for me, baby. Cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

As his skilled fingers vigorously worked my clit I could already feel it brewing. A warmth swelled and spread between my thighs and threatened to burst. And while I wished I could have held out longer, while I wished we could stay tethered to this moment where nothing else mattered, my body raced to the precipice. My mouth dropped open as a gasp hitched in my throat. And as his cognac colored eyes peered into the depths of my pleading and desperate gaze I plummeted into an orgasm so intense that my eyes rolled back. My clit throbbed and my pussy constricted around the thick and heavy girth of his cock.

“Oh fuck! Daddy! Daddy, I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m— Ahh!!” I shrieked.

“Fuck yes! Yes! That’s it, baby! Milk my fuckin’ cock! Fffffuuuuck!” Negan groaned into my hair as he coiled his arms around me and clutched me tight against his body as his own orgasm crashed through him.

***

After we came down from the heights of our pleasure, we found ourselves sprawled out on the floor of the Sanctuary bar. The quiet lounge music continued to croon faintly in the background as we basked in our afterglow. I laid with my head in his lap while Negan leaned back against the bar with a bottle of whiskey in one hand. The other hand gently brushed through my hair and for a long while we just sat there fully content in our silence. That is, until a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“What?” I lifted my head curiously.

“I was thinking about the first time I ever watched you walk into this place. That tight little black dress. Those cheap, hand me down heels. That fuckin’ faux fur coat.” He teased with a grin.

“You mean the night I threw a glass of wine in your face? —I still have that coat by the way.” I jabbed him playfully and scowled. 

“Yeah. That night.” He laughed and roughed up my hair.

“Erm! You deserved it.” I griped as I batted his hand away and raked my tousled hair away from my face.

“Yeah, I did. Probably deserved a helluva lot worse.” He admitted in a mumble.

“I don’t know. I feel like five years in prison evens it out pretty well.” I shrugged casually with a smug little smirk.

“Easy.” He warned with a side eye.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

“Regret what?” He asked.

“That night. We could have left it at that. We could have parted ways and never looked back. Might have spared us a lot of heartache.” I suggested as I looked up into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt but he only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid.” He scoffed before taking a swig from the bottle of whiskey and I smiled faintly knowing that despite everything we’d been through, neither of us would take it back. Then I snatched the bottle from him and took a swig for myself. So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t a nightcap in the most traditional sense but it was the perfect end to an imperfect date.

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[scoops-aboy86]

And we're now up to part A of the main events of s4, with an (un?)healthy dose of mutual pining. Bon appétit.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 of the love spell no go au

It’s a panic reflex, really. 

Eddie sees Chrissy start to float and he knows what this is. Not the exact spell, he’s never had the nerve to dig into those kind of grimoires, those fuckers’ll take your fingers right off—but it’s definitely dark magic. And the best way to respond to dark magic is to get as far away from the spellcaster as fucking possible. He doesn’t know where the spellcaster is, so he reaches for the best hiding place he can think of off the top of his head. 

One second he’s in the trailer, screaming and flailing out the spell, and the next he lands on his ass in Reefer Rick’s dank little boathouse where no one or nothing will find him. 

… Okay, maybe not no one. 

“Eddie?!”

With a gasp, Eddie struggles to kick off the tarp and clamber out of the old motorboat. “Steve!” His foot is still tangled in the tarp, though, so he trips, stumbles into the other boy, and sends both of them thumping up against the nearest wall. “Fuck.”

But Steve’s arms wrap around him all the same. “Shit, Eddie, I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s not, though. He is so not okay. 

Dustin is asking him about dark particles before it really clicks for Eddie—they know. Maybe not that it’s magic, but they’ve seen things before, enough to not question any of what he tells them. 

“How did you get all the way out here without your van?” the redhead, Max, asks shrewdly, and he recognizes her as one of his neighbors across the way. 

“I, uh.” Eddie doesn’t want to lie, because even as freaked out as he is he knows that he might end up having to tell them at this point—sorry Wayne. But that point hasn’t come yet. “I just… ran, I don’t know. I l-left her there.”

Steve still has a hand on his shoulder, at once reassuring and bewildering, and squeezes it now. “What happened to Chrissy wasn’t your fault, Eds. You said she was already gone, so it’s… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Eddie is in no way okay. 

God only knows how long later, Eddie matches Steve’s pace through what the younger Hellfire members dubbed the Upside Down back in ‘83. He keeps wondering if he should tell them they don’t need the guns; he knows enough defensive spells and a fire spitting trick that should be protection enough. Most of those involve setting up in a fixed location, though, meaning they’d have to hole up rather than find (or fight) their way back home… and he’s not confident enough to put all of their eggs in his basket. 

