#and only that one‚ like a calling). How the chapter and the thesis are a good summary on his character

[pennyellee]

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, sort of arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: app. 22K beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17 prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, arranged marriage, yandere behaviour, hoseok is complicated to understand tbh, but same for the reader, implied murder, graphic violence, alcohol usage, heavy drinking, abuse of prescribed medication, anti-depressants, oral sex (both f and m receiving), face riding, penetration, unprotected sex, sideways sex, creampie, shame walk, misogyny, old traditional norms forced upon, guns, illegal activities, emotional distress, hoseok is sometimes kind of a dick, manipulative behaviour, and so on (if i forgot something I'm sorry)

author's note: Good morning American, Good afternoon Europe, Good night Korea. Happy Birthday to Hobi! This one has been simmering in my brain for the longest time, and I can’t believe it’s finally out in the world! This is where the heart of the story really began for me when I first dreamt up the telling the tales that happened around 1996 in NYC. Champagne Confetti and Anubis may have made their debut first (and trust me, I’m still cooking up more for those), but this piece is a stand-alone one-shot, though hey, I’m not against adding some filler if inspiration strikes. Princess and Hoseok’s story is woven through all my works, past, present, and future, especially with the Anubis chapters, so you’ll definitely see more of them.

I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement sharing this with you, just like every time I hit that publish button. If you didn't read the preview and my note there, to emphasise - I’m knee-deep in my MA thesis (yes, the chaos is real), so if I go ghost for a bit, know I’m just wrestling with academic deadlines. Thus, that's why there is still no new chapter on Anubis or Lacrimosa.

But I adore you all endlessly for sticking around and reading my stuff, my lovely little fairies! ✨

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋 | ❝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔❞

Winter 1995

"Well thank fuck we are making a ton of those,—" he laughs at you and how you're gulping down nearly a tenth glass of whiskey that has his family name on the crystal clear bottle, poisoning your mind with the elixir more and more each time the liquid meets your lips.

"and that's why you're ordering me another one now," you say, resting your head on your right hand and squinting, eyeing him. The man sitting next to you at the bar loves you, and all he wants is for you to love him back. When it was decided that you were to be wed, he was thrilled to hear the news, as if he would not want it without the blessing. But your disappointment and rebellion against the elder's decision made him calculate how to get you to obey and be the good girl he knows you are.

"You ready to talk, Princess?" The pet names were the usual consensus in your friendship. Though this one turned a shade darker. Everybody called you that and you never minded it, but now this remind you of your "duty" that you are not ready to fulfil.

You have no idea what you just agreed to. The young man nods to the bartender, who begins to prepare the eleventh glass while he only sits by his second.

The bartender places the crystal clear glass with ice and liquid inside in front of you. You inhale the air sharply and press a finger on your eyelid to smooth down your eyeshadow, only for your hand to drop to balance your head on the back of it. The other runs through a sleek, shoulder-length bob with a soft inward curl at the ends, giving it a voluminous and playful bounce that you sport now. Your hair is parted down the middle, with delicate face-framing tendrils that you push out of your eyesight turning to face him.

 "What do you want to know, pretty boy?" you play with the words on your tongue. Hoseok momentarily thinks about all the ways he could show you he is the man and not the boy you just called him. But he knows it’s just banter. He takes a sip from his glass while raising an eyebrow at your remark.

"What bothers your mind? You wouldn't be drowning like this otherwise."

You give your so-called wannabe fiancé one drunken look and reply. "They killed off the man I dated and now everything is going to shit. Am I supposed to be happy?" You wave your glass in his face and take a sip. You were too drunk to not be honest with him.

"Look, honey, I've always been honest with you, and I'm not about to change that. I ain't gonna lie to you that I'm sorry that boy is dead because I'm not. You know I didn't like him—"

"Why?" You interrupt him. Deep down you knew why, it was rather obvious, but that didn’t stop you from demanding he voices his thoughts. Hoseok lifts his head and stares into your caramel-brown eyes.

"Because I love you, and you know that." Yeah.

Sadness flickers across his face. He wishes you would say yes when he proposed to you just a few months ago when the elders' approved. They were very angry with you when you decided to chase the already dead boy instead of planning the wedding with the clan's golden heir. But that did not matter. It is decided and they'll drag you down the aisle whether you'll cooperate or not.

Jung Hoseok is the heir to his family’s s empire, your family, and when the heads of other clan families sat down in a meeting about the future of the syndicate, it was already decided that the heir needed his bride. The decision was made for you before you had something to say about it, and going against it, means risking everything. That's why he was more than surprised by how easily you answered when he was on one knee holding the emerald ring in a velvet black box staring at you with happiness in his eyes.

The subtle hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery provided a comforting background melody. It was a few weeks since the last time you saw Hoseok, hence there was no reason for you to not go to dinner with your best friend to catch up. That's what you considered him to be for you. He had your outermost love and respect and for years you thought that's how he saw you too.

You often laughed at the remarks the other syndicate members threw your way, how you are such a lovely couple. Match made in heaven. Hoseok laughed too, but, in a different manner than you. And now when you look back, you could have seen this coming. His father always spoke about you two should get married one day and you thought that's just a fantasy because you used to be inseparable. You never fought the idea, to confess. Until you met him.

Mark Tuan had you at hello, there's no need to sugar-coat it.

He always had a way of taking up space, not physically—he was lean and unassuming—but in how he commanded a room without trying.

He wasn't like the others. He didn't wear wealth-like armour, nor did he wield power with a showy arrogance. Because he had none.

He was a stark contrast to Hoseok. But that's not why you felt so hard on your knees for him. For that reason, you want to selfishly hide as it is nothing extraordinary.

He understood your desire to be, well, you. Wild and free, being your own person, despite how the family raised you. Mark saw you for who you were beneath the titles, the wealth, and the legacy. He didn't try to contain you, didn't try to mould you into someone you weren't. With Mark, there were no expectations, no carefully laid plans. There was just you and him, two people finding solace in each other's chaos.

And that, more than anything, was why you fell.

To him, you were just some bar owner at the border of Manhattan and the Bronx. But behind the word, some was more.

You weren't serving drinks—no, that's Peaches expertise— you were listening, observing, connecting, and occasionally pulling the strings that kept the undercurrent of your world from swallowing everything whole.

Mark saw through the haze of cigarette smoke and dim neon lights to the person standing behind the scenes. He didn't need you to explain the why of it all, nor did he ask for a justification for the choices you made. He simply accepted you, and that acceptance felt like a gift.

Truth be told, you never questioned yourself why you did not cut yourself from the family. Anubis was in your name, after all.

But it wasn't just a name; it was an identity, a burden, a purpose. It tied you to something larger, something darker, and no amount of neon lights or spilt Jung whiskey could ever wash it away. Ironic that you drink Elixir out of all the liquor in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to wash it away.

Why?

Because despite everything you just said, you loved the person you grew up with. The bond was there. A strange feeling of loyalty. When there's a seed, you nurture it until it blooms. You had grown up together in the shadow of your family's empire, running through its grand halls as children, oblivious to the weight of the world you were destined to inherit. He was your partner in crime before you even knew what that truly meant.

That's what they did. They raised you, gave you education, and love, scolded you when you misbehaved and later on gave a role in the family. You were the eyes and ears. But you were not foolish. Even that was temporary.

So, you stayed.

Not like they would let you go.

This wishful thinking by Hoseok’s old man reminiscing about the good old days. You never thought Hoseok took it seriously. Not until that tonight.

"Y/N," Hoseok's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

He reached across the table, his hand warm against yours and you looked from your intertwined hands to his shiny smile and warm eyes.

"I missed you—" a voice carried a softness that disarmed you, momentarily unravelling the protective walls you'd spent years building. He made you go soft each time he decided he had enough of not being around you. You two were busy, always, but he also always found the little loophole where he could steal you away and parade with you wherever he wanted. And you never thought anything big about it. Just two best friends, living their lives together. But this time, that night, it was different.

"I missed you too," you murmured, unsure if it was a lie or a reluctant truth. His smile widened upon hearing your words and he brought your hands to his lips, laying a warm kiss against your tender skin. Another gesture you never thought twice about before.

The restaurant was dimly lit, its ambience a blend of candlelight and murmured conversations. It was the kind of place Hoseok liked—elegant, understated, and private. Tonight, however, the intimacy of the setting felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

You had a bad feeling since the moment his driver pulled in front of Anubis and you had to drop everything to accommodate Hoseok's need of having an outing with you. Why wouldn't you, right?

He studied you for a moment, his gaze both tender and searching.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, though there was no accusation in his tone, only an unspoken plea for honesty.

"I've been busy, Hobi. You know how it is." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

He tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I know you, love. Tell me the truth."

There was no point denying it, not to him. Hoseok had always been able to see through you, even when you wished he wouldn't. The one who had dared you to climb trees too high, who laughed until his sides hurt when you both got caught sneaking into places you shouldn't have been. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, suddenly feeling exposed.

Should you confide in him?

"I'm just tired,—" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok's smirk softened into something closer to concern, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward.

"Tired of what?" he asked, his tone careful, coaxing.

"Everything?—" you huffed out, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

"I love Anubis, I do—" you began, but your voice wavered, the weight of your admission pressing down on your chest.

"It's just—" you struggled to find the right words for a moment, "too much to handle now."

It's been a lot to handle. Especially, when the source of your happiness and outermost help with the operations Anubis ran behind the scenes while it posed as an ordinary bar, was nowhere to be found for weeks.

He was missing, and you told yourself he was probably just busy with some shady dealings, something that would blow over in time. He had a way of disappearing when things got too hot, and you never questioned it—at least, not out loud. He was not as protected as you were. A princess.

But never this long. No calls, no messages, no nothing. The usual channels you both relied on for communication were silent. It was as though he had vanished from the world, leaving behind nothing but an eerie void.

And that's when you started to question your place in this world. All over again. As the only source of hushing those thoughts, was gone—

The teasing glint in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

"I don't think the place can be what the family wants it to be anymore, Hobi."

Hoseok's brow furrowed at your words, his usual calm demeanour cracking ever so slightly. He sat back in his chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the table instead of your hands now.

He seemed…..nervous.

You looked away, staring at the faint scratches on the wooden table, tracing them with your eyes as if they could lead you to an escape.

"God's timing is always right, I guess," for a moment you wondered whether you heard the same exact words he just uttered.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.

"You've been handling it all this time," he said softly. "You've been holding it together when most people would've folded—"

"I just want to escape it for a little bit," you interrupted him, to not tune him on the wrong octave but by the looks of it, it's too late for that.

"And what would you do?" he asked, his voice a careful balance of curiosity and concern. "If you could walk away from all of it—Anubis, the expectations, the weight of it all—what would you do?"

You blinked at him, startled by the question, not sure what answer he wanted to get from you. The only person who ever asked you that is Mark.

“I… I never considered leaving it fully–” you started, sighed and said the truth.

"--I don't know," you admitted, a touch of bitterness creeping into your tone. "It's not like I've ever been given the choice."

He nodded slowly as if he'd expected that answer. Then, without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand in his.

"But you know that everyone has a choice in this family—" he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"And it's up to you if you choose right or wrong."

That's the family mantra. At least one of many you go by. But what did that even mean to you anymore?

You had always chosen right—or at least, that's what you'd convinced yourself. You had played the game, followed the rules, kept your head down, and stuck to the script the family had written for you.

You wanted to argue, wanted to say that the control had never really been yours to begin with, but you didn't.

"You don't have to be alone you know?—" his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters, unsure how far to push. But that night he pushed far.

"I'm here for you."

Before you could conjure a response, he leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

"Do you remember when we were kids, sitting under the maple tree in the garden behind my house? You used to say you wanted to be free, to see the world. And I told you I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. Do you remember?"

You nodded, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Those days felt like a different lifetime—a simpler one, untouched by the complications of duty and obligation.

But Hoseok's interpretation of freedom never matched yours.

Hoseok's grip on your hand tightened, grounding you in the present.

"I still mean it. I'd give you the world if I could—"

"Hoseok…" you started, unsure of what to say.

"You don't need to worry about anything or about what anyone thinks. I'll take care of everything, I'll make it right."

You wanted to pull away, to find some way to untangle yourself from the web he was spinning around you, but his presence, his certainty, was paralysing.

You could feel the walls closing in, and a part of you wanted to fight, to tear free from the grip he was starting to have on you. But the other part—the part that had been with him since childhood, the part that knew him too well—began to crack under the pressure.

"Hoseok…" Your voice trembled, the uncertainty and the fear finally making its way to the surface. "You're not hearing me. I don't—"

His thumb ran over your lower lip and he gently pressed against the soft flesh, silencing you with a tenderness that only made it worse.

"You don't have to say anything. I know what you need, what you want. I'll give it to you. You don't have to choose anymore—

"I'll choose for you."

You blinked once, twice, thrice but you could not shake his words off. What is he alluding to?

He got the wrong impression. Or did he?

"Why are you saying all this, Hobi?" you asked, your voice barely audible. His touch was warm, and grounding, as his other thumb brushed over your knuckles, again and again.

"I've loved you for as long as I can remember, Princess," his eyes rose to yours, searching for anything. Any emotion, a hint that you're sharing his love, that you're ready for it to bloom like it was always meant to.

When he could not recognise what he was seeing in your reaction to his words, he slowly rose from his chair to move to the side of the table, closer to you.

Before you could give him any response, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box while he descended to one knee before you.

Your eyes were never wider and even when you connected all the years of your shared youth, you still couldn't believe what was happening before you right now.

"And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows–"

He knew about Mark and you. He fucking knows you have a man you love. This was an ownership, a claim. He had enough of your avoidance that you blamed the bar for. He knew that avoiding him meant only one thing.

"Will you make me the happiest man in Manhattan and marry me?"

This wasn't just any love. Any proposal. This was Hoseok's way of drawing a line in the sand, demanding your loyalty, your love, your future—all of it. And in that moment, you realised the truth you had been avoiding.

A quick, shallow breath escaped your lips as his hand hovered over the open box. The family ring you used to see on Hoseok's mother's finger when you were children.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words. Fuck right words, ANY words.

The emerald settled in a delicate halo of precious diamonds spoke to you. More than once you imagined that ring on your finger, but whether you imagined Hoseok putting it on was hazy and distant, as if you were never sure.

Hoseok's gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes as if he already knew the answer you were about to give him.

But you didn't answer immediately. Instead, your gaze flickered to the small black box again, then back to Hoseok. You could see it in his eyes now—the certainty, the devotion, the unwavering belief that he was the only one who could make you happy.

The thought of rejecting him, of crushing everything he had built in his mind, gnawed at you. But at the same time, a part of you felt suffocated by his expectations, by his love that felt more like a chain than a choice.

You opened your mouth, but the words still refused to form. Your mind was a battlefield, caught between two worlds, two people, and an obligation that you could never shake.

Your heart twisted, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a stone. You wanted to tell him that you did remember. That you still cherished those memories. But things weren't that simple anymore.

"No."

He'd like nothing more than for you to understand; that you belong to each other.

"It's your fault." You mutter to yourself.

"What?" Hoseok sets a defensive tone, hoping you are not implying what he thinks you are. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"If you'd come with this forward a little bit earlier—" you point at the barren ring finger. By earlier you mean before you fell in love with Mark. You could not wear the ring so proudly when he forced it upon your finger and a second later in the heat of the moment, you threw the ring back at him, storming out of the restaurant.

"—I'd have happily said yes, do you know why, pretty boy?" You laugh drunkenly. The brunette man shakes his head, but when he sees you not continuing, he voices out his answer.

"No," now he waits impatiently for yours.

"I l-loved you—" His breath hitches when he hears your words; this is what he waited for. He does not care, it is the whiskey speaking for you, fogging your mind and critical thinking.

“I do love you, just my own way–” 

He-does-not-care. He waited long enough to hear those words from you, and now his heart is becoming whole again.

"You've always been here, and you don't look like you're going to leave me that easily. Appa Jung always used to tell me how we are meant to be, and you know what I did?" You do not wait for him to answer the rhetorical question before you do so yourself.

"I threw it all selfishly away—" You wave your hand sideways until you nearly fall off the barstool. That's what your drunken brain thinks. You could have had it all. Pussy and power. Instead, you chose the wild whirlwind of emotions you felt for Mark.

They took Anubis from you. Not literally, but you knew that the moment you'd step your foot there, Namjoon or any other brother would gladly drag you to Hoseok. So you mentally parted from the bar that embodied your youthful years for the time being. The time you needed to think. And you wish you could slap yourself for selfishly still wanting that life. Your life.

"Because I fell in love with a dead man—" he knew that. Hoseok knew you loved that young biker boy and how head over heels you were for him. In all the years of your life, he never saw you that happy and it pained his heart that it isn't him you so openly adore.

He loathed that boy and all his being. Of course, he was not sad his brain got blasted off.

"You love me?" Hoseok voices out finally. If he'd known that all it would take is for the love of his life to get a little tipsy, he would have invited you to the uphill parties with him a long time ago. He did not hope you’d show up. But this morning, you woke up vomiting last nights tour de bar and decided you are done feeling crappy about man who stole your heart (and money as you got to know later) from you and died with it. Life has to go on. 

"I want you under me, Princess,—"

—right-fucking-now," he takes the glass out of your hand, saying the words through his teeth. You would never allow it if it weren't for your lust and the boost the alcohol provided. Or at least you would tease him longer than just agree right away. 

You were grieving, drinking whilst on anti-depressants that were causing your body to swell and cloud your mind enough to give up and let the man have you. It’s not like you never wondered what that filthy mouth of his can do to you. Hoseok was an extremely attractive man to say the least. 

"Then take me, hon–" You say seductively, biting your bottom lip. Hoseok doesn't flinch and tosses a few bills on the bar with some tips for the bartender. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you out of the club the party was held at. You obediently put one foot in front of the other, trying not to fall when you trail behind him.

The walk to the elevator feels like never-ending to Hoseok. Once in, he reaches for you, pushing you into the furthest corner of the elevator, pinning you tightly. He pulls your face to his and presses his lips to yours. He traps you there, his hands in your short hair. As he subdues you with his tongue, you taste his relief, his desire, his passion for you and your mind is clouded enough to realise that this is your first kiss together. 

Suddenly he stops, leaning into you with his gaze and the full weight of his body too, so you can't move nor attempt to run if you would have wanted to. You have nowhere to go but he's still cautious. It feels like an eternity before the elevator stops at the ground level, and an even greater eternity is the actual journey home. Agony. Hoseok is in agony to bed you and show you how much he longed for your body and soul.

In the sanctuary of his bedroom, you shed your inhibitions along with your clothes, your hunger for each other insatiable. You could feel his masculine body all over you, his hands exploring every piece of your skin and leaving hot wet kisses on your body.

His lips seared a trail of fire along your skin, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You arch into his touch, your nails grazing his back as you pull him closer, desperate for the heat of his body against yours.

In the heat of the moment, there are no words, only the primal language of desire that speaks volumes in the silence. You gasp as Hoseok's lips find yours once more, his kiss a promise of ecstasy beyond imagination.

"Ride my face—" He growled whilst he snatched the panties that covered your pulsating wet pussy.

You feel a surge of heat at his words, your pulse quickening as you meet his gaze with a hunger of your own. You feel his hands grasp your hips, guiding you towards his waiting mouth. Without hesitation, you comply, straddling his eager face as he hungrily devours you. His tongue traces maddening circles around your throbbing core, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ride the waves of ecstasy that crashes over you.

The gentle suction, the soft caress of his tongue, and the subtle scrape of his teeth all combine to create a maelstrom of feeling that leaves you gasping and trembling.

Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his lips, sends you spiralling closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion. Your hands instinctively reach out, grasping for something to anchor yourself to as the world spins around you. You glimpse at how your fingers are tangled in the soft strands of his hair as you pull him closer, deeper, hips rocking back and forth as you ride the waves of pleasure.

His moans vibrate through every cell in your body, resonating deep within your cunt. Fingers dig deep into your skin, holding you in place as he devours you with an unbridled hunger. And when you finally shatter into a million pieces, it's with his name on your lips, a prayer of gratitude for the bliss he's given you.

Hoseok was painfully hard, his slacks were too tight at the moment. You feel his arousal pressing against you, the hardness of his desire evident even through the fabric of his slacks. With trembling hands, you reach for the button of his slacks, eager to free him from the confines that only serve to intensify his longing. As the soft fabric falls away, you're greeted by the sight of him, thick and throbbing with need. 

Without hesitation, you take him in your hand, relishing the feeling of his hardness against your skin. You stroke him slowly at first, savouring the feeling of having him in your grasp for once. He hissed, the sensation travelling his body. The knowledge that you have this effect on him sends a thrill through your veins.

With each movement, you push him closer to the edge, teasing and tantalizing him until he's on the brink of oblivion. And when you finally take him in your mouth, it's with a hunger that borders on desperation, eager to taste the sweet release that awaits.

You take him deeper, you feel him throb and pulse against your tongue, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grips your hair tightly, guiding your head on his cock while your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. With each bob of your head, you feel him grow even harder, his breath hitching in his chest each time.

You move faster, your own arousal building to a fever pitch, and you feel him tensing beneath your touch. But he is not ready just yet. Forcefully pushing your head away, you let his cock go with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing member.

He looks down at you with a hungry intensity, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

"Gon' fuck you silly, princess."

You meet his hungry gaze with a look of anticipation, eager to feel him deep inside you.

With a hungry growl, he takes you in his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need and longing. You respond in kind, your hands roaming over his body, eager to feel every inch of him against your skin.

He flips you on your side and presses himself against your back, the anticipation builds to a fever pitch, the air crackling with the electricity of your shared desire. When he finally enters you, it's with a force that takes your breath away, filling you completely with his hardness and heat.

"Fuck, Hobi," You moan his name as he moves inside you, each thrust driving you higher and higher towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. Your nails dig into the sheets as you cling to him, lost in a haze of bliss that consumes you both.

As he whispers words of longing and desire against your skin, you feel a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. His hips are rutting against your ass, the skin slapping too, having a contest of what is louder, your united moans or the latter.

"Tell me you fucking love me again." He demanded while his cock was abusing your cunt with all the pleasure. Each thrust passes and you feel yourself edging closer and closer to the edge, your body humming with need and longing.

Your heart races in your chest as you meet his gaze, your eyes locked together in a passionate embrace. He lifts your leg to thrust even deeper than before sending your moans an octave higher.

"I fucking love you, Hobi," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure of his touch.

A hungry growl escapes Hoseok's lips, reacting to your words. He twists your upper body so he can reach to kiss your lips, not stopping to fuck his cock into you. Hoseok's hands roam over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a reverence that sends shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

You arch into his touch, your nails digging into his hair as you cling to him desperately, unwilling to let go of the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

"I'm gonna cum inside of your pretty cunt."

His lips crash against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. Even as he kisses you, his hips never cease their relentless rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each hard thrust.

You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge as you squeeze your eyes shut, a loud whimper coming out of you from the overstimulation that he's forcing upon you.

"Please make me cum again, Hobi. I can't-" Your plea hangs in the air between you. Hoseok's lips curve into a wicked grin as he continues to thrust into you with increasing fervour. He tightens his grip on your hips, his movements becoming even more urgent as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembling with anticipation. And then, with a cry of release that echoes through the room, you finally let go, surrendering yourself fully to the pleasure that consumes you. His throaty moan is muffled as your head is too dizzy to concentrate. He spills his hot cum inside of you just seconds after you release it.

And as you lay tangled together in the tangled sheets, you know that he won't let you slip away tonight. So you drift off to sleep in each other's arms after he takes you again and again and again until you cannot hold your eyes open anymore.

A sharp pain throbs in your head. You gasp when your eyes register the bright light of the morning sun. You rub your hand over them and pick yourself up, leaning with your elbows. You sigh and close your eyes for a moment. Your head spins, and you have a very strong urge to empty the contents of your stomach, which actually has nothing in it. You freeze in place when you hear a murmur from the other side of the bed, and the subsequent rustling of the duvet startles you even more.

Slowly turning your head to the source of the sound, you're scared. On your right side, the man is lying peacefully, snuffling contentedly away. His raven hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids are tightly closed.

Your mouth opens into a big 'O', and you hold yourself from screaming out; the whole house would hear the words that don't belong in a lady's mouth. Your head swivels back into place again, and this time you look down under the duvet just like in all the romance movies you watched alone.

Upon discovering that your clothes are somehow missing, your eyes widen completely, and now you are absolutely awake. The maid must have taken them to laundry earlier. You put your feet on the cold floor of Hoseok's room and grab his shirt from the walk-in closet. Putting it on quietly, you begin to sneak out of his room. At the door, you turn to look at him. The realisation hits you like a truck on the highway — Hoseok won't let this slide.

Your footsteps lead you to your old room where you grew up. You hope to find some of your old clothes there so you won't have to leave the Jung mansion in only a shirt that barely reaches below your ass.

In your mind, you rejoice once finding what you're looking for and begin the smooth flee out of the mansion. You pray that you will not meet Kkangpae Jung or Halabeoji Jung on your way. You know if you do, you'll never leave this house. It wouldn’t be nice talk.

Sighing happily, you get into one of the cars and try to drive away through the open gate just for the guards to surround the car immediately.

Your body tensed and your eyes held the reflection of the armed men prohibiting you from leaving the premise of the Jung's mansion. You switched the car off, the engine's purr fading into silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. It was clear that escaping unnoticed was no longer an option.

A tall, stern-faced man approached your car, his gaze unwavering as he rapped on your window. Reluctantly, you rolled it down, the crisp early morning air replacing the warmth of the vehicle.

"Miss Kim," the man said, his voice authoritative. "I'm afraid you can't leave. The Kkangpae requests your presence."

Fuck. You were fucked. Your heart raced as you processed the severity of the situation. The Kkangpae, Hoseok's father and the head of the whole syndicate had summoned you. It wasn't a request you could decline without consequence when you were right in his den, and you knew this was the end. They trapped you in.

The Kkangpae's study, adorned with dark wood and leather, exuded an air of authority that matched the man himself. He sat behind a large mahogany desk, studying some documents. Without looking up, he motioned for you to take a seat.

As you sat down, your eyes couldn't help but wander to the framed family photos on the walls. Hoseok's smiling face stared back at you from childhood to adulthood. The Kkangapae was a family man to his core or misogynistic anti-feminist, you choose.

"Y/N,—" he began, his tone measured. You braced yourself for what storm is to come.

"I thought you finally came to your senses when I saw you arrive with Hoseok last night—" his voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of disappointment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that the events of last night were fuelled by the large amount of alcohol you devoured.

Only now you realise that he aimed to doom you all along by bringing you to the epicentre of the whole syndicate instead of his brownstown in the downtown. You mentally cursed at Hoseok and the brilliance of his manipulative nature. You should have known better than to try to negotiate your freedom with Hoseok and drink like that in his presence. Stupid girl, aren't ya?

When he finally looked up, his steely gaze penetrating your soul, you could feel goosebumps on the back of your neck.

"—but I did not expect you to attempt to flee the mansion like you're some whore and not my son's fiancée!" His fist met the surface of the carefully crafted table and you jumped in your seat.

The impact reverberated through the room, the sudden noise echoing in the silence that followed. The framed photos on the wall seemed to witness the confrontation, capturing the Kkangpae's stern expression and your startled reaction.

"We all have been patient with you, dear, thinking you just need to compose yourself—" a tear escaped your eye. No matter what, you won't change the outcome of this.

"But you found solace in drowning yourself in alcohol and whoring yourself around the city!" He shouted your way. "I knew I should have brought you home far earlier than this."

You could not argue with his words, no matter how shameful they are. In a span of four months, you managed to get drunk until you blacked out numerous times all for that one boy you loved and lost. The one that loved but betrayed you back. When you drank you did not think of him and how much you miss that smile of his and how much you should hate him. His tattooed masculine arms that held you at nights and soft pierced lips that kissed yours —only fragments of memories now.

"I did not raise you to ruin yourself. Have I not given you enough?" The Kkangpae's voice, though stern, held a tinge of desperation, as if searching for a semblance of reason in the chaos of your actions. You were sure that if your father would be among the living now, he would have never let this happen. But he is not and by raising you, the Kkangpae means, taking you in after he decapitated your father for betraying his leader. Remorse, he called it.

You are disappointed in yourself. But for a solely different reason. You should have run away from the continent when Mark said he had a way. Perhaps, now, he would be alive and you would not have to write foolish love letters to heaven anymore. Perhaps, you would fall asleep without the extensive drinking and all the anti-depressants you probably did not even need, but with them, you do not hate him for leaving you here to deal with this mess alone.

The truth hit you like a tidal wave, and the weight of your actions settled in the pit of your stomach. The Kkangpae's words, though harsh, were a reflection of the reality you had tried to escape.

"You lost your way, child." The Kkangpae leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The room, once charged with tension, now felt heavy with the weight of unspoken regret. You did lose your way in the name of love. Founding him, already long gone, in the jeep just at the outskirts of Bronx, a hole in the side of his head, dried blood sprawled on the white leather seats, broke you.

There was not a second you did not regret saying no to Hoseok. It haunts you how that selfish decision might have led to the strongest gale in your sea. Perhaps, they would let him live if you would cooperate. The Jungs always found a way to persuade people to do what they wanted. But you did not expect them to go as far.

Suicide. The police ruled it as suicide. Of course, they did, with the right amount of bribery — everyone bent to their will. The day after Hoseok swore that he had nothing to do with it, that it’s an unfortunate coincidence, lying straight to your face broke you even more and that's why you ran. Hoesok knew everything that happened around, but he refused to tell you. You ran around the city as fast as you could so he would not catch up to you.

You loved Hoseok in your own way and when you said that if he'd come with the proposal sooner you'd say yes — that was not a lie. You always had a hunch feeling that those words about you two and your future together were to some degree true. So it was not such big surprise for you when he bent the knee and popped the question, a little too late. But you could not marry him then and you don't think you are willing now. You would be willing to do so, when you are ready. The difference is, now, there's no other choice. He won't let you leave this house alone, he won't let you run away again.

And there's nowhere nor no one to run to anymore.

"I never intended to bring disgrace to the family," you whispered, your voice betraying a mixture of regret and sadness.

"You'll redeem yourself, child, don't worry—" he said

"I need you to understand that you are not just Hoseok's partner; you are the future matriarch of this family. Your actions reflect not only on you but on the entire Jung legacy—"

"I know, I just never thought of this as seriously. I'm scared, I panicked when he popped the question." You blurt out. Your confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Or more like a lie so he will let you go, at least from this suffocating office.

You had spent years perfecting the art of composure, of presenting a façade that betrayed nothing only for it fail now.

The Kkangpae regarded you for a moment, his sharp eyes softening just enough to betray a hint of humanity beneath the ruthless exterior. He wasn't used to hearing you admit fear—it was almost as if he didn't quite know how to respond.

"Fear is natural," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "But you have nothing to fear if you choose right."

Choosing right in this family never meant following your heart—it meant aligning yourself with their expectations, their rules, their version of right.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady under the pressure. Your heart raced as you avoided his piercing gaze, hoping he'd accept your half-truth as sincerity. All you needed was a way out of this office, a moment to breathe, to think.

"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for," he continued, his tone measured but unyielding. "This family needs that strength now. Hoseok needs it."

The memory of his hands cradling yours, his eyes boring into you with a fervour that felt more like ownership than love, played on a loop in your mind.

"Okay," you managed to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

The Kkangpae nodded, satisfied with your answer. "Good. Now off you go, Hoseok's waiting."

You stiffened, your pulse quickening.

"He's awake?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, barely above a whisper. The Kkangpae raised a brow at your reaction but chose not to comment on it.

"Your breakfast is going to get cold if you stall this even more."

The Kkangpae's words cut through the air, dismissing any further hesitation. His sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he returned to the stack of documents on his desk, signalling that your audience with him was over.

You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room as you sat on the edge of a plush velvet chair, your posture tense, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, as if the soft material of your slip dress that you wore on top of a while turtle neck could shield you from Yoongi's steady gaze.

You couldn't quite remember when the combination of alcohol and antidepressants had become a regular part of your routine, but it had. One to dull the ache, the other to keep the panic at bay. It felt like you were walking a tightrope between relief and disaster. The pills had been prescribed with a promise of healing, but they didn't fix anything, did they? They didn't ease the guilt, the shame, or the sense of being utterly out of control.

And that's precisely why you are sitting in Yoongi's clinic.

Again.

The door opened softly behind you, and your head whipped around, your stomach clenching in a mix of panic and irritation. Hoseok came in after he finished his call, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in that familiar line of disapproval when Yoongi interrogated you and your well-being this past months.

