#and it will bother me if it doesn’t reflect that

[babydollslibrary]

PARIS — NICO HISCHIER

published: March 19th, 2023

summary: in which y/n is so in love with Nico, that she doesn’t care about any of the gossip her friends tell her about her exes.

specific lyrics: “your ex-friend's sister met someone at a club and he kissed her. turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister. and all the outfits were terrible. 2003 unbearable. did you see the photos? no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” and “i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.” and “privacy sign on the door, and on my page, and on the whole world. romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.” and “i wanna brainwash you, into loving me forever. i wanna transport you, to somewhere the culture's clever. confess my truth, in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.”

GIF by mattymartin

“did you hear that John got engaged?”

i peek up from my spot on the floor, glancing over to Ella who sits in the armchair across the room. Tara and Naomi are sat together on the couch, wide eyes and excited smiles.

“no.” i shake my head, my lips flattening in a straight line as i continue flipping through the magazine in my hands.

“yeah, he got engaged last week. but the kicker?” Naomi speaks this time, pausing for dramatic effect. “Ella heard from Carrie, who heard from the fiancée’s sister, that the girl is two months pregnant. it’s a shotgun wedding.”

“and she’s forty-one compared to his twenty-eight!” Tara pipes up. i glance up again, offering a furrowed brow and an uninterested nod. why were they telling me these things?

“cool. i mean, we’re adults, age doesn’t really matter anymore.” i shrug, and now it’s their turn to look at me like i’m crazy. our exes are usually our favorite topic for gossip, but that was before i met Nico eight months ago. now it’s typically been gossip about their exes. “besides, maybe they are getting married because she’s pregnant, but they could end up being really in love.”

“but- this is juicy?” Naomi says, her face scrunched in confusion. Ella and Tara nod along with her, clearly confused by my disinterest. i shrug once more, my focus falling back down to the magazine that rests in my lap now.

“John just isn’t part of my life anymore. i don’t really care what happens with him. i wish him the best in his marriage and fatherhood, though.”

“the best?” Ella balks, jaw hung open in surprise. “the man who cheated on you with three other women? you wish him the best?”

“i’m over it. did it hurt at the time? yeah. but, i’m happy now. if he hadn’t cheated on me, i wouldn’t’ve found my way to Nico, so it worked out in my favor.” i confess my feelings, and the girls all share a look, raising their brows in suspicion.

“that’s actually really mature of you, y/n/n. i’m proud of you.” Tara tells me, the other two nodding in agreement.

“what can i say? Nico’s been good for me.” i laugh, and they all giggle before returning to their own magazines.

**

“does it ever bother you that we’re not public?” Nico’s voice breaks me out of my trance. my hands, which were previously rubbing cleanser on my cheeks in circles, freeze and i look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. he stands in the doorway, frowning down at his phone, leaning against the frame.

“no, why?” i ask. “does it bother you?”

“well, no. it was my idea.” he sighs, slipping his phone on the counter and making his way over to me, entangling his arms around my waist as i continue washing my face. “but, i don’t know. i just saw Shara’s post with Darya and i wondered if maybe it upsets you. i know girls like to be posted and admired, and i feel bad that i don’t do that.”

i finish washing the cleanser off my face, patting dry with a towel, before i twist around in his arms. placing my hands on his bare chest, i give him a soft smile.

“Neeks, i don’t need to be posted in order to feel admired. you make me feel that way every day just from your simple actions. i mean, just yesterday, you went for a run and came back with a bouquet of flowers. last week, you surprised me with a movie night and homemade pizza, when you could’ve very well spent that night sleeping early considering you were leaving the next day for a quick roadie.”

“but-” i press a finger against his lips, signaling for him to be quiet.

“i don’t need to be posted because i like our privacy. besides, the important people know. our friends, our family, they’re the only people we care about knowing, the entire world doesn’t have to know in order for our relationship to be real. if anything, i think it’s kept the romance alive because we’re living in the moment. we’re not taking our phones out to get pictures of our special moments; it’s just us enjoying our time together. i love you, and i know you love me. i don’t need us to be public in order to feel loved by you, because you make sure i’m aware of it every day.”

“ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen.” he slots his lips between mine, soft and sweet, tasting like his mint toothpaste. we part, and i smile up at him.

“i only caught that first part, but i love you too. so much.” i step out of his grasp to walk back into his bedroom, glancing behind me to see him following me. slipping into bed, he copies me, turning his bedside light off and slinging an arm around my waist, pulling me into him so that we press against each other. my eyes fall closed, and i’m on the verge of sleep when i hear him mumble.

“ich möchte dich eines Tages heiraten.”

**

i’m spread across the couch at Naomi’s house this time, Ella sitting with my feet in her lap, Tara in one armchair, and Naomi in another.

Ella paints my toenails as Naomi and Tara gossip back and forth and i lay with my eyes closed, just listening.

“y/n.” i pry open my eyes to look over at Tara, humming inquisitively. “did you hear?”

“hear what?” i ask.

“your ex-friend, Gianna? her sister, Izzy, met someone at a club and he kissed her.” she tells me. my brows form a ‘v’ as i nod in understanding.

“okay?”

“turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister.” Naomi chimes in. “remember him?”

“umm, vaguely, i think. Jake something or other. right?” i peek down at Ella, who stopped doing my toes in order to listen more intently.

“mhm!” Naomi hums before huffing out a harsh laugh. “and all the outfits were terrible.”

“like, 2003 unbearable.” Tara laughs. “did you see the photos?”

“no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” i tell her, shaking my head.

“do you wanna see them?” Naomi asks, tapping on her phone a couple times before i offering it to me.

“no, thanks.” i scrunch up my nose, shrugging.

“oh. okay…”

“i do!” Ella exclaims, swapping the nail polish in her hand for Naomi’s phone. “oh god!”

“it’s horrible! right?” Tara laughs, but i just frown, sitting up on the couch. “he’s wearing a camo thermal shirt under a polo! like dude!”

“guys, that’s mean.” i scold.

“it’s not mean, it’s the truth. if you saw the pictures, you would understand.” Ella giggles, offering me the phone once more. i push it away, shaking my head.

“i don’t care about what happens between Jake or Izzy.” i tell them. Ella shrugs, handing the phone back to Naomi and going back to painting my nails.

“you seriously don’t care?” Tara asks and i shake my head.

“not really. i’m at a good point in my life, Nico makes me really happy. i don’t care what my exes or almost exes are up to.” i admit. “i don’t mind all the other gossiping we do, i love gossip, but i really don’t care for hearing about my exes. it doesn’t affect me in any way, so why do i need to know about it? if they’re happy, then good for them.”

“who are you and what have you done with y/n?” Ella jokes, making us all giggle.