It was all he could do to get his battle vest on Steve. Eddie, wary from years of being bullied, had sewn stealth and protection in with every thread he’d added to the garment, slipped healing charms in under the patches and then sewn them in place. 

And then Steve says “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” which throws Eddie for a loop. 

“Pretty sure it was the dark wizard that dragged me into this, Stevie.” 

Eddie still doesn’t know if his involvement was intentional or not—if he was targeted as collateral damage because of his family and heritage or if it was all about Chrissy and he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn’t know if his spell to get away was noticed, either, but… it would have been small potatoes compared to this asshole casting from a completely different dimension, so maybe not. Which is not very reassuring, but speculation is all he has right now. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Eddie clears his throat. “So, uh… all this is why you’ve been tense since July? And why you started buying from me?”

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s putting one foot carefully in front of the other, mindful of the sentient vines. “Yeah.” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “This is different from the last time, but it’s always different. Like, usually I get most of my injuries from getting hit by regular people, but—” he gestures at the red and bruise-mottled marks circling his neck from that demonic bat thing “—this time I guess it’s the monsters’ turn. Never know what to brace for.”

“… Well shit,” Eddie sums up, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a humorless laugh. “Thanks for jumping in after me though, dude. I know it’s all a lot and you're already kind of stuck with being involved, and with… losing Chrissy like that… but, yeah. It means a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t like the unfamiliar way Steve tenses up as he says this, and is puzzled by the strange phrasing. He didn’t really know Chrissy, they’d had literally two conversations and the second one was in the minutes immediately before her sudden demise. Sure, he’d wanted to help her and feels like throwing up any time he thinks about how she died, but they hadn’t exactly been close. Nothing like how he and Steve are. Why wouldn’t he try to save his… his friend?

“Nancy and Robin went first. I’m a shitty swimmer,” Eddie admits. “That’s the only reason I didn’t jump in sooner… Turned out I was more scared of being alone in that boat than I was of drowning, so yay for me. The girls did most of the heavy lifting, and you ripped that bat in half with your bare hands. That’s fucking metal by the way. A total Ozzy move.”

“Ozzy.” Steve’s forehead wrinkles, actually turning his gaze to Eddie. “Isn’t that the Black Something guy?”

“Sabbath,” he supplies, nodding. And then recounts the legend of Ozzy Osborne biting a bat’s head off on-stage. End of the world or not, he still considers himself morally obligated to lure Steve away from the top 40 pop hits, tempting him towards the dark side with impassioned lyrics and sick guitar riffs. 

He almost feels able to pretend that things are normal and they’re just idly chatting, until a brief earthquake that almost knock both of them down onto the fucking sentient vines and reminds him. 

The night between finding their way back out of the Upside Down and formulating a plan, the older teens take turns guarding the gate in the Munson trailer. Eddie almost breaks down and tries a circle of protection, but he’s not sure how to do that on the ceiling, there isn’t enough salt in the pantry to circle the entire trailer, and even if there were, Max’s place can’t fit all of them. 

Besides, he thinks glumly, he’s not sure it would even help with these kinds of monsters. Isn’t sure what kind of traction his magic will have on things spawned in a different plane.

So he helps Steve drag his shitty mattress back into the bedroom (because Steve refuses to sit out helping even with literal bites taken out of his sides) for the four of them to sleep on during watch shifts. And gets fresh blankets and sheets from Max, at Robin’s insistence. 

“New bandages,” he says to Steve once that’s done, pointing towards the bathroom in a way that he hopes brooks no argument. He’s already got a shirt and pair of sweatpants that pass the sniff test from his closet and a definitely clean pair of boxers from the dresser clutched in his other hand, ready to go.

Steve blinks at him, twice, then looks down at his own torso where Nancy’s ripped sweater is still tied around his wounds, dark from grime and spotting blood, and sighs. “Yeah, fine.”

Eddie shuts the door behind them, which makes the already cramped trailer bathroom feel even smaller. “Okay, so… Fastest way to do this is probably to hop in the shower and rinse off. You’re covered in lake and fuck knows what else from that place, don’t want any of that shit getting in the wounds. Don’t, uh, don’t scrub those, just everything else.” And busies himself with hauling the first aid kit out from under the sink, which is always a pain in the ass whether the door is open or not. The damn thing is too big for the space because of all the extra compartments for healing spell ingredients, quite a few of which he’s already planning to surreptitiously use.

Nothing happens behind him, so after a moment he pauses and looks over his shoulder to see Steve still as dressed as he was when they walked in. 