Not pleasant for both of their ears.

His eyes flicked over to Yoongi, a silent communication passing between the two. You could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck, the shame of being caught in this cycle again pulling at the edges of your pride.

"You've been drinking, and you've been taking your medication," Yoongi said, pretty much summarising what was happening, his voice low but commanding, as he folded his arms across his chest. His usual calm was undercut with a note of frustration. "This combination is dangerous, and you know it. You are being fucking reckless–"

"Well this family makes living that way, so—"

You trailed off, the words hanging in the air, sharp and bitter. You didn't have to look at Yoongi to feel the tension rise, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the subtle flicker of frustration in his gaze. And you didn't have to look at Hoseok, to know he rolled his eyes.

"But we don't use ourselves, not to such extent, Y/N, and you fucking know it."

You winced at Hoseok's words, the sharpness in his voice cutting through you more than you'd like to admit. You had always known that their disapproval wasn't just about the way you led your life these past months, but about how far you had drifted from the person they believed you could be. You were. 

"I'm not—" you began, but Yoongi cut you off, his tone flat and unwavering.

"—the choices you're making—this self-destructive pattern—it's not the family's fault. It's not even about the family. This is about you, Princess. About your choices."

You couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't face the depth of his concern, the quiet disappointment in his voice. The truth was, you knew what you were doing wasn't right. The pills, the alcohol, the numbness—it all came with consequences, but they were easier to deal with than the constant whirlpool of guilt and pressure that churned inside your chest every day.

"You don't get it," you muttered, your voice wavering, trying to steady it but failing. "It's hard to breathe sometimes. Everything feels... too much."

"Do you want your liver to fail, sweetheart, or your heart?"

Yoongi's gaze softened, the sharp edge to his features dulling just slightly. "You don't need to numb the pain to survive. You need to face it. And you need to let us take care of you."

"Okay." The word slipped out before you could think about it, the weight of it settling between you all. You couldn't quite believe it, the relief that came from simply acknowledging the truth. It didn't feel like a solution, but it was the first step toward something.

"No more drinking, no more pills—"

The quiet of the room enveloped you for a long moment. The sound of your breathing felt too loud, but somehow, it was a reminder that you were still here. Still breathing.

"And you gotta get you off your birth control too, we do not need additional hormones in your body."

The words hit you like a cold shock, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker. You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His words were muffled by the sounds of Hoseok's Motorola. Excusing himself briefly to pick up yet another call, you stared at Yoongi.

"What?" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of changing anything about your routine, especially something so personal, felt like a violation of your fragile sense of control. "Yoongi, I—"

"You heard me," he cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need a clean slate, and that includes everything. The alcohol, the pills, the hormones. It's all adding to the mess inside you. We need to strip it all down," he spoke, overlooking some of your results that came in this morning.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then, the words escaped before you could stop them. "But... you were the one who prescribed it."

"I know," Yoongi replied, his voice calm but firm, his posture never faltering. "And at the time, it made sense. But now? With everything that's going on in your body—"

"Was it his idea?" you cut him off rather bluntly a bit angry with his dishonesty.

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he met yours. There was a moment of silence between you two, the air thick with tension. The weight of your question seemed to hang in the room, the vulnerability of it pressing on your chest. Yoongi took a slow breath before answering, his voice steady but with an edge of something—something you couldn't quite place.

"No," he said simply, his eyes softening just a fraction. "This wasn't Hoseok's call. It was mine."

You felt a knot form in your throat as you processed his words. A part of you wanted to argue, to resist, but another part, the part that had been drowning in self-doubt for months, simply wanted to listen, to let go of the control you had clung to for so long.

"Don't lie to me, Yoongi."

The accusation hung between you, thick with tension. Yoongi's expression flickered, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe?

"Was it your decision, or not?"

Yoongi stood still for a long moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the side, avoiding your eyes. His fingers clenched around the papers in his hands, and for a brief second, the weight of everything between you seemed to press down on him, too.

"Princess…" he finally breathed out, his voice low but steady.

"It was my decision, but he encouraged it." The flicker of guilt in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, made your chest tighten. You knew what that meant for you but you could not put your five cents on the table right now.

This choice is yours to make. Not Hoseok's.

The Jung Whiskey Distillery stood in the heart of Brooklyn, a looming relic of a bygone era where industrial ambition met old-money elegance. And you found it fucking ironic to be commanded to stop drinking extensively and simultaneously being called to a place that reeks of alcohol.

The building itself was a labyrinth of exposed brick, dark oak barrels stacked high like sentinels. The faint hum of machinery echoed through the cavernous space, blending with the rhythmic drip of amber liquid into hand-labelled bottles, each stamped with the clan's insignia that did not change even after the Kkangpae-ship changed several times over the decades. A dove.

You stepped inside, the heavy scent of whiskey and charred wood assaulting your senses immediately. You blinked against the dim lighting, the golden glow of antique chandeliers barely cutting through the thick shadows. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the worn concrete floor, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of workers moving methodically through their tasks. Some cast quick, assessing glances your way, but no one said a word. You weren't an unfamiliar face here, after all.

Hoseok was already waiting, leaning against a towering stack of barrels, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the soft glow of an overhead lamp. He was dressed in his usual understated elegance—a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and a gold signet ring glinting on his finger, a subtle reminder of his place in the family hierarchy.

"If I knew that you'd take time that equals the three meetings I managed to go through, to actually get here, I'd wake you up in the morning and take you with me," he remarked, his voice carrying easily in the quiet space.

"Traffic," you replied coolly, stepping closer. "And I wasn't exactly given much of a choice nonetheless, was I?"

Hoseok smirked, a glint of something dangerous dancing in his eyes. "No, you weren't."

"I need you to sign some documents—" he started.

You stared at the papers in his upstairs' office, anger and frustration bubbling inside you, but you knew the truth. Hoseok wasn't giving you a choice—he'd planned this all along. You'd taken the risk, now you had to pay the price. Your stomach twisted as you read the details—transferring the market representation of Anubis to Namjoon, at least temporarily.

He didn't say anything at first, letting the silence stretch between you. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes after long deliberation and lighted one.

"You want me to sign this?" you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

"I'd hoped you would've learned the consequences of your actions by now—" finally, he spoke, his voice a quiet challenge, "you thought I was bluffing, am I right?"

Hoseok could read you like an open book, and that only pissed you off more.

"Namjoon is going to represent Anubis while you're away, so the market doesn't wait for anyone—"

"What about Peaches?" you had to ask. The girl who always looked up to you and listened when you needed to yap. She had, among others, a precious place in your heart. You knew she was only working for you as a barmaid until she paid off her college, but you were sure the friendship will remain.

Hoseok's lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he spoke again, his words deliberate.

"You know…—" he began before you cut him off. You know what he's going to say. Namjoon was rather blunt, and the girl was young and naive to ignore it for so long.

"I know—"

"She's not your concern anymore. Not with the way things are going. Namjoon's got his eyes set on her, and trust me, it won't take long before she's out of there, taken care of...in more ways than one."

"But—" you had plans to move he to work for the distilleries instead of the bar. A safer place.

"You've already dug your own grave, love, hers is not yours to lay in." You clenched your jaw. But it is, you thought.

"She'll hate him for it," she might hate you for it. You muttered, but you knew it was futile.

"That's least of your worries now, you know Namjoon's intentions are good, Princess—"

"Now, unless you want to keep playing the martyr, sign the fucking papers." He had you by the throat, and signing was the only way to keep breathing.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the paper. "And if I don't?"

Hoseok leaned in, his lips curving into something far too amused for your liking. "Then I can take you to City Hall right fucking now and have us sign a marriage license instead. Husband and wife—your signature won't be needed anymore."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you schooled your features into indifference.

"You wouldn't."

His smirk widened, eyes glittering with that maddening confidence.

"Keep fucking trying me, love, a little longer." He said through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flicked back to the contract, and with a resigned sigh, you reached for the pen tucked inside.

"That's my Princess."

You hated how much he enjoyed this. He stood up, retrieving the papers and closing the folder in one swift movement. You were getting inside your head when his shiny shoes came into your vision. You raised your eyes to see him standing in the small gap between the table and your chair, looking at you hungrily from above.

"You're tense," he observed, his voice dropping into something softer, something more dangerous. His thumb brushed against your wrist, tracing slow, maddening circles.

"You just made me give it up—" You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to react, but the heat of his touch seeped into your skin.

"As I said, it's still yours, love, you just won't be its main character for a while." He tilted his head, eyes darkening as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. Your pulse hammered in your throat as his fingers slid up your arm, slow and deliberate. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how much you wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Why were you so messed up in the head?

You took out the pills. He insisted. Yoongi insisted. You don't drink. At least you're trying not to. You have therapy once a week. Everything but that one thing you kept hidden from him. Your suspicions were quite rightly placed when just this morning he cream pied so deep into your cunt, it made you recount your life-span. No condom on.

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly. You momentarily glanced through the window to see the twin building in the distance where Kim's bourbon was made. You wonder if Namjoon's there or in Anubis now. He's got a lot work to do if he now covers both positions.

Before you could retort, he bent down and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Hoseok's fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull you out of your seat and press you into his hard torso. You felt him. Every single inch.

Your hand shot up to his breasts where you laid your palm straight, trying to push yourself from him and ease the pressure he laid on the small of your back from where he was pressing you into the warmth of his body.

You yelped into his mouth when he stood and lifted you effortlessly onto the cold and hard surface of the desk, his hands roaming possessively over your hips.

"You drive me fucking insane, can't keep my hands to myself" he breathed against your lips. His curious fingers trailed down its way to the black slacks you wore today and slipped past the soft material.

You couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

"All I could think about the whole noon was you—under me."

At least, with the miraculous protection of birth control, you can enjoy sex with him. It was not bad. You wish it could be bad lousy sex but he knew damn well what buttons to push to let you see stars and scream his name. This was your new dose of drugs. Him and his gorgeous body. He knew that the line between him being your best friend was cut into small fragile pieces the moment you sat on his face that night he did not only trick you into his bed but kept you in his life. Forever. And Ever.

It felt oddly right.

Every kiss, every brush of his hand, felt like a promise—one that wasn't going to be broken.

Unlike this table.

It was several weeks later when the little peace you made with this arrangement was shattered as quickly as you built the walls around you.

The twisted branches of bare trees stretch upward like desperate hands, clawing at the sky, trying to touch something they can never reach. The heavens above seem to hum with a strange mystery, an almost suffocating weight in the air.

Beneath your feet, the fallen leaves crackle and crunch, a brittle reminder of the cold that's creeping in, claiming everything it touches. The frost is starting to settle in again, coating the world with a layer of death, a silent witness to the dying season. The peak of winter is coming, relentless and unforgiving, a season full of hidden traps and painful truths.

From a distance, you hear the haunting echo of a raven's call. It cuts through the stillness, adding to the quiet beauty of this desolation. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken, something unsettling. You inhale deeply, trying to push away the unease, but it lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

Your eyes flutter shut, trying to hold on to the fragile calm of the moment, but the silence is broken. The crinkle of newspaper reaches your ears, followed by the faint scent of coffee. You open your eyes, slowly, and see Hoseok sitting at the table, his face absorbed in the pages, the kind of concentration that could swallow him whole. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, the weight of the world hidden behind those simple movements. He trimmed his hair a little. They were becoming a bother. He said to you when you asked. Nothing major though, just a little change. Not everyone could sport a mullet like Jung Hoseok could. It was such a trivial thing to do but you kept thinking about how your fingers instinctively ran through his soft locks. You liked them long. Is what you said to him and he gave you his shiny smile that you were soft for, in response. 

You sigh, your gaze drifting from him to the empty garden around you. The air feels colder now, the frost creeping deeper into your bones. You tug the fur blanket tighter around you. You need fresh air. Yeah well, not in fucking cold January, you don’t. He insisted. For you, for your health. Hoseok, oblivious to your internal storm, shifts the newspaper in his hands. His fingers grasp and release it as he turns the page, his eyes never leaving the print. He's lost in the world of politics, and you're stuck here, in your own head, unable to break free.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice not quite reaching you. The question feels distant, like it's meant for someone else. You take a sip from your coffee mug, the New York City skyline etched in its design, trying to ground yourself in something, anything.

"Nothing," you murmur, but the words feel like a lie even to you. 

You still did not know how to feel. You, of course, were still playing with the narrative you created in your head, that you do not want to get married. Hoseok’s not the problem. He never was. Only the cursed piece of paper that will bind you to him for eternity, as this family still worships and protect marriages, is what you’re afraid of. Why? You’re pushing thirty. You are expected to settle. But how can someone like you settle? You still dream of a boy who is no longer walking among living, a man who fucked you over, now that no pills are clouding your mind. And that’s another thing. 

How can you have kids after you poisoned your body with so many things? Yoongi recited the report to you and Hoseok, his lips in thin line after he finished, the verdict was clear. Cleanse. In private. They believed in the strength of your young body to recover swiftly and splurt out heirs, just like that. Don’t be mistaken, you were never addicted enough or now you’d be in asylum if you were. You just needed a reality check. But that did not include your boyfriend with a hole in his head and gun in his hand.

Then there was this tiny feeling of betrayal. You felt like you were betraying Mark each time you spread your legs for Hoseok to bury himself deep inside of you. What’s worse. You enjoyed it like this is how it was always supposed to be–

–the sound of paper crunch tears you from your stream of consciousness. Hoseok makes a ball from the newspaper with a deliberate slowness, the sound harsh against the stillness of the room. There must have been something he did not fancy to see. Your rough guess, it’s the pretty journalist that questions every step of Kim Seokjin. Your family consigliere.

He meets your gaze, eyes softening with an unspoken question. 

"Are you sure?" His voice is more insistent now, a slight edge to it as his hand reaches out, crossing the distance between you. You want to pull away, but you don't, he would never harm you. Not you.

"I don't want to get married,... yet," you say it with a finality, and rather bluntly, a decision made in the quiet chaos of your heart. You did not know why that thought came out loud. "I don't think I'm ready—"

"We talked about that already, baby" he says, his voice cold, as he releases your hand and strides toward the house, his back turned to you. The distance between you feels unbearable now, the space between your hearts widening with every step he takes.

"No! You talked about it!" you shout after him, your voice cracking as the frustration rises within you. The words feel like a plea, a desperate attempt to make him hear the truth, but it seems to vanish into the bitter wind that bites at your skin.

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't need to. The weight of the silence is enough, and you're left alone in the garden, with only the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears.

You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand, staring into the weak morning sun, trying to chase away the thoughts swirling in your mind. After a moment, you reach for the other copy of newspaper, flipping to the art section where the golden maknae's face is pictured. He's allowed to stay a bachelor, why not you? A bachelorette leaves a bad taste in your mouth though. Sounds cringey.

A quiet voice from the door interrupts your focus.

"You'd better look at the wedding dress catalogue instead," your cousin's voice cuts through the air, light with a teasing lilt. You two were never as close as one would say. But that's because you spent the majority of your childhood with Hoseok. Sometimes Namjoon and Yoongi.

You glance up at him, meeting his dark eyes. That man seriously needs to find his own woman. He needs to do it soon, as he is just as annoying when he doesn't get laid. She could put up with it, instead of you.

"I'm all hot!" you retort, a smirk pulling at your lips as you add the bite of irony to your words, hoping he'll catch the sarcasm.

He grins, unbothered. "Can I see for myself?" His playful challenge hangs in the air, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"Fucking gross, Taehyung!" You splurt out, grimacing.

"Just kidding, Princess," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He glances at you with a wry smile. "You should start looking for them though, unless you want to get married in your pajamas." His gaze lingers on your nightwear, and you fight the urge to blush.

"Hoseok already asked Jimin to have one of his designers on it." You murmur, wishing to not acknowledge how beautiful the designs were.

"Dior… fancy," he whistled.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the newspaper, but then a loud slam comes from the second floor. Your eyes dart to the open glass door, half-expecting Hoseok to walk back in. A few moments later, he does, but this time, he's holding a white box, throwing it onto the table with a sharp gesture.

"What's this?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

You glance at the box and read the label out loud. "Birth control."

Hoseok's expression hardens instantly, and he steps forward, hands on his hips. "I fucking know what it is," he snaps, his voice low and tense. "But why the fuck are you taking it?"

You swallow, trying to keep your composure and play dumb. That it just might have slipped from your mind to put it out. 

"Well, usually, birth control is taken to—"

He cuts you off, his frustration clear. "I fucking know why it's taken, but why the fuck are you still taking it, Y/N?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer, but you find the courage to speak. Hoseok would get it out of you nonetheless. Why lie.

"Because I noticed that when you were fucking me—"

"You mean making love," he interrupts, his voice softer now, but still laced with tension.

"Making love,—" you repeat, your lips tight, trying to hide the amusement and disregard the severity of this situation. Him dicking you down until you are nothing but whimpering mess was hardly tender loving. He nods in agreement, and you try not to feel self-conscious.

"—You keep ditching the condom," you add, voice trembling slightly. You're nervous, but you don't back down. “So I just wanted to be careful–” 

"Does that matter?" he asks, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief as he takes a step closer to you.

"Well, considering I don't wanna get pregnant, and I doubt you do—"

He cuts you off again, his words sharp. "What if I want you to get pregnant?"

The shock hits you like a cold wave. You blink, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You want to respond, but the words freeze in your throat.

"It's not only up to you," you finally manage, folding your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. But Hoseok isn't backing down.

"No?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, a challenge in his gaze.

Before you can say another word, he grabs your elbow, pulling you toward him with surprising force, his chest pressing against yours. The heat of his body is overwhelming, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. The distance between you is gone, and all you can do is stare at him, unsure of what to do next.

The words feel like they hang in the air, suffocating, as he inspects every inch of your body. His gaze is heavy and possessive, and it crawls under your skin, making you feel exposed in ways you can't quite put into words.

"I think the fuck yeah," he says, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

"Since the fuck when?" you force the words out, the sigh caught between your teeth, as you try to mask the unease creeping through you.

"Since we made it official," he whispers, his voice dark, lips hovering just above yours, as though he's claiming you in ways that go beyond the physical.

"Hoseok, honey, I don't belong to you, I'm not a bitch that you can breed," you grind out, trying to push back, to assert yourself, but your body betrays you, reacting to his touch.

"Aren't you?" His laugh sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can pull away, his hand moves to your ass, squeezing hard, sending a shock of pain that morphs into something else—something dangerously close to pleasure.

You cock your head, trying to make sense of the rush of conflicting emotions, but Hoseok doesn't wait. He presses his lips to your neck, soft butterfly kisses that leave a trail of heat in their wake.

"You sound different when I'm buried deep down in your pretty cunt."

"Hobi—," you moan his name involuntarily, rather surprised by his blunt behaviour than actual excitement, and your hand instinctively reaching for his chest, as if you could push him away, but instead, you draw him even closer. He likes to test where your boundaries lay. And he likes to do it each time he gets you alone and all to himself.

"Now, that's my name you're moaning, isn't it?" he asks, his voice teasing, fingers now shifting to your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You gasp, feeling the tension coil tighter inside you as his lips continue their slow, deliberate journey from your neck to your lips. When his kiss meets yours, it's tender—almost too tender—but it pulls away too soon, leaving you breathless, hungry for more.

His hand still rests on your bottom, and your pulse races as he reaches for the white box on the table. You know what it is, and your heart drops into your stomach.

"You know what we're going to do with this?" he asks, his eyes dark, unreadable.

"Hobi, no, please," you beg, your voice weak, desperate, trying to hold onto the last shred of control you have.

"Not this time, Princess," he replies, as though he's trying to convince himself more than you.

"Please Hobi, we have time for that" you clutch his hand, the one holding the box, your grip tight as if you could keep it from happening.

"We ain't little kids anymore," he mutters, his voice cold as he pulls you toward the door, but you resist, shaking your head as he drags you toward the living room.

“Just because we skipped the whole girlfriend-boyfriend phase, it doesn’t mean that–” you trailed behind him, trying to plead with him, but when you see the fireplace you panic.

"NO, DON'T DO THIS, PLEASE!" you shout, panic rising in your chest, but the sounds of Yoongi's and Taehyung's voices drift from the dining room, too far away to help, but close enough to hear.

Hoseok doesn't listen, doesn't stop. He moves as if this is inevitable. He opens the fireplace door, adding wood and paper into the flames with mechanical precision. The white box sits on the hearth, waiting for its fate. You know what's coming, but you can't stop it.

Before he can pick up the box, you do, clutching it to your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Hoseok stops, eyes narrowing, his voice low and controlled. "Y/N, give me the box," he says, his hand extended toward you, his patience wearing thin. You hide the box behind your back, shaking your head, the desperation pooling in your chest.

"Don't do it," you plead, but your voice shakes, and you know it won't be enough to change his mind. It never is. Your heart pounds and the sound fills your ears as you fight to breathe through the rising panic.

“No need for dramatics, I can fucking buy new one, Hobi–” 

You hear Yoongi and Taehyung murmur in the background, they're talking, oblivious to the tension in the room, distracted by the box, by its contents. They must have missed the giant label that clearly states so, but the realization hits you too late. In the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi bring his hand to the bridge of his nose and sigh very loudly before he readies himself to speak on your behalf. It's already too late.

"You always know how to piss me off like that!" Hoseok snaps, frustration boiling over. "You're such a brat! Why can't you just do what I ask for once?" For once? He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes.

“Well you didn’t really bother to discuss it with me, why should I?” You snap and Hoseok’s face momentary shows guilt.

"Hoseok—" Yoongi begins to step over to his younger brother, trying to intervene, but Hoseok's swift hand movement stops him in his tracks, his frustration too raw for anyone to touch.

"Don't, fucking, don't!—" he screams his way. Hoseok is fuming.

"How dare you take this from me!" His hands fly up in the air, his chest heaving with the intensity of his words. The heat of his anger crashes over you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the force of it, knowing that nothing will calm him down now. When did he become such a lunatic? Over this?

"You fucking prescribed that shit to her!" He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes. As if Yoongi had any jurisdiction over you.

"You did that!" His eyes are wide, furious, and filled with an undeniable betrayal. And with that accusation, the room feels like it's closing in on you, the weight of everything sinking in deeper.

"Hoseok, I was taking that, years prior, it's not that easy to just stop—" Your voice trembles as you try to find the words, but they're heavy as if the room itself is pressing against your chest. You know it won't make a difference. You know that nothing you say will ever be enough to calm the storm he's become. Hoseok's eyes widen with disbelief, the fury in them turning almost desperate. He steps closer, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

"She was supposed to be off the pill, Hyung! You said she is!" Hoseok's voice cracks as he turns to Yoongi, his anger now laced with something else—desperation, hurt. His words are jagged, the tension in the air so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin.

Yoongi freezes, his eyes flicking between the two of you, the reality of the situation settling in. His hand stays on the bridge of his nose, massaging it as though he can physically take the tension away. But there's no escaping it now, no way to undo what's been said.

"Yoongi-hyung," Hoseok snaps, his voice raw, pleading for an explanation he knows isn't coming. "What the fuck is going on? Why is she still on it?"

You can feel the weight of Hoseok's gaze on you, the accusation in his eyes piercing through the space between you. The betrayal is there, raw and unrelenting, and it stings, more than you ever thought it would. You want to scream, to lash out, but the words don't come. Instead, you're frozen, caught in the quiet storm of their confrontation.

"I didn't know," Yoongi's voice is quieter now, regret creeping in. He looks at you, his expression softening, but it doesn't help. The damage is done. "I withdrew that prescription. I thought she stopped."

Now he turned back to your petite form and the box in question that was the last resort of your independence here. It's just a symbol now, a trigger, a reminder of how everything has shattered in the blink of an eye.

"And why exactly did her highness not listen to her doctor?!"

You try to step back, but you can't. There's nowhere to go. "I didn't think it mattered," you whisper, your hands trembling at your sides. A lie and the weight of the lie you've been carrying sits on your shoulders like a thousand tons.

"I never thought it was something you'd need to know or cared for, at least not for a while."

Hoseok stares at you, his gaze burning through you like a hot brand. "It fucking matters," he spits, his voice sharp and cruel "and I fucking care." Yoongi threw an apologetic look your way when he sensed that this was only going to get uglier, and it would be more humiliating for you if they remained in the room.

"You think I don't care? You think I don't have a right to know? Clean slate from everything, remember?" His voice rises again, and the room seems to shrink around you. 

“Hobi–” you attempted to speak to him.

"Each time we made love, I hoped you'd eventually come to tell me I'm going to be a daddy,"

Hoseok's voice trembles with raw emotion, and you feel the weight of his hopes crashing down on you. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating, as his gaze pierces you, demanding an answer you don't know how to give.

"But you were hiding this from me. You were keeping it from me, Y/N. How could you?" His voice breaks on the last words, and for a brief moment, he looks like he might collapse under the weight of his own feelings.

"I thought… I thought it wasn't important now. That we had time."

Hoseok's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Time? Time for what, Y/N? Time to keep me in the dark while you do whatever the hell you want? To fucking run again?" His voice rises, thick with frustration. So this is it, he wanted you tied to him beyond marriage.

"I trusted you. I trusted us. It's just you and me for eternity, Y/N."

“It’s not even about that fucking birth control, it’s about you keeping things from me.” 

You swallow hard, your throat tight. You never imagined things would escalate like this. The silence in the room is unbearable, and the weight of Hoseok's words crushes any attempt at defence.

“You are supposed to confide in me. I’m your person.” 

"I wanted this, Y/N," he continues, his voice a raw whisper, filled with a kind of hurt you never thought he was capable of showing. "I want to build a future with you."

His words feel like daggers, piercing straight through your chest, and you feel the walls around you closing in.

"You should have talk to me about that." You want to scream, to fight back, but all that comes out is a weak, strangled sob.

"Do you even know what you've done?" he whispers, almost to himself, as if the weight of it all is just now sinking in. "Do you even know what this means?"

You want to explain, but you can't find the words. The room is too small, the air too thick with the unspoken truths hanging between you all. And in that moment, you realize that nothing you say will ever undo what's been done.

"I was not feeling ready, Hobi–"

Hoseok's eyes burn with a mixture of frustration and desperation as he steps closer, his hand still extended toward you, demanding the box. You know what he's going to do, but that knowledge does nothing to ease the dread that grips you.

“We could have discuss this–” but he was not listening anymore.

"Give it to me," he commands, his voice low, filled with an edge that makes your heart race. The space between you two is closing, and there's nowhere left to retreat.

You grip the box tighter, pressing it against your chest as if it's the only thing keeping you anchored. "No, Hoseok," you breathe, but your voice is weak, trembling under the weight of the moment. "You don't understand."

His gaze sharpens, and in an instant, he's on you, his hands grasping at yours, trying to pry the box from your fingers. You stumble back, but he's faster and stronger, and you feel the heat of his body as he presses you against the wall. You gasp for breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"No!" you cry out, but your words are drowned by his relentless grip, pulling at your hands, forcing you to let go. The box is slipping, and before you can stop it, Hoseok has it in his hands, clutching it like it's the last thing that matters.

You try to push him away, your palms meeting his chest with a desperate shove, but he's unfazed. With a low growl of frustration, he jerks his head toward the fireplace, his expression wild.

Without a second thought, Hoseok strides over to the fire, the box gripped tightly in his hands. You lunge forward, but it's too late. He reaches the hearth, throws the box into the flames, and it disappears with a soft crackle.

"No!" you scream, your voice raw, the loss of control hitting you like a punch to the gut. You're too late to stop him.

Hoseok stands there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders rigid with anger. The firelight flickers in his eyes as he watches the box burn. "You wanted to hide this from me," he says, his voice harsh, filled with finality. "Well, now, it's hidden better."

You're frozen, watching the box slowly disintegrate into ash. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the realization settling heavily in your chest. It's done. There's no taking it back now. Everything you tried to keep from him, it's all out in the open.

You open your mouth, but no words come. There's nothing to say. You didn't expect this—didn't expect him to take the box and throw it into the flames like it meant nothing to him. But it does. It means everything to him.

"If you think you can go and get another one, think again—" Hoseok turns to face you, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched tight.

"Because you ain't leaving this fucking house anymore."

A tear escapes down your cheek before you can stop it, and you wipe it away hastily, still trapped in the suffocating silence of the room. Everything feels wrong, everything feels too much, and you don't know how to make it right. You want to scream, to tell him how unfair this is, but you can't find your voice anymore.

Hoseok's gaze softens just slightly, but it doesn't bring comfort. If anything, it only makes the storm raging within you feel even more intense.

What a good start of 1996.

It was quite a few silent weeks, and although the poetics of “never go to bed angry” was quite overrated, Hoseok seemed to cling to it. You wish you could speak again. It was enough that you were apparently and are under house arrest. The moment you tried to step out of the front door, you were turned on your heel immediately. So you got the memo rather quickly.

Now yes, you are exaggerating a little. Rightfully so, you almost went to fucking knit a sweater being cooped up in here. Even the enormous sunroom full of flowers of every kind felt small after you spent the majority of the days there.

Hoseok’s father keeps himself at his side of the lovely and vast Jung manor and you find yourself not wanting to be in his company for majority of the time. But after weeks of silent breakfasts, lunches and dinners, you found yourself in his quarters to plead to give Hoseok some wisdom. He cannot be mad at you for keeping something to yourself. You were being responsible, and this is what you got in return. It was okay until there wasn’t a ring on your finger and the one fucking you, Hoseok. 

Yet, as you stood in the dimly lit hallway of the east wing, the heavy scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air, responsibility felt like a frail excuse. Especially in this family. You neared the slightly open mahogany door of his office when you heard their voices. You halted. Listening. 

“The boy’s still angry,” came the rasp of Hoseok’s grandfather. 

You hadn’t realized he was in the estate today, now nestled in one of the armchairs, a relic of another era draped in a thick wool blanket. His voice was softer, but the words carried weight. 

“Wouldn’t blame him. He did what was necessary, and she went and questioned him for it.”

You frowned. Hoseok cannot be seriously this angry over something so… so fixable, right? 

You should have stepped inside. You should have asked what they meant. Instead, your mind spun in circles, grasping at the words and the meaning hidden between them.

“That runaway little gangster decided to fuck his way into this world, so he paid the price.”  

Your breath hitched.

Paid the price?

Your grip tightened on the doorframe, pulse hammering against your ribs. The words settled uneasily in your chest, a slow-burning fuse winding its way toward something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“Tuan made his choice when stole from her.”

Mark.

Your stomach twisted. The name struck like the lash of a whip, sharp and stinging because it had been weeks since you’d allowed yourself to even think about him. You can’t reopen the wound. You forced yourself to stay rooted in place, to not stumble backwards as the realization clawed at your skin.

Your hands trembled at your sides, nails digging into your palms, your body urging you to move—to burst into that room and demand the truth. But something held you back. A small, fragile piece of you that was terrified of the confirmation.

Hoseok swore to you he has nothing to do with it nor he knows who it might be. So you opted to believe that perhaps it was one of the family heads, or maybe someone from outside who wanted to make an example that you are not untouchable. Maybe it was someone who you openly declined to purchase their booze and serve it in Anubis. Maybe, just maybe, he did kill himself. 

But that’s not the Mark you knew, and after years of seeing this family stage murders, you knew better than to think it was a suicide. Nor did you want believe that, as the recounting of books showed, he or someone was stealing from you. But the only person that would manage to steal from you without your immediate knowing, was him. So you tried to hate him instead of grieving his death for a while. It did not work out. But it did sure opened doors for Hoseok.

Hoseok and his family, your family, had a motive but you refused to let yourself think he is dead because of you. Why did you not urge the police to investigate further? It would put you on the radar. You would have to hand out those incredibly illegal books over at some point. You were not a saint. Obviously you were not as far down as Hoseok or Namjoon and certainly not Taehyung. Your role was a bit cleaner, but not holy at all.

If all those demons that you’ve sent to their death while carefully watching and listening in over the years did not come to hunt you, why now, why Mark? Why’d they speak about him now.

“It was the right decision to eliminate him.” 

Your body felt cold, your fingers numb as you forced yourself to step away, away from the door, away from the truth you had just heard spill so carelessly from their lips. Your mind raced. If he lied about this, what else had he lied about?

You needed to leave.

“For her own good.”

Even just for a moment. 

You needed to get out, away from this house. You could figure out the rest later, but right now, the walls were closing in, and you couldn’t breathe. You had never wanted to leave, leave before. Not really. Not permanently. But that didn’t mean you didn’t know how. 

The question is, though, do you want to?