“i really love Nico. he makes me happy, which in turn, makes me content with what happened in the past. i don’t need to hear about the bad karma that’s hitting my exes, because i just don’t care about them anymore.” a soft smile spreads across my face at the thought of my boyfriend.

“i love Nico for you. this relationship is so healthy and i can tell how good he is for you.” Naomi tells me, her voice gentle and happy, a grin on her lips.

**

i stare down at the piece of card stock in my hands, tracing my cursive with my eyes.

‘kick ass tonight, captain!

p.s. i wanna love you forever

lovingly yours, y/n’

smiling in content, i tuck the note into one of Nico’s skates in his duffle bag for him to find later. a tradition i’ve come to look forward to, it started about two months into our relationship, when i slipped a note into the tupperware holding his pregame snack. when he got home after their win that night, he told me he looked at it during both intermissions. that was the night we said ‘i love you’ for the first time. so now before every home game, i write him a note and stick it somewhere in his things, in order for him to find it before the game, to give him a boost of confidence.

“darling, have you seen my keys?” Nico’s voice carries in from the living room, and i swipe his keys off the counter before padding to the entryway of the living room to find him digging in between the couch cushions.

“right here, love.” i smile, watching his head snap up and his sight lock on the car keys dangling from my fingers. he lets out a sigh of relief, making his way over to me.

“what would i do without you?” the question is rhetorical, but i can’t help but jokingly answer.

“walk.” i shrug. chuckling, he nabs the keys out of my hand whilst simultaneously planting a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“will you be here when i get back?” he asks, raising a hand to gingerly cup my jaw. i nuzzle deeper into his touch, nodding.

“of course.” i tell him before joking again- “i don’t have ESPN+, so i have to use yours on your tv to watch the game.”

he chuckles again, leaning down to press a quick but sweet kiss to my lips before bidding me goodbye. i wish him a good luck, watching as he leaves for his game.

**

“where’d it go?” i wonder aloud, scouring the bathroom countertop for my chapstick. Nico always puts it back after he borrows it, knowing it’s part of my nightly routine, but he must’ve forgotten today.

leaving the bathroom, i go back to his bedroom, scanning the top of his dresser for the lip product but coming up empty handed. i let out a deep sigh, moving on to his nightstand. not spotting it on the top, i open the drawer. but my brows furrow when i get the drawer ajar, only to find it empty other than a stack of cardstock. pulling one out, i flip it over in my hands, my eyes softening when i read the words swooped across the paper.

i pull out the stack, shuffling through them. my eyes prick with tears at the realization. my notes. i never knew what he did with them after the games, but i guess i assumed he just threw them away. but i was wrong, because they’re all here. all accounted for, dating back to the very first one. kept safe in his bedside drawer. tears slide down my cheeks, my heart pounding in my chest at the sweet gesture.

i place them all back in the drawer, swiping at my face to dry it, and giving up on my chapstick.

laid in bed, a book is gripped in my hands as i await Nico’s return after his big win. i perk up at the sound of the front door opening and shutting, placing my bookmark in and closing my book as Nico opens the bedroom door.

“hi, superstar!” i cheer, dropping my book onto the nightstand. a bashful grin spreads across his face as he drops his bag on the floor by the end of the bed. i shuffle on the bed, sitting up on my knees, facing the edge of the mattress. “two goals and an assist, and first star of the night. i’m so proud of you!”

“thank you, love.” he steps in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him, chest to chest. “did you see what i did after them?”

heat rises to my face as i think back to what he did after both goals. the gesture that he told me long ago meant he was dedicating those goals to me; a quick tap to his lips.

“i did. thank you, baby.” wrapping my arms around his neck, i crane my own, settling a gentle kiss onto his lips. parting, he lays his forehead on mine.

“i want to love you forever.” he tells me, making me giggle.

“using my own words on me?” i question, switching to bury my head in his neck. his hand rubs up and down my back as we hug in silence for a moment.

“i think that may have been my favorite note so far.” he admits, whispering in my ear.

“yeah?” i pull back to look at his big brown eyes, my favorite color for the past eight months. he hums an agreement.

“i’m so in love with you. sometimes, it feels like i might stop breathing.”

“you are the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.” i confess. “i love you. so much.”

“is it too early to ask you to marry me?” he questions. a joke, i assume, and i let out an airy laugh.

“maybe a little bit.” i tell him. “but how about we compromise?”

“and just how do we compromise?” he asks.

“how would you feel about me moving in with you?” a wide grins spread across his face at my words, happily nodding.

“i would love that.”

-

[nestaians]

doesn’t surprise me feyre doesn’t do her high lady duties and she only brings it up for her own interests bc remember how much she brought up tamlin not making her a high lady?

tamlin would have made her his lady, same duties now she is doing now except her title has “high” word in it

“tamlin never saw me as his equal” bc your not! you don’t even know the basics of fae world!

tamlin not seeing feyre his equal for position of ruling does not mean he didn’t love or value her

it’s most likely tamlin thought they had all the time in the world now and he would teach her as they’d go

and is like what’s wrong with that?? some self reflection would go a long way feyre

she isn’t educated

she knows nothing about the faes or lands

has no training in politics

has no idea how to behave at court

she knows nothing

feyre had no reason to believe she is worthy of being tamlin’s or anyone’s equal in a position of leadership over a court

all she did was free tamlin, who then killed amarantha

if she believes it should be bc of love like honey, that’s not how it works. again it shows she has no knowledge of the land, of fae and the world of power

if it was human lands and politics then it’d make sense, they don’t follow magic bound laws

does that mean kallias sees viviane, who was in charge while he was UtM, as weak? no

if feyre wants to hate tamlin for not teaching her anything like girl at first u didn’t care about it and then u were traumatised and whisked away to nc, when was he suppose to teach u??

even if we ignore magic choosing the ruler rule….

she married a high lord and got her title, but she hasn’t earned it

it would be one thing if she worked after getting it through marriage but she hasn’t. all she did was destroy a court, attack lady autumn, look down on her citizens like her mate and opened a paint studio like?? that’s not ruling

“i’m the high lady of night court, i can do as i please” but u can’t honey, that’s not how it works

it’s a title she shows off but she doesn’t do the job it requires, and i don’t see how she is respected for it- for being a high lady

feyre hasn’t earned the title of being a high lady

she hadn’t even earned a position of power or a position in a court

for nesta, i don’t believe she’s ready nor has earned a title of a ruler either, but she is educated enough to be a part of a court

nesta was meant to married for power but it’s feyre who actually did

looking back, it’s crazy how much tamlin not naming her a high lady bothered her and she did no self reflection on it

[cottageivy]

i stg if i wake up with as bad of cramps as i had today i will cry

[thejudgingtrash]

I wish I was writing my damn Sukuna x reader fic but sorting my notes and bullet points out literally took four hours so far and I’m still not doneee!