“This is going to take me a while, it’ll all go faster if you start washing up now,” he points out, not trying to be brusque but he’s… not the best with blood, and trying to steel himself for what’s coming. “If you’re worried about your modesty, I promise not to look.”

“Don’t care about that,” Steve says, and he sounds tense. 

Eddie tries not to think about how he’s just been handed indirect permission to watch Steve undress and shower. Jesus H. Christ. “Then… are you dragging your heels because you wanna tell me that you do have demon bat rabies, or…?”

“No.” Steve sighs, and runs a dirty hand through his already disheveled and deflated hair. How he still manages to look hot after all they’ve been through, Eddie has no idea. “How, uh. How thin are the walls?”

From outside the bathroom, Robin calls, “Pretty thin, Steve-o.”

No further answer to that question needed, Eddie inclines his head towards the door. “You heard the lady. Turning the water on helps, even though the pressure is shit. It’ll get cold pretty fast, though, so you’ll want to be quick.”

For a moment, it still seems like Steve has something he wants to say. Eddie waits patiently, looking off to the side so he doesn’t have an aneurism while Steve strips down and turns the water on, but once Steve steps under the spray he seems wholly focused on peeling away the makeshift bandages so Eddie returns to wrestling with the first aid kit. They don’t talk; Steve remains eerily silent even through disinfecting the bites on his sides and the road rash on his back, even though all of it must sting like a bitch. And then Eddie wraps him up in clean gauze and medical tape and a few subtle spells to help ease the pain and help speed the healing along, hands Steve the clean clothes to change into, and slips out of the bathroom trying not to think about how Steve’s hair now smells like his bargain bin shampoo. 

“All patched up?” Robin asks, joining Steve on the mattress as they settle in for some sleep before their staggered shifts start. Since he’s injured, Nancy put him last on the rota so he could get more uninterrupted rest up front. 

He nods. Flicks his eyes to the closed bedroom door, remembering from the bathroom that it really only provides the illusion of privacy, and shuffles around to lie down with a dejected sigh. 

Robin follows. They lay down facing each other, cramped on the narrow bed, but they’ve done this before—Steve’s is a full, but Robin’s is a twin-sized just like this one.

In a whisper barely more than a breath, she says, “You wanted to tell him.” It’s not a question.

“Not with Nancy listening,” he whispers back. “And… Chrissy, I shouldn’t…”

Robin’s lips press into a thin line, almost invisible in the darkened room. “There’s no way Eddie Munson was hooking up with Chrissy Cunningham, dingus. Can you even see them together? No way.”

“Can you see Eddie Munson with Steve Harrington?” he hisses back, a little too loud—but though they both freeze to listen, to be sure, there’s no sound. No sign that anyone overheard. 

“Maybe,” Robin retorts softly once they’ve both settled again. “You’re not exactly a bastion of conformity anymore, you know, mister babysitter with a lesbian band nerd for a best friend expert monster killer… guy. He could go for you. And I don’t think… I mean, I don’t know, but… I don’t think he’s into girls, Steve.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Steve whispers.

The eye-roll in response is practically audible. “Because he watches you all the time. And that thing with the vest when Nancy was looking at you.”

“So? I watch him all the time, and I like both!”

“Well, if I’m wrong and he is like you, doesn’t that at least mean—”

“I just don’t want to get in the way if he’s mourning her, Robs. I don’t want to be a, a rebound or for anything to happen just because we might die. Because then what if we don’t, and he doesn’t… want me anymore? I can’t do that again.”

With a rustle of blankets, Robin scoots closer to pull him into a hug. Steve doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t cry—but his hand fists in the back of her shirt and he holds on tight. 

They’re still in that position an hour or so later when Eddie comes to tag Robin in, whispering that all is still quiet on the ceiling-ward front as she extracts herself. Steve remains dead asleep, even when Eddie hesitantly worms his way under the covers while staying as close to the edge of the mattress as possible so as not to disturb him.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

[ovaryacted]

Ok ok ok, so…hear me out. (TW: death, and suicide at the end)

Let’s just say Leon’s kids (maybe they’re a teen at this point) ends up captured by some evil bioweapon lab. The ransom note is essentially ‘leave us alone to do our science or we kill your kid’

I can see this playing out two ways.

The first, Leon tears apart the world. He sees red and essentially blacks out until he’s reunited with his child/ren. He’s awake for the entire time it takes to find them. The only time he actually ‘rests’ is when his body physically crashes and passes out. Even then, he gets nightmares. What if they’re too late and his kid/s become twisted creatures? What if they’re already dead? What if he has to put a bullet in his own precious baby because they were reduced to a shambling zombie, just like RC?