When you were younger, you had your ways—slipping through unnoticed places, sneaking past locked doors, bending rules until they cracked just enough to let you through. You hadn’t used those skills in years, but desperation was an excellent teacher.

So you ran.

Slipping through the estate grounds, through a route you remembered from your teenage years, your heart pounded louder than your footsteps against the pavement.

A taxi to the downtown. A subway later to get to 59 Street Columbus Circle. 

Central Park was quiet at this hour, the city humming in the distance. You walked, your breath fogging in the cool air, your mind spinning in endless circles. You weren’t stupid—Hoseok would know soon enough that you were gone. And when he did, you knew exactly what would happen.

You could almost picture it. The calls. The orders. The silent, well-oiled machine of his influence clicking into place, mobilizing to track you down. It wasn’t fear that kept you moving. It was inevitable. Because you knew one truth above all else: Hoseok never let anything that belonged to him get away. But you wanted to make a point. That you can be gone if you want to.

Right now, you weren’t sure if you were running from him… or to him.

You sat down on a cold bench, eyeing the Plaza that you realised you never stayed in, your whole life. Why would you, right? No, that’s where he would track you down when you had your tour de bar short lived era, counting in Anubis. 

You did not want to abandon Anubis, nor did you want to give Namjoon to boss it around. You pleaded hard enough to have something in this family other than pussy between your legs that would throw up heirs. Women in this family do not work. Not usually. But you, growing up with the mighty seven, knew a bit more about how this world functions, thus when you proposed to be the eyes and ears, they considered it. When you proposed you wanted a bar, a place where lips could go loose with the right booze, they considered a bit more. 

And that’s how you got to be the owner of Anubis on the borders of Manhattan and the Bronx. 

Everyone who entered was watched, catalogued, and, when necessary, reported and the threat eliminated. It had always been a place of control. Yours. But now, standing outside in the cold, you realized how little of it you truly had anymore.

A god of the afterlife, guardian of lost souls. 

Poetic, you always were.

But it was your place, and you wanted it back. You made it what it is now and it made you. You did not want to be a housewife or an arm candy for Hoseok. Nor your desire was to leave the syndicate.

No. 

You grew up here. This was who you were. And you would not abandon it again because Jung Hoseok decided to step into different shoes in your life or that Mark was now dead. He wasn't with you from the start, you handled it just well without him.

No.

If you have to go through this fucking marriage, you’ll do it your way. 

You returned before sunset, slipping back onto the estate grounds just as the first hints of dusk kissed the horizon. But the moment you stepped inside, the air was different. Tense. Hushed conversations snapped into silence the second they saw you. Guards were stationed at the exits. Hoseok’s men were in motion immediately. 

“Namjoon?-” He echoed to the flip phone when his eyes met yours on the edge of the living room. “Abort the mission, she’s home.” 

He shut the flip phone down and motioned with his free hand to send the soldiers to their original posts. Only then hew threw it on the plush of the white sofa.

“Where the hell have you been, Princess.” He gritted through his teeth, still standing by the conference table, keeping his distance even though he wanted to close it, and cradle your face and kiss your full lips. To reward you for your comeback. 

Your pulse pounded, your breath shallow, but your voice—your voice was steady.

“Tell me, Hoseok.”

You took a step forward, the distance between you closing like the pages of a book snapping shut. 

“Say it to my face and swear that you did not kill him, and-” he pulled his tall built body slightly back at your straightforwardness and his eyes reflected a little wave of shock that was quickly exchanged with understanding. 

Hoseok understood why you ran from this house now. You could have done it before, as it did not take you long to slip out. But he also was glad that after all, you did not want to. 

“And?” He urged you to continue. To finish what you started. 

“-and I’ll fucking marry you.”

And you needed him to tell you that you were wrong.

And you needed him to lie, just this once, so you could keep pretending.

And you needed him to be the man you had loved before all of this. Before Mark. 

His eyes flickered, something dark passing through them before his expression smoothed over. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. This is what he wanted? You on a silver platter. You accepting this union. 

Your chest tightened, the air punched from your lungs as you searched his face, desperate for something—anything—to grasp onto. A lie. A denial. Even anger would have been better than this.

You have to bury Mark for good to be with Hoseok.

Hoseok stared at you, his jaw tight, his lips slightly parted as if he was weighing something—choosing something. You could see the war in his eyes, a storm threatening to break, but then…

Then he exhaled, slow and steady, before stepping closer.

His hand lifted to your face, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his touch light but grounding. 

“I didn’t kill him,” he said, the words deliberate, carefully measured. “I swear it.”

Your breath caught.

There it was. The answer you needed. The answer you had demanded.

And yet…

It was too perfect. Too clean. The kind of lie that had been rehearsed in the mirror, the kind that fit too well in a mouth that had learned to bend the truth into something beautiful.

But you wanted to believe him. Believe that he did not push the trigger. You’d rather live without the knowledge of who exactly had done it and under whose command. 

It does not matter anymore. It’s in the past and Hoseok is your present and future.

You needed to believe him as Mark is never coming to save you from this horseshit you got yourself into right now and whatever reason he had to steal from you doesn’t matter anymore. He is not coming back and it is Hoseok’s arms you’re in this time.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, to turn away before the lie settled between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You kissed him back, hard and fast, your fingers twisting into his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him would somehow make it real. That if you kissed him deep enough, long enough, it would drown out the whisper in the back of your mind that said this isn’t the truth.

Hoseok groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours like he could make you forget. Like he could mould the lie into something tangible, something that felt like love instead of deception.

You let him.

Because believing was easier than knowing.

"I love you."

You sway to the beat of Material Girl as you make coffee in the kitchen, the rhythm of the music pulling you deeper into your thoughts. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. His lips brush your neck lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"There is a charity gala tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, warm against your skin. You frown, your movements slowing as confusion clouds your mind. You were allowed to leave occasionally under his strong supervision, which meant that your hand was sweaty in his when he held you for dear life, whenever, wherever. Especially after you went for the little walk in Central Park and did not show up until the sunset.

"What does that have to do with me?" you ask, turning slightly to face him. You were back to being you, at least a little. Step by step. His touch tightens around your waist, a subtle reassurance that he's still there. Even though your little emotional exchange, a few months ago, you were still determined to play this game your way. He wants something? You want something too. 

"Well, as my lovely bride, you're going with me," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, but you don't feel it this time—not in the way you usually do. Keeping you here like mother hen turned you and your cheeks waiting to be clapped each time Hoseok finished his work day. And if not, your hands wandered around your body while you read a book that had some spice inside. Out of boredom yes. You were just a girl after all.

"Terminate the house arrest, first." You smiled sweetly. Step one, have free reign where and when you leave this house. 

"No–" you did not even let him start when you interrupted him.

"Would you like some too?" you ask, ignoring him, You continue making the coffee, your hands suddenly trembling. 

"Aren't you listening to me?" His voice is sharp now, a mix of frustration and confusion. He pulls away, the distance between you suddenly feeling cold.

"I'm listening, you were talking about an event," you respond, your eyes not meeting his as you pour hot water into the cup.

"I bought you the Versace dress you liked," he adds, trying again, his tone softening. You let out a breath, the bitterness of it mixing with the heat of the coffee.

"But I cannot go out myself, can I?" you ask, your voice quieter now. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, but it does nothing to calm the tension between you.

"Are you not listening to me at all?" His voice rises again, this time you can feel the anger building. You don't respond right away, the silence thickening. 

"Are you listening?" You retort, smiling wickedly. 

You walk to the living room, coffee in hand, the distant hum of the television buzzing in the background. The controller feels cold in your hand as you press the red button to turn on the TV, trying to drown out the noise inside your head.

"I'm sorry your highness, I forgot you love to negotiate," he says, his voice laced with irritation.

You glance at him. His hands shake as he gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain himself. You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling in your chest.

"You’ve put me under house arrest," you mutter, shaking your head, and taking a sip of the coffee. But before you can savour it, he raises his voice again, and the hot liquid splashes over your denim jeans, soaking into the fabric. You wince, the sting of the coffee mixing with the burn of his words.

"You!-" He started but rather opted to bite his inner cheek than to admit that indeed he could've lifted the house arrest, the moment you said you will marry him. He only lets you go out when it benefits him. But you trusted the process.

"Me?" your hand shot to your heart, acting surprised. 

"You're going to put that dress on and come with me at six," he demands, his tone sharp, commanding. He turns on his heel, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room. You want to smash something, anything, just to get the frustration out.

"Oh so now I can go outside of this house?!"

The tension from the earlier fight still lingers between you. Hoseok's hand rests on your thigh, his touch possessive, but it doesn't bring comfort.

"Did I tell you you're stunning?" Hoseok's voice is soft, low, as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. You did put on the dress he bought for you, they were too pretty to leave on the hanger. The sleek, satin slip dress in a light lavender shade. Parade in front of him and threatened to not leave if he does not lift the house arrest first. And you maybe played him dirty when you declared you won’t let him get this dress off you tonight. I have to punish you somehow. You told him. Of course he obliged. Men. 

The dress is form-fitting, featuring thin spaghetti straps and a deep, elegant neckline. It drapes smoothly over your figure, exuding an air of sophistication and effortless glamour. As fitted for today’s spring charity gala. Scratch that. Old money rich shitty man gala. Nothing to do with charity, they just needed a reason to throw a party every year.

"Today or since you decided you want to play husband and wife with me instead of being my best friend?" you dare to tease him, even though you already settled that matter, at least partially,  your voice edged with sarcasm, knowing he doesn't care about your answer as much as he cares about drawing you in with his touch. The atipique black dress shirt he’s wearing under the suit jacket reveal the his torso to your wondering eyes.

“I’m still your best friend, baby.” 

You feel him smile against your skin as he nuzzles your neck, his hand slipping up to rest on your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but it soon deepens into something more—something possessive. 

“Sure you are, especially when you bend me over tables.” You whispered, trying to tease him. His tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Do I really need to listen to that–”

"--Can't you save that drama for when you get home? It's giving old news already—" a voice interrupts, cutting through the moment. The dark-haired handsome man across from you, Kim Seokjin, looks at the two of you with a raised brow.

"Don't be jealous, Jin-hyung," Hoseok cuts him off, but it's clear he's irritated. "You'll find someone one day to match your narcissistic ass. How's that wannabe Nancy Drew doing?"

You shift slightly, pulling away from Hoseok, but his hand remains firm on your thigh.

"Still working on it," Seokjin mutters, giving Hoseok a dirty look. You knew who they were talking about, but Hoseok said he won't intertwine with the media unless it will be a direct threat. That's why above mentioned she was roaming around trying to dig and dig but nowhere near to find the bottom of the pit.

The car stops suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts, and you blink as if waking up from a dream. The flash of cameras outside the car window hits you like a wave, sharp and blinding, and you feel Hoseok's grip tighten around you as he pulls you closer, as though trying to shield you from it all.

The car stopped and we started to make our way out. The first thing that hit you was the flashes of the cameras. Hoseok pulled you close to him and together with Seokjin and the security guard you walked inside.

You step out of the car, the air thick with flashes and the pressure of eyes on you. His hand doesn't leave your back as the two of you walk inside, and though you want to resist, you can't help but feel the pull of his presence, like gravity, like you're being drawn into his orbit.

He's in his element here, greeting people with a smile, his charm effortlessly lighting up the room. He makes you smile, too, almost involuntarily, as he introduces you to yet another guest. 

"This is my significant other, Y/N," he says, his voice carrying the weight of ownership, and something in your chest tightens, a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else, something darker you don't want to name. You lost a trace of Seokjin some time ago and a part of you wishes for him to be here, you would not feel as thrown to the wolves as you do now. You don't blame him though, you used to do exactly the same thing when you were not what you are now. Take a bottle and vanish for an hour or two. 

“What is it?” Hoseok asked you after few rounds of dances to some forties jazz music after he could not get a word out of you. He leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, a whisper in the midst of the music. Hoseok noticed the way your gaze kept flickering around the room, the way your smile was distant, almost mechanical. 

After the rounds of dancing and mingling, he couldn't take it anymore. Your silence, your unspoken thoughts gnawing at the edges of the night, it made him uneasy. This wasn’t how you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be laughing, teasing, maybe even teasing him, not retreating into yourself like you were doing now. Again.

He was used to the strong, confident woman who had a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, but now… this? This wasn’t you. And he did not want to lose you again.

“You know what it is,” you breathed out, a soft exhale, but it felt like a sigh of surrender. His hand, warm against your back, seemed to hold you in place as you turned your face slightly towards him. 

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his grip tightening, but not in a way that felt possessive—more like an invitation. He wanted to know.

"I don’t," he replied, his voice as calm as ever, but with an edge of urgency now. "I can’t help if you don’t let me in, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, pulling away just a fraction, as if the distance between you and him could somehow ease the tightness in your chest. Now it was time to ask. Step two.

“I want Anubis back,” you said quietly, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. Hoseok's eyes flickered for a moment, but his composure didn’t waver. 

“Alright.” Hoseok’s lips quivered at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His response—so simple, so nonchalant—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

“What?” You blinked. 

“Alright,” he repeated, as though you’d asked for something as trivial as a cup of coffee. You blinked again, caught in the dissonance of the moment.

That was it? Alright? It felt like the words didn’t align with the gravity of what you had just confessed.

You leaned back slightly, studying him as though searching for any hint of a hidden agenda, but all you found was the same carefully crafted calm. The calm of a man who was too used to getting what he wanted without asking for it.

"That's it?" you finally whispered, voice sharp despite the confusion swirling in your gut. "You just... agree?"

“If Anubis is what will make you my extravagantly beautiful Princess happy again, I’ll give it back–” 

You looked up at him, the confusion, the anger, and the uncertainty swirling in your chest, but underneath it all… there was something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night drags on, each introduction another reminder of what you've become. The people you meet seem to glide around you, asking about your upcoming wedding, about your plans, your future. You almost laugh at the irony of it all hanging in the air like a thick fog. You're a trophy in a glass case, and everyone's looking at you, poking and prodding, but no one seems to care to really see you. But him.

Then, an older woman turns to you, and you surely met her once or twice at these sorts of events but you never paid attention to those old snobs enough to know her name. Her gaze sharp as she asks,

"Are you with child my dear?" You freeze, almost choking on the juice, the question slicing through the air. Before you can even respond, Hoseok cuts in, his voice smooth but diplomatic.

"We have just recently started to try, Misses Kang." She was a fucking busybody. Too curious. You can feel the weight of the room shift, all eyes on you now, judging, whispering. You want to run, to scream, but you hold it in, even as your fingers tighten around your drink, your knuckles white. The grey-haired gentleman beside the woman snorts under his breath, a comment you don't hear, but you don't need to.

"Men like us Mister Jung, we need strong lineage—" It doesn't matter. You've already checked out, retreating into your mind again, thinking about how Hoseok just handed Anubis to you without thinking twice. Your brain screamed that this is not just because he had some sort of epiphany but a part of something bigger. Does he perhaps know…? Know that you cannot leave him anymore. You were ready to wield that to have your way. But he just gave it back. 

"I need some air," you mutter, standing up abruptly, and leaving the table behind. You don't look back as you walk out of the room, the hallway stretching out before you. You take the stairs two at a time, the sound of your heels echoing in the otherwise silent space.

You find a door, and a balcony, and step outside, your breath catching in the cold night air. Your dress flares around you as you lean against the railing, the weight of the night pressing down on you. You stare out into the distance, the tears you've been holding back finally spilling over, rolling down your cheeks.

A voice interrupts your thoughts, rough and grating against the wind, "Are you going to jump?"

You turn sharply, startled by the sudden presence. The man before you is in his twenties, with longer brown hair and a stubbled jaw. His Australian accent is as clear as the night sky above you.

"What?" you stammer, confusion swirling with all the confused emotions in your chest.

"I asked if you were going to jump," he says, his hands shoved casually into his black slacks. He lifts his head slightly, waiting for an answer, as though he's seen this all before.

You scoff, bitterness creeping into your voice. "What's it to you?"

"I'd jump after you," he says casually, his eyes never leaving you. You give him a look, incredulous.

"This isn't some fucking rom-com," you snap, your voice sharp, trying to push him away with words.

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. "No, but the situation is very similar," he argues. "I'm not saying you're about to jump off a boat, but there's a pool down there. You'd survive."

Your gaze drifts back to the darkness below, the tears still falling. You don't want to talk to this stranger. You just want to be alone, but his words, his strange calmness, begin to settle into your mind.

And then, like a physical force, strong arms wrap around you, pulling you back from the railing you were almost ready to mount. You gasp in shock, struggling at first, but the man's grip is firm.

"What are you doing?" you ask, panic rising in your chest. You try to push his hands away, but he doesn't let go.

"I'm saving you, and your very very expensive Versace dress," he murmurs calmly, his voice soft but insistent.

You stop fighting then, your body slumping against him, exhaustion settling into your bones. He holds you for a moment longer, then whispers in your ear, "How about you tell me why you wanted to do it?"

There's something about the way he says it that makes your body go still, something in his voice that makes you want to open up, to speak the words you've been choking on for so long.

“I wasn’t, it just went through my mind for a moment.” 

You sit down on the cold tiles, your tears finally slowing as you tell him everything—the fear, the suffocation, the way Hoseok's love feels different now. That you’re scared to admit your feelings like you could before. 

When you're finished, you feel raw and exposed, but somehow lighter. You don't expect him to understand, but his quiet sympathy soothes something in you.

"Please, just don't tell anyone," you beg, the weight of your vulnerability heavy on your chest.

He nods, his eyes soft as he glances at the balcony door.

He doesn't seem to share your fear. Instead, he looks at you with understanding. "He's a friend," He says, "and he talked about a woman he wanted to marry...a lot. But I can't say I'd agree with everything he's ever done to achieve it."

You look at him, eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm can’t help you escape this feelings," he adds gently, his tone softening, "but I can be a friend when he no longer can be one." You don’t want to escape do you? 

"You did not tell me your name—"

His eyes scanned your face with something that almost resembled concern. But the fleeting moment of solace shattered like glass the moment the door swung open.

Hoseok stood there, framed in the balcony doorway. The soft light from the hallway illuminated him in a way that made him look almost angelic, but the glint of steel in his hand told a different story.

You froze. What is going on?

"Step away from her," Hoseok's voice was quiet, deadly, his grip steady on the gun pointed directly at the other male.

He leaned back at the railing, his hands raising slowly in a display of mock surrender.

"Easy there, mate," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Didn't mean to step on anyone's toes. Just having a little chat."

Hoseok motioned for you to stand up and run to him, his eyes pleading for you to understand through his firm gaze on you two. What is going on?

Hoseok ignored him, his eyes locked onto yours. "Are you alright?"

You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak. The tension in the air was palpable and you did not know what to think. Where is the danger in here if he's griping the gun, not letting it down?

"I should put a bullet in your head right the fuck now," Hoseok seethed. What for? You were utterly confused and when Hoseok motioned for you to get the fuck up, you hesitated but did in the end. If anything, you trusted his gut more than you did yours over the years.

His smirk didn't waver when he gripped your hand and pulled you back. Your eyes widening with shock. His touch lacked the warmth you felt before and his next words sounded utterly different than before.

"See, that's the thing, Jung. You're all about control, but I don't think you have as much of it as you think." He flicked his gaze toward you, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "She looks tired. Must be exhausting being your pretty little bird in a cage."

Hoseok took a step forward, his gun aimed directly at his head now, his lips curling into something dark.

"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to get close to her, take what's mine, use her as leverage?" He didn't flinch or let you go. And you stood frozen. Without any explanation.

"Wasn't too hard. Seems like she's already looking for a way out." He provoked, knowing what it will make Hoseok to think. Inflitrate his thoughts. Homewrecker.

Your breath hitched, and Hoseok's gaze snapped to you for a split second—long enough for him to make his move. In a flash, he grabbed your other wrist, yanking you toward him, using your body as a shield between him and the gun. You gasped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Put the gun down," he said, his tone dangerously low, his grip firm but not painful. "We both know you're not going to risk her."

Hoseok's face darkened, his finger twitching over the trigger. "You're making a grave mistake right now, Luen."

Luen.

Your blood ran cold. The Luen family. You'd heard whispers of them—new money with old grudges, climbing the ranks with ruthless efficiency. But you never encountered one. They avoided press, they avoided public outings. They operated from shadows. No wonder you did not know him, if he’d ever show his face in your circles, you’d know.

While your clan rebuilt their empire on this continent through generations of calculated business moves and deeply rooted alliances, the Luens were a wildfire—spreading fast, consuming everything in their path with ruthless efficiency. Your families used to be closer in the past. The times before World Wars and you yourself did not know exactly when their connection severed.

As you later got to know, this particular Luen man was a ghost from the past, one Hoseok had thought buried overseas while he studied abroad for some time. But now he was here, standing in front of you with his cocky smirk and calculating eyes. It was no coincidence. The Luens were patient and hidden hunters, and it was clear that he had been sent for a reason—to sink his claws into Hoseok's most vulnerable spot.

You.

"Am I?" his lips brushed against your ear, and you shivered involuntarily. "I just wanted to talk, but now... now I think I might just take her with me. Seems like she'd like that rather than being with you."

No. No. No.

He felt so wrong suddenly. Everything felt wrong. 

Hoseok's knuckles turned white around the gun, his eyes burning with fury.

"Let. Her. Go."

"Give me what I want, Jung. A slice of your market and territory, and she walks free. Easy trade, yeah?"

Hoseok's lips curled into a humourless smile, his eyes narrowing. "You must be dumber than I thought. You think I'd ever let you walk away with anything?"

Before he could respond, Hoseok moved—fast. In one fluid motion, he slammed the butt of his gun into his side, forcing him to loosen the grip he had on you. You stumbled forward, gasping for air as Hoseok yanked you away and shoved you behind him, his body a solid wall between you and him. 

Well that was strangely easy.

He groaned, clutching his ribs, but that infuriating smirk was still there. "Right… your choice."

"Get the fuck out," Hoseok growled, his voice low and menacing. "Before I change my mind and wash the floor with your brain."

He held up his hands in surrender, circling you to get to the balcony door.

"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." He glanced at you one last time, a knowing glint in his eyes before disappearing out the door.

"Goodbye, Princess." He winked at you and you felt the disgust bubbling inside of you.

Hoseok turned to you, his expression dark, stormy but worried. Too worried. He might have lost you right here and right now if he didn't decide to check on you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't know who he was. I just needed to breathe."

"Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?" He blurted those questions fast while he scanned your smaller physique for any signs of injuries.

"No, we just talked, I didn't—"

Hoseok stared at you for a long moment before sighing and dragging a hand through his hair.

"You're not leaving my sight again."

You wanted to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The look in his eyes told you there would be no room for negotiation this time. You were not even sure whether you wanted to argue with him. Not after this.

"How come I don't know that Luen's revisited their feud with us?" You ask Hoseok the moment you step into his room. Or yours now. Can't seem to get used to saying that.

Hoseok shut the door behind him with a quiet click, his jaw tightening as he shed down his suit jacket and went to get rid of his dress shirt too. 

"You weren't supposed to know," he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Because I handled it." Shirt down, point taken. 

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. "Handled it? Right. And that's why that Luen—which disgusting brother was he again— had his hands on me"

His gaze darkened. "Jinsoo—"

Hoseok exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "The Luens made their first move a few months ago. Small things. Disrupting shipments, trying to flip some of our lower-level guys. I let them play their little games because I didn't think they had the balls to escalate." His eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing.

"Clearly, I was wrong."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Now we have to kill him, Hoseok—" Hoseok's eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them before he let out a low, humourless chuckle. You held your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spiked at the weight of his gaze.

"Why? What could you possibly tell him?" He knew you were not a rookie, and that whatever you revealed from now and then to anyone who's not in your inside circle, was an oblique and vague angle of events. This was non-negotiable. This clan did not even allow its members to have a doctor, therapist, lawyer, even fucking plumber outside of the ties this syndicate had.

And suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air tighter, the weight in your chest no longer just from adrenaline.

"Baby?" His sharp eyes flicked back to yours, his fingers still curled loosely under your chin.

"I'm sure it cannot be that bad, you've been taught well—"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeve.

"He might have figured it out—"

Hoseok's entire body went rigid. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Figure out what, love?" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Your pulse pounded, but you refused to look away.

You hesitated for a moment. You should have told him before.

You glanced at your engagement ring that was set under your new addition to your vast jewellery collection thanks to Hoseok— a wedding band. A matching gold one wrapped around his ring finger mocking you now. It was barely a month and half since you tied the knot.

You should have told him that day. Maybe that way he would now fall down to his knees and hug your below and murmur every single word that expressed gratefulness and admiration. This is what he wanted. But you were not sure if this is what you wanted, that’s why you gave yourself time to think how you want to do this. It takes people years to have this but God has chosen you. Or listened to Hoseok’s prayers. You can't seem to undo it now. It would not fly in this family. This was even more permanent than marriage in this clan.

And now, because of this little detail, Luen Jinsoo was as good as dead.

And now, the smile Hoseok flashed you with, told you everything you needed.

Of course he knew. 

"I'm pregnant."

I N T E R L O G U E

The ceremony itself was something out of a dream, a carefully curated illusion of romance to mask the reality beneath.

Beneath the glinting chandeliers, the whispered toasts, and the weight of Hoseok's gaze as he slid the ring onto your finger, there was something else. And you were not sure what.

But once you were sitting on the closed lid of toilet in the bridal suite, wedding dress bunched around your thighs, clutching the piece of plastic in your french manicured nails, the room around you was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint echo of music filtering through the heavy doors.

The test in your hand made everything spin, the two pink lines staring back at you with finality. People were trying for months or even years and here God decided to bless you. Or Hoseok.

Too soon, it happened oddly soon. You should have bought another box. You should not get distracted but other things to forget about this. You thought you counted your ovulation correctly, you could have taken ovulation tests to ensure it won't happen. You could have done so many things to avoid this, but here you are with a new life under your heart.

A knock on the door made you jump.

"Baby?" Hoseok's voice was low, muffled through the wood but unmistakably laced with something—concern? Possessiveness? You couldn't tell. 

"You okay?"

You swallowed, staring at your reflection in the mirror across from you. What interior designer would bask in your dismay when placing a wall-tall mirror right across the toilet? Your veil was still clipped into your hair, and your makeup was still perfect. But your eyes—your eyes—looked different now. Wiser. More terrified than they had ever been.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

"Y/N." His voice was sharper. "Open the door."

He was scared. Of course he was. Even though there is no way you could vanish, he was scared that you would change your mind, that you would flee the first chance you got. He was not stupid, he knew that you staying by his side was his choice but also yours. He would not underestimate what you can do. After all, you were you.

You exhaled shakily and forced yourself to move, tucking the test under the tissues in the bin like a terrible, wonderful secret, and you straightened the folds of your dress. Your hands trembled as you reached for the door handle and turned it.

Hoseok stood there, still in his wedding suit, tie loosened just enough to reveal the column of his throat. His dark eyes flickered over you, assessing, reading you the way he always did. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure why you looked so shaken.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer, his warmth seeping into you. "Talk to me."

You opened your mouth. Hesitated.

"I think the shrimp cocktail was not a good appetizer."

.

.

.

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©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @iveivory - @tea4sykes - @btspurplesky - @hecateslittlewitchling - @fancypeacepersona - @bambii111 - @babygirlskz98

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥ 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡.

lots of love, p.

[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

[skaldish]

Alright folks. Here it is, my theory of what Ragnarok actually represents. It is very messy and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to actually convey my understanding clearly like I try with most things, because genuinely this is shit I would write a doctorate-level thesis on.

But we're going to try anyway.

So. After doing a lot to try to replicate animistic thinking, as well as taking a VERY deep read of the Norse myths, my theory is that Ragnarok is specifically allegory for societal collapse—the "end of the world" imagery and such is meant to convey what this feels like.

Recall what Odin says in Grimnismal. It goes something like this, since I can't be arsed to find the exact quote:

Huginn and Muninn fly over the world every day; while I fear Huginn ("thought") may not return, I fear Muninn's ("memory's") absence most.

When a society collapses, so does it's memory. It loses its technology, its methodologies, its paradigms, and everything it has learned about the world up to that point. Gone. Entire chapters of history erased.

What causes societal collapse is not always a conquering force, but is oftentimes the result of circumstances that a society orchestrates for itself. Think Rome.

People who have gone through societal collapse will probably develop an invested interest in figuring out how to prevent it entirely, so they don't have to start society all over again.

It's one thing to preserve the memory of "things collapsed and here's why" using a story. But it's another thing to do what apparently the Norse people did, which is cultivate a methodology for cognitively hardening their own society against collapse, using stories as a way to do it.

Like...I'm not kidding when I say they legitimately knew how the human mind works, and then built an entire system of stories and narratives that intentionally support the mind's freedom, cultivation, and agency. I can only convey a fraction of how this works in this post because the rest requires a deep-dive into behavioral psychology and neurological development.

All the tales leading to Ragnarok demonstrate various instances where the gods choose to follow their own agendas at the expense of the real people and forces in the world. All of these little things contribute to the magnitude of the event that is Ragnarok.

The tales represent these transgressions using allegories rather than literal events. This is because these stories were designed for children, who don't process information through a prefrontal cortex like we do as adults. They don't have them yet. But this gives kids an intuitive understanding for how circumstances of collapse feel, so they can recognize them in all their forms.

Loki is an allegory for the mischief we feel as children, and for the behaviors we demonstrate before we get to the age where we start valuing cooperation. In the myths, every time Loki causes mischief in ways that creates problems, the gods get mad at him and threaten Loki's life until he fixes his mess. Loki eventually becomes vindictive, kills Baldr in a jealous fit, and then is punished by being bound and buried beneath the ground, only to fight against the gods in Ragnarok.

The surface-level takeaway is a lesson in parenting: If we punish kids for their mischief, they're going to become vindictive adults, and these adults are going to have it out for the rest of society because they've been disenfranchised.

But it doesn't just end here. Consider how we punish ourselves for our own sense of mischief, beating ourselves up for having "problematic" thoughts and trying to bind and bury those thoughts in the depths of our mind.

These thoughts come from a place our mind known as the limbic system, which is focused on avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and—most importantly—does not understand the world or make decisions using logic and reason, but in terms of what feels enjoyable and what doesn't.

We tend to call this system our inner child.

When we punish our inner child, that child starts doing exactly what Loki does and resorts to malicious and petty tricks. We can hold this behavior at bay until something causes us to "snap" (like Jörmungandr's tail does) and out comes the malice of the disenfranchised inner child, which creates a terrible cascade of social consequences for us.

Now, if we were to listen to these stories as kids, we would naturally be very upset whenever Loki was threatened of punished, because we think out of the limbic system at that age and Loki is meant to represent us—specifically, the state of being a kid. We would see what comes to pass, with Loki being imprisoned and fighting the gods against Ragnarok, and it would become clear to us that there's consequences for punishing mischief AND also causing too much of it.

Now I don't know about you, but I was very motivated by a sense of justice as a kid. Hearing Loki's arc would have inspired me to learn how to be friends with my sense of mischief while also learning to use it in ways that were cooperative and social, because this would have been how I could right the wrong I felt was done to Loki. It would also mean my own limbic system will not fight against me in the future, but be a modality of thought I can always access. (This is the beauty of the way the Norse myths are crafted; they are designed to instill knowledge of the world using mechanisms that reinforce one's own sense of agency and competency, so rather than being told the moral of this tale, it sets me up to run right into the conclusion it wants me to draw, but in a way that makes me feel smart and therefore inspires me to value it.)

The binding of Fenrir serves a similar allegory. When we become explosively angry in the way that Fenrir represents, it consumes our wisemind the same way Fenrir consumes Odin during Ragnarok. But this only happens if we bind Fenrir/our anger. By demonizing this nature of ours simply for existing, it will not only refuse to listen to us, but also turn against us. Remember that Fenrir was willing to socialize and cooperate with the gods before his betrayal.

(Honestly, I believe this is why ulfheiðnar existed the way they did. Even though the animalistic rage of ulfheiðnar was too terrible for domestic society, it was not demonized, but instead given a social function. People would learn to understand and partner with their own sense of rage, and I'm guessing this is also how they were able to keep their sense of reason and priorities straight even while going berserk from psychoactives.)

These two examples serve to illustrate how societal collapse stems from binding or punishing our own natures. But also fearing our own nature as mortals factors into it.

For example, Naglfar. This is a ship constructed of dead people's fingernails, and its completion is part of what signals the beginning of Ragnarok. But as the story goes, we can delay Naglfar's construction by trimming the nails of the dead before we bury them.

Naglfar represents "neglect for the dead," and this is significant because the act of no longer viewing the dead as people is sort of like the canary in the coal mine for no longer view each other as people...and no longer seeing people as people is what defines Ragnarok.