Why you ask?? I’m busy creating family trees for all characters and am stuck on deciding which Yutamaki child will inherit which technique.

This fic is haunting me I swear, I keep thinking about it all the damn time 😭 it will be a semi unhinged crack fic and fun I promise 🫶🏾

[gr8ntaire]

who else up having their heart broken by the Prost documentary, btw,

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[fishysaltine]

When you’re blocked by an artist on Bluesky but not Twitter and the only difference in your profiles is Bluesky has a no Proshippers label in it

[gaylittleguys]

I’m really not liking bly manor nearly as much as hill house. I feel like the strength of hill house was the family dynamic underpinning everything and made me invested and interested in these characters and how they fit together, and there’s not really anything as compelling here :/ I don’t think I can bring myself to finish the last two and a half episodes. at least not right now.

[kithtaehyung]

minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

-

-

There’s something to be said about the human gut. 

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain. 

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you? 

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run? 

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink. 

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking. 

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too. 

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree. 

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down. 

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers���

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you! 

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too? 

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff. 

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved. 

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is. 

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on? 

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with. 

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are. 

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home. 

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors. 

Perfect.

“What.” 

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.” 

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?” 

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket. 

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends. 

This is all too much. 

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.” 

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily? 

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian. 

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization. 

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun. 

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again. 

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done. 

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again. 

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal. 

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back. 

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance? 

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic. 

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening. 

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches. 

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire. 

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not. 

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse. 

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck. 

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change. 

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline. 

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.” 

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.” 

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut. 

Fuck. Yoongi’s right. 

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.” 

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls, 

“Not interested.” 

Oh. He’s… 

Oh. 

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial? 

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie. 

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.” 

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core. 

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom. 

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not. 

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room. 

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on? 

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here. 

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot. 

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light. 

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish. 

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use. 

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld. 

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead. 

Uhh. 

What. 

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin. 

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air. 

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It��s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done. 

Almost. 

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing. 

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state? 

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.” 

Again with that little slant. 

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life. 

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl. 

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded. 

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved? 

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right… 

Doesn’t matter. 

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.  

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck. 

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright. 

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet. 

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still. 

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut. 

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.” 

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.” 

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.” 

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel. 

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.” 

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.” 

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them. 

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer. 

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so. 

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside. 

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.  

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your— 

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!” 

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.” 

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for? 

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.” 

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette. 

And just like that, the conversation dies. 

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible. 

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead. 

Your noodles.

Your noodles. 

You’re not hungry anymore. 

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill. 

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand. 

A robed arm. 

Your new utensils come back into view. 

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there. 

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes, 

“Eat.” 

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain? 

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.” 

“You are.” 

“Not anymore.” 

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.” 

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.” 

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.” 

“I literally can’t—” 

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.” 

“What?” 

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight. 

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.” 

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.” 

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.” 

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin. 

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.” 

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier. 

Yoongi looks pissed as hell. 

But he hasn’t moved. 

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again. 

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today. 

Fuck, you wanna hurl. 

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair. 

“It’s better in the long run.” 

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this. 

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes. 

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.  

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too. 

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers. 

“What were you looking for.” 

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth. 

“Did you find it.” 

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?” 

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.” 

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?” 

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought. 

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.” 

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.” 

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion. 

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl. 

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat. 

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure. 

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out. 

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home. 

Yearning pierces right through your chest. 

The elevator is right over there. 

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No. 

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too. 

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase. 

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep. 

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety. 

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room. 

And your defense mechanism blares. 

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why? 

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too? 

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay? 

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.” 

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?” 

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.” 

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.” 

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes. 

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.” 

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms. 

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest. 

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs. 

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.” 

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.” 

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine. 

Well. 

So much for leaving. 

You may spend more time here than you thought. 

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call. 

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that. 

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now. 

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space. 

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere. 

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator. 

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area. 

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet. 

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below. 

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out. 

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart. 

That was so long ago. 

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time. 

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem. 

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm. 

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some. 

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter. 

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.” 

“Do you even drink?” 

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying. 

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?” 

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.” 

“It’s usually silent, too.” 

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.” 

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.” 

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”  

He takes the offered can. “Mm.” 

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present. 

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs. 

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day. 

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?” 

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”  

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.” 

Your look carries a slight pang. 

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.” 

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see. 

But when it’s open, you freeze. 

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New. 

Wait. 

These patterns. 

These are il-don? 

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless. 

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.” 

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?” 

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.” 

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?” 

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.” 

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter. 

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.” 

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?” 

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?” 

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?” 

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.” 

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.” 

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself. 

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear, 

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe. 

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…” 

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.” 

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now? 

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.” 

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away. 

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose, 

“I should’ve left you for dead.” 

Wait. 

Stop. 

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever. 

And it is frightening. 

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.” 

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist. 

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.  

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.” 

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually. 

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you. 

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power? 

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk. 

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can. 

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it. 

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.” 

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged. 

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes, 

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.” 

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning. 

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it. 

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same. 

So you quell that monster pacing in your core. 

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be. 

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.” 

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin. 

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.” 

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend, 

“This world has already tried enough.” 

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again. 

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn. 

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it. 

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more. 

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else. 

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations. 

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.” 

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip. 

And you freeze. 

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate. 

But fuck, you kinda want to. 

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed. 

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…” 

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to. 

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.” 

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest, 

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong? 

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore. 

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.” 

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone. 

Oh. You’re going home. 

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short. 

What was that? What was any of that? 

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over. 

…But do you want it to be? 

Yes. 

Of course you do. 

Clouds let moonlight shine again. 

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real. 

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane. 

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging. 

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out. 

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed? 

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets. 

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes. 

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams. 

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own. 

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion. 

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air. 

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out. 

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too? 

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness. 

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start. 

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do. 

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows. 

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity. 

For nothing. 

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all. 

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal. 

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder. 

Fuck everything. 

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.” 

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares. 

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[peachsukii]

A faint knock on the front door of your apartment echos through the hallway and to your bedroom, but you don’t bother to get up. They’ll think you’re not here and leave eventually. The lights are off and don’t give off any indication that you’re home.

They knock again, this time a little firmer.

You roll over in bed, tucking your head under the covers to block out the sound. Suddenly, the click of the lock and door creaking open fill the air - he’s here.

“Peach?” Bakugo calls from the living room, feet pattering anxiously around your apartment in search of you. “You here?”

It kills you not to answer him, but there’s no way in hell you want him to see you like this, disheveled and miserable. Maybe if you stay still, you can trick him into thinking you’re not hiding away from the world and aren’t home.