He wakes up screaming. Crying. Sobbing.

Even if he gets to them in time, they’re undoubtedly traumatized. They won’t be child/Ren anymore. They would have been exposed to how fucked the world really is. He starts thinking he’s a failure. He’s failed to protect his kid/s. The ones he loved the most in the world have had their innocence ripped away.

But damnit, when he finds them, you bet your ass he’s not letting them go. He hugs them tightly. Almost too tightly. Leon starts sobbing. They’re unharmed. Untouched by evil science.

When it comes to the escape, he holds their hand. It doesn’t matter how old they are, he’s going to hold onto SOMETHING. They aren’t coming out of his sight ever again. Not after this.

Second scenario, Leon IS too late.

He sees what USED to be his kid/s. If he stared hard enough he could see them, under the shambling, the growling. They were still in there somewhere.

But he was too late. Even if they could get a cure, the damage was done. His child/ren were gone.

The world goes quiet for Leon. His only focus would be on them. All he could hear is his own heartbeat. After he ends their pain, I don’t think he’d go home.

The official report be KIA, but anyone else who was on the mission would know the truth. Leon didn’t want to live without his kid/s.

BUT THEN ITS ALL A NIGHTMARE BECAUSE I MADE MYSELF SAD TYPING THIS AHHHH IM SORRY

cw: religious imagery, mentions of gore and violence, suicide attempt

Hey, angsty anon, I know you remember sending this to me when I was at work and it fucking upset me but I said I would make it worse...well I'm making it a tad bit worse by adding my thoughts to this. Apologies in advance, and of course if you don't want to read some sad shit, don't read it. (I was half asleep writing this so my bad lolz)

I think Leon's family becoming involved in the horrors of bioterrorism, the very thing he's trying so hard to protect his loved ones from, is one of his biggest fears. In this field, he's seen people he cared about, good people, who were abandoned by those meant to protect them and had to alter their bodies to try to feel control. Although Leon does everything to ensure his family is protected, he still falls short when his child gets taken away by an enemy and is used as collateral.

The entire aspect of finally being able to have a life gets to Leon. To have a chance to settle down and have a family of his own which is now being threatened, turns Leon into this vindictive monster just motivated by revenge. On prior missions, he's usually calculated and knows what to do, where to go, and what to bring. But now that his child is involved, his own flesh and blood, yeah he blacks out for most of the mission and is going off of instinct.

He doesn't give his partner much of an explanation when he just says he's going to leave and that he knows he's going to bring his family back together. He can't promise anything, can't promise if he'll come back in one piece or at all, but he will bring his child back home. If being a federal agent working in bioterrorism has taught him anything, is that not everyone comes back. Sometimes he just gets lucky and the cycle repeats.

Leon does not sleep, does not eat, and much less gives a shit about his own safety and health. As far as he knows, he's on a witch hunt to kill the bastard that threatened his family and his happiness. The entire time he's trying to get his child back, his mind goes back to the horrors of all of his missions. He thinks back to the fear he felt in trying to save Sherry, he remembers the way his mind went all hazy on his mission to Spain and saved the president's daughter.

It's all the same. But it has to be different right?

He doesn't consider himself to be a religious person, he used to be back in his youth. But as this rogue mission goes on longer and longer and he spends more time without his child, he starts to silently pray that they're alive, that they haven't been ruined like everything else in this rotten world.

Let's say he does find his kid in one piece, scared and traumatized, probably tucked into a corner in a dingy cell in some run down lab. Leon wrapped his arms around them, apologizing over and over again, looking for forgiveness, and blaming himself for putting his child in danger simply because of the life he was forced to live.

He does get back home in one piece with his child in his arms and eliminates any other possible and future threats so he never has to worry about that again. The people who even think about hurting his family will regret ever doing so. As long as his child is safe and back at home, he thinks he's achieved the impossible and is protecting all that he holds dear.

But let's go on the opposite end of the spectrum. What will happen if Leon doesn't get there in time? If he finds his child turned into some monster as revenge? It would tear him apart, and he will consider this to be his karma for even wanting a better life for himself, a life he doesn't deserve. The person or thing in front of Leon wasn't his child anymore, it was a mess of torn-up limbs and cut skin, and he couldn't feel his child's presence anymore.

His soul is empty as he raises his gun to shoot towards the monster, putting them out of their misery, and the last bit of humanity Leon has left goes with the dead body hitting the ground. He still has a mission to complete, a society to protect, so he focuses on that and refuses to give himself a moment of grieve.

Later he says, I have time later.