A society is at peace when its people have no fear of death, and having no fear of death comes only by incorporating death as a normal and familiar part of life, just like we do with birth. Our relationship with death is a litmus test for our relationship with our own humanity—if we fear the dead and cannot see them as human beings, then we are always going to fear a part of our own humanity, and be at war with it. The simple act of keeping the nails of the dead well-groomed because it stalls Naglfar's construction was a way to remind people why such a simple act was profoundly important.

And these are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head that are the most obvious examples. There are—and I shit you not—multitudes of these things laced within the Norse myths.

(I haven't even gotten to the part about how the Norse creation myth uses what the womb feels like to characterize it. Telling this story to very little children helps them establish a sense of familiarity, belonging, and secure attachment with the entire world from the get-go. If they learn the world is everything they've already experienced, then their bodies will never be afraid of it, because nothing about it will feel unknown or unknowable. Like, how fucking dope can you get.)

So here's where we get to the really dense irony of all this: Why we don't pick up on all these nuances as Westerners and have so far missed this entirely.

It is for two reasons.

The first is because our society values the things that the Norse people identified as contributing to societal collapse—namely, the act of conquering/competing against other forces and conquering/competing against our own natures. The transgressions of the Aesir are not things we register as problematic because to us they're normal.

The second is that we don't think animistically. The way we are taught to convey, interpret, and transmit information is designed PURELY by and for the prefrontal cortex, with neglect to everything else (if you ever wonder why Americans look weird in how we behave, this is why). But because we only prioritize communicating this way, we're missing out on all the context added within the Norse myths. These myths function the same way Old Norse kennings did, in that they are designed to speak to ALL areas of the brain at once and in tandem, but if we only engage with it using one part of the brain, we're only going to get a small piece of the picture and the rest is going to look weird.

(Little experiment for you: Try to logic something out in your mind or think through a complex problem without using words or sentences to do it. Use any other kind of thought-process besides language. I promise you that not only is this possible, but it yields a completely different kind of experience and conclusion than you might otherwise reach.)

Honestly, I don't even think Snorri himself fully understood what he was looking at when he was recording the Norse myths. I think he was just writing them down according to how they were told, word-for-word. But his cluelessness is our good fortune now, because he not only preserved the cultural stories, but also what I consider an entire cognitive technology.

And every time I look at it, I can't help but think about the generations of people who sat around the fire in the dead of winter, weaving, crafting, and figuring out better ways to fortify their society, raise kids so they became fine and truly fearless people, and conserve information. This is, as far as I'm concerned, real magic.

They knew some shit.

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, [Ch. 6], Ch. 7, Ch. 8

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

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Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

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Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 25 - All I Know

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Finally accepting that this story is just a very horny, romantic rewrite of the Boys. Like we will be doing much plot and thesis, but the biggest theme is that the world could be exploding and these two would still find a way to be horny and in love about it.

Chapter Title from The Fall by Imagine Dragons

Word Count: 26.8k (my hand slipped, sorry)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben take a trip to Red River. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, established relationship

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Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

The gun range is wrapped in glittering lights and colorful bubbles that bounce off the walls, and when the bang of the gun echoes through the room, you turn around, glaring at Ben’s determined, insufferably handsome face.

“It’s not working.” 

“Keep fucking try-“

“Benjamin, I swear to God, if you tell me to keep fucking trying, I’ll cut off your left ballsack.”

He frowns. “Only the left one-“

“It’s my least favorite.”

“What the fuck is better about the right one-“

“Personal preference is a thing, Pretty Boy. Maybe it’s hairier, maybe it’s less hairy, and I’m never telling you which is which.” 

“You’re only hurting yourself,” Ben drawls, leaning back against the wall. “If you tell me, I can start doing the same thing with the left one, and you’ll love both my ballsacks equally.”

“I already love them both equally,” you shrug, a grin creeping onto your face as you reload the gun in your hand. “If you don’t believe me, we can go home and I-”

“No.” Ben snaps, closing the space between you in two steps, grabbing your shoulders physically turning your body back to the target. “We’re going until you get it. Now.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes with a fake pout. “If you’re turning down my blowjob, am I allowed to shoot you-”

“Not turning it down, Sunshine.” Ben winks before grabbing your chin, moving your gaze back to the gun range. “Delaying it, until you fucking get this. Go.”

You sigh, and raise the gun. This is your sixteenth attempt to get this right, to fully control what Ben is calling your brain tricking shit. You’re supposed to fire the gun without Ben seeing or hearing, as he stands right behind you.

Of the many issues with this plan—you’re not sure you can fully control the sensory manipulation, it’s weird singing in a gun range, and Ben keeps being very distracting—the main one is that you’ve barely gotten better with a gun. You don’t stumble when you shoot it anymore, but it still takes a lot of focus to hit the target. Focus that you can’t spare.

Ben is convinced you can do it. That you’re perfectly fucking capable of doing this, Sunshine. You’re smart and strong and hot as fuck, and if you need motivation, I’ll eat you out when you get it. And fuck you. I’ll fuck you as well.

In a way, it’s comforting to know that love is making both of you idiots. Because Ben’s wrong—you won’t be able to control this, no matter how vulgarly and aggressively he believes in you—and you’re a lot more encouraged by the promise of Ben eating you out than he’ll ever get to know.

Overall, though, it’s probably a detrimental incentive. Ben’s still pressed against your back, and he’s correcting your form in an unnecessarily hands-on manner that’s making it simply impossible to focus. His arms are around you, and all you can think about is them pinning you down, caging you against your bed. His beard brushes against your cheek as he tells you something you don’t hear, and you want to feel it between your thighs. His hands are grabbing at your body, adjusting your stance and hold on the gun, and you want them everywhere. In your hair, rubbing patterns on your skin and your clit, slapping your pussy once before he pushes big, rough fingers deep inside of you and grumbles your name against your-

“You are not fucking paying attention to me.”

You blink at him, feeling your face flush. “Yes, I-“

“Don’t fucking lie, Sunshine.” Ben drops his face to being level with yours, a wide smirk on his face. “I can hear your heart racing, and you’re looking at me like you want to fucking eat me.”

“Shut up-”

“I want to fucking eat you, beautiful. Watch you squirm under me, hear you moan my fucking name.” He leans forward, lips brushing against your ear, breath sending a shiver down your spine. “That what you want? Want me to fucking ravish you?”

Ravish? Who taught you ravish?

You did, smartass. Ben drops to your neck, kissing a light trail across your collarbone. Answer my fucking question.

Yes, please. You take an uneven breath, and when Ben nips at that one spot, your whole body shudders. A soft, golden mist is filling the room, and just as the idea is forming in your head, Ben draws back.

“Then earn it-“

His smug words are cut off as you reach up, pulling his stupid, handsome face back down to yours. Kissing him with every piece of that unending thirst, sucking on his lower lip until he groans. Ben’s hands fly up—cupping your face and tugging you a little off the ground—and you can feel the hunger in him flare, overriding any resolve to finish training.

Not a fair fucking play, he grunts in your head, even as he jams his tongue down your throat, walking you backwards into the dividers. You think you’re really goddamn clever-

I am clever, you smile against him, keeping your hand carefully off the gun’s trigger. And you can just push me away-

Not a chance in fucking hell. Ben pushes his knee between your thighs, angling your head back and leaving sloppy kisses down your throat. I’m going to fuck you right here, clear that smart, pretty fucking head of yours, and then you’re going to finally goddamn focus.

The golden mist is growing stronger, starting to glow and cast the room in a soft, warm light. You tangle a hand in Ben’s hair, urging him further as you grind against his leg.  Do I still get eaten out after?

His chuckle rolls through your body, clearing your brain to a pure, natural bliss. If you’re real fucking good, we’ll see.

You moan, leaning further into him, following the urge in you of Ben. The chorus of Ben, Ben, Ben, better than food and laughter and the sky and the ocean. Better than the sun and the stars and the earth and the music. Ben. His hands kneading on your waist, his teeth scraping on your skin, the smell of pine and gunpowder and coffee invading you everywhere. Light dancing off the walls, the world a little easier and better because the song of Ben is filling your body, making everything just good. So simply good.

Somewhere in the haze, you manage to raise the gun and pull the trigger. And when Ben doesn’t even flinch, you grin.

Did it.

His movements against you falter. Did what.

Earned it.

Ben draws back to his full height, frowning down at you. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

You gesture to the gun in your hand, then point to the range. To the small, still-smoking hole in the mattress-padded far wall.

Ben blinks at it, then looks back at you with narrowed eyes. “You missed.”

“I didn’t have to hit the target, I had to fire the gun without you noticing.” Your grin widens, all teeth and straining at your face. “So I fucking did it.”

You feel something charged and bright swell in Ben’s chest, and his thumb runs over your cheekbone with a careful touch as he scoffs. “I didn’t hear you singing-“

“Didn’t need to,” you shrug, dropping your head against his body. Burying your increasingly warm face where he can’t see it, muffling your words against his body. “Found another way.”

“What other way.”

It doesn’t help, how the low rumble of Ben’s voice is all around you, echoing off the walls of your ribcage, making something inside you fuzzy and wired. Doesn’t matter-

He grunts your name, and you sigh.

When, um, when I get turned on, I kind of-

You do the brain trick. I’ve noticed. He tugs on your hair, just enough to pull you back and meet his eyes. That worked for this shit?

Yeah. Your whole face is flushed, and your breath is already becoming shallow under Ben’s gaze, pulling you apart with a reverence that makes you swallow. It, um, it did. How did you know-

I’d have to be real damn stupid not to notice, Sunshine. You look like you’re made of fucking stars when you cum. 

Oh

Don’t get fucking shy on me. Ben lifts you up into a soft kiss, and smirks against your lips. It gets me going. Could get there myself just by watching you. He pauses, and his hands drop under your thighs, pulling you up his body without ever fully taking his mouth from yours. Let’s do that. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as you hum into him. Do what.

You’re going to fucking cum, and I’m going to watch-

“Ben,” you lean back, giving him a flat look. “You have to meet with Ryan right after this.”

“Then we’ll be quick-“

You snort. “We both know that’s a lie. We’re never quick. We say we’ll be quick, that I’ll just suck your dick and then we’ll go to dinner, and then you’re fingering me on the floor and I’m riding you until Annie calls us to ask why we’re twenty minutes late-“

“I am not going to feel bad for fucking you,” he grumbles, squeezing your ass as he hauls you further up his chest. “It’s your goddamn fault, you never stop me. You’re supposed to be the brains-“

“I am the brains,” you drag your hands over his back, rolling your hips against his torso, and Ben makes a low grunt that vibrates through your blood and bones. “Which is why I’m telling you that we’ll fuck later. After you train with Ryan.”

Ben scowls. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You kiss his cheek, and Ben sighs, all his love in you furiously devoted, the world sharp as he leans into your touch. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he mutters your name, and you pull back to watch him, a wide, almost instinctual smile on your face. “We could be quick-“

“Nope.” You start to squirm out of his arms, and his grip on you tightens. You give him a sharp glare, and he shrugs.

“We’re not fucking done here-“

“Benjamin, what else could we possibly have to do-“

“You can’t only control the magic brain shit when you’re horny,” he snaps. “You have to do it with the goddamn music, or we have to find other ways-“

You sigh. “I know, but,” you shake your head, moving your hands to trace along his jaw, running the hair of his beard between your fingers. “It’s going to be a long day. We’ve got Red River, and we don’t know what to expect, and I don’t want to-“

“Fine.” Ben’s grunt is low, but it’s fueled by all the solid, zealous care in his body. Wrapping around your skin and heart, keeping you safe in his arms. “But tomorrow-“

“I’ll try it with the music.”

“You’ll fucking do it with the music-“

“Okay, Yoda.” You start to wiggle away once more, and this time Ben helps you down, keeping an arm around you under you’re on steady legs. “Thank you.”

“Don’t-“

You wrinkle your nose at him, folding your hand into his. “Let me thank you, or the ball cutting is back on the table-“

Ben tugs you forward—affection and amusement rushing through him at the small yelp that leaves your body—and spins you until you’re tucked at his side, his arm over your shoulders. “You won’t cut my balls, Sunshine.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, muttering the words into your hair. “You love me too fucking much, it would hurt you a lot damn more than it would hurt me.”

He’s right. You do love him too much. Ben’s eyes are electric on yours—holding you up into a light you’ve never felt before him, boring into a deep part of your body that only he’s seen—and you know you love him a little more than you should. Not because you shouldn’t love him—you’re meant to love Ben, nothing feels more natural and simple than loving Ben—but because you’re growing more and more certain that it’s not just a romantic notation you’ve invented in your Ben-addled brain, that you love him more than anyone’s ever loved anything. You do. Your love for him is bigger than the ever-expanding universe, stronger than every force that moves the world. It’s like gravity. Your love for Ben is solid and vast and everywhere. It’s inevitable, and permanent, and dependent, and so innately part of you that it’s in every breath and heartbeat. When Ben kisses the space between your eyes and lets you guide him out into the hall, mumbling a goodbye against your lips, he’s alight and warm in your chest. Humming and steady with his arms around you, all the same as when he turns and leaves to the gym, and you set off down the hall alone.

We’re fucking when I get home. We set aside specific time so I could fuck you before we left, and we’re goddamn using it. Ben’s words echo in the silence, and you smile into the air.

I think I can live with that. Deal.

Deal. There’s a pause, Ben’s love in your body sitting in ease at the top of your ribs, and then, what the fuck are you doing while I’m gone.

A-Train, I need to talk to him before we go.

The hell do we need from that pussy.

That’s not very nice, he’s been helpful-

He has not been fucking helpful-

Yes, he has.

How.

You pause, and squint at nothing. Technically, A-Train has provided incredibly useful information, if this was a year ago. If you were fighting a pre-Sage Vought, a pre-Sage Homelander, knowing Vought passwords and company secrets would’ve been helpful. But the game changed, and what constitutes helpful did as well.

You don’t have a goddamn clue- 

Fuck you, he’s trying. And he can help with this.

What the fuck are you asking him.

Don’t you have to train Ryan-

He’s stretching. Answer my question.

You sigh. Red River. I want to know what he’s heard about it, if he has any idea what the fuck the Cornucopia is.

Annie didn’t-

Annie wasn’t in the tower for as long as A-Train was. And it can’t hurt to ask him.

Whatever. Be safe-

It’s just A-Train-

Be fucking safe anyway.

Can you tell Ryan I say hi.

I already did, tell me you’re going to be fucking safe-

I’ll be safe, Benjamin, you cunt. I love you. 

Good. I love you too, Sunshine.

The presence of Ben fades into the static of the world around you as you continue down the hall, looking for A-Train’s apartment. You probably should’ve done this a few days ago, but you’ve been busy. Despite the perpetual news from Mallory that Singer was working on it, so be patient, you still had work to do.

You’d finally told Ben about the Soldier Boy V you’d given to Butcher. You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret, but you kept getting distracted. You’d remember that you needed to tell him at all the worst possible moments—the thought flashing through your head only moments before Ben was picking you up and dropping you onto the bed, burying himself between your thighs and making everything else seem less than important—so you’d done it over dinner, where that wasn’t a risk. Ben had said something old—it had probably been about music, because Hughie had looked like someone had shot him, but Ben had some sauce on his upper lip that you wanted to lick, so you weren’t really paying attention—MM had muttered someone needs to figure out how to make you look like the ancient asshole you are, and you’d remembered.

As the groans and glares had died down, you’d nudged Ben’s shoulder with your own, keeping your gaze passively on Frenchie as he talked about the various merits of French Rap.  I need to tell you something.

What. What the fuck is wrong. You’d felt Ben’s eyes on you, the weight of his concern and care pressing on your lungs, and given a small shake of your head.

I’m okay, Ben. I did something, though, and I need to tell you. But you need to not break anything when I do.

He’d paused. What did you fucking do.

Promise you won’t lose it.

No. Tell me.

Benjamin-

I’m not swearing a single goddamn thing, Sunshine. You have the worst goddamn track record for secrets, and they always fucking hurt you. He’d paused, and the ache had flared slightly over his head and heart. They fucking hurt me.

You’d sighed, leaning your head onto his shoulder. This won’t hurt me. You might not like it, but I promise it won’t hurt me. I just need you to tell me you won't kill anyone.

He’d grumbled your name in your head. Just fucking tell me-

Please, Ben-

I won’t kill anyone. The fuck did you-

The V didn’t break. The V I took from the tower, our V, it didn’t break. I gave it to Butcher.

He’d gone rigid at your side, but both the table and Butcher had remained intact, so it felt like a victory. What.

I gave the V to Butcher-

And why the goddamn hell would you do that.

I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to chose what to do with it-

So you gave it to fucking Butcher?! The fuck is Butcher going to do with it?!

You’d shrugged, looking up at Ben’s scowl with raised brows. Use it, probably. I’d bet he’s going to use it.

Yeah, I fucking got that, smartass. Ben had rolled his eyes, hand fisting on the table as he shot Butcher a glare. Who the goddamn hell could he use it on. It doesn’t exactly have a perfect fucking success rate.

It doesn’t? You’d frowned, tugging Ben’s shirt until he looked back down to you. What do you mean.

I mean you and I are the only fucking survivors. I went into Dr. Vought’s trials with almost one-fifty other fuckers, I’m the only one that lived. You survived yours as well, and that’s it.

You’d blinked, glancing back at Butcher. Oh, shit. I didn’t know that.

Fucking obviously-

I don’t think he’s going to use it on just anyone, though. It’ll probably be himself. Probably.

Ben had sighed. Fine. But that was a stupid fucking move-

Or maybe it was genius-

Shut the fuck up, it was dumb as shit and you know it.

It had been dumb as shit. Of all your many hazardous and less-than-ideal plays, that one had been born of exhaustion and stress, of being cracked and tired and in pain, and not wanting just another fucking thing to deal with. But you’d still done it, and you weren’t going to take it back. You really don’t think Butcher will shoot up anyone but himself, because there’s no reason for him to use it on anyone else. He won’t create another random supe, he won’t want to make Ben more powerful, and every week he seems to want you dead just a little less. He might be dangerously close to trusting you, even.

So you’d managed to talk Ben into leaving it, and letting it play out. If Butcher doesn’t use it, it never gets used. If he does, he’ll have to live with the consequences of that action, and be stuck with you and Ben for the next million years.

It’s not your problem anymore. And, if you’re being honest, you don’t really regret it. You might not make the same choice again, but this way you can focus on what’s in front you. On figuring out why your step-father is in Singer’s cabinet, and what you’ll do if he screws you over. On how the Boys had silently sided with you over Mallory, but you haven’t told them about Edgar’s possible leak. It’s not safe to do here—where you’re almost certainly under surveillance by the very people you don’t trust—but you’ll have to do it eventually. And then you’ll have to figure out who the leak is, and if there’s anything you can do about it. And if there isn’t, you’ll have to figure out what to do about that.

Today, though, is about Red River. About finishing Ben’s deal with Edgar, and praying that the Cornucopia is just an expensive statue or painting, or maybe even a bucket.

It’s probably not, but it could be. It would be so fucking easy if Edgar just wanted a very fancy bucket, and had decided to be as stress-inducing as possible about it. You have fifty dollars on the Cornucopia being a collection of classified Vought documents, but you’ll gladly lose that money to Frenchie’s bucket bet. You’ll do almost anything to lose that money, and just have to pick up a bucket. 

It was really the best possible option, and a lot easier to live with than Butcher’s very unhelpful bet of child, or MM’s bet of supe-killing weapon.

You were starting to think constant betting on life-ending events wasn’t a great way to run a CIA private-ops team. But you also didn’t have much else to do, and it was your only source of income, so if Butcher slams a fist on the table and yelled thirty quid that Sage and the Deep are fuckin, and that’s the only reason he ain’t dead, you’ll take that, amending your bet to they were fucking, but he gave her a fish-based STD and they stopped.

And it’s better to joke about these things, because the other option is dwelling on how truly fucked your life is. How much of the world hinges on you and the Boys getting this right, no fuck ups, no loose ends, no debts to Edgar or stupid mysteries to solve, just a dead Homelander and a bankrupt Vought.

Which is why you probably should’ve talked to A-Train as soon as MM told you Red River was a go. There were things you did have to do, like tracking Sage’s movements and speeches, keeping up with the various news and theories about your disappearance, preparing to meet with Singer and Muller, and working out a plan to get the V into Homelander, but you still had free time. You used a fair amount of it to help Ryan do his homework, or visit Annie and Hughie, or talk to Kimiko, but the majority of it was dedicated to Ben. Watching TV with him, training with him, cooking with him and laughing with him and fucking him. Sitting half on his lap when you made him and Ryan lunch, visiting them in the gym and talking to Ryan about books as Ben traced patterns on the skin of your leg.

Some of that time could’ve been sacrificed to visit A-Train. But you hadn’t wanted to. You’d wanted to let Ryan show you his progress, and feeling the undeniable pride flash and inflate over Ben’s chest. And it wasn’t like A-Train was going anywhere. Most of his time was spent sulking in his apartment, attending occasional dinners and refusing to participate in conversation. You didn’t judge that—it wasn’t like Ben was any better, you’re pretty sure that if it wasn’t for you and Ryan he’d be a hermit—but it did make talking to him feel less urgent. He was always in the same mood, annoyed, so you never had to worry about catching him at the right time.

It’s dependable. How when you knock on his door, it opens in a second and A-Train watches you with a weary, uneasy glare.

“What are you doing here.”

You frown, crossing your arms with a shrug. “Visiting you.”

“Why.”

“Am I not allowed to-“

“We’ve barely spoken since you got back,” A-Train snaps. “So why now. What do you want.”

“I don’t-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, guilt sparking in your gut. “Can I come in? To talk?”

A-Train looks you up and down, and for a second you think he’s going to turn you down. To tell you to eat shit and fuck off, let him wallow in peace. But he steps back, and jerks his head into the apartment, waiting for you to step inside before almost knocking you over with a gust of wind as he runs to sit at his dining room table.

You move to join him, glancing around the apartment and realizing it’s bare bones. Everyone has done something with their space—even Butcher’s black and white, cold-war akin minimalism has improved with Ryan moving in—but A-Train’s only has the basics. The generic, catalog type furniture the CIA provided to start with, nothing on the walls or floor, no plants or blankets or small pieces of evidence that someone lives here. If it wasn’t for the crumb-covered plate on the counter, you’d have mistaken it for one of the empty apartments.

“This isn’t my home,” A-Train mutters, and you realize you’d been staring. “It’s temporary. Until you dumbasses do your jobs and this shit is finished, then I can go home for real.”

“Is that what you want to do?” You tilt your head at him, lowering yourself into the seat opposite him. “When we’re done? Go home?”

“What else is there to do?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “You could try the hero thing for real-“

A-Train scoffs. “We both know there’s no world where that works. If it’s not another Vought, it’ll be the government fucking things up. They’ll build more places like this,” he nods to the wall and ceiling, giving you a flat look. “And turn supes into weapons instead of celebrities. At least with Vought they had to worry about approval ratings and quarterly sales. The CIA won’t.”

He’s right. You know he’s right, deep down, because you don’t have a retort or argument in your head that doesn’t circle back to being in his favor. It’s why you don’t trust Mallory, because in the end her loyalty isn’t to you, it’s to the government. To an overall, subjective greater good. In a careful order with minimal damage to the least people, without elimination of the problem altogether. Homelander’s death, Vought’s downfall, won’t fix the supe problem.

“What would you have the supes do after?” You ask A-Train, tone slow and cautious. “They won’t go into retirement, but we can’t just kill them. I mean, this has been your whole life-“

“I didn’t want it, though. I mean, I did want the money and the fame, but everyone wanted the money and the fame. I didn’t ask for this shit, it’s not my job to make it better.”

“You still did things you didn’t have to, though.” Your fingers tap against the wood of the table as you frown at him. “You’re not innocent, just because you didn’t start this. Whether or not you asked for it, you still benefited. You could’ve walked away at any point-“

“What, like Annie?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “Use my powers for good, fight against the system?”

“Maybe, yeah-“

“You can’t fight against this system,” A-Train hisses your name, and leans over the table with a scowl. “I just gamed it, and you can’t fucking blame me for that. I’m helping you because it’s the right thing, but that’s it. I’m not cleaning up the mess after.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you snap, your patience fraying. You don’t want to fight, but you’re still really tired, and you’re getting more and more sick of people just telling you they’ll only help on their terms. “I’m just pointing out that you’re not a victim. And yeah, you left Vought, and you’re helping us, but only because it’s convenient to your bottom line. If you really want to make up for everything, you’ll do something that’s not easy for you.”

“This shit isn’t-“

“It is. For you, it really is. Your family is safe and you’re not in any real danger. You’re hiding, not fighting. And I know you want to do something more-“

“No, I don’t.” A-Train sneers. “You don’t want to do this. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about picking up with Soldier Boy and just leaving, letting the people who actually fucked the world up put it back together. Hell knows I want to-“

“But you haven’t. You’re still here, just like I am, because you know that the people who fucked this won’t fix it. We have to-“

“We don’t have to do anything-“

“We do. There’s no after until we’re done. And nobody’s going to finish this but us. And us includes you.”

A-Train pauses, examining your set, taut features. “You thought about after?”

“A little, yeah.” You pause, taking a long breath and focusing on Ben’s love, still beating in your chest. “I will say you were right about that. It helps.”

“You going to make a life with Soldier Boy?” A-Train watches you carefully. “Or keep working for a bunch of ungrateful government dicks?”

“I’m not sure,” you mumble, letting a little bit of your frustration leave your fingers and stomach. “But a life does sound nice.”

“With Soldier Boy?”

“With Ben.” Always with Ben. Whether or not you’re dealing with the aftermath or living a peaceful, happy life far away from the mess in your wake, you’ll be doing it with Ben.

A-Train nods, and grunts, “Congrats on that, by the way.”

“Um,” you sigh, giving him an apologetic glance. “Look, I’m sorry about the whole you have to keep it a secret thing-“

“I was fine. It was annoying as shit, but mostly because he was so clearly fucking obsessed with you.” A-Train shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “You can’t sit in a room with that guy for ten minutes without the conversation somehow becoming about you. So good work.”

You flush, and Ben’s love hums inside you. “Oh. Thanks?” 

“No problem.”

“Do you have an after? Will you go back to your family?”

“They won’t take me,” A-Train mutters, eye dropping to glare at the table. “My brother won’t forgive me, and that means I won’t get to see my nephews. I’ll probably just fuck off.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I always wanted to go to those huge fucking mountains, the Rockies.”

“You’ve never been to the Rockies-”

“For press shit, yeah.” A-Train leg stops bouncing, his frown deepening. “But I wanted to go for myself.”

You hum. “So home will be Colorado-”

“Home,” A-Train mutters. “Will be any shit hole in the world that’s not here.”

You understand that. For the rest of your life, no matter where you go, there will always be a small part of you that’s afraid of the New York skyline. Even when it’s irrational, you’ll hate skyscrapers that Homelander could be watching you from, and billboards that could slide to his cruel, cold, evil smile watching you with teeth like eyes. You’re going to be haunted by the small things for a while. Even when Ben is there, you’re going to be crippled by leather and coconut and blue and the hum of a ceiling fan. It will get better, time and love will make it better, but it will always be a scar that follows you everywhere. It’s part of what’s making you tired, being here. Where Homelander and the CIA are still an ax over your head, looming closer and closer as you near the end.

“Would you want to go back to your family?”

Your question is measured and slow, and A-Train huffs. “Of course I fucking would. But Nate-“

“Forgiveness is earned.” You shrug. “You can’t just take it. It has to be given.”

“Whatever.”

You glare at him. “I’m serious. If you ever want there to be a chance for your brother to forgive you, you’ll have to prove you’ve changed.” 

He snorts, expression bored and flat. “And you’re going to tell me the only way is to step up, be a hero.”

“Wrong.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You don’t know me. Or what I’m going to say. And I don’t know your family, so I was done there. Maybe you’ll have to be a hero, maybe you’ll just have to be selfless once, and that will be it. But I don’t know.”

“Fine.” A-Train mutters, his eye roll not subtle, but also not filled with toxins. “You want to tell me what you’re here for now?”

You could keep pushing, but you don’t. It’s not your job to fix A-Train, so you leave it. Taking a long breath, chewing on your lip and studying A-Train’s passive frown. “Red River.”

A-Train blinks. “What?”

“The supe orphan-“

“I know what Red River is. Why are you talking about it?” 

You swallow. “Has anyone mentioned the whole Stan Edgar thing to you?”

A-Train’s eyes widen. “No. Nobody tells me shit, what did Edgar do-“

“Technically nothing,” you mumble. “Ben sort of owes him a favor. We have to get something for him, from Red River. And I wanted to ask if you have any idea what it might be.”

“He didn’t tell you?” A-Train frowns, and you’re grateful he doesn’t dwell on the Ben owes Edgar a favor thing. To be fair, it’s probably because he doesn’t care, but it still makes this a lot easier.

“Nope. Just said to pick up the Cornucopia and bring it back to him.”

“The Cornucopia? Like one of those weird horns?”

A-Train either has genuinely no clue what you’re talking about, or is an incredible actor. You don’t think it’s the latter, because his look of such pure confusion is hard to fake.

“We don’t know,” your brow draws together as you try to remember every idea for what the Cornucopia could be, and how likely a literal cornucopia was in comparison to Kimiko’s pitch of just a lot of money. “Maybe. But it sounds like a codename, and I wanted to know if you had any sort of idea about it. Or anything about Red River that we might not know.”

“You ask Annie?” 

You shake your head. “She knows just as much about it as the rest of us. But you were there longer-“

“I also got kicked out for a year, in case you idiots forgot. And I wasn’t exactly Edgar’s best friend-“

“If you don’t know anything, just say that and I’ll leave. You don’t need to be a dick.”

A-Train blinks. “Really.” 

His voice is flat, disbelieving, and you sigh. “Yeah. Really. I’m not here to fight, I just had to ask. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“I,” A-Train hesitates, and he shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know. About the Cornucopia, I’ve never even heard of it. But Red River. I know some stuff about that.”

You’re silent, giving him a sharp nod to continue as you go still in your chair.

“It’s not just Vought that funds it. It’s subsidized, by the government.”

“How do you-“

“Ashley told me.” A-Train says, shifting slightly in his chair as his legs start to shake the table. “After you guys pretended to kill Neuman, she had to go through all their records and make sure nobody could figure out the connection. And she found records from the past thirty years, massive tax write-offs without explanation, that essentially pay for half of that place.”

You nod slowly. “And she didn’t know before.” 

“No.” A-Train gives a dry snort. “They tell her less than they told me.”

“So,” you bite your tongue, picking out your words carefully. “It’s a federal sponsorship. The IRS would have to approve the write-offs.”

“I guess-“

“It makes sense why they would. Don’t want rogue, unstable parent-killing babies running around with the general public. And the government has to have known about compound V for a while, they sponsored the Soldier Boy trials as well.” You frown into the air, rising to your feet as your brain continues to turn. “Um, thanks,” you glance back down at A-Train, still in his seat. “This was helpful.”

“Are you-“

“I have to go. But, really, thank you.” You give him an awkward thumbs up, walking backwards to the door. “I just need to figure something out. Now.”

You half run into the hall, and don’t wait for the door to close behind you to shout down your line to Ben.

Red River is government funded.

There’s only a split-second pause before he responds. What.

A-Train says Red River gets huge tax write-offs, for no reason. Enough to cut the cost in half.

How the fuck does he-

Ashley told him. This isn’t good, Ben. Red River covered up compound V’s less than ideal results, and the government has to have had a reason to cover up V. It can’t just be the kindness of their hearts. There has to be some sort of deal.

The government and Vought were real fucking tight in my day. Maybe it’s just a roll over from then, and none of these dumb fucking pussies have noticed.

No, it’s only the past thirty years. That’s in the nineties, after Vought and the government drifted away from each other. And it’s millions of dollars, someone would have noticed.

Well that’s all I fucking had, Sunshine. What do you-

I don’t know. You sigh. I’m worried though. We’re going there this afternoon, and if it’s government sponsored-

No telling who the fuck will be waiting for us.

Exactly. We need to-

You yelp as someone filled with tension across their body and a bitter, foul hollow in their chest grabs your arm, and yanks you into a dark room. Your fist makes contact with something, you hear a crunch, and then a shout of pain.