“Ya haven’t answered my calls in three days,” he says aloud as his footsteps approach your bedroom. “Your girlfriends, too. Called ‘em this mornin’ looking for you.”

You’re busted, there’s no running from Katsuki Bakugo. He’s not stupid or naive. Why did you think you could hide from him?

Bakugo lets out a sigh of relief when he sees your body under the covers in the dark. Carefully, he makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge.

“There you are,” he says quietly, nowhere near his normal volume. There’s no bite to his words, only genuine concern. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Ha - no. Not in the slightest.

The blanket shifts a bit when you curl further into yourself. Bakugo reaches for the hem of the comforter, tugging it off of you in one motion. That’s when it sinks in and he understands the situation, maybe a little too well.

“I get it. Y’don’t wanna be seen as weak,” he speaks, both reflectively and to you. “But bein’ down doesn’t mean you’re weak, you’re human, peaches. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with being sad.”

“You didn’t have to come,” you muffle into the pillow, hiding your face from him. “I��ll be fine.”

“Never said you wouldn’t be. Doesn’t mean I can’t be here or worry about your ass.”

Let him in, he obviously wants to help. Just…let him in. Why’s it so hard?

“I don’t…” you trail off, unable to tell him you don’t need his help. Finally, you sit up to face him, hair tangled over your shoulders and t-shirt drooping from your collarbone. “I don’t want to scare you away.”

Bakugo laughs. “Scare me? Gonna have to try a lot harder than that. What kinda hero would I be if I let ya rot away in bed?” He scoops you into his arms and squeezes you firmly. “Let me take care of you when you’re not feelin’ up to it.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.” 

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day. 

“About how she got to the institute.” 

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.” 

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance. 

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...” 

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.” 

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.” 

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?” 

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?” 

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.” 

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.” 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London. 

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting. 

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you. 

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means. 

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more. 

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with. 

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table. 

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules. 

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day. 

You wonder if they ever get a break. 

Maybe this is a break for them. 

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority. 

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy. 

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you. 

Except you don’t know your pack. 

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.  

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first. 

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price. 

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after. 

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you. 

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one. 

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall. 

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle. 

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers. 

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now. 

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C. 

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too. 

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back. 

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.” 

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit. 

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.” 

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most. 

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing. 

“You hungry?” Gaz asks. 

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting. 

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh. 

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well. 

The thought makes something flutter in your chest. 

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?” 

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.” 

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.” 

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you. 

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his. 

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower. 

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either. 

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight. 

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table. 

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone. 

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling. 

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.” 

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own. 

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away. 

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand. 

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one. 

“Captain John Price.” He says. 

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves. 

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.” 

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other. 

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep. 

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta. 

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.” 

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA. 

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.” 

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond. 

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.” 

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says. 

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.” 

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.” 

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.” 

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.” 

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.” 

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things. 

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.” 

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond. 

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says. 

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.” 

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second. 

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.” 

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want. 

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.” 

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.” 

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.” 

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole. 

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.” 

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face. 

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?” 

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base. 

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.” 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega. 

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world. 

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age. 

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas. 

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up. 

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check. 

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack. 

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings. 

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world. 

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you. 

Or maybe they would have been worse. 

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.” 

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?” 

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.” 

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.” 

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?” 

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.” 

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask. 

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?” 

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer. 

“And how did that go?” 

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.” 

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?” 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it. 

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares. 

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer. 

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns? 

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center. 

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways. 

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center. 

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks. 

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night. 

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit. 

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.” 

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.” 

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.” 

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning? 

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being. 

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel. 

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space? 

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.” 

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him. 

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit? 

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence? 

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response? 

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself. 

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive. 

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.” 

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble. 

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you? 

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside. 

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over. 

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.” 

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.” 

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought. 

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that. 

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk. 

An unneeded disruption to their lives. 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you. 

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate. 

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you. 

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet. 

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?” 

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.” 

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!” 

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself. 

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?” 

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.” 

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.” 

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says. 

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game. 

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap. 

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him. 

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?” 

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.” 

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch. 

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder. 

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again. 

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.” 

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state. 

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up. 

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made. 

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.” 

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.” 

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face. 

NEXT ->

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[surftrips]

SWEET NOTHING

pairing: luke castellan x reader

summary: y/n comforts luke after he sees percy claimed by poseidon.

word count: 600+

a/n: y'all i know. how many more morally grey characters can i write fics for? i couldn't help it, he's so bf in the first two episodes so this takes place in a world where he’s done nothing wrong <3

You watched as your boyfriend’s face changed after seeing the newest camp member, Percy Jackson, claimed by his father, Poseidon. 

Luke wasn’t one of the unclaimed kids, but he might as well have been. His relationship with his father Hermes was a strained one, but he pretended like it didn’t bother him. 

But now, it was hard not to notice the sadness and frustration that had clouded Luke’s face as he watched the trident appear above Percy’s head. Before you could go over to comfort him, he had already run away from the scene. 

You decided to give him some space, figuring that he had gone back to his cabin. As the other camp members slowly dispersed, you looked around for Annabeth. 

Upon laying your eyes on the dark-haired girl in the crowd of people, you beckoned her over. 

“Hey! Did you see that?” she asked you, excitedly.

“Yeah, that was crazy!” you admitted. “How’d you know he was Poseidon’s?”

“I’ve been watching him.”

“Of course,” you smiled. Luke had told you about Annabeth's desire to find “The Chosen One.” 

“Wait- where’s Luke?” she asked, as if on cue.

“I was gonna talk to you about that- I think he ran back to his cabin.”

“What- why?”

“I think he had some feelings about Percy being claimed, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh,” Annabeth replied, putting the pieces together. 

“Yeah, I’m giving him some space right now, but do you have any advice on how to approach this? I don’t want to upset him any more.”

“Look, Y/N, you’re his girlfriend. Just do your best to comfort him and I’m sure he’ll start to feel better.”

“I know, but you’re his sister! You know him best, what if I say the wrong thing?” 

“You can’t say the wrong thing. He loves you, Y/N. He just needs to see that someone is there for him.” 

“Okay, thank you, Annabeth,” you gave her a hug before heading in the direction of the Hermes cabin. 

You were relieved to find that the other campers had not gotten back yet. You gently pushed open the door and found yourself facing your boyfriend’s back sitting on his bed. 

“Luke?” you called out.

He turned to face you, hastily swiping at the tears that had fallen onto his cheeks. 

“Oh, sweet boy, come here,” you ran over to take him in your arms. He let his tears fall again, and your heart broke seeing him like this. You knew that he acted brave all the time, but deep down, he was hurting.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just let it out,” you attempted to calm him down. 