He's detached from his reality throughout the remaining time he gives himself to finish off this mission, his last mission. When all the threats are eliminated, he walks around aimlessly, his spirit has run dry and he knows the gaping hole in his chest is too much of a burden to handle. He doesn't cry, he's done enough crying in his life and frankly, he doesn't have any more tears to give.

I've failed. I've failed you. I'm sorry.

The words repeat in his head and he pretends his significant other somehow gets the message that he's not coming back home. He wonders if God will come to save him from this blasphemy, but this is the price he had to pay for having too much blood on his hands, blood he did not want to have.

His hand is steady as he puts the gun to his temple, finger on the trigger and he hears it click, nothingness comes right after. He doesn't feel pain, doesn't feel much of anything, and surprisingly he feels calm...at peace.

Things can't be different. Not this time.

[rejoice-for-the-beloved]

So! Thoughts on season 6 (this will be out of order): 

Re: Rayla’s family: the fact Rayla could save two people but knew her mom and dad would rather pass on together than be without each other is both *chef’s kiss* and T.T Plus out of the three elves trapped, the one who was saved was the one who ‘deserves’ it the least…*double chef’s kiss* 

Claudia was so close to changing her ways, it was painful to watch. 

Glad Callum told Rayla about using dark magic again before they got back together. And Rayla is more concerned about how using it hurts him rather than it being the wrong thing to do <3 

Kosmo being able to see possible paths the future can take! That’s kinda linked to my whole ‘multiple realities’ theory! I’ll take it! Also, on that note, Kosmo, buddy, I get not telling Callum the truth before having him all fixed up, but after???? THAT’S KINDA CRUCIAL INFORMATION TO KEEP TO YOURSELF. 

CALLUM’S BIRTH FATHER LORE! A poet named Damian who was chronically ill but in Sarai’s words ‘the strongest man she ever knew.” 

Viren didn’t have to trap K’ppar in a coin to get the staff and save Soren, he only did it after K’ppar threatened his position as High Mage…

No offense, Lissa, but the spell wasn’t actually so horrific (not as horrific as I thought it was gonna be, anyway) If all he needed was your tears, why not just give them? I mean, I suppose she thought with what Viren looked like he did something truly vile and she didn’t want to be complicit, but…

Viren physically manhandled Lissa! And then she left! Can’t blame her, but WHY NOT TAKE YOUR CHILDREN WITH YOU?

I knew Viren blamed Soren for Lissa leaving. Jackass.

Feel like Callum and Rayla won’t be able to keep their promises to each other: Callum won’t be able to choose the ‘greater good’ over Rayla, and Rayla won’t be able to kill Callum if he ends up corrupted—which, let’s be real, he’s going to end up getting corrupted. They wouldn’t have Kosmo drop that warning if it wasn’t going to become relevant later on. 

Rayla is Callum’s deepest truth! Awwwwwww. Interesting how she is both the reason he started ‘walking the path of darkness’ and the reason he was able to get off of it (for now)! Which leads me to hope that if/when Callum becomes corrupted in S7, Rayla will be the one to save him. 

KATOLIS WAS DESTROYED! NOW THAT IS TRULY AN EXAMPLE OF A STORY’S DARKEST HOUR. 

Haha, Sol Regem abandoning his followers was NOT a surprise. Him aiming his ire at Katolis was, though. Was there something he had against that kingdom specifically or was that just the closest human kingdom he could get to before he succumbed to his injuries? 

The prejudice towards humans really irks me. From Karim to Sol Regem to the Startouch elves themselves…

Rayla and Sarai parallel with the behemoth and magma titan!

Rayla singing! RAYLA SINGING! 

Now we know what put Aaravos on his path to villainy but we still don’t know what his endgame is. Like, we get why he wanted Sol Regem to suffer, and why he hates his fellow Startouch Elves, but what does he hope to accomplish? 

Poor Leola…She was just a child and they sentenced her to death. And the way she died was just brutal. And for what? Because she helped out humanity? HOW DOES HUMANITY HAVING MAGIC CREATE CHAOS?  

Leola wasn’t an actual unicorn! It was just a nickname from her father cause of her horn! 

Aaravos truly does not give a shit about the collateral damage his revenge has. 

AARAVOS IS HUGE. Not surprising, in all honesty, but wow. 

The Merciful One wasn’t so merciful after all! Eh, kind of expected that. 

Claudia freed Aaravos! So…how is Callum going to play right into Aaravos’ hands, then? Is he part of Aaravos’ actual plans for the world, and not just for getting out of his prison? 

Season 7 cannot come quickly enough. I need answers, I need resolution, and I need them now! 

Viren cut out his own heart rather than take Soren’s. Good.