“The bloody hell is your problem?!” You hear shuffling—a few things falling over and several more low grunts—and a light flicks on. You’re in a cleaning supply closet, and Butcher is glaring at you like he wants to kill you, holding his bloody nose with one hand. “You ain’t allowed to just fuckin punch people-“

“I’m allowed to punch people who drag me into dark closets! For the second fucking time!” You snap, keeping an eye on Butcher as you turn inwards to Ben, pounding in your chest as his voice roars your name in your head.

God fucking damnit, his voice is strain, his love pulling tight over your chest. Fucking answer me-

I’m okay, you glare at Butcher, who’s shifting through the shelves for some paper towels, blood dripping on the floor. Butcher pulled me into a closet, instead of just asking me to talk like a normal fucking person.

A weight dissipates from your lungs, and something loosens from around your throat. Fucking Christ, Sunshine, you nearly gave me a heart attack.

You can’t get heart attacks-

Shut the fuck up, I’m serious. Don’t do that.

You sigh. He’s getting better about the overprotection—you haven’t fought about Red River again, and he’s not trying to push against you going to the next Singer meeting—but it’s never going to fully stop. He’s Ben, worrying over you and caring about you is how he shows you he loves you. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t adorable, that it didn’t make you love him all the more. The darker side of it breaks your heart, the fear—though he’ll never call it that himself—that eats at Ben, that he’ll fail you again. But in better moments, it’s Ben wrapping himself over your body, shoving food in front of you with a scowl, and kissing you like he’s just returned from war when you’ve only been apart for two hours. 

This is born from the fear, though. So you make your voice soft, gentle and soothing. I know. I’m okay, I promise.

Good. There’s a pause, and then, what the fuck does Butcher want.

Don’t know yet, he’s mostly just being a massive bitch about me breaking his nose.

You broke his nose?

I think. You squint at Butcher, trying to tell if the crooked shape of the bridge was you, or one of the countless other people who also decided his face was punchable. Probably.

Ben glows in your chest, his voice smug. That’s my girl.

Thank you. Your face flushes, and his chuckle bounces around your ribs. Are you done with Ryan?

Just finished. He told me to tell you that he finished reading Percy Jackson, and I told him to tell you himself-

You just did tell me, Ben.

Shut the fuck up.

Did he really finish already? The books arrived yesterday-

It’s not like he’s got a fuck ton else to do. It’s just reading those damn books, and training with me. He’s getting fucking good, by the way. Did a clean cut on the target today, so get ready to hear about it for a damn year at dinner.

You smile into the air, something so incredibly bright and strong easing over your heart. We won’t be at dinner, Ben. We have Red River.

Fuck. There’s a pause, and then, We do. Forgot to tell him-

I’ll have Butcher do it. And tell that we’ll have breakfast with him tomorrow morning.

We-

Yes, we. You’re making pancakes. Talk when I’m home?

You hear his grunt, and can perfectly picture his small, rough nod. Fine.

I love you.

I love you too, Sunshine. Tell Butcher to eat my fucking taint.

You have to know I’m not going to do that-

“You done bein all fuckin lovey-dovey with Soldier Boy? I ain’t got a million damn years, Love, and I’m sure he’ll be all laid out and ready to fuck when we’re finished.”

I’ll see you at home, Benjamin. You glare at Butcher—the bleeding has stopped, plugged by two tissues stuffed in his nostrils—as Ben turns back into a warm imprint near your heart and a faint smell of pine around you. “You kidnapped me-“

“This ain’t a kidnappin-“

“And I’m busy, what’s so urgent that-“ You cut yourself off, swallowing down your words as you look around the closet. “Do they bug the storage spaces?”

“Nah, I did a real tight sweep before, ain’t nothin in here but spiders and windex-“

You whirl around, locking the door. “I need to ask you something.”

“I’m the one who’s askin you-“

“And if you want an answer,” you turn back around, glaring at Butcher and crossing your arms. “You’ll answer my question.”

“I thought you were in a fuckin hurry.” Butcher sneers. “Suddenly you got the time when I can be your question whore-“

“Shut up. Did Mallory approve Red River?”

Butcher coughs. “She, ah, she ain’t aware we’re going.”

You blink at him, gaping slightly. “At all?”

“She thinks we’re still in-fighting. Deliberatin. Hughie gonna drive you lot in my car, she won’t even know you bloody left-“

“Yeah, that’s not what I’m worried about.” You sigh, narrowing your eyes at Butcher. “Why. Why haven’t you told her.”

Butcher shrugs. “Same fuckin reason you gave me the V and not her, I reckon.”

There’s a silence for a second as you and Butcher glare at each other, neither of you willing to say it first.

You don’t have all day, though, so it’s good that Butcher breaks when he does.

“I don’t trust her with Ryan. She still wants to use him against Homelander, but he’s ain’t ready for that. Becca,” Butcher tugs one of the tissues out of his nose, crumpling it in his hand. “She wouldn’t have wanted that. She’d have fuckin loathed the idea.”

“Okay.” Your fingers start to tap against your arm, and you lean back against the door. “Why don’t you trust her on Red River.”

Butcher drops the blood-stained tissue to the ground, kicking it under a shelf. “You don’t trust her on Red River.”

“You don’t trust me-“

“I trust you with Ryan.” His words are clipped and shot, and he holds your glare. “You ain’t gonna put him in danger, and he likes you. Thinks you’re fuckin sliced cotton candy and coke. Grace don’t trust you, but she thinks you ain’t able to see the bottom line-“

“Because of Ben.” You mutter, nails digging into your skin, and Butcher scoffs.

“We don’t got to keep pretending, Love. You’ll blow the whole fuckin world up for that cunt.”

“I-”

“But you’d do that shit for Ryan, too.” Butcher’s glare doesn’t soften, but it wavers. And you realize it was never hateful, just guarded. Like Butcher’s still trying to find a reason to hate you, and it’s frustrating him that he can’t. “And you’re still fuckin here. You’re still fightin, and I ain’t gonna police you if you’re gettin results. You and Soldier Boy hurt my fuckin eyes with all your damn moonin over each other, but are less bleedin unstable cock-twats when you’re together, so I ain’t gonna compromise that either.”

“Compromise-“

Butcher gives you a flat look. “We both know if Grace knew what was really up with this Red River shit, she’d cut it off at the bloody head, and Edgar wouldn’t be real fuckin pleased with Soldier Boy. Think of it as an olive branch. I’ll keep your back if you don’t fuckin stab me in mine.”

You extend a hand. “Deal.”

Butcher hesitates, glancing at your bare skin, then back up to your bored, neutral face, his expression uneasy. And just when you think he’s going to tell you to take his word, his hand shoots out. His grip is like iron—as if he thinks he can keep the empathy away from his body through sheer, brute will—and a rush of that same, souring and shadowed feeling rushes through your body. It’s tired, but not like you. This tired isn’t cold and cracked, it’s like a tornado. Pushing and pushing and pushing, tearing through the world in just a little more until it’s forced to drop.

The feeling is yanked from your body as Butcher releases you, taking a step back and rubbing his hand like you’d burned him—you hadn’t, you’d been very careful not to burn him—and you run your tongue over your teeth, raising your brows at him.

“You wanted to ask me something.”

Butcher nods—hands sliding into his pockets as he looks you up and down—and his words sound forced, like he hates saying them. “What was it like. Bein made into a supe as an adult.”

You’ve tried not to think about that. You’ve locked that memory—of the V being pumped into your body—far, far in the back of your head. It had felt like death, and every time after the first had only been worse. It had been everywhere, ripping apart your body and searing into your bones, boiling your blood and freezing your organs and muscles and nerves. Your whole body had only been pain. You can’t pass out because you’re being kept awake by this pain. It’s not blinding or numbing or deafening, it’s consuming. Everywhere in your body had been pain.

“It,” you pause, taking a long, steady breath. “It hurt. A lot.”

“How fuckin long.”

“It changed every time. First shot was the longest, but the ones after hurt more.”

Butcher shifts slightly on his feet. “Does it feel different. Than bein human.”

“I’m still human-“

“You know what I bloody meant-“

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m fucking correcting you.” Butcher almost flinches at your tone—sharp and cool—but doesn’t break your gaze as you continue. “I’m still fucking human, Butcher. I didn’t turn into a monster, or an animal, or an alien. I’m a human, and that’s it.”

Butcher’s lip curls. “We both know it ain’t that fuckin simple. I got a career in callin supe bullshit, Love, stompin them out when they stop pretendin to be human-“

“Nobody’s pretending to be anything, they’re just human-“

“I’ll believe that when I’m shown some fuckin evidence-“

“You have seen evidence,” you hiss, a slight itch under your skin but no smoke curling from your fingers. “You live with the fucking evidence. Kimiko’s evidence, Annie’s evidence, I’m fucking evidence. If I wasn’t human anymore, I’d have never even bothered working with you. You would have cornered me in the graveyard, and I would’ve just killed you. At any given point in the past year, I could’ve just fucking killed you. But I didn’t, because murder makes me feel bad. And you’ve killed a fuck ton more people than Annie and I combined.”

“What about your beloved Ben?” Butcher sneers, back straightening as he returns your glare with a mocking tone. “He ain’t any better than I am, I’d wager he’s got the blood of fuckin hundreds on his hands. Blood that wouldn’t be there if not for the V.”

That’s not the shot at you Butcher thinks it is. You’d spent hours fighting with yourself over that, and you’ve always drawn the same conclusion. You don’t care. As long as Ben keeps trying, keep proving to you in a thousand different ways that he cares—really, really cares about you and Ryan and, to a certain degree, your friends—you don’t care who he was. It’s not your job to forgive him, he’s never actually hurt you, but you don’t hold who he was against him. 

But you also know everything sadistic and crude that Ben did still wasn’t the V, it was him. He was a byproduct of his father, of Vought, of that razing and obliterating anger you’ve felt in him from the start, but it was still Ben who put the blood on his hands himself. 

Just like it’s Ben who’s wiped the stains of blood off of yours. Ben who’s been the first person to tell Ryan that none of this fucking shit is your fault, kid. Your dad’s an ass-leeching cock-pulling pussy, and you’re not. That’s fucking it, so don’t feeling guilty about something you didn’t do. Sins of the father, right Sunshine? and have Ryan believe it. Ben who kisses the space between your eyes and makes you smile and picks you up when you’re too tired to make the small walk up the stairs. Ben who gave Ryan an awkward, well-meaning pat on the head when Ryan had managed to hit a moving target for the first time, and made a wide-eyed, adorably confused face when Ryan had hugged him right after, but still returned the hug without hesitation. 

“He’s better,” you keep your voice bored and passive, angling your chin up to look down at Butcher, even as he stands above you. “He’s being better. I’ll never pretend he hasn’t done horrible things, but he’s changed, and that’s proof that he’s still human. Homelander’s a human as well, he’s just a horrible one. The V doesn’t turn people evil, Butcher, it’s their actions and choices.”

Butcher’s silent, and when you examine his face in the florescent light of the closet, he’s paler than you've seen him before, and his nose keeps twitching with his jaw, as if he’s trying to fight down a bad smell or taste.

“Why are you asking?” You know why he’s asking. You’re just testing if he’s willing to tell you. See how far this deal of got your back goes. You think Butcher is going to tell you to mind your own fuckin business.

He doesn’t. And you trust him a little more.

“I ain’t shot up yet,” Butcher grunts your name, whole body tenses like he might make a break for it at any second. “So get the fuckin thought out of your head-“

“You’re thinking about it though, aren’t you.”

He scowls. “That’s not your bloody business-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I gave the V to you because I don’t want it to be, so I’m not going to make this choice for you, Butcher-“

“I ain’t askin you to-“

“But,” you continue, ignoring Butcher’s protests. “I can tell you it hurts. It really hurts, and you feel like you’re going to die, and you might. This V isn’t the stable, mass-produced V. Ben says he and I are the only survivors. And if we count Stormfront, that’s three out of a hundred and fifty-two users that survived. Your odds aren’t great, but they’re not non-existent, and nobody’s allowed to make that gamble but you.” You tilt your head at Butcher, at his bloodless features, washed out in the light of the closet. “I can also tell you it won’t make you evil. If you take the chance, and it pays off, you’re still going to be you. And if you go on a rampage, killing anyone in your path, that will still be you. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. Got it?”

Butcher looks like he wants to yell at you, or taunt you, or maybe punch you. His jaw grinds as he nods, hands jammed almost violently into his pockets, and when you turn to leave he makes a low, strangled cough, pausing your hand on the door knob.

“I die,” he grunts, eyes resting uneasily on yours. “What will you do with Ryan.”

“Take care of him.” You don’t even have to think before you answer, the words almost falling out of your mouth. “We’ll make sure he’s safe. Just like now.”

“You and Soldier Boy.”

“Yeah. And tell him we’ll have breakfast with him tomorrow.” You give a tight nod, turning the handle slowly. “We done?”

Butcher makes a low huff, and you take it to be one of affirmation. And if it wasn’t, Butcher doesn’t try to stop you from opening the door and stepping out into the hall, leaving him alone in the flickering light of the closet.

It’s not your problem how this ends for Butcher. If he has an after, if he wants an after. He has his hand to play, and how he uses it isn’t within your control. But he’s got your back now, and you won’t stab him in his. Mostly because your back is your after—if this could be over before summer ends, A-Train was right, you really need to think about an after—and your after involves Ryan. Every fantasy and thought of a world with no Homelander. A world that’s still in ruins, but the storm has passed and now you can dedicate yourself to rebuilding, is you and Ben—always you and Ben—and Ryan. And Annie, and Hughie, and Kimiko and Frenchie and MM. Butcher is, against your better judgment, welcome as well.

But Butcher’s back is only Ryan. Your back is something better. A lifetime of smiling and watching Ben’s face light up with a pride you can feel in his ribs, of Ryan getting a real childhood, of having conversations with your friends that aren’t overshadowed by the constant fear that plagues all your lives.

So you have Butcher’s back. If he has his own back isn’t your problem.

You have enough problems to worry about as it is. There are two hours left until you, Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko leave for Red River. If Mallory doesn’t know you’re going, then you’re probably in the clear, but you still have to figure out some precautions.

You, Hughie, and Kimiko will have to turn off your cell-phones. There’s going to have to be a very strict no murder rule, as opposed to the usual, looser maim if necessary, and if that kills them, they should’ve tried harder not to die, rule. Someone will have to keep an eye on the door, and any Red River employees who might identify your identities. Ben won’t be able to wear his supe suit, and he’s not going to be happy about that.

He’s waiting for you when you walk into the apartment. Sitting at the dining table, fists curled on the wood and already glowering at you when you walk through the door.

“The fuck did Butcher want.”

You cross the room to Ben’s side—it’s half on instinct, your legs moving without thought—and wrinkle your nose at him. “No hello? Just straight to business, not even going to wine and dine me?”

“If you want me to wine and dine you right fucking now, Sunshine, all you have to do is ask.” He grins, turning his chair out and pulling you between his legs, letting your hands brace on his broad shoulders. “But you’re always on my damn ass about priorities-“

Ben’s words fall into a deep hum as you lean down—taking his stupid, smug, unreasonably attractive face between your hands—and give him a long, soft kiss. His hands tighten on your hips, tugging you down until you fall forwards, straddling his lap and leaning onto his chest.

You separate in harmony, Ben kissing your brow as you take a long, ragged breath, running your fingers through his beard, sitting in the feeling of his love. Warm and focused and alive in your body, paired with the gentle patterns his hand is tracing on your upper thigh, and the way that—when you look up to meet his eyes—he’s watching you the same way he always does. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen, and you’re only getting better with time.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben’s grin overtakes his whole face, sending something in your brain in a haywire of Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben.

“Hi, my love.” He bumps his nose with yours, and you can’t stop the easy, bright giggle that escapes you. Not when it makes the love in him start to roll around, beating against his chest to move further into you. “You want business later? Because I have a few fucking ideas for the pleasure-“

“You always have ideas for that. I’m pretty sure half your thoughts are just ideas for fucking.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, and the movement makes his cock—half-hard in his sweatpants—brush against your thigh, causing your thighs to push together slightly. He notices, he always notices, the asshole, and winks at you. “And you fucking love it.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble, dropping your head to rest of his neck, his chuckle rumbling through every part of your body.

“I will, right goddamn now if you want.” Ben’s arm around your waist drops, letting him squeeze your ass once as he lowers his mouth to brush over your ear. “But we won’t get any fucking business done, beautiful. Once you say the word, we’re going for the rest of the goddamn afternoon. So get all your lecturing and thoughts out now, before I fuck them out of you.”

You swallow, hugging his torso and squirming a little further up his body. He gives a low groan, and you smile against his skin. Think you’ll be able to pay attention, Benjamin? Sure you can focus on something other than fucking for fifteen minutes?

Ten.

We’re not negotiating-

The fuck we aren’t. You get ten minutes, then I get started.

We have two hours before we have to go-

And we’ll have to shower all the fucking cum off of you, and I’ll probably fuck you in there as well. Nine minutes.

You sigh against him, force yourself not to think about how he’s all sweaty from the gym—how you can taste the salt on his skin and feel his arms flexing around you—and start running through the highlights. I was right, Butcher’s going to use the V on himself. He wanted to know what it was like, when they injected me with it.

What did you tell him.

That it hurt. A lot.

Ben nods, his chin resting on the top of your head. I remember that shit. Felt like someone was fucking flaying me alive. He pauses, and you can hear the hitch of his breath in his throat. Did it hurt every time. When those science pussies did the other shots.

Yeah. More, actually.

You feel that sore ache, solid and wrathful and bloody, flare over your skin—Ben’s skin—and sigh into him.

There’s nothing you could’ve done about that, Ben. We didn’t even know each other-

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to fucking kill the cock-heads that did it. His love and care—all made of stone and zeal—rumbles through you with his voice, and his arms tug you a little closer. Nobody should fucking hurt you-

But they did, and it’s done. And I killed them already, so don’t throw a temper tantrum.

I’m not throwing a fucking temper tantrum-

Yes, you are. You kiss Ben’s throat, and a low grunt escapes his chest as you smile against him. But I love you for it, you giant fucking man child.

Shut the fuck up. His words are grumbled between your heads, but you can feel the glow in him start to spread over his every muscle and bone. Five minutes. What about A-Train. Red River.

Mallory doesn’t even know we’re going, so we’re good. We’ll have to be careful, though. No powers, no murder, no going off book.

What fucking book, we’re always just making this shit up as we go-

You look up, giving Ben a flat look. Let’s say the Genova conventions and call it a day. No war crimes.

It’s a goddamn orphanage-

Extra reason to be careful. We’re going in, getting the Cornucopia, and leaving. That’s it.

Ben rolls his eyes, but nods. A-Train got any idea what the fuck we’re getting, or is he still being a useless fucking pussy.

Nothing. You sigh, leaning back in Ben’s arms and tapping your fingers against his chest. Said he’d never even heard of it.

Because he’s fucking useless-

He’s trying, Ben. And Annie hadn’t heard of it either, I just wanted to cover all our bases. We’re going to find out soon anyway.

If it’s another fucking kid-

It’s not going to be another kid. Butcher’s just dramatic.

But if it is, we should keep it. 

You blink at him. What?

I don’t trust Edgar with a kid, and Ryan needs friends who aren’t fucking us and Kimiko. Like Neuman’s kid, he said they were friends. We should bring them here-

Are you trying to start a new orphanage? You give him a look of disbelieving amusement, tracing a hand over his jaw. Soldier Boy’s home for wayward baby supes? Am I going to come home one day and we’ll suddenly have a bunch of stray children?

That sore, itching embarrassment starts to crawl over Ben’s skin. Shut the fuck up, I’m just saying that if it’s a kid, we shouldn’t just fucking give it to Edgar-

We won’t, I promise. But I really don’t think it’s going to be a kid, Ben.

He sighs. Yeah, you’re holding out for the fucking bucket still.

It would make things easier-

Things are never fucking easier, Ben mutters your name in the silence, searching your face carefully. And I’ve fucking got you, but this might backfire. You need to goddamn swear to me you’ll be ready-

I’m ready for anything, Pretty Boy. You give him a kiss on the cheek, pressing your brow to his. And if it’s a kid, we’ll figure out what to do. Together.

You open your eyes, and find him still watching you, and if you couldn’t feel his adoration, you could see it. It’s painted all over his face, glazing over his eyes as he looks at you. He’s everything, and the whole universe feels trapped between your bodies, floating around somewhere near the place where that part of you—alive in him—calls you back home. To Ben, every time.

I love you, Sunshine, his hand has drifted up your back, tangling in your hair. Christ, I really fucking love you.

I know. You smile, and all your love for him explodes through every part of the world as he grins back. I love you too, Benjamin. And I’d very happily run a supe orphanage with you. I’d happily do most things with you, you massive fucking cunt.

Good. Ben gives a small nod, his face suddenly falling into an intense concentration. Time’s up. 

You yelp as Ben’s hold on you becomes firm, and he stands up in one, smooth movement, your body barely shifting against him as he marches you up the stairs.

“Ben-“

“I was goddamn serious earlier,” he grunts your name, glancing down at you with a smirk. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. You’re always fucking beautiful, but when you cum you’re a fucking wonder of the world. And I want to watch.”

“You, um,” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the rush of smug satisfaction blurring in with Ben’s hunger, and how it makes the heat between your legs start to throb. “You always watch me-“

“Not like I’m about to,” he grunts, kicking the door to your room open. “I want to see the whole fucking thing.”

“The whole thing-“ 

“You’re going to touch yourself,” he mutters, lowering you carefully onto the mattress. “And I’m going to watch. Cum just from fucking watching. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, shivering as Ben traces careful fingers over the waistline of your pants. “That’s, yeah. I can do that.”

He huffs a small laugh, and kisses you. Long and deep and rough, his tongue pushing down your throat within a second, sucking on your lips as he lowers you onto your back. “I know you can. You’re so fucking good for me,” he hums your name onto your skin, leaving sloppy kisses over every single part of your face he can reach. “So fucking pretty, fucking perfect. It’s a goddamn threat to my health, how much I fucking love you. Ready?”

Your nod is frantic, and just as you start to grind up into him, Ben draws back up to his full height, and pulls his shirt over his head. You might be drooling a little bit, but you have the right to. Ben’s huge, and muscular, and his hair is already messy, his whole body already covered in sweat he hadn’t bothered to wash off—he probably knew the benefit of keeping it, based only on the cocky glint in his eyes as you take him in—and you want to touch him. This man is yours. He’s everything, he loves you, and every part of him is for you. His defined chest and abdomen you want to trail your fingers over, his handsome, stupid face you want kiss, his soft hair you want to tug at and his big, calloused fingers you want him to push inside of you, or tease you, or stick in your fucking mouth-

“Words, my love,” he growls, and you can’t manage to drag your eyes back up to his, away from where he’s pulling off his sweats, and boxers and-

“Ready,” you’re definitely drooling, in at least two places. He’s already hard, his cock standing at attention, and massive, and thick, and you need him. “Please-“

Ben pushes you lightly back down as you try to sit up on your elbows, reaching for him. “Whole point of this is we don’t fucking touch, Sunshine. Think you’re going to live?”

He’s teasing you, but you might not. Ben’s started to stroke himself slowly, his eyes blown out with lust, and you’re not even undressed. Every nerve of your body is wired and electric, howling for you to just jump on him, let him relieve the pounding need between your legs, ram into you until you’re dizzy and the world is just a haze of Ben. He might be a drug, because you’ve never chased someone like this. You’ve never felt so hopelessly desperate for Ben to just fucking touch you, just a feather-like brush of his skin over yours, anything-

“Clothing off,” he grunts your name, and you start to move before you even fully register his words. You don’t think you’ve ever undressed so fast—rolling around the mattress as you tug off your pants and underwear, unclipping your bra and squirm to tug your shit over your head—and you can feel Ben’s eyes on you the whole time. Hear the small grunt leave his mouth as you fall fully back onto the sheets, entirely naked before him.

Look at me.

Your gaze drags back up to his eyes, your hips almost buck off the bed at the full sight of him. He looks starved, borderline animalistic. He’s still moving his hand so slowly over his cock, the head dripping with pre-cum, and his jaw clenches as your legs tangle in the sheets, squirming around them to try and chance some sort of relief. Your mouth is hanging open, your whole face already slack, and you can’t tear your gaze away from him. It’s like he’s locked you in place, and you can’t do anything but roll your hips on the mattress for friction.

Ben-

Touch that perfect pussy of yours, darling. Make yourself fucking cum.

Your hand shoots between your legs, moving over your clit in fast, tight movements, and you whimper as his nostrils flare.

Legs open. Let me see you.

A low groan leaves him as you spread your legs, his hand starting to beat against his cock in an unrelenting pace.

“Please-“

“Have to give it to yourself, Sunshine,” he grunts, every muscle of his chest flexing, and you start to grind onto your own hand. “Christ, you’re so fucking good, I can fucking smell how wet you are, hear your fucking heartbeat, so fucking perfect-“

You moan, your free hand moving up to pinch at your nipple. “Keep, fuck,” you throw your head back, trying to keep your eyes on him as your back arches off the mattress. “Keep talking, Ben, please-“

“You like me talking to you? Like when I tell you how fucking hard you make me, how fucking hot you are, how you drive me goddamn crazy with how fucking perfect you are, how all I ever think about is you?”

“God, yes-“

“I don’t know how I ever fucking lived with without you,” He growls your name, and your movements against your pussy grow rapid, three of your fingers pressing down and rubbing back and forth in a blur. “Everything you goddamn do makes me hard, because you’re so fucking good and hot and fuck-“ He takes a ragged breath, and you palm at your breast, spreading your legs until your thighs ache. “You’re my whole fucking world, darling, your fucking voice gets me going, turns me on when you hit me, when you walk, when you fucking smile and laugh, and I’ve never-“

“Please,” you cut over him, your toes curling in the mattress. “I, Ben, need to-“

“It’s damn killing me not to touch you, beautiful, but fucking Christ, you have no idea what you do to me-“ He cuts himself of with a groan, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Need you to fucking cum for me, need to see you fucking cum-“

“Ben-“ His hips buck against his fist, and you whine. “Ben, please-“

“Cum, Sunshine-“

Your orgasm rips through your body, every part of you wracked with a high and blissful heat, a high, desperate moan falling out of your mouth as you thrash in the sheets. Your eyes never leave Ben’s, though, trapped by the hunger and love and devotion on his every feature. You’re just coming down when he groans, rutting into his fist, and falls over you as he finds his own release. His kiss is demanding—all teeth and spit and insatiable want—and you whine as he paints your stomach white, your hands tangling his hair as a second orgasm crashes into you. Cresting with Ben’s own until your whole body is loose under him, your breaths in an unsteady, even harmony with his.

Ben gives you one last, almost chaste kiss, and hauls himself off of you, scanning over his handiwork. He runs two fingers through the mess he left on your skin, using his free hand to pin you against the mattress when you squirm under his touch.

“You know what you did that time?” He hums, glancing up at you with a smirk. “You looked like one of those crystal fucking things, with the rainbows-“

“Prism,” you mumble, and his grin grows.

“Of course you know what the fuck I’m talking about.” He shakes his head, and you feel the glow inside him wrap around every inch of his body, running through his blood and over his skin. “Too fucking smart for your own good, Sunshine. Too fucking smart and perfect. You looked exactly like a goddamn prism, full of fucking light and color. So fucking beautiful, my love, drive me out of my goddamn mind.” He brings his fingers up to your mouth, raising a brow. “Taste.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your jaw drops open, and when Ben presses his broad fingers onto your tongue, you close your lips around him and suck. Scraping with teeth, swirling your tongue over the pads of his fingers, drinking his cum like it could possibly quench the undying thirst and desire for every single part of Ben, as close to you as he can possibly bring them.

“Good girl,” he grunts, pulling his fingers away and hauling you up to his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Fucking love you, Sunshine. More than anything.”

You smile at him, all of your blood still trading between your bodies as you crane your neck up to kiss him once, mumbling against his lips, “I love you too, Benjamin. We should shower-“

Ben’s arms drop below your thighs, and he cuts you off with another, slower kiss as he stands, carrying you to the bathroom without ever pulling his lips away.

In the end—despite Ben’s attempt at timely sex—you’re still late to meet Hughie and Kimiko for Red River. You’re in the shower for about two whole minutes before your chest is pinned to the tile walls, and you become lightheaded from both the steam and the way Ben is pounding into you, his hand mimicking your own previous movements on your clit until your legs give out as you cum. You can feel yourself squirt that time, but you’ll never tell Ben because it gets washed away in the water without him seeing. From there you take about forty five minutes to get dressed—you tell Ben he can’t wear his supe suit, and immediately distract him by jerking him off, which somehow inevitably leads to him fingering you—and when you’ve convinced him to leave the shield and just please follow you to the elevator, a gun in his pants and your sunglasses on your brow, you’re fifteen minutes past the agreed upon time.

Fortunately, Hughie and Kimiko are a lot more forgiving of your habit for taking schedules as a suggestion rather than a strict guideline than MM or Butcher. Your apologies are meet with a nervous shrug and two thumbs up, and by the time you’re in the backseat of Butcher’s car—leaning into Ben’s side as Kimiko takes shotgun and Hughie drives—you’re pretty sure MM might have accounted for your chronic tardiness when he’d told you when to leave, because you’re only going to be five minutes late.

Ben?

He grunts, tugging you a little further into his side, squeezing your shoulder in a silent instruction to continue.

What if it is a kid.

Then we’ll deal with it-

How, though. If it’s a kid, we can’t give it to Edgar. But you can’t stay in his debt-

Ben’s hand cups your chin, and he carefully guides you to meet his eyes. We’ll fucking deal with it. I can take of the Edgar shit, we’re not hurting a kid.

What if it’s a baby. We can’t keep a baby in the compound-

It won’t be a baby, Sunshine. Edgar said he’s been keeping it there for a while-

Maybe the V made it into a permanent baby. A permababy, Ben, I don’t know how to take care of a permababy-

What’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong-

Ben mutters your name in the hum of the engine, scanning over your face. Something’s wrong. You’re freaking the fuck out, for no goddamn reason. You don’t even think it’s going to be a kid, let alone a fucking baby-

But it could be-

It’s not going to be a fucking baby. What’s wrong.

You take a deep breath, holding onto his wrist and letting the stone resolve and concern steady your thoughts. I’m not freaking out, but I’m nervous. No matter what it is, it’s important. If it’s a weapon, we can’t give that to Edgar either. If it’s documents, what type of fucked up shit is worth hiding at this point? What if it’s just a box, and we can’t open it, so we don’t know? Fuck, Ben, what if it’s just a box-

He leans down, giving you a slow kiss to your lips until your body is relaxed against his, and your breathing is in an even pattern once more. I can break a fucking box, Sunshine. You can break a fucking box. Christ, Kimiko could break a fucking box. We’re going to deal with this, no matter what it is. Together.

But-

No. We’ll deal with it. That’s fucking that. Ben kisses your brow, tugging you onto his lap, your back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped over your middle. If it’s a box, I’ll break it. If it’s documents, you’ll figure them out. If it’s a kid, we’ll deal with it together. I’ve fucking got you, darling. You burn, I burn. 

You burn, I burn. You sigh, taking one of his hands between yours, turning it over in your fingers like you can find some sort of way out this, written on his knuckles or palms. Thank you.

Don’t. He squeezes your waist, guiding your hand—tangled in his—up to press a kiss on the back of it. I love you.

You smile, and Ben’s love wraps over your skin, keeping the world clear and safe in the smell of pine, the warmth of Ben’s body and devotion. I love you too.

“Hey, um,” Hughie coughs your name from the front seat, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. “I know Annie didn’t know anything about the Cornucopia, but she said you were going to try and talk to A-Train-“

“He didn’t know anything either. I think,” your fingers start to tap against Ben’s arm as you frown at the passing road. “It might be a good idea for someone to stay in the car. In case it’s something that’s… not great.”

Kimiko raises her hand, offering you a smile when you glance at her and signing, I can. Hughie’s been here before, and Soldier Boy won’t want to be separated from you.

You frown, signing back, Frenchie says you can’t drive.

I can drive, she shrugs, twisting in her seat to fully face you. Just not legally.

At this point, you’re past legality. Ben has to go in, you have to go in with him, and it’s probably smarter to bring Hughie than Kimiko, if only because Hughie has the best customer service persona out of all four of you.

Okay, you give Kimiko a small nod, before looking back to Hughie in the rearview. “Kimiko can stay in the car. You, Ben, and I will go in, get the Cornucopia, and get out.”

“Can Kimiko,” Hughie pauses, glancing at Kimiko with a weary frown. “Can you drive?”

I’m pretty sure, yeah. Gas, break, horn, headlights. I’ll get it.