“Why doesn’t he care about me?” he cried.

“Baby, it’s okay. He doesn’t matter, alright? It has nothing to do with you.” 

“Yes, it does. Percy killed a minotaur and broke Clarisse’s spear and his dad just came swooping in.” 

“Look at me,” you pulled away to lift his face up. “You are so, so special. Anyone that knows you can say that. Hell, you’re the best swordsman in this camp. But you know what else? You’re kind, and caring, and you have all this compassion in your heart, despite it all. If he can’t see your worth in that, then that’s a reflection of him, not you.” 

Luke didn’t say anything, instead he worked on catching his breath as you continued to rub his back and lay kisses on his forehead. 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, still sniffling. 

“For what, baby?” 

“For seeing me. And staying.”

“To know you is to love you, Luke Castellan,” you gave him another kiss, this time on his lips.

[feathersandblue]

So, full disclosure, I haven't been a Solas fan before.

I am now.

And that's because of Veilguard and the many, many ways in which I felt let down by this game.

The aspect that bothers me most is the reduction of nuance and complexity.

Rook's hero's cakewalk (because “journey” really isn't the right word) is a ready-made path that offers no deviation at all and never challenges the player in any meaningful way.

Sure, you can spend some time pondering the pros and cons of saving Treviso or Minrathous. Ultimately, it makes no difference. Rook does their best, they just can’t be in two places at once.

Same with the companion character arcs. What does it mean if you decide to you turn Emmrich into a lich? For the most part, it's idle musing. Indulgence. He’ll be happy either way, there are no real stakes. Yeah, your actions do have consequences, just not the sort of consequences that make a substantial difference. It’s the illusion of choice – reduced to cosmetics.

The problems with decisions that cost nothing is that they don’t feel like an accomplishment. They also don’t allow for character growth. Rook doesn’t change, they remain static. Even the section in the Fade where Rooks faces their regrets is easy and comparatively lightweight. Varric was killed by Solas, Harding resp. Davrin died in combat and either Bellara or Neve was abducted by Elgar’nan. It’s not like Rook’s decisions actually caused these events, it’s not like Rook actually failed through a choice they had to make that turned out to be the wrong one. Everyone was there willingly and volunteered to fight the good fight. Rook’s regrets are not about real guilt, they are about feeling sad and guilty. And that – it needs to be said – is not the same thing. At all.

At the same time, the story carefully avoids any kind of true ethical dilemma.

It's not even about the lack of mean or edgy dialogue options; that’s just a symptom. The cause is the writers’ unwillingness to let realism intrude in Rook’s fairytale – the lack of anything that would require Rook to compromise on morals, or fight temptation. Rook is never faced with any sort of moral conundrum, or allowed to act out any kind of vice that realistic characters have. In its straight-path simplicity, Rook's story is apparently written for children and people who remain child-like in their yearning for simple, uncontested truths.

Of all the sorts of conflicts that a story can offer, Veilguard carefully avoids the most realistic and (in my opinion) interesting ones: Character vs. self and character vs. society, aka, politics. The game firmly refuses to go there. To the point where it creates a completely unrealistic consensus on all sides that eliminates yet another sort of conflict: character vs. character.

If Rook and their companions would talk politics, they’d all be on the exact same side. In a two party state, they’d all cast the same vote.

I am sure that there are many players who feel comforted and reassured by that fact, who sincerely believe that this is how stories should be written. That stories should reflect the world not as it is but as they think it should be. But for everyone who likes their stories a little more realistic, that lack of meaningful interpersonal conflict, that lack of real diversity which comes not from appearance but from different cultures and opposing viewpoints amounts to a frankly cringe-worthy, artificial and juvenile surface-level interaction between characters. Or, to phrase it differently: the diversity remains skin-deep and doesn’t extend to the philosophical, and even in the few instances where it does, it shies away from the political.

Which means that the only conflicts that remain are the most boring and stereotypical ones: character vs. monsters resp. the supernatural, where all foes are evil in the blandest way (Supremacist Venatori! Fascist renegade qunari! Power-hungry necromancers!). These conflicts are resolved through exploring maps and endless, repetitive combat.

The only thing that brings a bit of nuance to the game is Solas’s story. And there is an element of character vs. character in Rook’s and Solas’s relationship, but the sad truth is that what could have been a fascinating mirrored character journey falls flat for all the reasons already explained – because where Solas is a character as layered and controversial as it gets, Rook is anything but.

Solas’s story shows how even people with the best intentions and the greatest integrity are ultimately broken by what life throws at them, both by the decisions that are forced upon them and the choices they make on their own. It shows how a prolonged war is always a sunk cost fallacy: I’ve gone this far, if I stop now, it was all for nothing.

Rook’s victories, on the other hand, come without a cost – both in terms of moral corruption and in accountability. The guilt Solas bears is real. The fight against the titans, followed by his war against the Evanuris, requires compromising his own morals, one day at a time, one century after another, he’s trying to save the world yet doomed to fail. Sacrificing the spirits to win a battle after the war has gone this far? Every single war leader around the globe would make the same decision. In fact, all of them do: They do sacrifice the lives of others if it will help them win, they do send soldies into the trenches to die, whether these soldiers want to or not, and they are rarely, if ever, truthful about the reasons why.

In a certain way, the story of the spirit of wisdom turned flesh is reminiscent of the biblical Fall of Man: the original sin. Solas has fallen, and he’s broken. In trying to heal the world, he’s trying to heal himself. The burden is too heavy, the responsibility to great, the knowledge that he is responsible for all of it too devastating. Solas’s greatest conflict is character vs. self. It has the potential to be great. In a way, it is. It’s the single redeeming quality that, depending on your interpretation of what went on behind the scenes, the writers managed to salvage from the original concept of Dreadwolf or the lone pillar that withstood all their attempts to bring it down.

Only sadly, infuriatingly, in the end, that fallen hero’s ending is put into the hands of a protagonist who judges him from the perspective of someone who has never even stumbled – not because they are wiser, braver, or kinder. No, just because the writers were gracious – or cowardly? – enough to never let them fail.

The game gives Rook a moral high ground which isn’t earned in the slightest because Rook never had to walk even a quarter of a mile in Solas’s shoes. They don’t know what they would have done in his stead, they have no idea what it actually means to see the sorry shape the world is in and know that it was your hands that shaped it. And even where Rook might actually be culpable – the interruption of Solas’s ritual that freed the remaining Evanuris – anyone is quick to assure Rook that it wasn’t their fault.