“She says yeah,” you translate, deciding it’s not worth giving Hughie an anxiety attack. If things go south, Kimiko will be able to get you away from Red River, and probably do it fast. Things like the fact that she pointed at the wipers lever for the headlights aren’t that important. Sunset isn’t for a little while, and if it starts to rain, you’ll be set, so you let it go. “How much longer until we’re there?”

Hughie glances at his phone, propped in a cup holder. “Ten minutes.”

Kimiko gives you an eye roll. It would be five, but Hughie drives like a blind old lady. She gives him a glare. We already commit so many crimes, what’s speeding to murder?

You snort. I’m just happy it’s not Butcher. He has nothing to lose and he drives like we don’t either.

Does he, Kimiko points to Ben, and his arms tense slightly around you. Drive like an old person?

I don’t know, actually. The only time I was in a car while he was driving, I passed out. You glance up at Ben’s stoic, too passive face, giving him a soft smile as you continue to sign to Kimiko. He does a lot of things like an old person though. He won’t admit it, but I think our electric AC is confusing him. He always makes me change it for him.

He’s like a hundred, right? I’m impressed that he can use a phone.

Hundred and six. You look back to Kimiko, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. I know it’s weird, I try to ignore it.

Why, because you’re, Kimiko’s hands still, and she looks between you and Ben with a confused expression. Dating? You’re dating him?

Yeah. I mean, yeah to the weird. I think to the we’re dating. You shake your head, trying to physically clear your thoughts. Ben said we were, to Neuman, but we haven’t really talked about it.

You should talk to him about that. Annie told me talking about relationships is good. And I don’t think it’s that weird.

Really? You tilt your head at her, signing slowly. I mean. He’s a dinosaur. I love him more than life and he’s a grumpy old dinosaur.

Kimiko gives you a toothless, almost apathetic smile. Would you rather he date an eighty year old, break her hip during sex, and there is only a twenty year gap? At least this way you’re both happy.

I guess. You look down to Ben’s arms, a smile tugging at your lips when you realize he’s started to draw patterns over the skin of your stomach, and you’re not sure he even knows he’s doing it. He does make me happy. You sign, looking back up at Kimiko. And I think I make him happy.

You do make him happy. He’s an asshole, but he’s sort of okay now. He did call Frenchie a cowardly cigar pussy when Frenchie tried to take the ice cream in the freezer, but then he told us about MM’s donut stash.

Was it the malt vanilla? That Frenchie tried to take?

I think so.

You feel a rush of affection for Ben, and know the smile on your face is downright pathetic when you sign back to Kimiko. He loves that shit. Old fucking man.

You love him a lot.

You blink at Kimiko’s blunt phrasing, and forgo your many internally rehearsed speeches about why you love Ben. How he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you trust him with anything, and every time he shuffles up to you, grumbling about how it’s really fucking hot, Sunshine. Why is it so fucking hot, it should never be this goddamn hot inside. Go hit the stupid buttons so I don’t leave a fucking sweat-stain on the couch, you love him a little more. Instead, you sign, yeah. He’s, he’s good. And he cares about me, a lot.

We all care about you, Kimiko gives you an amused look, pointing at Ben. He’s like a puppy. Or one of those airport dog videos MM loves. It’s good. You smile a lot now.

You do. It only hits you right then, how your lips and cheeks are almost always pulling in a wide, toothy, real and full smile. And not only for Ben—mostly for Ben—but for your friends. It’s easier to smile at them now, because you’d smiled at Ben and he’d returned it. It’s easier to do a lot of things now. For every item and experience that will always have a Homelander shaped shadow casting over it, there are two that will always be washed in a warm light that smells like pine and tastes like coffee and vanilla.

Thank you, your signing to Kimiko is cautious, careful. For giving him a chance. I know he’s not easy-

Kimiko shakes her head, and your hands freeze as she responds. He’s easier than before. With you. You’re both easier with each other, it’s obvious to us. She makes a quick gesture between herself and Hughie. Even if it’s not obvious to everyone else.

Mallory?

Yeah. Kimiko’s brow draws into a glare, and you know it’s not directed at you. She’s a bitch.

Yeah, you grin. Was she always a bitch? Or do I just bring that out in her?

I think she’s getting sick of us making messes. Kimiko’s glower deepens. I’d like to see her try to clean up blown up dick and follow the FBSA’s guidelines-

Kimiko’s gestures are cut off as the car slams to a halt, Hughie flinching and looking back at you and Ben with wide eyes.

“Sorry, the breaks are, uh, touchy. We’re here.”

It’s almost immediate to you—as Ben helps you out of the car and your eyes adjust to the sunlight—how painfully similar Red River looks to a prison. There’s no guard tower, but the large, brick building is blocked by a high, chain-link fence with barbed wire, and there are surveillance cameras on slow swivels, covering almost every bit of dirt and pavement.

Fuck, there are surveillance cameras-

Several loud bangs cut through the air, followed by a yelp from Hughie and a huff from Ben as he tucks his gun back into his pants.

“Shit!” Hughie shakes his head, gaping at Ben with an almost fearful indigence. “What the fuck was that, dude! We can’t just fire guns on private property-“

Hughie’s words falter as Ben shoots him a bored glare. “You should be damn thanking me, you dumb cockfuck.” Ben points up to the sizzling, cracked cameras, wires still slightly sparking. “We need to move, now.”

Hughie glances at you, and when you give him a small nod he returns it—giving Ben one last, anxious look—and leans into the window to hand Kimiko the keys.

Benjamin. You slap his arm over your shoulders, looking up at him with a dry expression. What did I say about being subtle-

We can’t have cameras see us, Sunshine, you fucking know that-

I do, you cross your arms, holding his glare with mostly just exasperation. Which is why I’m not mad. But there was probably a better way to do that, and now we’re on a timer. So please be careful. No yelling at the workers if they piss you off, no murdering people who piss you off, no inflicting any sort of disabling harm on people who piss you off-

Ben catches your hand—raised up to count each item on your list—and squeezes it once, grumbling your name in the breeze of the wind. I’ll follow your lead. But if I think there’s any sort of fucking danger-

You take over, I know. You bump his shoulder with yours, offering a small, light smile. I trust you. No calling any children pussies or dumb fucking cockheads.

I would never. He grins at you, a look of faux indigence painted over his handsome features, and your smile grows wider—more authentic—as his amusement runs through your blood and muscle. That shit doesn’t sound like me in the goddamn slightest. I’m a fucking gentleman, my love, you know that-

You reach a hand up to tangle in the back of Ben’s hair, pulling him down into an easy, gentle kiss, teasing your tongue over his lips and letting a content sigh when he hums against you. I love you, Benjamin. And you can be a gentleman, when you want to be, but you also called Frenchie a cowardly cigar pussy. So forgive me for making sure no children get told their legos look like fucking dogshit.

Ben chuckles, tugging you a little closer as he deepens the kiss. That what you and Kimiko were talking about? How Frenchie is a fucking whining pussy ice cream thief.

Maybe. Maybe we also talked about how you told Frenchie about MM’s donut stash. You’re going soft, Pretty Boy-

I am not going fucking soft. Ben bites your lower lip, smirking at the small, breathless moan he draws out of you. Ryan was there, and you’re always trying to teach him about that fucking kindess shit-

You pull back, giving him an amused look. Kindness would’ve been sharing the ice cream, dumb dumb.

Ben rolls his eyes. I don’t share my ice cream, it’s fucking mine-

You share with me.

That’s not the same. I love you.

It's such a simple sentence, and he’s said it so many times, but it’s yet to stop your body from filling with a bright, natural light. Ben says I love you like it’s obvious, and everything becomes a little sharper, all your thoughts a littler loud and cleaner in your head, no longer stained with blood or a muck of fear. You lean your head onto his shoulder and watch as Hughie and Kimiko finish their slightly disjointed exchange about the car. 

I love you too, Benjamin. Should I go help them-

You cut your own thought off in Ben’s head as Hughie stands back up, turning at you and Ben. “Kimiko’s all set, so I guess we’re up.”

When you look around the street, it’s almost deserted. You’ve parked on the curb, and there are a few, empty cars up and down the block, but you’re the only people in sight.

“Do we just” you nod to the gate, glancing at the barbed wire. “Jump it?”

Ben’s immediately on board with your plan—nodding and starting to back you both up a few paces—while Hughie goes pale, shaking his head and moving to try and block your path.

“There’s a doorbell!” He half-shouts, arms reached out, glancing over his shoulder to the wire. “We don’t need to jump anything-”

“No,” you tug yourself away from Ben’s hold, scanning over the wired fence. “If we ring the doorbell, they’ll ask who we are. We’d have to lie, and they’d try to check the cams, and we’d be fucked. There might be a back entrance, but we don’t have the time to look for one.”

Hughie watches you with an uneasy gaze, looking between your frown and your fingers, flexing as you approach the gate. He mumbles your name, scratching the back of his neck. “I know you guys are immortal, but I’m really not, and I really like life-“

His words trail off as you press your hands—palms up and fingers spread—to the wires, and they start to sizzle and melt away, moving over the metal until you’ve created a large hole that will fit you all easily, and pulling away without smoke or any exploding buildings.

You look back to Ben with a grin, and he winks at you.

This is why you should fucking listen to me, Sunshine, I taught you how to do that-

You wrinkle your nose at him, still smiling. You stood behind me and made grumpy faces, I did this myself.

And I helped, brat.

Something bright and almost elated is rising in Ben’s chest, swelling across his muscles as he gives you a wide, toothy smile, and you give in easily. He did help, and you want him to keep making that joyful, content face.

Fine, cunt. You’re an excellent teacher. 

Damn right I am-

Hughie coughs, hovering at your side as he examines the fence. “Sorry, I know you guys were, uh,” he trails off, mouth twitching as he gives you a confused look. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to call it.”

You give him a shrug, dropping your voice to a fake whisper. “We haven’t come up with a name for it yet, someone keeps vetoing all my amazing ideas-“

“You’ve tried to get me to call it the fucking Ben’o’phone,” Ben drawls your name, suddenly right behind you, causing you to smile up at him and Hughie to flinch. “I’ll goddamn eat glass and suck Hughie’s dick before I call it that.”

“You don’t, uh, you don’t have to do either of those things-“

“Well, until you start pitching ideas, I’ll call it whatever the fuck I want.” You stick your tongue out at Ben before turning back to a still-blushing Hughie. “We should move, though, can we talk on the way?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Hughie watches you start to climb through the fence, Ben following, before ducking after himself. “I just want to go over the plan before we go in-“

“Get in,” Ben grunts, wrapping his hand in yours, a concrete, firm and unmoving care and concern settling in your body. “Find Vanessa. Get the Cornucopia. Get out.”

“Vanessa?” 

“Edgar said to ask for her.” You examine the building as you approach, raising your voice to carry on the wind to Hughie. “We’ll have to find her though, we can’t exactly just walk in the door without some recognizing Ben and I. Hopefully she has an office, or they wear name tags-“

“I’ve met Vanessa,” Hughie interrupts you, and you turn back to see him stopped a few feet from you and Ben, frowning as he thinks. “Last time I was here. I think, maybe-“

“Hughie,” you tap your fingers on Ben’s arm, letting him keep a vigilant eye on the sky and yard as you hold Hughie’s nervous gaze. “On a scale of one to ten, how sure are you that you know Vanessa.”

“Maybe eight?”

You’ll take those odds. “Will you recognize her?”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

“Awesome. You’ll lead.” You turn away from Hughie’s nervous nod, tugging slightly on Ben’s arm until he frowns down at you. “Can you throw me up there?”

Ben looks to where you’ve pointed—a window ledge two stories up, the blinds open and the room empty—and back down to you with tense glare. “Why.”

“I’m going to melt the glass, you’re going to throw Hughie up, and then jump up yourself.”

“Why do we always have to throw me up,” Hughie’s voice is higher than usual, his eyes on your slightly pleading. “Can’t we just use one of the windows in front of us to trespass?”

“Suck it up, kid, if she says I’m throwing you, you’re getting fucking thrown-“

You raise your hand up, and Ben falls silent with a grumbling protest and glower you can feel in your stomach. “Hughie, we can’t go in on the first floor, we can’t tell if any of these rooms are empty-“

“There are the basement windows,” Hughie gestures past your feet, and you turn to see the ground-level half-windows. No blinds, each room inside empty. “You can fit through that, then let us in-“

“No.” Ben snaps, shooting Hughie a glare that makes him flinch, arm tightening around you. “There’re not a fucking chance you’re going in there alone-“

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, glancing back at Hughie’s pallid features. “It’s a good idea, and I can handle myself-“

It is not a fucking good idea. What if things go south while you’re inside and I’m goddamn stuck out here. What if you get lost, or someone fucking recognizes you-

I’ll be really careful. You scan his taut, angered face, the mold growing back over his heart and something made of a heavy iron wrapping around his lungs and throat. I promise to be careful. You’ll know where I am the whole time, because we’re like pigeons, and we can talk and check in on the Ben’o’phone. His frown deepens, and you trace over the lines on his face with light fingers. If things go south, you can smash right through the front door, and we’ll find each other. I’ll be okay, just don’t kill Hughie while I’m gone.

His hands move up to hold your face, running his thumb over your lips and cheeks, examining you with that gaze where you think he can see inside you. See all your blood flowing into his, the hum of your fire under your skin—entirely within your control—and every single thought running through your head. Trying to calculate every risk of going in alone, every possible thing that could go wrong and work out how you’ll deal with it, still mulling over what the Cornucopia could be, and always circling back to Ben. How much you love him, and how you won’t be that worried while you’re searching through the halls of Red River, because you’ll feel him somewhere in your orbit and resting in your chest, and know you’re safe.

Whatever Ben sees in you, it makes him relent. He presses a firm, almost tender kiss on the top of your head, and tucks your hair behind your ear as he gives you a short nod. Be fast, and stay alert. If you hear anyone, fucking hide, and if there’s a single goddamn threat remember to keep your weight even when you throw the punch-

I won’t punch, you rest your brow against his. I’ll burn. Someone really grumpy and mean taught me how to control it, but he’s really handsome. I like it when he’s grumpy, it makes me love him a lot.

Brat. His words in your head are low and gruff, but the thing around this throat has loosened, and the mold has started to wane, replaced by the small, soft glow, pulsing between your bodies. I love you. Ben stands back to his full height, glancing to the side at Hughie, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he waits. “While she’s gone, you listen to me. If I tell you to fight, you fight, if I say shoot, open fucking fire, and if I-“

“I didn’t bring a gun-“ 

“Why the fuck didn’t you bring a gun, are you going to fucking talk your way through the damn bullets-“

You deal a swift kick to Ben’s shin. “Hughie, if you need to run, run. Ben and I will be fine, and you’re actually, you know. Killable. Ben can steal us a car, and we’ll meet you at home. But that’s if worst comes to worst, and it won’t.”

It won’t come to the worst. You keep reminding yourself, over and over, that it won’t. It can’t. You won’t let it. Ben won’t let it.

Still, you take a long breath as you crouch down, laying your palms on the glass of the window and letting it melt under your touch. Ben stands over you, blocking you from the view of the sky, and when you look up his jaw is clenched, hands fisted at his side, and you think you can hear the drums. You reach up silently, and Ben drops down on his knees—still hunching over you—and pulls you into a bone crunching hug, running his hand through your hair and holding your face to his neck.

Swear you’ll be safe.

I promise. You lean back, kissing his cheek. I’ll be right back. Don’t kill Hughie.

The moment you drop down—onto a carpeted floor in a room full of random pieces of furniture but no people—you can feel Ben start to strain in your chest. Beating against you, telling you outside. On the grass. This room is so damp and dark and cold, and life is outside. 

You push through it. Stuffing your sunglasses in your jacket and pulling the hood of it over your head, you creak the door open, peek out into the hallway, and start to pad down it, looking for stairs. You need to find stairs.

Ben.

His response is instant, stirring at the top of your ribcage. What, are you okay-

I’m fine, I need you to ask Hughie something.

What.

If he saw any stairs, when he was here before. Or passed an elevator.

There’s a few beats of silence, before he said he did.

Where.

I don’t fucking know-

You roll your eyes, checking every door as you make your way down the hall. Ask him, dummy.

Shut the fuck up. There’s a low rumble from Ben’s Thing, a little more quiet, and then, he says near the front door. Not too deep into the building.

There’s a hall branching off, further away from the rooms lining the building’s wall, and you glance behind you with a frown. Can you ask if it was on the side I dropped into?

He said it was.

Okay. Thank you. You start down the new hallway, looking for any sort of exit sign.

Ben’s Thing inside you starts to bounce around, and you think he’s begun to pace. This is fucking stupid, I can fit through that hole-

Do not leave Hughie alone, Ben, I’m fine- Your heart jumps in your chest when you see it, glowing green and mounted high on the wall, and—with a brisk scan of the still deserted hallways—you take off, half sprinting to the stairs. I’m okay, you send down the line before Ben has the chance to freak out and start tearing apart Red River’s brick foundation. Found the stairs.

Good. Are you-

I’m okay. You pause at the base of the steps with a frown. I need you to go around the side of the building. I’ll find an empty room, far from the entrance, and let you in.

Ben grunts in your head, and he fades into a hum that rings through every part of your body, filling up every in-between around you. You start up the stairs—keeping a little bit of your attention on the instinct of home, home is that way, Ben is that way—and push out into a slightly less horror movie-like hallway. It almost looks like a public high school, with white bricks and paneled ceilings. Fluorescent beam lights and fake wooden floors.

You hear voices, and duck back into the stairwell, pressing your back to the wall until they pass. They’re small voices, children’s voices, but—although you can’t make out what they’re saying—they don’t carry the light joy they should.

It hurts something in your stomach, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. When a door slams and you poke your head back out the door—the hall deserted once more—you start to hum. A slow, sad song, trying to let your brain fade into a harmony with the world around you. When all that happens is some flickering lights and a glass-like bending of the hall—everything becoming glossy and almost transparent—you add in words, trying to relax your body, mold your own thoughts, and find that same easy, natural feeling you’d had in the gun range.

When you look down, your hands are gone. So are your legs, and torso, and any visible evidence that you exist.

It’s not foolproof. You’re not actually invisible. Someone could bump into you, or hear you, or you could falter in your song and be completely revealed. But you’re shocked it even worked, and it’s better than just ducking into a room every five feet, so you start to creep down the hallway, keeping your singing to a low, half-mumbled volume.

You can feel Ben, waiting a little bit around the back, and you follow that gravity like tug to him, twisting through hallways with careful, measured, silent steps. 

He’s past this door, a few more steps calling you home.

But the room is occupied. You can hear voices, and shuffling movements, so you’ll have to adapt.

You start to walk just one more down—Ben and Hughie have legs, one window over won’t kill them—when the door swings open, and your heart almost stops. You barely manage to keep your song going as you come face to face with a dark haired, middle-aged woman, her eyes worn with bags and staring right through you.

“Hopefully that will help until we get someone to look at the AC,” the woman calls behind her, to a room full of teenagers, sitting in a circle. “I know it’s hot guys, but it’s July. Not much else to do.”

“We could get someone with ice powers in here,” one of the girls mutters, hunched over in his seat. “Or like, wind powers.”

One of the boys nods. “All we have to do is kill their parents, and we’ve all got experience killing parents.”

A few of the kids laugh, and the woman sighs the boy’s name. “You know our rules on darker humor during group sessions-“

“C’mon Vanessa,” a different boy, sat next to the first, crosses his arms, and you freeze in the doorway. “That was fucking hilarious-“

“And you know our rules on swearing. Let’s just keep going, guys-“

The conversation continues, and you’ve found Vanessa, but you’re almost stuck in place. You recognize the look on every single one of the faces in that circle. An expression of exhaustion and almost hollow, numb fury at nothing. A sadness that becomes a disease, becomes a part of you as you start to believe that nothing will—nothing could—get better.

It’s tearing something inside you in half. Something near the broken part of you still twisting and flailing in your gut, that’s still trapped and alone and tired. Clinging onto unfair. This is so unfair, what did you do to possibly deserve this, and why you, why does it have to be you, this is so fucking unfair.

You’ve gotten lucky. You have Ben. You have someone who will always pick you up and remind you that this is unfair, but you’re okay. Someone to stand by your side and hold you as you crawl back to okay. Really, truly okay, and with enough time, happy. These kids don’t have that, and it’s boiling that thing inside you into a fury. A white-hot, avenging fury of not fucking fair. Not fair of their parents, to shoot them up as babies. Not fair of Vought, to lock them up after the parents paid the price. Not fair of the government to help hide it, no matter what they’re getting in exchange. All of this is so fucking horrible and unjust, and there’s no one person to blame.

There isn’t. You want there to be, it would be so much easier if there was, but Ben’s right. It’s never easy. You can blame Homelander for a lot of it, but most of this predates him. He didn’t open Red River, he’s probably never even thought about this place. You can blame Edgar as well, but he didn’t make compound V, he just mastered its marketing. You could blame Fredrick Vought, but he’s long dead and didn’t create the government that bought V, that sponsored its creation. There’s no one person to blame in the government either. It’s a system, made by countless people, laying it out brick by brick over 200 years. This is so unfair, and you can’t really fix it. This isn’t a wound that will heal easily, it’s something festering deep under every single piece of tissue, wound into the nerves and impossible to pull or carve out. It’s going to take a long, painful time to repair, and it’s still going to be so fucking unfair.

Where are you.

You blink, refocusing on the pound of Ben in your chest. Sorry, the room is full, give me a second-

“It’s so hot,” the first girl is whining, fanning herself dramatically. “The door didn’t do shit-“

“No swearing.” Vanessa gives the girl a tired, empty glare, and shakes her head. “We can open a window, too, get some fresh air. Marie-“

“On it.” One of the teens, a shorter girl with dreads, stands up, chair scraping on the ground, and you stop singing. Stumbling off to the side as you yank on that line between you and Ben. Move. Benjamin you have to move, now, fucking run or hide-

Ben grunts your name, flaring in your chest. What the fuck is happening, what’s wrong-

Someone’s opening the window, they can’t see you or we’ll be fucked-

Ben is still beating inside you, but he’s not talking anymore. He’s probably moving Hughie, it’s probably fine, but you don’t take a full breath until you hear the chair scraping on the floor and feel a breeze flowing into the hall.

Are you-

We’re set. Ben rolls around in your chest—pulling you just a little further down the hall—and his voice is rough and clipped. You’re okay.

I’m okay. You duck into a room, where you can feel Ben past the wall, and lock the door behind you. Don’t move.

You open the blinds, revealing an out of breath Hughie and a scowling Ben, glaring at you through the glass.

You smile at him. Hi.

Hi. He grumbles your name between your heads, keeping his eyes narrowed as his mouth twitches. That was too fucking long.

It was like, ten minutes. You wrinkle your nose at him. I’m going to get rid of the window, step back.

Through the glass, you hear Ben’s snap to Hughie—repeating your words—but he himself stays planted in front of you, watching as the glass melts under your fingers.

You’ve barely finished when he’s barreling forwards, half picking you up off the ground as he holds you, running hands over your body like he’s looking for a newly-formed scar or cut. Your arms wrap around his torso, and you let Ben kiss at your neck, pulling you as close as he can without climbing into your body.

You hear Hughie stumble into the room, and raise a silent finger from one of your hands, resting on Ben’s back. You can feel the mold slowly burning completely out of Ben’s body, and—even though you’re still on a slight timer—you don’t want to disturb it. It’s a little selfish of you—of your love and affection for Ben, and how the feeling of his ache and pain rips your heart in half—but the last time you’d walked away with a promise of coming back, you hadn’t. 

So you wait until Ben peels himself away before turning to Hughie, making a silent gesture for him to follow you deeper into the room, away from the window.

“I found Vanessa,” you keep your voice low, just in case the wind carries it to an open window, or someone passes in the hall. “She’s in the room that you just ran from, doing a therapy group or something. We just have to wait until they wrap up, I can keep an eye on it and call you when they’re done.“

“How are you going to keep an eye on it?” Hughie frowns at you, staring very intently at you and not Ben, who’s gone rigid at your side. “If it’s just hiding in a room, I’m sure I can do it-“

“Nope.” You grin, stepping a few paces back, and spreading your arms wide. “Watch this.”

You start to sing—the same song from before—and you it’s worked when a jolt of shock flashes from Ben and Hughie’s mouth falls open.

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters. “You haven’t always been able to do that, right? I’m not going insane?”

“No, it’s new.” You reappear in their vision as you stop singing, and give Ben a wide, unrestrained smile. You have to eat me out now. You promised.

He snorts, and the ardor and affection you can feel everywhere in him exposed in his chest, climbing up to show in his eyes. Locked onto yours, dilated and full of a powerful awe that makes every nerve in your body start to itch for him. I have to fuck you, as well. He winks. And if you want to add another reward, I think I could live with it.

You flush, forcing yourself to turn back to Hughie. “I got through the building like that. If I just stand in the hallway, I can tell Ben when she’s left the room, and we can talk to her.”

Hughie nods, and you look back to Ben. “I’ll be right outside, open the door and grab me if something happens.”

He grunts an affirmation, and doesn’t try to talk you out of it, but you still cross the room and hold his face between your hands, smiling up at him. I love you. Thank you.

Don’t. His scowl softens slightly as you kiss his jaw, his hands moving up to cover yours. And I love you too. Always fucking love you, even when you’re being a fucking brat.

I think especially when I’m being a fucking brat. You move to kiss his lips, soft and firm, his beard scraping against your skin and so real. Ben and warm and solid and real.

You pull back—giving Ben one last smile—and start to sing again, slipping out into the hall and keeping a careful eye on the still ajar room.

It’s only a handful of minutes before you hear the scraping of chairs, and the various teens start to filter out. A few walk in your direction, and you have to drop your singing to a whisper, but soon they’ve all passed and Vanessa shuffles out, looking down at her phone and swaying slightly in the hallway.

You wait until she begins to walk away—her back facing fully to you, her steps brisk—before you reach out to Ben. Let’s go.

If you weren’t already a little haywire from how much was going on, you’d probably have realized that trying to follow Vanessa to her office with Ben and Hughie wasn’t the best plan. Hughie’s practically skittish—jumping at every distant footstep and echoing slam of a door—and Ben might as well be waving a flag that says we are up to suspicious activity. He’s light on his feet—you’re not sure if it’s his training, or his secret talent for dancing, but he’s amazingly silent—but he’s also massive and incredibly attention grabbing. And it’s not your love for him, clouding your judgment and blowing this out of proportion to a thought of you always see Ben, so everyone else does as well. He’s looking at everything like it’s going to come to life and start stabbing him, he’s taken the lead—he can follow Vanessa’s heartbeat, and she’s moved out of your sight—and is making a face a little like a bloodhound, and is overall very obviously a strange, grown man sneaking around an orphanage.

Ben raises a hand, stopping you and Hughie in your tracks. That’s it. He nods to a closed door, a few steps away. She’s in there. Just her. 

Do we just break in? 

Yes. Ready.

Hold on. You look over at Hughie, point at the door, and mouth out she’s in there. It takes a few seconds of confused staring, but eventually Hughie nods, and you turn back to Ben. Let’s do this.

Ben raises his leg, fully prepared to kick the door in, but you’re faster. Grabbing Ben’s arm to move him back a step, you place a tentative hand on the door handle and slowly test it.

Unlocked.

You raise three fingers for Ben and Hughie to see, glancing over your shoulder to ensure they’ve gotten the message, and drop them one by one.

Three. Two. One.

You push the door open with full force of your body, and Vanessa barely has time to drop her jaw before Hughie and Ben are running in after you and you’ve slammed the door, locking everyone inside. 

Vanessa looks frozen in shock—face slack, eyes wide and filled with terror—and it sends a small pang of guilt up your spine and into your fingers as you jump into action. No risks.

“Hughie, can you check the desk for a panic button? And,” you sigh, tapping your fingers where you’re still holding the door handle. “Take her phone. Just put it in your pocket, we’ll give it back after.”

“Who,” Vanessa’s started to stutter, and you nod for Ben to close the blinds as you move to stand before her desk. “You’re, are you really, you look like-“

“Yeah, I know. I’m the Anomaly, that’s Soldier Boy,” you incline your head to Ben, smiling at the half-pout of his face, and move on to Hughie. “And he’s, well he’s just kind of a guy-“

“Mr. Campbell?” Vanessa's face grows blanched, staring at Hughie and shrinking into her seat as he tucks her phone into his jeans. “I remember you, you’re dating Starlight, and you visited us last year and we never heard back-“

“Yeah, um,” Hughie looks to you for help, and you offer him a grimace and shrug. “Sorry. It didn’t pan out. You know, with the economy.”

You give Hughie a flat look, and he returns it with a sheepish one as you sigh, turning back to Vanessa. “Listen, we’re not here to hurt you. We just need something, and then we’ll be gone. Nobody will even know we were here-“

“Why are you here?!” Vanessa squeaks, and you sigh.

“I’m getting there-“

“He’s,” Vanessa points to Ben. “A terrorist, and you’re missing! Crap, I’m supposed to report any sightings to the tower, it’s mandated, and why are you together, was Starlight telling the truth?!” She turns back to Hughie. “Are they really dating? Is Starlight here, because I’m supposed to report her too-“

“I’m, um, Annie’s not here, and Soldier Boy’s only mean, he’s not really a terrorist anymore, but I’m not sure if they are dating-“

“Hughie,” you raise your brows at him, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

“And I’m not a fucking terrorist,” Ben grumbles, moving to your side. “I got pardoned. And we are dating, you pussy fuck-“

Benjamin-

“Does that mean the other stuff is also true? About Homelander?” Vanessa’s looking at you with wide eyes, and you take a shaking breath. The adrenaline is fading, you didn’t miss the mandated reporting thing, and a chill is starting to creep through your blood, blurring the world.

You feel Ben’s foot press to yours, and the world moves back into focus.

Thank you. You meet Vanessa’s eyes—feeling Ben’s arm wrap around your waist, steadying your feet—and set your features into a pleasant, neutral boredom. “It is. But that’s not why we’re here.”

“Why-“

“We’re here for the Cornucopia.” You cross your arms, examining Vanessa’s faint expression. “That’s it.”

“I, um,” Vanessa looks around between you, Hughie, and Ben, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“ 

“Cut the fucking bullshit-“

You elbow Ben’s stomach, holding Vanessa’s gaze. “We know you do. And I promise we won’t hurt you, but we’re also not leaving this room until you give us what we need.”

We don’t have the time for that, Sunshine, Vought’s probably noticed all their fucking cameras are out-

It’s a bluff, Pretty Boy. You keep your attention on Vanessa, pulling Ben’s arm a little tighter around you. I know we’re on a limit. She doesn’t.

Vanessa’s still silent, shooting the least subtle looks you've ever seen at the door behind you, and you sigh. “Don’t try to make a break for it, please. He’ll,” you jerk your head to Ben. “Catch you. Easily. All we want is the Cornucopia.”

“You don’t understand,” Vanessa whispers, looking over Ben with fearful eyes. “I can’t, nobody’s even supposed to know about that-”

“We were sent by someone who does,” you say carefully, treading around Edgar’s name, unwilling to show all your cards. “And they want it back.”

“Who.”

Of course it’s not that easy. Vanessa doesn’t seem stupid, just afraid. You hold her narrowed glare, and shrug. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

You chew on your tongue, unable to find a way around this, and keep your answer measured and short. “Edgar.”

“Why would he send you-“

“Don’t worry about it,” you lean forward, placing two hands on Vanessa’s desk and trying not to let her flinch make your gut twist. “I get that this is confusing, but we both know you don’t want to cross Edgar. Let’s call him our friend for now, think of this as a favor, and start over. Nice to meet you, Vanessa.” You introduce yourself, keeping your hands braced on the table, and nod behind you to Hughie and Ben. “That’s Hughie Campbell. This is Benjamin, and he doesn’t have a last name. We have all day to wait in here for you to come around, and Ben shits like a horse, so I’d just give us what we need so we can all go home and nobody's office becomes a toilet.”

“I,” you can see the uneven rise and fall of Vanessa’s chest as she speaks, her protests growing weaker. “I’m really not, I mean, what will you do with it?”

It. Not a child. Some tension that had been strung through your whole body relaxes as you respond. “Bring it to Edgar. That’s it. I promise.”

Vanessa looks you over one last time, her hands shaking slightly as she stands and moves around the desk. “I, um, he added something to it last year. Before he was arrested. Does he want that too?”

You have no fucking idea. “Yeah, he does.”

“Okay.” As she crouches down to the floor, Vanessa looks up, around your group, and pauses. “Vought doesn’t know you’re here, right?” 

You shake your head, and Vanessa starts to pull at a loose wooden panel. Her body is blocking the view of what’s inside, and you can feel Ben’s grip on you start to grow tight as you wait.

When Vanessa rises up, facing you once more, her fists are closed and the panel is closed once more. “If I give you these, I need you to promise you’ll just leave, and you won’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want the kids caught up in anything, and if Homelander finds out-“

“Homelander’s never going to know anything about this.” It’s the easiest promise you’ve ever made. “No matter what.” 

Vanessa lets out an unsteady breath, and extends her hands, uncurling her fists.

You blink, taking the items from her hands. A key and a vial of green liquid.

Green liquid. You almost shove the keys into your pockets, turning the vial over to find the label you already know will be there.

Project Anomaly, Trial 5.  

“Fuck.” You look up at Vanessa. “When did Edgar give this to you?”

“About a year ago?” She mumbles, fidgeting with her hands. “He said to keep it with the Cornucopia, but that’s it.”

You look up at Ben, who’s watching you with a concerned, stone-like gaze, mirroring the concrete resolve in his body. If the Cornucopia is the keys, why the fuck did Edgar have this-

We’ll deal with it. He squeezes your waist, giving you a short nod. Together. But we have to fucking move, he mutters your name between your heads, holding your gaze. Now. 

You nod, tapping your fingers on the V and shoving it in your pocket with the keys. “Thank you,” you give Vanessa a small, toothless smile. “We’re going to break your window, and you can say it was random criminals. They must have shot out the cameras as well.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen. “You shot out the cameras?! Why would you-“

“We aren’t exactly fucking buddies with Vought, lady.” Ben grunts, and you sigh as he pulls you with him to the far side of the room.

“He’s right, we aren’t.” You crack your neck, examining the glass panes. “Also, you’re going to be missing two other windows. One in the basement, one near that classroom you were just in. I’d get them fixed.”

Before Vanessa can freak out about that as well, you lay your hands on the window, and it melts away. You turn to Ben with a grin, and he winks.

You really fucking like that trick. He grabs your still scorching hand in his, kissing your knuckles without a flinch. I could’ve just fucking punched it in.

Two vanished windows and one broken window is a lot more suspicious than three vanished windows, Benjamin. Consistency is key.

We’d be confusing the fuckers-

You shake your head, dropping your sunglasses onto your face as you lean out the window, checking for a clear path. We don’t want them to be confused. We want them to think it was just a weird break-in, that’s it. No extra reason to really investigate. Let’s go.

Ben follows you out the empty window pane without hesitation, and you hear Hughie give Vanessa a few more, stumbling apologies before following himself. It takes a second to orient yourself to the outdoors—to figure out where you’ve ended up in the yard around Red River—but Ben beats you to it, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him, taking large, long steps in a direct path to the hole you’d burned in the gate. 

Kimiko is waiting for you, leaning against the car and waving to you before signing, good thing you’re back, I need help.

You frown at her, stepping back through the hole in the fence as you sign, with what?

Something kind of happened, while you were gone. Kimiko gives you an apologetic look as you stop in front of her. Don’t worry though, I handled it.

“What’s she saying,” Ben grunts, leaning over you to glare at Kimiko. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong-“

You cut yourself off as Kimiko shakes her head, signing to you with a sheepish expression. Things are wrong. It’s not good.

“You said you handled it-“

I did. She shrugs, pushing off the car and walking around to the trunk, gesturing for you to follow. It’s better if you see.

You chew on your lips, and don’t bother to shrug Ben off as you move to Kimiko’s side. Wait, you sign to her, looking to where Hughie has frozen on the curb, watching everyone with a bemused expression. 

“What’s going on-“

“Kimiko handled something,” Ben snaps, his eyes trained on the trunk. “In the trunk.”

Hughie blinks. “In the trunk? What’s in the trunk-“

“She hasn’t shown us yet,” you cover Ben’s mouth with one hand as he opens it to yell, beckoning Hughie over with the other. “Do we,” you look back to Kimiko. “Should we get ready to fight?”

Kimiko pauses, glancing at the trunk, then signs, No.

“Are you sure?”

Yeah. Ready?

You nod, pulling your hand down from Ben’s mouth and crossing your arms, tapping your fingers against your jacket. “Ready.”

Kimiko pops the trunk, and Hughie stumbles backwards, rubbing his face and pulling at his hair with frantic movements.

“Why the fuck is Ashely in our trunk?” He’s half shouting, and you see Ben—out of the corner of your eyes—shooting him a sharp glare.

“We all fucking see it,” he hisses. “Shut the fuck up before someone goddamn hears you.”

Hughie continues to protest, and you squeeze Ben’s bicep in a silent request for him to handle it. You’re a little preoccupied, your brain moving a mile a minute to adjust for this new, less than ideal development.

Ashley is indeed in your trunk. Completely knocked out, hands tied in a haphazard knot with some rope—you assume Kimiko found it in Butcher’s less-than-secret weapons compartment—and her wig slightly askew.

“Kimiko,” you sign with your words, tearing your eyes away from Ashley and up to her. “What happened.”

I saw her park over there, Kimiko points a little down the block, to a fancy, silver sports car. And start to walk to the gate. We made eye contact, and she tried to run inside, so I jumped her. She’s really weak, it was easy.

“Okay,” you take a heavy breath, looking back to Ashley’s body, double checking for the shallow movements of breath. “Thank you,” you shoot Kimiko a small, tired smile. “I mean, this is a fucking mess, but it’s good she didn’t make it inside, especially if she saw you.”

Kimiko returns your smile, taking your hand and squeezing it, and you feel a rush of her own gratitude, mixed with an almost natural trust. In you. Kimiko really, fully trusts you to deal with this, and it chases away a little bit of the tight, doubting cold in your body. You can fix this. This is something you can fix.

“Ben,” you turn around to where Ben and Hughie are still arguing in half-hushed, half-shouting voices, and they both look up at you with a stare of concern—lined with affection—from the former, and pure, unbridled anxiety from the latter. “I need you to hold the Cornucopia.”

Kimiko’s eyes widen, waving her hands to get your attention before signing, you found it? Is it a bucket? 

“No, it’s keys.” You hold them up quickly for her to see, before chucking them at Ben’s face, not bothering to see if he catches them. He always catches them, and you need to talk to Kimiko. “Can you restrain her without knocking her back out? She probably already has a concussion, and we don’t want to give her permanent brain damage.”

Kimiko nods, flexing her arms and moving to stand right at your side, glancing down at Ashley. What are we doing with her?

“I’m working on that,” you taste a tang of blood in your mouth, and realize you’d bitten through your cheek. “But we need to get her tracker out now. Ben?”

You can feel him behind you, and glance back to find him watching you with a clenched jaw, his legs in a wide stance, as if he’s ready to punch anything you point to. He gives you a sharp nod to continue, so you do.

“I need you to listen for when I’ve fried the tracker. Kimiko will keep Ashley down, and if you can make sure nobody sees us-“ 

“Got it,” Ben grunts, turning around to watch the street, hands fisted at his sides. “Go.”

You swallow, and look back to Ashley, reaching down to touch her arm where the tracker had been in A-Train, feeling only a quiet, empty buzz in her sleeping body. Kimiko’s braced at your side, Hughie’s pacing somewhere behind you, and Ben’s got you. You’re blocked from the view of the sky and street, your blood is cold but all your own, and you can deal with this. You’re not strong enough to fight Homelander, but you can easily deal with Ashley.

It takes a few seconds for the pain to wake her up. You’ve already seared through the first two layers of skin when her eyes shoot open, red and unfocused, and she doesn’t get a chance to make even a strangled sound of panic before Kimiko covers her mouth. From there it’s harder. You can feel every ounce of Ashley’s raw, unbridled fear. It’s all that in her body, and it’s so fucking exhausting and painful and you hate this. When Ben finally nudges your shoulder, muttering fried down your connection, you pull your hand back like you were the one that had been burned, shaking it like you can make Ashley’s mind-numbing fright leave you faster.

Ben, you look over your shoulder, waiting for him to glance back at you before continuing. Can you gag her? I don’t want to knock her out again, but we can’t have her screaming-

Okay. Ben nods—ripping off part of his sleeve without missing a beat—and moves around you to work as you turn to face Hughie. Later, you’ll have to hold Ben’s face between your hands and kiss his whole stupid, handsome, amazing face for letting you take care of this without question. Repeat to him a million times how much you love him, and show him on your knees and under his body and riding him until he groans.

Right now, you’re on borrowed time. There’s still smoke curling from your fingertips, and even though there’s no itch under your skin, your thoughts are moving too fast and there’s bile in your throat. You have to move, right fucking now, and if you pause for even a second you think the cold will take over your bones and blood, and you’ll fall over as a sickening, crippling weight drops onto your shoulders. You’ll fall apart later, and sit in Ben’s warm arms until the cracks stop spreading, beginning to seal once more.

“Hughie,” you turn, and your voice is harsher than you mean it to be, but he’s still panicking and it’s not helping at all. “As far as you know, did anyone but Butcher have access to the safe house cams?”

Hughie’s steps falter as he thinks, his whole body tensed. “No,” his voice is shaking slightly, but raised enough for you to hear it. “He installed them himself, I think. Before you and Soldier Boy even moved in. He might have told Mallory, but only we have the actual software to use them.”

“Okay, good. Kimiko,” you return to the trunk, where Ben is securing Ashley’s gag and Kimiko is holding her down. “I need the keys.” 

Kimiko looks between her occupied hands and you, giving you a slight grimace as you realize the problem.

“Fuck, um, I’m going to list off places and you just nod or shake your head, Okay?”

Nod. 

“Are they on you?”

Shake.

“In the car?”

Nod.

“On the seat?”

Shake.

“Cup holders?”

Shake.

“Ignition?”

Nod. You barely see the bob of confirmation before you’re moving, reaching into Ben’s pockets and grabbing your phone.

“I’m driving.” You watch Ashley carefully as you recite your plan for Ben and Kimiko, knowing one of them will grab Hughie when everything is set. “Double check the knot on her hands and lock the trunk when you’re done. Ben, I need you in shotgun. Kimiko, maybe find Hughie a paper bag or something, I’m worried he’s going to pass out. Ashley,” she goes still, meeting your eyes with her own glossed in a too familiar, rabid look of fear. “We are not going to hurt you. I had to burn out your tracker, but I fucking swear we won’t hurt you. We’re taking you somewhere safe, to talk, and if you want to leave after, you can. But we have to talk first.” 

She nods, a tiny movement you barely catch, and it does almost nothing to sooth the vile, twisting and disgusted feeling in your gut.

But you have to keep moving. You’ve already lingered too long with the cams shot out and the Cornucopia in your possession—whatever the fuck it actually is, because your money’s not on just keys to an empty storage unit—and someone’s going to notice Ashley’s missing soon. You’d rather not be here when they send someone to check her last known location.

When you drop behind the wheel, it occurs to you that you haven’t actually driven a car in four years. After you’d gotten out it had been all walking and buses, nobody ever trusted you enough to drive the van, and Ben had driven that Lexus you’d stolen at the Renegade Room. But it’s like riding a bike. A huge, metal bike that can kill someone. It’ll be intuitive, you’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

You don’t enter the safe house address into the GPS, instead opting for the grocery store Mallory had been using for your supplies. You’ll orient yourself from there, and, just for safety, shut down your phone before you arrive.

Ben opens the shotgun door within a minute, and when you glance up you can see Kimiko tugging Hughie off the street from the rearview mirror. 

When Ben sits down his hand immediately finds your thigh, kneading on your skin and slowing your heart as his firm, permanent, unshakeable resolve wraps through your body. 

You’re okay. He grumbles in the silence, and you are. This is horrible and you feel ill, but you’re dealing with it. And Ben is grounding you, slowing down your brain from every single possible thing that could go wrong, from how many consequences there are going to be for this. You’ll fix this. You can fix this. 

According to the GPS, it should take you about 20 minutes to reach the safe house. But Hughie and Kimiko are barely in the backseat before you’re driving, and you’re no better than Butcher. You’re violating countless traffic laws, and the speed limit is really more of a suggestion, and everyone who’s honking at you can shove it up their ass, because they don’t have Vought’s CEO in their trunk, and you’re doing your fucking best. It’s a miracle you don’t get pulled over, but you go just slow enough to not be an outright danger to other drivers, so when you pass the grocery store—telling Ben to turn off your phone—you’ve made the trip in 11 minutes flat.

It was a silent, tense ride, with Ben keeping his grip tight and solid on your thigh, Kimiko awkwardly patting Hughie on the back as he calms down, and all of you pretending you can’t hear Ashley pushing at the trunk.

You park on the street, yank the keys out of the ignition and drop your head to the steering wheel. You can hear some shuffling around you, and a few, grumbled orders from Ben to Hughie and Kimiko, but there’s a high ringing in your ears and every inch of your body feels cold and vile. The whole ride, when you’d turned the wheel or pressed a button or changed the gear, you could’ve sworn there was blood on your hands. Sticky and red and horrible, horrible blood.

You’re so tired. You’re growing more and more certain that you can’t keep doing this. You don’t feel on the brink of collapse when you’re at home—wrapped in Ben’s arms, laughing with him or your friends, making fun of Butcher and talking to Ryan until looks a little less haunted and a lot more comfortable—but right now you’re so fucking tired. You can still deal with this, but you’re also still weak. Someone strong wouldn’t have crack lining their lungs from the fear. Someone strong would be unwavering, and you’re about to scream and collapse in the car.

Ben tangles his hand in your hair, running it through his fingers as he remains at your side. Always at your side.

Breathe.

I am-

Slowly. Your heart sounds like it’s about to damn pound out of your chest.

You let out a shaking breath, keeping your head down. Maybe that’s just my natural heart rate, you don’t fucking know-

It’s not. Ben’s hand still its movement, something stirring and stuttering in his chest. I’ve gotten yours memorized. It’s too fast right now, so fucking breathe.

You turn your head to the side, and see Ben’s harsh, angered features relax slightly as your eyes meet. I didn’t know that. I thought you could just, I don’t know, hear it.

No. He searches your face, a slight, wired soreness running over his skin. It’s not a big fucking deal-

I have your grunts memorized.

Ben pauses. What.

You give him a small smile, barely a tug of your lips but still genuine. It’s for Ben, so it’s genuine. When you go like this, you mimic one of Ben’s grunts, and his fingers tense on your head, a flash of sharp adoration and amusement pulling something heavy out of his heart. It means you agree with me, but you’re too much of a bitch to admit it. This one, you make another grunt. Means you agree with me, but you’re too grumpy to just use words. This one means you’re about to wake up, this one means you’re listening to me, and this one means you’re listening to someone you don’t respect. This one, you make one last grunt, your smile widening. Is my favorite. It means you’re about to cum, or tell me you love me at a very inopportune moment.

Ben makes that exact grunt, and his hands resume their movements on your head as something vast and easy settles in his body. I do fucking love you. That’s why I have your damn heartbeat memorized.

I know. I love you too, Benjamin.

He’s everything, and nothing you’ve ever said has been more true. Ben is still pulling you apart under his gaze, making the whole world safe and your breathing steady, and you love him. He’s igniting a warmth that spreads through your chest and burns away every thought of can’t fix this, what if you can’t fix this, what if you’re weak and you can’t fix this from where they’d been festering in your gut and mind, and you love him.

When he asks, Better? down your connection, you are. Because he’s here, and you’ll deal with this together, and you love him.

Better. You sigh, pressing your head further onto the leather of the whee, holding his gazel. I hate this, Ben. I really fucking hate this.

I know, he mutters your name in your head, and there’s something holy about the way he says it, that makes you feel just a little stronger. We’re going to figure it out. Fucking swear it.

I kidnapped someone. A small whimper leaves your throat, and something gets caught in its wake. I kidnapped Ashley, I hurt her-

No. Ben’s brow draws into a glare, and there’s a spark of wrath in him that doesn’t drive into you, but wraps over you. Like a barrier, trying to keep you safe. Don’t fucking do that. You didn’t kidnap Ashley. She’s got a direct damn line to Homelander, she knew we were at Red River, and she’s not fucking innocent in this shit. You thought real fucking fast, saved everyone’s damn ass, and we’re going to fix this. You think he can see the doubt and anxiety painted across your face, because he continues. Hughie and Kimiko are getting her inside, you’re going to fucking talk to her or whatever, and then she’ll be free. It’s not kidnapping if you set her free.

You give him a flat look. I don’t think that’s true. 

No. It’s a fucking hostage-

Hostages are for negotiation, we’re not negotiating for anything.

Yet, Sunshine. He winks. Night’s still real fucking young.

You might cry. A soft laugh pushes out of your lips, and your thoughts are clear and focused—get Ashley inside, figure out why she was at Red River, convince her to not tell Homelander or Sage about any of this and adapt to whatever comes up—but you’re still going to cry. You’re tired, and Ben is so warm, and you want to climb into his lap and stay there for a while. Maybe forever.

But you have work to do. You can’t cry these tears—born from a confusing storm of love for Ben and exhaustion and unfair—now, but you’ll cry them later. When it’s only you and Ben in the whole world—on your bed, a lamp light casting his handsome face in a soft, golden glow—you’ll climb onto his chest and wait until his warmth seals a few more cracks, and you’re a little less tired.

Ben sees the determination set onto your face, and presses a kiss to your brow before climbing out of the car, moving around to your side and helping you onto the street. Ready?

Ready. You nod, and glance up the driveway to see Kimiko holding Ashley over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and Hughie’s back to you with a hand hovering over the code-pad.

“We need to get inside-“ 

Hughie cuts you off as you approach, turning around with a sheepish expression. “I, um, I can’t remember the passcode-“

“Christ on a Cross,” Ben jerks his head for Hughie to move, stomping up to the keypad and jabbing the numbers in with his thumb and low grumbles of, “fucking mouse-brained pussy.”

Hughie blinks, shooting you a look of confusion. “Has he, um, always known the code-“

“Yes,” Ben snaps, stepping back to your side as the door unlocks and glowering at Hughie. “You idiots are goddamn terrible at your jobs, I figured that shit out before two months in this place.”

Hughie opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then shakes his head and closes it.

“We should, uh,” you glance at Kimiko, barely affected by any of Ashley’s weak thrashing. “It’s not smart to stay outside.”

Kimiko nods, hauling Ashley through the door with everyone else following behind, and you’ve barely closed the door when Neuman’s in the hallway, gaping at the scene before her.

“What the fuck are you guys doing-“

“We need to use your office,” your voice is apathetic, filled with measured boredom. You don’t have time for Neuman to argue, or the energy to dance in circles about why here and what the hell is wrong with you idiots, so you only offer Neuman a semi-apologetic face as you continue. “Sorry.”

“Does Mallory-“

“No. Don’t tell her.”

“Hughie,” Nueman turns to Hughie, who flinches. “What the hell is happening? Why are you guys always up to something insane-“

“Ashley showed up at Red River,” he mumbles. “And saw us. We’re, um,” Hughie glances at you. “I’m not actually sure what we’re doing-“

“We have questions for her,” you supply, holding Neuman’s irritated gaze. “This place is safe.” 

Something strange that you can’t read flashes in Neuman’s eyes, and she gives you a clipped nod. “Fine. Don’t get blood anywhere-“

“There won’t be any blood.” You nod for Kimiko to carry a slightly more struggling Ashley up the stairs as you speak, and with a shrug to Neuman, she does. “Thanks.”

“I want to sit in on this,” Neuman snaps. “I don’t-“

“Okay.” You shrug, and Neuman blinks.

“That’s it? I can? You’re not going to try and stop me-“

“I’ve got a lot to deal with, Neuman.” You link your arm through Ben’s—standing over you, letting you deal with this while he stares daggers and promises of violence at Neuman—and don’t bother to look at Neuman’s expression as you walk past her, up the stairs. “I’m picking my battles, and I don’t really give a fuck about that one.”

Kimiko had dropped Ashley in a chair—keeping her in her seat with a hand on her shoulder—and you haven’t even fully removed the gag when Ashley starts shouting.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?! Why did you keep me in the trunk, where did you fucking take me, what the fuck is,” Ashley goes pale as Neuman enters the room, locking the door behind her. “Why the fuck is the ghost of Victoria Neuman here?! Where am I?!”

You take them one at a time, ignoring the what’s wrong with you question, because you simply don’t have the time. “Well, we couldn’t exactly keep you in the backseat, we took you somewhere safe, and Neuman isn’t a ghost, she’s just not as dead as you might have been led to believe.”

“What?!”

“I’m alive,” Neuman makes a sarcastic, sweeping gesture. “Surprise.”

Ashley’s face twitches, and she looks back to you. “You faked her death.”

“Obviously-“

“Fake mine.”

Ashley’s words are firm and assured when she cuts you off, and it makes your own voice falter. You look over to Ben, and even he looks confused. You expect Hughie's shock, Kimiko’s blinking, and Neuman’s slightly open mouth, but Ben never looks confused. He looks annoyed or grumpy or pissed, but never so obviously slack jawed and thrown off. It’s almost disturbing.

Hughie clears his throats, words uncertain. “I, um, we don’t just fake deaths-“

Ashley scoffs, all of her evident fear—or self-preservation—having abandoned her as she says, “Oh, fuck off, Campbell. You fake deaths all the time-“

“No, we don’t-“

“I know about A-Train.”

Hughie’s protests die off, and he looks to you with a hopeless expression.

“Ashley,” you tap your fingers on your leg, keeping your voice steady and neutral. “Why do you want us to fake your death.”

“Because I’d like to make it past forty,” she snaps. “Sage and Homelander are insane, the Deep is an idiot fish-fucker, and I want out. I know A-Train was thinking about leaving, and you helped fake his death. Help me too.”

“No offense, Ashley.” Hughie says, his frown unsure as he fidgets with his hands. “But why should we help you? I mean, you’ve been loyal to Vought forever, and you were just at Red River-”

“I was there to help you guys!” Ashley’s voice fills with desperation, pleading anger. “I got the call that the cams had been blown, checked the last footage, which I deleted before Sage could see, you’re fucking welcome, and realized this was my out!”

“Then why the fuck did you run from Kimiko,” Ben grunts through teeth, and Ashley looks almost offended by the question.

“Because she’s fucking psycho! I mean,” Ashley wiggles in the chair, and Kimiko winces. “She knocked me out and tied me up-“

“She’s not psycho,” you cut Ashley off with a hiss, and Kimiko gives you a grateful, tentative smile. “You’re not trustworthy. We have no reason to trust you-“

A loud, sudden chorus of music and buzzing cut through the air, and Hughie almost dropped his phone as he fumbles it out of his pocket.

“Shit, sorry,” he says your name with a flinch, and turns the screen for you to see. “It’s MM, can I-“ 

“Yeah,” you gesture your head to the hallway, keeping your attention on Ashley. “Hughie?”

He pauses with his hand on the door. “Yeah?”

“Tell MM we’re still at Red River. I’ll tell him when this is cleaned up, but we don’t need to give him a heart attack.”

Hughie hesitates, glancing at Ashley, and nods. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”

“What do you mean cleaned up,” Ashley squeaks, the door closing behind Hughie. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me-“

“We won’t,” you chew on your cheek, looking over Ashley with a heavy, frustrated sigh. “But we still don’t trust you-“ 

“You have to trust me, I’m on your side!” Ashley’s eyes on yours are hopeless, her voice growing distraught. “I even, look, I brought you something! It’s in my pocket, I stole it from Sage to prove you can trust me-“

Check her pocket, you sign to Kimiko, saying aloud to Ashley, “What is it.”

“Information! You guys need information, right, you’re really stupid-“

If this wasn’t such a dire situation, you’d have laughed at how Ben and Kimiko have almost identical expressions of indignation, Ben’s hot anger flashing through you and Kimiko looking up at Ashley with a scowl.

“Hot tip, Ashley.” You say, tone dry and gaze flat. “Don’t call the people you’re trying to defect to really stupid. What is it-“

Your words die in your throat as Kimiko rises back up from Ashley’s pocket, holding up a fluffy pink pen.

Neuman huffs in disbelief. “How the hell is that-“

“Shut up,” you snap, and don’t bother to think about Neuman’s shocked expression. “Ashley, where the fuck did you get that.”

“I told you, I stole it from Sage. I recorded one of our meetings, and I got some of Sage’s fucked up plan! It's a peace offering, you have to fucking help me, I’m done, I want out, I promise.“

You don’t trust it. This is an exact type of play Sage would make. Take advantage of you and your team's morality and desperation, give you one reason to trust Ashley and then stab you in the back.

Play it, you sign to Kimiko, who’s eyeing the pen with weary confusion. You have to click it-

Your movements falter as Kimiko follows your instructions, and Sage’s voice fills the room. It’s still cold and crude and almost robotic, and that broken thing in your gut cowers at the sound. 

“We’re still waiting on our federal asset to report back, but I have faith they’ll block any of Butcher’s plans for the V.  They’re also working on the remaining supplies, I don’t know what Edgar was thinking with that deal, but it should remain a non-issue. Most of them don’t have the cognitive skills to connect any dots that might prove dangerous to us, except,” Sage says your name, and you swallow. “And she’s-“

“She’s missing, Sage,” that’s Homelander���s voice. Annoyed and callous and hateful, making every part of your body shrink into itself. “She’s not working with those fucking idiots, they probably took her again-“

“You saw the tower, and my coma, that was-“

The audio cuts out, and you take a long breath. “Who recorded that.”

“I did,” Ashley’s answer is nervous, but not quick. Not rehearsed. “I stole the pen from Sage, and recorded it. I couldn’t use my phone, they’d have tracked me on it-“ 

“Homelander thinks I’m still on his side?”

“He fucking lasered one of the writers.” Ashley face contorts in disgust. “When they suggested moving the narrative to you being a heartbreaking slut.”

Ben’s arm shoots out, as if he can feel the slightly dizzying cold climbing up your spine—he probably can—and steadies you on your feet. If Ashley has an opinion on that, her eyes dropping to Ben’s hand resting on your hip, arm around your waist, holding you tight against him as his fingers rub patterns on your skin, she’s smart enough not to say it.

“What’s the federal asset.”

“Sage has a contact or leak or something,” Ashley’s voice is growing eager as she answers you. Still authentic, and you don’t remember her being a great actress. “I don’t know who, but I think it’s in the CIA or another fucking important government place.“

Your hand moves to cover Ben’s, keeping him there—warm and holding you on earth—and tapping your fingers on his knuckles as you continue. “And the Red River deal. What’s that.”

“Red River is funded by the government, I think it was in exchange for their own V supply, but I’m not sure-“ 

“Fuck,” you hiss, turning to Neuman. “When you were in the White House, did they-“

“They did,” Neuman mutters. “Off-site, not involved with the Pentagon. It was an executive backup, but I don’t know where we got it-“

“It’s from Red River. Ashley’s not lying about that, it’s half-government funded with tax breaks.”

Ashley frowns at you. “That was a big fucking secret, how did you-“ she cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. “A-Train?”

You give a curt nod, giving up on trying to gloss over that question. There are more important things to worry about. You can taste blood again, and you’re too wired to focus on anything but what now. You have to figure out what the fuck to do now.

“So he is alive-“

“Yeah, he’s alive, shut up.”

“I knew it, that piece of shit-“

Ben tugs you closer to his side, shooting Ashley a deadly glower. “She said to shut the fuck up.”

“How long have you wanted out,” your question is slow, tired. You’re tired, and you do want a reason to trust Ashley. You can’t give her to Mallory, she can’t just go back to Vought, and fucking hell you’re going to scream. “Because we can’t just fake your death-“

“You faked A-Train’s death-“ 

“Well, despite what you think, we aren’t in the business of witness protection. And with that,” you point to the pen. “We can’t give you to the CIA. So what do you think happens here.”

Ashley goes pale. “You keep me safe? And I help you fuck with Vought?”

“We can’t take you with us, Ashley.” You rub your face, trying to push all the tension out of your body. “This is really fucking complicated-“

“She can stay with me.” 

You turn to Neuman, and find her face settled with a resolved certainty. “What?”

“I want this whole thing to be over as well, and if keeping Ashley safe will help, I can do that.” Neuman sighs. “Zoe needs to go to a regular school, and I miss coffee shops. Mallory never visits, so that’s not a danger, and you’re right, she,” Neuman jerks her head to Ashley. “Can’t go back to Vought. As long as she promises to not be a bitch, she can stay here.” 

“I won’t be a bitch,” Ashley jumps in, words frenzied and expression hopeful. “And I’ll help wherever you need-“ 

You raise a hand, and Ashley’s words stutter off as you examine her. You shouldn’t trust her. She might still be working with Sage and Homelander, this could so easily be a trap.

But fuck, you’re sick of being vigilant. And Ashley’s fear is still lingering in your throat, and it tastes like grime and leeches off your own terror, making the cracks inside you spread. You’re tired, and you don’t want to be angry and cold and bitter anymore. This might be a trap. It might be smarter to lock Ashley up somewhere, or kill her right here.

You have no interest in being smarter right now. Locking Ashley up is a line you won’t cross, and the thought of killing her makes your hands feel wrong and evil.

“Ashley,” you say, words clear and sharp. “If we leave you here, you listen to Neuman. Her word is your fucking law. Got it?” 

“Yes,” Ashley nods, and something relaxes in her face. “Got it. Thank you-“

“Don’t,” you exhale, leaning back into Ben’s body. “Just don’t fuck us.”

“I won’t.”

You want to believe her. More than anything. So you give her a half-smile, and nod to Kimiko to release her.

The door bangs. “Can someone let me in-“

Hughie falls forward as Neuman opens the door, regaining his balance in stumbling steps. His gaze flicks to Ashley—untied and rubbing her wrists—but it doesn’t linger, shooting to you with a wide, anxiety filled expression.

“We, uh, we have to wrap this up-“

“We did, Ashley’s staying here.” You frown. “Hughie, what-“

“Singer wants us all in DC. And we were supposed to leave an hour ago, but MM couldn’t reach you.”

“Fuck, okay. Neuman-“

“I’ll handle it,” she gives you a curt nod, keeping her eyes on Ashley. “Good luck with Singer.”

You should apologize for barging in and dropping Ashley on her without notice, but it feels like an insult. Neuman’s smart, and she knows what she’s doing. So you return the nod, take the pen from Kimiko, and slide your hand into Ben’s as you pull the car keys out of your pocket, tossing them to Hughie.

You turn back to Ashley before you follow Ben out the door, and know you’ve made the right choice. There’s no one to blame for this, and if there was, it wouldn’t be Ashley. She’s just as afraid and tired as you are. You’re starting to think everyone might be just as afraid and tired as you are, and you’re just the only one weak enough to crack and break and show it.

Not weak.

You’re not weak. You fixed this. And Ben’s hand is holding yours, big and warm, with rough fingers holding you in a gentle grasp. There’s still atomic, zealous, focused love in his body, all for you, and it’s so strong. There’s still that mold lining his heart, but it’s being pushed out and replaced by that blooming glow, and you think you’re fueling it. That it’s fertilized by that piece of you that’s alive inside of him, that’s twined into his body and permanent. Weak things aren’t permanent. Weak things don’t grow.

Everyone is tired. This is all fucking unfair and everyone is tired. But Ben’s hand is in yours. Ben loves you, and not every other exhausted, wronged person in the world. He’s staying with you, and never leaving you in the darker spaces that are only cold and hollow.

Not weak. You are not weak. You are not fucking weak. You’re still exhausted, but you’re not fucking weak. There are a hundred more battles to fight in this war, and you’re not faltering. You’re tired, but you’re still fucking fighting, and you’re not fucking weak.

And you’re going to figure this out. With Ben at your side, you’re going to get to the end. Together.

End Note: As we near the third and final act of this story, an extra thank you! I don't think I'll ever fully express how grateful I am for everyone, and the love you've shown this story means everything to me. These two haunt my everyday life, and I'm so happy you guys adore them as well. Thank you so, so much, and I'll see you soon for an all Ben chapter!

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[lot-of-nothing]

Entwined (Ch. 5)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

A first date???

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and working through internalized homophobia

Author’s Note: No beta but this chapter took me wayyyy too long. This week was crazy with getting a new apartment states away and defending my thesis 😵‍💫

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Jacob nervously slipped into the kitchen as Melissa waited expectantly for a ziti you requested to finish baking. He attempted to keep space between himself and the Italian - for his own safety of course. The space between the two roommates had grown after he confronted Melissa a few nights ago about seeing her kiss you. Tonight he was looking to mend the bond between them. 

He leaned on the kitchen island, hands clasped and eyes studying the countertop, “I wanted to, uh... apologize for what happened a few nights ago. I shouldn’t have been so abrasive.”