Whatever regrets Rook carries, they’re born from self-doubt and trauma response. Survivor’s guilt, mostly. When compared to Solas’s immense guilt, Rook’s regrets are, for lack of a better term, insignificant. That Rook manages to face them doesn’t mean that they are more truthful or emotionally mature, it just means that Rook’s story is a tale for children and Solas’s is not.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to the idea that the player decides Solas’s fate through their actions. It’s the injustice of it all that bothers me: The player is led through a game that provides a safe space for their character, one that is devoid of any interpersonal conflict and any ethical quandary. Rooks succeeds through kindness and heroism and taking their companions on team bonding exercises.

As if Solas could have won the war against the Evanuris if he’d taken the time to take his companions on coffee dates.

The juxtaposition – Rook vs. Solas – fails, simply because of this deep divide. Rook’s story is detached from reality and yet Rook gets to be Solas’s judge, jury, and executioner. On what grounds?

As I said, right in the beginning, I haven’t been a Solas fan before. But by the end of Veilguard, I was firmly, irrevocably, Team Solas, just because I was so annoyed that the narrative put Rook in a position of moral superiority. I detested my own character. Jesus, what a goody two-shoes! I was rooting for Solas simply because his story was so much more: a genuine tragedy, a study in complexity. Rook, on the other hand, remains bland, snotty, unchanged. Untried.

The thing is, I don’t believe that my reaction was one the writers had intended. I strongly feel that they didn’t mean for me to pick up on their double standard, that they expected me to walk away fully satisfied, convinced that Rook and The Team were the Good Guys because they went on picnics and petted the griffon, their final victory well-earned and just. If only Solas had had a Team and taken care of their emotional needs – he could have taken down the Evanuris with nary a scratch!

It’s all so very disingenuous.

Rook and, by extension, the player exist in a bubble of sanitized content. That is clearly deliberate. The player is meant to like it there. (In that sense, it’s only logical that they changed the title from Dreadwolf to Veilguard.) And clearly, it does resonate with a certain kind of their player base: mostly with people, I think, who would like their real life to be a bubble too and whose only experience with moral corruption is when they find it in others.

[lucysarah-c]

Part 3 of Levi's horrible flirting skills.

Masterlist link to all the previous parts.

‘It can’t be that hard, it can’t be that hard... just go and talk, talk confidently and all cocky like you do to MPs. Just-!’ 

“Hello, Captain.” She bent to her side as she looked into his eyes, her hair falling flawlessly following the tilt of her head. 

Levi sat down in the hallway, stood still for a second as suddenly her face appeared in his view. “Hello.” 

‘No. That’s not it, ask her back-’ 

“Is Erwin busy?” She smiled softly. 

“In a meeting with the higher ranks,” Levi quickly answered as if it were an exam question, he had memorized. He had been waiting outside for the blond to be done, easily ten minutes already. 

A subtle hum of approval, she straightened up and said, “Oh well, I won’t bother you any further. Have a nice day.” 

Levi’s lips parted but before he could come up with a possible idea, she had already made it halfway through the corridor and was now talking to another friend. Lips pressed together, he looked at the pattern of the marble floors, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. 

“... fuck me,” 

-- 

“A friend is asking you for a favor, how mean can you be?” 

“My FRIEND has guts enough to insult the commander of the Military Police to his face who is ALSO my friend. He needs to use the same guts to ask her out on his own,” Erwin argued back as they were taking a break from a meeting in his office. “I already told him; I’m not going to get involved. Y/N is like a little sister; I’ve known her since she had baby fat on her cheeks -” 

“It’s not like I’m planning on hurting her!” Levi defended himself as if Erwin were accusing him of the worst. 

“No, but I know what kind of stuff you’re into and I prefer not to encourage it... especially with Y/N.” Erwin shook his head slightly as if the mental image was too much to bear, “If she’s into that kind of stuff, fine, but I prefer not to be the one who encourages it for the sake of my mental peace.” 

“You turned out to be so prudish,” Hange said between chuckles, “You’re such a baaaad friend.” 

Erwin dedicated a general unhappy grimace and said, “He is already Humanity’s strongest soldier. If that title doesn’t land him a girl, then it’s not my fault he can’t get her.” 

“It’s different, in the underground I didn’t have to talk... usually they were the ones who did the talking,” Levi said, slightly defeated. Life was easier when the other person was the one winning his attention. 

“Aww, shorty. If it makes you feel better, I’m rooting for you!” Hange said, throwing one arm over the Captain’s shoulder and pushing him closer. 

Frowning deeply, Levi clicked his tongue. “You’re rooting for me, or you are enjoying seeing me fail?” 

The brunette balanced with both of their hands, silently implying “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” 

-- 

Package playing on his fingers, they were usually given snacks during meetings. The red cover shined under the light. Levi looked to his right side where she was waiting. The rebellious baby hairs on the side of her ears glittered under the light as the paper of the chocolate did in Levi’s hands. 

Without saying a word, Levi’s right hand moved slightly in her direction and made the offer. His gray eyes looked deeply into her side profile until she noticed the attention. First, she looked at him and then down at his gift. 

Subtle smile, “Thank you, but I’m allergic to nuts,” she quickly said before returning to look in the other direction as the chocolate returned to be held by both of his hands. 

‘... I can’t be this fucking unfortunate.’ 

The reddish tint spread over her lips, gliding. Making it even by pressing her lips together and making little popping sounds, then her fingers took off the excess and tapped it on her cheeks. While she admired her reflection in the tiny mirror, Levi had his attention fixed on her shiny lips. 

Subtle color made them look plumper or blushed and the shine only added to it. Levi had to remind himself to breathe and that he was in public because his mind began to delve into forbidden territory. Imagine her lips parted, looking at him, red lips matching her cheeks after he pried her mouth open, sucking her breath. What it would feel like to grip her neck and hold the bottom of her jaw to push her closer only to then tug the back of her hair. 

“You think it looks too much?” she asked him. Levi felt as if he had been caught red-handed. 

“Ehm-” he stuttered slightly as the head over his shoulder reclaimed the power of rationality, “No?” 

She looked breathtaking, the white of the uniform mixing perfectly with the subtle crimson. Levi cursed under his breath as she simply did a side smile, almost forced, then went back to look at her reflection doubtfully. 

“Sometimes I feel I should add something to look less plain,” she commented. 

‘Say something, motherfucker!’ Levi’s mind called out the one supposedly in charge of social interaction. 

“Some people are into that.” 

‘I’m into that, I will gladly show you how much I’m into it. It would be my pleasure.’ 

A sarcastic scoff left her nose and a sort of defeated grimace, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

‘No no, wait. I meant it nicely, why the hell are you looking so sad?’ 

“There’re a lot of people with bad taste,” she added half as a joke and half as a bittersweet reality. 

“SoMe PEoplE ArE inTo ThAt,” Levi made fun of his own voice as his forehead slapped against the cold harsh surface of his desk, “WHO the HELL says that?” 

If pain was the best discipline, then perhaps hitting his own head against the table would knock some sense into him, “I could have said, ‘You look good. That color suits you.’ NO! I had to say the most shitty, stupid shit that humankind had ever fucking seen.” 

“Either my mother dropped me as a baby because she was tired or Kenny’s kick actually damaged my brain because otherwise there’s no explanation,” Levi muttered as his forehead remained against his desk, dark locks spreading around against the surface. 

A subtle knock on the door made him raise his face slightly and say, “Name and business.” 

Eld walked in after he was allowed inside. Delivering more work but the presence of the ashy blond snapped some sense into Levi. 

‘I’ve been asking two idiots who don’t get laid even in their wildest dreams. That’s the issue.’ 

“Eld, your fiancée. How is she doing?” Levi asked out of nowhere, surprising his subordinate. 

The scout raised an eyebrow, slightly confused, but quickly concluded that it was because he had recently mentioned that they were looking for a kid. “She’s doing good! We went to her parents’ house the other day, sir.” 

Levi didn’t know how to bring up the conversation on his own, so luckily Eld did it for him. “We had a blast because we passed by a house with a nice garden, and I told her that the first time I went to ask her out at her father’s shop, I was just a cadet and didn’t have any money. I cut some flowers from that house for her, and the old woman there almost hit me with her broom.” 

‘Flowers, of course. How could I be that stupid?’ was all that Levi paid attention to. ‘What do women like? Cute shit. Like... flowers and... cats. Right?’ 

‘But I can’t just pop up with a bunch of fucking flowers; she’s going to think I’m a creep.’ 

Levi groaned uneasily as one step forward felt like two steps back. Did he have to talk himself into it for weeks? Yes. Was he confident about his decision? No. Did he feel like an idiot picking up a couple of flowers that only grew outside the walls during an expedition? Yes, but who the hell would dare to make fun of humanity’s strongest soldier? 

Not many of those he picked up made it back to the walls in one piece, so it felt pathetically sad how only one tiny one survived for him to press dry between a couple of heavy books. 

“I can’t give her this shit... dried-up grass has more presence than this,” Levi muttered, feeling the exhaustion of his body after an expedition, feeling his hopes drain and mix with the sadness of the lost members. 

So, the single purplish flower remained in his notebook pocket, forgotten but also a permanent reminder each time he opened it. 

“That’s so pretty,” her voice echoed as a distant dream that made Levi look up. He was visiting some of his injured soldiers, sitting next to them as he kept them company. His eyes followed where she was looking, and it was his open notebook with the flower serving as a bookmark. 

She seemed to be on duty as she moved around the patients to check on their condition. “You should go and rest, Captain. You seem too tired,” she casually said. 

But Levi remained with his eyes on the flower, then he looked at her, who had heavy dark circles under her eyes and a pale complexion. He could feel the blood rushing, but he hoped his stoic face would hide it. With all the courage he managed to gather, “Here, have it,” he said. 

Y/N looked back at him, confused. “No no, it’s yours, Captain.” 

“Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue, “No, have it.” 

The surprise on her face slowly but surely changed into a subtle smile as her cheeks tinted red. “Oh my... why, thank you,” she said, taking it delicately and admiring it. 

Levi nodded a bit. ‘Do not say anything, you’ll fuck it up,’ he thought, scratching the back of his undercut. 

“Thank you, it will keep me company during study nights.” 

‘Holy shit... she’s fucking gorgeous,’ Levi felt his breath being taken away as she smiled tenderly at him. He felt as if the gates of heaven had opened in front of him and the light from the window behind her was the choir of angels. 

But quickly he realized he was in the middle of a hospital with a rainy day outside. “It will keep me company with my babies.” 

“Babies?” Levi felt as if he had been thrown a bucket of cold water, and before he noticed, he had said that out loud. 

“Oh yes! My babies!” she assured enthusiastically. “I’ve got one boy and two girls. They are the apple of my eyes, a blessing.” 

‘Three? I mean... I like kids, but three already. If I want to have kids with her too, there would be too fucking many. My salary isn’t that good,’ Levi’s mind began to panic as if the idea of them having a family was a near future. ‘No no, let’s not be assholes. She’s being a good mother; let’s stand up as a man and-’ 

“Sometimes when I’m studying, I can only hear the clock and their purring-” 

Levi’s mind did a dead stop, raising an eyebrow as a silent question. 

“Purring? You know, cats purr.” 

He felt as if his soul came back to his body. “Ah, you mean cats.” 

“Well, yes! What did you think they were?” she said between chuckles, joking around. 

“Kids?” he said without giving it much thought. An uncomfortable silence arose quickly as she looked back at him, confused, then blushed heavily. 

“Captain!” she called him out as if the idea were ridiculous. “Please, don’t make me laugh. I’ve no prospect of it whatsoever. I’m happy with my cats.” 

-- 

“The only shit I heard from all that was, ‘I’m single and there’s no other asshole in the picture,’” Levi said, sitting down in his desk chair, softly spinning to the sides. Resting on the chenille red back of the chair, arms folded, he looked at the ceiling with a subtle smirk on his face. He was in the same delusional happy trance he had been in the night he met her. 

“Yeah,” Hange replied, but quickly added, “But it could also mean she’s happily single and she’s not interested in a relationship.” 

Levi stopped moving his chair and turned his attention to the brunette. “If you’re looking forward to me feeding you to a titan in the next expedition, just say it, but don’t ruin my day.”

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[wordsinhaled]

People call Charles Edwin’s guard dog and Edwin thinks it’s going to offend him, getting more up in arms about it than Charles ever does. But it doesn’t seem to bother Charles at all. And Edwin doesn’t understand, not at first, not until Charles tells him, “So what if they think I’ll bite if they lay a finger on you? Not exactly wrong, are they?”

Suddenly, it makes sense. Why Charles takes the comments in stride. Why he seems to take pride in the suggestion.

Charles feels like Edwin should have someone who is willing to do all that for him, go that far for him—and of course that someone’ll be Charles himself. Edwin reflects that he’d never had that sort of fervent devotion from anyone, certainly not when he was alive, and no one has come close since but Charles. He reflects on how good it feels to be fundamentally seen, valued in such a way.

Still, Edwin worries—does Charles know that Edwin is just as dedicated to keeping him safe, his heart and his spectral body and his soul? That Charles is the most precious gift Edwin never dreamt to be given, and—

Does Charles know that, every day? That he’s more than his teeth? That he’s more than everything Edwin could want? That he’s sweetness and light?

It’s Charles’ loving touch that Edwin yearns for and craves, when he’s laughing harder than he ever has, in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is asleep and it’s just him and Charles in the warmly-lit office, tipping against each other on the tiny sofa that never feels cramped when it’s keeping the two of them near. The actual joke goes forgotten in the self-replenishing haze of their giggles, their shoulders knocking together, Charles’ ankle hooked around Edwin’s.

Edwin’s hand lands on Charles’ jaw, barely-there fingertips turning Charles’ head, easy, so easy, to look at him. To catch Charles’ gaze, deep and shining and—they’re so close to each other, a bit heady with leftover mirth, and Edwin will never forget that it’s Charles who moves first to press his smiling lips to Edwin’s, simple as ever, like it’s the next line in their conversation.

It knocks the breath straight out of Edwin: the breath he hasn’t needed in three-odd decades. But it’s all right because Charles’ mouth is opening against his, so right and inviting, and Charles is gasping too like he’s in the same dizzy predicament, and Edwin never wants it to end.

“Charles,” he says, “Charles, my darling, are you…?”

Charles’ eyes are dark as ink when he pulls back, only far enough to nudge his nose against Edwin’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, smile flashing bright like a slice of the moon. He closes his eyes, a flutter of lashes Edwin can feel against his own cheekbone, followed by the soft drag of a kiss. Then another. “Should’ve seen it, really,” Charles goes on, in between still more kisses, words said into Edwin’s skin. “‘Cause you’re it for me, Edwin, aren’t you, love? I just didn’t see. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when you first—”

“Never mind,” Edwin says, “tell me now,” and then they’re kissing once more. The testing scrape of Charles’ teeth over Edwin’s lower lip, the nibble on his upper, is tentative, too tentative, and Edwin ought to have known, he ought to have suspected… but still he doesn’t, doesn’t expect the keening, tremulous moan that tumbles out of him at the promise of it all.

Charles chuckles, the sound settling in Edwin’s belly, making a home in his chest. “You like that?” he asks. Awed. Still hesitant. The laughter from earlier still layered in Charles’ voice, along with a new sort of hoarseness, a new sort of rasp Edwin could listen to forever. “Don’t wanna put you off, do I, love…”

“I will hardly be put off, Charles. In fact, I—” Edwin swallows, convulsive and wanting, sees Charles’ focus drop to his throat, find the soft underside of his jaw as he tips his chin up. “I would not have you hold back with me. Set your hands where you wish. Your mouth—where you wish. Your…” It is his turn to close his eyes.

“My teeth,” Charles finishes for him softly. “Wherever I…?”

“Yes,” Edwin says. “Yes.”

[milkoomi]

finding & knowing your worth. ᥫ᭡

i wanted to take some time and talk about self-worth. this is something that was extremely difficult for me to find and realize for myself, but as i look back on my life and reflect on my growth, i’ve found myself truly knowing my own worth. of course, i still have those days that are more difficult than others, but i’ve been able to quickly pick myself back up. why? because i know my worth. i want to share a few things that have helped me realize that for myself, so i hope this post is able to enlighten you. ㅤ♡

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — lose interest in outsider opinions

in simpler terms: stop caring. i kept asking myself, “why do i care so much about what others are thinking of me?” and then i came across a couple quotes where one said, “if you wouldn’t trust their advice, why would you take their criticism?” and the other said, “i would never want to trade lives with someone who hates me.” those two quotes really stuck with me because it reminded me that those people who didn’t have a good opinion of me were the same people i needed to stop caring about.

so what if someone didn’t like me? that person is either no longer a part of my life (for good reason) or they don’t know me in the ways that my loved ones or my own self do, so why should what they have to say or think about me matter?

i knew myself better than anyone, so whatever anyone had to say about me shouldn’t have bothered me, and i let it stop bothering me. i also realized that as my day goes on and i find myself not thinking about what someone said, i tell myself that it wasn’t even worth a single thought in the first place because, clearly, it doesn’t bother me anymore!

if it won’t matter to you in 5 years, don’t continue to give it any more of a meaning.

୨ৎ — stop seeking validation

to piggyback off of my previous point, seeking outside validation is 1. not worth your time and 2. pointless. other people should never be the ones who define your worth. you have to seek validation from yourself. nobody else has a right to tell you whether or not you’re worthy.

i was always looking for validation from others, and it made my own journey to finding myself even more difficult. there were so many different opinions about me that i kept hearing, and it made me feel lost. it felt like i was getting further and further from truly discovering myself and feeling like i was worth something.

i had to pretty much force myself to seek validation within myself rather than from anyone else. it was hard, but the longer i kept searching for some kind of worth to others the more miserable and empty i felt.

୨ৎ — self reflection

time to bring out that journal, babe. we’re going to write about ourselves.

no, seriously, take some time to reflect on yourself. look within yourself and understand yourself a bit more. getting to know yourself and taking the time to focus on yourself can help you figure some things out and even bring you one step closer to truly knowing your worth.

prompts for reflection:

what are 3 characteristics about your personality do you like about yourself? why?

what are your strengths? how do those things about you make you a better person?

what’s your favorite thing(s) about you? how would they compare to what a loved one would say about you?

what are the things that weigh you down? what can you do to lift that weight off your shoulders?

how have you changed within the last 3 years? what about you has changed that you’re really proud of?

self reflection has helped me grow so much. i’ve learned so many new things about myself and it’s helped appreciate myself way more. you’ll be surprised at all the things you find about yourself, and guess what? one of those things will be your own worth.

୨ৎ — surround yourself with positivity

the people who you surround yourself with will play a huge role in how you feel about yourself. i spent too many years surrounded by people who made me feel like i was never enough, and i continued to keep the same kind of people around. i was sick of it. i was tired of being mistreated and feeling betrayed. those people made me feel miserable and they only ever brought me down rather than lifted me up.

even the media i consumed didn’t help me. i was always so focused on comparing myself to those instagram models and tiktok girls who looked nothing like me, and it made me feel worse about myself. even watching videos or shows that brought me down made my esteem drop too.

it’s important to surround yourself with people and media that make you feel good, that lift you up, and that help you feel confident because that kind of good treatment is what you deserve! you shouldn’t have to submit yourself to negativity, it only makes you feel worse and it’ll continue to get worse the longer you keep those things and people around.

now that i have people in my life that make me feel genuinely loved and cared for, i feel like i can offer that same energy those people give me to myself! it really makes a huge difference who your close circle consists of, so make sure those people are people who are genuinely and unconditionally there for you.

୨ৎ — final notes

if you do need a reminder: you are worthy, and you always have been! finding and knowing your own worth is no easy feat, but the journey you’ll go on to discover it and implement it into your life will be so extremely worth it. i promise!

you will always be more than enough, and i hope you can continue to remind yourself of that. treat yourself with genuine love and kindness, and don’t ever take yourself for granted. you have achieved so much and you have so many things to offer in life. you may not see it now, but once you do, you’ll see just how beautiful and bright your own light is.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