The redhead only offered him a momentary glance which was harsh and skeptical. It was clear she wasn’t interested in having any conversation about the events Jacob witnessed. While Melissa continued giving Jacob the cold shoulder, he wanted to make it clear he was there to support her, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Melissa quickly responded in a monotone with her back to Jacob so she could go about her business of pulling the ziti from the oven. She placed the baking dish on the top of the stove, and took a deep breath as she pulled the oven mitts from her hands and tossed them onto the counter. Spinning to face her roommate, she cocked her head and forced herself to make peace with the young man, “Thank you, Jacob.”

“I found a new puzzle for tonight... if you would like.” The young man gestured towards the dining room where he left the puzzle, earning a smile from the redhead.

With a flick of her hand, Melissa turned off the oven and folded her arms over her chest, “I would like.”

--

When Melissa picked up your phone call and wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder, she had no idea you were sitting outside her house. Before she could get a word in edgewise, you spoke - trying your best to sound smooth and collected so she couldn’t tell you were fearful of her rejection, “Let’s go, Schemmenti.”

“What?” She leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes to hide her enthusiasm from Jacob who sat across the table with his head cocked, staring at her in curiosity. They were about half way through their 3D puzzle of the statue of liberty when you interrupted. 

After opening your car door, you step out and lean against the car door frame, smirking as you catch a glimpse of her red hair through the front window. You doubled down on your mission of taking Melissa out, giving her an order rather than asking, “Come on out here. I’m taking you on a date.” 

“What makes you think I’d go on a date with the likes of you?” Melissa tittered as she tried to hide how she enjoyed flirting with you from her companion. 

You reply sarcastically, feeling a sense of excitement wash over you when you make her laugh, “My good looks and sense of humor. Or perhaps my love of long walks on the beach.”

Melissa finally lifted herself from her seat so she could make her way to the front window where she pulled aside the sheer blinds to catch a glimpse of you. Your cheeky smile melted Melissa’s icy exterior as did the way you leaned your cheek on your forearm as you gazed at her. She had one hand on her hip as she stared you down, “Where are ya’ takin’ me?” 

“I’m still trying to decide between the Olive Garden or some chain sports bar where we can watch the Cowboys play.” You joke, grinning wildly as you watch her lip curl.

She turned her back to you, looking around the room for her purse and shoes, “Are you tryin’ to get me to say no?”

“Just testing to see how much you like me.” You quip as you watch her curiously. More than anything you hope your joking wouldn’t turn her off from the date you had planned. 

“What’s the dress code?” The redhead asked, glancing down at her comfortable outfit of old jeans and an Eagles shirt. She had been ready to slip on her shoes so she could meet you, but she began to second guess herself. 

“Something easy to take off.” Your quick wit made the redhead stifle a laugh as she clumsily began gathering all of her belongings. Her pacing made her seem a little too eager to Jacob, causing him to arch his brow in amusement. You could see her grabbing her leather jacket and purse which caused you to remember the ziti you asked her to make just for this occasion, “Oh, and did you make that ziti?”

“Well, yeah.” She scoffed, almost offended you would question her willingness to cook for you. 

“Bring that too.” 

— Melissa folded her arms over her chest and watched out the window as she skeptically wondered where you could be taking her so late in the evening. When you turned into the stadium parking lot of the Lincoln Financial Field, she glanced over at you with a look of pure disbelief. She didn’t believe you could get her into the Eagles home stadium for a single moment, “And how do you think you are gettin’ in here?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug as your eyes sweep the parking lot for the entry point your cousin told you to find. 

Melissa was all heart eyes in the passenger seat, watching you with complete amazement. Her chest swelled with pride when you ended up handing over her ziti to your cousin whilst telling them she is the best cook in her family. And the cherry on top was how you gave a subtle threat to your cousin to make sure they would return Melissa’s baking dish to you. In a period of five minutes, you tapped into three of her love languages: having connections, bribery through food, and not-so-subtle threats. 

—

Melissa was like a kid in a candy store as you gave her free reign of exploring the sports complex. As a night security guard, your cousin had agreed to give you access to everything as long as you set him up on a date with some girl you knew from high school and Melissa’s cooking was just the icing on the cake. 

The redhead was in her happy place when she settled on the Eagles sideline bench and grinned up at you, “You didn’t have to go to such great lengths to get me to sleep with ya’.” 

“Who said I was trying to sleep with you?” You cock your head as you stare down at Melissa, your heart jumping into your throat as you consider sharing your true intentions for her. While every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stay quiet, you remembered you were conducting your relationship with Melissa on your own terms rather than giving her all of the power. 

You popped yourself down on the bench next to Melissa, stretching your legs out in front of you as you stated your intentions with confidence, “I’m gonna get you to fall head over heels for me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mel perked up in faux excitement as she loved to challenge anyone when they were filled with a noticeably high level of confidence. Her heart stalled in her chest at the notion of you trying to get her to fall for you - in a way it felt like too much too soon and a long time coming all at once.

You nod, staring out across the field with your chin held high, “Indeed it is.”

Melissa allowed a few moments to pass between you before she spoke again. While the prospect of a new relationship was frightening for her, she was determined to give a romance with you a fighting chance. She leaned into you when she spoke, giving your arm a loving pinch, “This is a good start, but if your guy can get us into the locker rooms, things will go a lot quicker.” 

—

You shifted the car into park outside Melissa’s house and a silence fell between you. The date had gone well, but now there seemed to be a new energy between you that had yet to be felt by either of you before. It was almost as if there was a palpable mutual yearning that expanded far beyond sexual desire. 

This feeling terrified Melissa.

“Everything is going to change.” When she spoke, you felt the need to do a double take to see if Melissa had been replaced with a 16 year old version of herself. Her tone was the same as when she told her father she wanted to be a teacher rather than the next Effa Manley - fearful of disappointing loved ones.

You shifted in your seat to more readily face the redhead. Cocking your head, you tried to give her an encouraging response, “Why does everything have to change?” 

“Didn’t everything change for you?” She asked as she chewed her lip, one hand lifting to her miraculous medal to rub the image of the Virgin Mary with the pad of her thumb. 

While it wasn’t easy coming out when you were teenagers, you remembered the support you received from your family and Melissa. At the time it was all you felt you needed, but of course, after telling Melissa about your attraction to the fairer sex, you did gain a sexual partner - the thought of which made you grin, “Mostly life was better. It helped having good friends.”

Melissa hummed to acknowledge your response before falling deep into thought. She wouldn’t even know where to start. Jacob would be easy, but Barbra? She felt sick at the thought of even discussing the matter with her. 

You broke up her swirls of anxiety with your own question, “Why did you say yes to this date?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Melissa retorted as she was briefly filled with relief of a lightened mood before realizing you were completely serious. Her face fell once more as you left her in a heavy silence to respond to your question. Her reasoning stemmed from your spat that occurred months ago, “When you told me you remembered that night before the wedding… I forgot how you asked me to give you a chance and I never did.”

“I said a lot more than that.”

“So did I.”

When you opened your door to a red eyed Melissa, you were literally taken aback by the redhead pushing her way into your arms. It was the night before she was set to marry Joe - some loser firefighter she had met while tailgating at a Eagles game. You hated him since Mel told you he wanted to take her to a strip club on the first date. 

While you would never tell her ‘I told you so’, you knew he wasn’t the right person for her. You kept your mouth shut, hugging her to your chest and guiding her further into your little apartment so you could close the door. 

She told you through teary eyes and angry hiccups that the rehearsal dinner had gone terribly and that Joe was a complete pig. You didn’t offer an opinion, opting to let the redhead rage as you settled on the couch together. She would wave her hands over her head and curse in Italian while you nodded along, only deciding to pull her to your chest once more when hot, angry tears began rolling down her cheeks. 

Rubbing Melissa’s back was an easy way to settle her anger, but her tears continued to fall regardless of how many times she wiped them away with her sleeves. You held her face to your chest and spoke softly, hoping she wouldn’t turn her anger onto you, “Maybe you shouldn’t be marrying him if all of this is happening and you aren’t even married yet.”

“My parents have already paid for the wedding. I can’t back out now.” Melissa nuzzled her cheek against your chest. She was in absolute despair yet she wasn’t willing to actively do anything to solve her issue. 

“But if you do, then… maybe we could be together.” It was unavoidable for you to sound like you were begging. You wanted this so badly. You wanted her so badly. In the brief moment where she didn’t respond, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying a little harder, “Come on. Give us a chance, pretty girl.”

Melissa only peered up at you, and her furrowed brows and sad eyes broke your heart. “I want to… I just-”

You held a hand to her cheek, brushing her hair from her face. You were desperate for Melissa to come to her senses. Couldn’t she see that you were meant to be together? Your voice was barely above a whisper as you moved to press your lips to her forehead, “I love you, Melissa. Please.”

The redhead eyes lit up at your words - like you had ignited something within her. Without a moment’s hesitation, Melissa shifted to sneak closer so she could press her lips to yours. She kissed you over and over - each kiss was filled with so much desperation it left both of you breathless. 

She pulled away only for a moment, her forehead resting against yours, “I love you.”

From there you fed off one another’s passion and energy like frenzied sharks. You ended up making love on your living room floor, clinging to one another as if you would be separated forever if any distance formed between you. Only if you would have known that distance was fated to form regardless.

Melissa’s face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if she was reliving that night with regret or fondness - perhaps it was a combination of both. You watched thoughts run through her mind and her green hues were pleading when she spoke, “Have your feelings changed?”

“Never.”

Melissa both feared and adored your response.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes longer, spiraling at the omissions of love and not wanting your time together to end so soon. It was finally Melissa who made the move to leave, followed by your immediate reaction to open your door as well. You felt the thrum of excitement as you circled the car and walked the redhead to her door. 

She stopped when she had a hand on the door handle and glanced back at you, noticing you were at the bottom step with no intention to go any further. Her brows furrowed in confusion, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

“No. I’m just walking you to your door.” You shrug, craning your neck back to watch her with a cocky smile. 

“Chivalrous.” Melissa’s dry humor emerged as she abandoned the door handle to stand a step above you - her hands sliding up to your shoulders while she stared down at you. After years of being entwined with one another, you wouldn’t have thought her next words would make you so nervous, “Do I get a kiss at least?”

Wrapping your arm around her waist, you pull her into you, relishing in the feeling of her body weight pressing against you. The feeling of her green eyes staring intently down at you was overwhelming, especially as her focus on you was unwavering. Glancing back and forth, you whispered with a shyness that made you want to swallow your words, “Aren’t you worried about the neighbors getting the wrong idea?”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” She whispered in return - a white lie meant to soothe any concerns you may have about her intentions. Melissa had no interest in her neighbors knowing more than they needed to about her personal life, but she chose to wrap her arms around your neck and press her lips to yours regardless. 

You could have sworn you felt Melissa Schemmenti moan as she leaned into you more to deepen your kiss. This wasn’t any moan, however. This high pitch, quiet moan was a ‘please dear god keep kissing me’ moan. It made your heart race and your stomach twist into knots - so much so that you pulled away.

“Goodnight, pretty girl.” You lingered close as you whispered your farewell, ghosting her lips with your own before you gingerly took a step back.

Melissa swayed where she stood, her flushed cheeks hidden by the dim lighting of the streetlights. She folded her arms over her chest, shrugging as she hopelessly attempted to find a way to bid you goodbye that wouldn’t rob her of her ‘tough guy’ style. The redhead suppressed a smile and watched you through heavy lidded eyes - she was smitten and hated every bit of it. “Yeah yeah yeah. Get off my lawn before I have to turn a hose on ya’.”

—

Melissa settled onto the couch next to Jacob and was stewing with mixed emotions she didn’t know how to process. For years she hadn’t given you the chance of letting you in emotionally, and the very second she let her walls down, she was tripping over herself to get your attention. She found you to be a perfect balance of everything she wanted in a potential partner, successfully making her feel remorse for how much of your time she had wasted by not pursuing this sooner. Mel was fearful of how you would move forward together, but god she wanted it terribly. 

Jacob interrupted her thoughts with his own - knowing full well he was treading on grounds that could quickly earn him a place on Melissa’s ‘Perpetually Ignore’ list. He was shockingly plain and confident with his words, “I know you are going through something right now, but don’t... hurt your friend in the process.”

Melissa sat in his words, truly taking them to heart. She wanted to do better by you and she knew where she needed to start, but she was fearful of taking that leap. The redhead stared down into her lap as she began picking at her nails, “We aren’t really friends...”

Tears formed in Melissa’s eyes, but she wasn’t about to let Jacob see how scared she was to admit those words aloud. She hadn’t even truly come out to Jacob and she was feeling entirely overwhelmed at the prospect. Jacob wasn’t phased, rather he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. He rubbed her arm gently as he spoke, “I know, Melissa... I know.”

Link to Chapter 6

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXVI)

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for an adorable first date!!! Also, a reminder that this is not meant to be read by minors…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3839

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Of love

I have been in love more times than one, thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting whether active or not. Sometimes it was all but ephemeral, maybe only an afternoon, but not less real for that. They stay in my mind, these beautiful people, or anyway beautiful people to me, of which there are so many. You, and you, and you, whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe missed. Love, love, love, it was the core of my life, from which, of course, comes the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned that some of them were men and some were women and some—now carry my revelation with you— were trees. Or places. Or music flying above the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun which was the first, and the best, the most loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into my eyes, every morning. So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began.

Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Andrew looked at his reflection in the mirror, hesitated, freed his hair from the bun he had gathered it in.

He heaved a sigh, trying to slow down his heart, to alleviate the knot in his stomach.

He was so fucking nervous. God, Andrew had not been this nervous since his first date with Samantha. No, scratch that. He had not been so nervous since he had presented his thesis.

He checked his outfit again, pondered his choice for the hundredth time. A black shirt, black pants, black vest, brown leather shoes. Was it too much black?

He shook his head. He looked good in all black, his mother had told him so, and he trusted her with this. He readjusted his glasses. Should he wear contacts? Sam liked him better with contacts rather than glasses…

Fuck Samantha.

Andrew preferred wearing glasses, and so he kept them perched on his nose.

Hair up, or hair down?

He couldn’t choose, thought his hair looked good enough today even if he let it loose but then again he didn’t want to have his hair always falling before his face. He opted for the middle ground, tied up only a few strands in a half bun and let the rest fall loosely to his shoulders.

Yeah… he looked good enough.

He added a little bit of his cologne, just to make sure he smelled nice. He turned towards his dog, who was lying behind him on the floor, his head resting on his front paws.

“So… Elwood… what do you think? Do I look nice?”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name, making Andrew chuckle. He walked over to pet Elwood behind the ears.

“Yeah, I agree. I look decent enough. Wish me luck! I’m gonna need it.”

Andrew had made sure he wasn’t going to be late, even if he had to drop Elwood at his brother’s. He had set up five alarms to mark the passing of time. And indeed, when he knocked on your door, he was two minutes early.

He was picking you up tonight. For your first date he was the one planning everything. He hoped you would like the evening he had planned for you. He wanted to impress you, to be honest. He wanted to show you that he could be better than Frank, that you didn’t have to regret your choice…

He took a couple of deep breaths as he waited before your front door, looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your favourites, he had made sure to choose them. He hoped you would like them.

When you opened your door, he was left speechless. He froze, stared, couldn’t help his eyes from raking your frame. You in your emerald dress, the one he had bought with you and that he had dreams about, the way you had tied your hair, the light glimmer of a jewel around your neck…

You… you were… so fucking…

“Gorgeous.”

You raised a surprised but amused eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips now. And Andrew blushed all the way up to his ears…

He cleared his throat, tried to overcome his embarrassment. God, he really was the worst…

“You… Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out in an excited breath, grinning up at him.

“You… you look beautiful,” he complimented you, making you shy away a little.

“Thanks. You look nice too.”

He grinned at that, a wave of pride washing over his heart.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He handed you his flowers, and you thanked him again, breathing in their sweet scent.

“These are my favourite flowers.”

“I know,” he nodded, and you seemed touched by his answer, emotional now.

“You’re ready to go?” he asked.

“Sure! Just have to put these in some water and grab my purse. Come in.”

He obliged, waited while you were getting ready. He was fidgeting when you came back, his shoulders bent, nerves making him want to disappear. He had to bend to pass your doorframe, and he hadn’t straightened his posture after that.

You noticed as you walked back from your kitchen, found him still standing before your door, rubbing at his palms. And you were frowning now, slowly approaching him.

God… were you second-guessing this already?

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

He looked at you, surprised.

“’Course. Just… a bit nervous, I guess.”

The understatement of the century. He was this far from shitting his pants…

You reached out, placed your hand on his upper arm. His heart quickened at the touch, he felt his muscles relax without being able to control his own body.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look smaller than you are.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow, but didn’t straighten his posture.

“You do that when you’re sad, or feel bad, or just… want to disappear. Are you… Are you uncomfortable with us going on a date?”

“Uncomfortable? No, of course not… I’m… nervous. Terrified that I’m going to do something stupid and ruin our date, but… no, I’m not uncomfortable with us dating at all, on the contrary.”

“I like it, you know? How tall you are. I really like that about you. So… no need to shrink down when you’re around me, alright?”

His heart was filled with warmth, and finally, Andrew stood straighter again.

“Besides… I’m already in love with you. So… no pressure. It’s not like you have to seduce me or anything.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Right…”

You offered him a tender smile, narrowing your eyes a little at him, mischief painted all over your features.

“Actually… can you bend down for a second?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Just for a sec.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

“A bit more…”

He bent down again, until you were raising to your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

You gave him a toothy grin, a mischievous one that made him giggle like a lovesick fool.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” you smiled, and he followed you outside of your flat again, his skin burning where your lips had touched him, feeling a little light-headed after your gesture, dizzy with your perfume.

He drove the two of you outside Dublin, all the way down to Wicklow. Andrew finally started to relax during the drive, conversation settling smoothly, as it always did with you. The sun was setting, it would soon be nighttime, but for now the light was painting the sky with golden and red, stripes of purple stretching towards the horizon.

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going!” you noted, and Andrew smirked.

“That’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Hmm… I hope you’ll like it. Had to ask for some help from locals to get everything ready.”

“Really?”

“Hmm.”

“What have you planned?” you asked, fully intrigued by now.

“Ha! Won’t say! It would spoil everything.”

You mumbled something about Andrew being annoying, and it made him laugh.

Indeed, he had asked a few friends to help him set up the scenery he wanted for the date. He was also using a part of the land owned by some family friends.

You frowned as you entered the property, but didn’t head towards the house; Andrew aimed the wheel towards the small wood instead, that stretched beyond the fields of barley.

“Where are we going?” you asked again.

“This property belongs to some friends. My parents live nearby, they’re practically neighbours, have been friends for decades. I asked if I could spend the evening on the edge of their wood. We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Oh… right…”

“They own the whole farm,” Andrew explained.

“Okay…”

“Don’t worry, no one is going to come during our date. I just needed a nice spot to set up my terrible plan.”

You chuckled at that, let Andrew drive the rest of the way in silence.

He parked by the edge of the trees, opened the door for you, and you smiled at the gallant gesture, a tinge of teasing in your smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear knight in shining armour…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Come on, don’t take the piss. Let me be romantic tonight, alright? The lad is doing his best…”

“Alright, alright… sorry.”

“Right, you need to close your eyes now.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. This is a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s just behind those trees. And I won’t let you fall.”

He offered you his open palm.

“Trust me.”

His smile was kind, infinitely tender. You stared at him, but he didn’t read hesitation in your eyes, your expression was a little too emotional for that. Still, you nodded, slipped your fingers in his hand.

“I do trust you, Andy,” you tenderly smiled up at him, before closing your eyes, and Andrew struggled to breathe at your words, his heart feeling warm again.

“Although… I don’t know if I should,” you joked, back with your playful tone. “You are a pretty clumsy lad…”

He laughed at that.

“A clumsy giraffe, that’s what I am.”

Still, when he gently pulled on your hand, you followed him.

You walked for no more than a couple of minutes, before reaching a tiny clearing. Nothing impressive, but there was enough space between the pines and oak trees for Andrew to set up his plan.

He had hung a large set of white sheets between two trees, had set a projector so you could watch a movie. A blanket, some cushions and a picnic were set to eat during the film. He had borrowed some fairy lights from his parents to hang them around the clearing, and his brother and Alex had helped him set them up.

It looked nice. He hoped you would like it…

“Alright, you can open your eyes.”

You blinked, gasped as you took in the view. You looked around, found no words to say.

“Andy…”

When you turned to him again, you had tears in your eyes.

“This… this is…”

He offered you a shy smile, trying to take in the view as well. The way the sunset was painting your frame with orange hues, how the fairy lights shown in your eyes…

“Do you like it?”

You laughed, blinking tears away.

“I love it. This is… this is better than what I had imagined.”

“Good,” he whispered, burying his hands in his pockets, feeling himself relax.

“What are we watching?”

“A movie you like,” he answered simply, moving towards the cushions so you would both take a seat.

The picnic was simple, nothing too fancy, but you were glowing, a grin permanently glued to your lips, and so Andrew reckoned that he was doing something good. When the evening turned into night, that the sun finally disappeared beyond the Wicklow Hills, and that the moon and stars were left to light up the heavens with silver, Andrew proposed to watch the movie while you ate your dessert. You nodded eagerly, waited patiently while Andrew was setting up the movie with his laptop.

You recognised Pride and Prejudice with the first frame, gasped at the sight.

“This is perfect, Andy,” you breathed.

You leaned closer, letting your shoulder and head rest against his arm. He kissed your hair.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked in a quiet voice, warm and deep, and he noticed how you leaned even closer, until he was snaking an arm around your waist.

“This is… perfect,” you repeated yourself, and Andrew grinned, feeling proud and content.

“Good… That’s grand…”

“Andy… you know I… don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, by any means. This is magical. It’s… no one has ever done anything like this for me.”

He tightened his hold on your waist without noticing, his heart speeding up as he felt dread replace peace.

“But?” he encouraged you to continue.

“But you don’t need to impress me, you know? I… I love you. This is amazing, but spending time with you is enough to make me happy. Okay? I don’t need all of this to be happy to be with you.”

He felt tears rising to his eyes, but he blinked them away as he nodded.

“Thank you…”

“No, thank you, Andy. Thank you for tonight, thank you for everything…”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, picking up some fruits and watching Elizabeth and Darcy fall in love all over again…

You helped Andrew pack up everything in his car, leaving the clearing undisturbed by human activity again but for the fairy lights hung in the trees, Andrew would come back for these later. You failed to spot the owl you heard before leaving, but you didn’t mind. You took one last look at the small clearing, at the moon almost to its fullest above your head, at the stars shining bright and clear against the inky sky, and you thanked them for keeping a warm and bright weather for tonight.

Andrew drove you home, you chatted all the way, sang along to the songs on the radio and laughed at the lyrics you invented. He walked you to the door of your building, and you both remained standing there for a couple of minutes, under the pretence of finishing your conversation when, really, you simply didn’t want to part. At last, once neither of you had anything left to say, you looked up at him in silence, hesitating. You didn’t want him to leave…

You noticed how his cheeks grew a little pink, how his gaze grew more intense, entrapping your stare. They held such tenderness as they rested upon your features, such fondness… you dared to call it love…

And Christ, Andrew was so handsome like this. All in black, elegant and so damn tall, with his hair held back to reveal his features. You wanted to trace the edge of his sharp jaw, you longed to feel the roughness of his beard under the pads of your fingers, to kiss the bright pink of his lips… And in the streetlights the red in his hair and beard shone brighter than usual, his eyes a darker shade of green and brown. Your heart was pounding at the sight, your entire body heating up at the thought of reaching out to touch him…

“Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You grinned at that, reassured. He wanted the same thing as you did. Andrew wanted you too…

You finally noticed that his breathing was irregular, loud and slightly trembling. That his fingers, as they reached for your hand, were warm and calloused and unsure. He seemed vulnerable, waiting for your answer. As if he didn’t really believe this was happening either, as if he too was unconsciously awaiting a rejection.

You closed the space between your hands, intertwined your fingers together, and Andrew released a long breath.

You stared right into his eyes as you spoke.

“Please… kiss me, Andy.”

Something changed in his expression, then. It held the same tenderness still, the same loving expression, something close to adoration. But instead of doubt and fragility, his gaze darkened, he seemed more confident again. His grin was bright and a little dreamy as he reached up to cup your face in his large hand. And if it made you feel small, his touch also made you feel safe.

Slowly, he bent down, while you went to your tiptoes to meet him halfway. When he finally kissed you, it was like the world had disappeared, like you were the only beings left in the universe, like time itself had stopped to grant you this moment. You let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Meanwhile, his now free hand was resting on the small of your back, pressing you against him. For how long you kissed, you couldn’t have guessed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, gasping for air, head spinning a little, your chin burning because of his short beard, all you wanted was to kiss him again, and again, and again…

“Andy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to come in?”

He blinked his eyes open, stared at you, but there was nothing but want, desire and awe to find in your gaze. And so, Andrew let out a shaky breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked anyway, even if the answer was obvious, written all over your features.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded.

Before you could add another word, Andrew was kissing you again, more urgently this time, something filled with sparks and want, kissing you like he never wanted to stop…

He did break away though, nodding, his nose brushing against yours in the process.

“Yeah… yeah, I definitely want to come in.”

You giggled at that, noticed he was blushing, but you still took his hand and guided him inside the building.

In the elevator, his lips were back on yours, he was pressing your back against the wall, hands holding tightly your waist. You had rarely felt so wanted in your life, and you were not even in your apartment yet, let alone your bedroom.

He followed you to your door, you noticed the way he closed and opened his hands repeatedly, as if refraining to reach out and touch you.

The second you were locking your door, Andrew was kissing you again, pressing your back to the wooden surface, holding onto you tightly.

“Y/N?” he whispered against your lips, and you hummed quietly to encourage him to continue. “You… I trust you to tell me if anything feels wrong, if you don’t want me to do something, if you feel uncomfortable or… whatever. Alright? No matter what it is. Okay?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown, and panting with want, hair already made a mess by your fingers, glasses a little lopsided upon his nose. You had never felt as safe as you did in this moment.

“Okay. Same for you. I trust you to tell me. And I trust you to stop, too.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, silently nodding. He kissed you again, tenderly, softly this time. Slow and loving.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, stealing all the air from your lungs.

“I love you too, Andy. I love you…”

You kissed him once more, passion making your movements more urgent again, he groaned when you gently captured his lower lip between your teeth.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me…” he murmured.

He let out a breathy chuckle, the kind that revealed he seemed barely able to believe this was real…

“Can I undress you?” he asked, voice deep and low, the sound alone making your entire body tremble.

“Yes… God, yes… Can I undress you?”

“Please, do…”

A second later, his jacket was on the ground; your shoes soon followed.

You felt the tip of his fingers glide up your waist, sneak behind you to touch the bare skin of your back. Every fibre of your being was on fire, boiling, burning, burning…

“Any boundary I should know about before we do this?” he asked, voice so deep, you thought you were losing your mind.

His warm breath was fanning over your lips and chin, reminding you how close he was.

“Erm… I don’t know… Nothing that could hurt, I guess…”

He chuckled sweetly.

“I’m not much of a bdsm kind of guy either, if that can reassure you.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, you absolute softy…”

“Anything else?”

You couldn’t think straight, had nothing to add. You asked back the question.

“Nothing I can think of right now… but then… it’s hard to think at the moment.”

You both giggled at that, and if you were still both highly turned on, you bathed in the solace of the moment, all trust and tenderness.

“You’re still okay with me undressing you? With me touching you like this?” he asked, and you nodded.

“You too?”

He chuckled, something darker in his gaze as he bent closer to kiss you again.

“Y/N… you have no idea how much I want you…”

His lips moved to your jaw, your cheek, your neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh over your pulse, kissed and tasted your skin with a brush of his tongue…

Your legs were shaking, you were ready to combust right there, against your front door.

His fingers were back to your waist and then moved up your frame as he spoke again, a path excruciatingly slow across the velvety material of your dress, from your waist to the edge of your breasts. He flattened his hands on your stomach, and you took a sharp intake of breath at how big they felt across your torso.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he confessed into your ear, before sucking on the skin behind it. “Dreamt of you… Christ… I want you so fucking bad. The sins I want to commit with you…”

Then his hands left your stomach to travel down to your arse, and then to the back of your thighs, a silent demand to let him carry you to your bedroom. You didn’t hesitate as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso and kissing him again. You undid the buttons of his shirt while he walked to your bedroom, letting your fingers cover his breasts, touch his chest hair, fall across his stomach. He shuddered under your touch, his breathing stammering, and you felt so powerful like this, held within his arms and able to summon such reactions from him.

“God… I want to taste you so bad,” he confessed, and you were surprised at how straightforward he was about this. “Can I? Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes… yes, please…”

The undressing resumed, he peeled off your dress, your stockings, your underwear from you, and you pushed away his clothes as well.

There was so much awe in his gaze as he took you in, eyes travelling your body as if to make sure he would remember every inch. When he caught your gaze once more, you could read nothing but want and adoration in his dilated pupils.

A silent question, one last checking in to make sure you were still fine to continue, and you nodded, reaching up to touch him, no matter where, you only longed to feel the warmth of his skin under your palm. You untied his hair, the last item remaining on his body, while his glasses had been discarded to your bedside table a while ago. His hair fell down around the two of you, you giggled as it tickled your shoulders, and so did Andrew. When he lowered his lips to your skin again, it was with the intention to touch and kiss every inch of you, make sure you knew how much he longed to worship you.

Your eyes closed with his lips reaching at long last their final destination across your skin, and the groan he let out when you pulled on his hair as a reaction to your pleasure made you question whether this was real or merely one of your dreams.

[hellamorte]

mamma mia here i go again with another chapter from my leander thesis 🤓 please accept my humble input on mc's curse, the importance of reading between leander's flirting lines and rss's wonderful storytelling details.

ngl when i finally chose not to touch leander's hand first (can you blame me, i'm weak for that man) i was bewildered at how strikingly different the options in this scene play out, and i, strange as it seems, like this one much better.

first of all, it's a parallel (even if it's not intended, the connection is still there) to the opening scene with a deranged traveler: the touch, the sensations, the (foreshadowed) strangling:

leander is definitely affected by the curse — possessed even, i would say, as if he was being told to strangle mc. notice how his actions line up with the traveler's, only in slo-mo, because leander was fighting to take back the control. and when mc calls out for him, he either snaps out of it or gets to the exact point when he takes a hold of the curse. this brings up a question: could mc's curse be sentient? alter the minds, you say? (more under the cut because it got long)

i've seen people speculating that mc's curse might bestow the enlightment but that's not true: mc was told that (and that's why this origin has me by the throat (pun absolutely intended): imagine living with so much guilt, thinking you were doing good, but in fact driving people mad… mmm tasty). it ties perfectly into every origin path where mc was being lied to, deceived and betrayed. however, there's definitely something more to the curse's nature that's yet to be disclosed.

my favourite moment though!! is this nuanced character storytelling!!

the very hand that was inches away from choking mc to death is quickly disguised as caring and soothing. wonder why? to gain mc's trust (non-verbally), to show that leander's in control, he's strong, he's there for mc, he'll take care of them. of course, leander, being a leander, downplays the whole experience of being possessed/affected by the curse, but he's being honest at once. he doesn't lie to mc — and that's also how he's gaining trust, verbally this time.

one more question that begs to be asked: why the hell all of this doesn't happen if mc touches leander first? it seems that the quality of the touch (😭) also plays an important role here:

leander must have felt the power of the curse, but he wasn't possessed by it, he could control it right away — why? because the touch was fleeting? or because it was mc who was touching him, not the other way round?

now hear me out (i might be wrong on this one, because i can't remember any more examples off the top of my head, but i feel like it's definitely a thing. let me know if something comes up!): we should pay closer attention to how leander says the truth (or half-truth), but it could be understood differently at a flirting angle (it's slightly different from this one, where he covers up his misstep). what i think he means here is that he controls the curse, but it sure is a difficult thing to do. "not due to your power" my ass, his need to look strong and heroic and weak at the same time is ridiculous, someone cure this man (ivolunteer.gif)

one more and last thing that's bothering me (it might play into the previous point btw): if you keep touching him, he tells mc that fissures on their hands match his golden pin. why??????? that's such a dumb thing to flirt about, such a weird comparison. what kind of connection is there? it's so out of place, it definitely means something more. leander spill

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (9)

ー☆ Chapter 9: You (Show Me Where My Days Went)

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing ー☆ Word count: 9.8k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hi, lovelies!! LMLAR is BACK!! I am sooo happy I could finally update and just write, y'all have no idea! I am so sorry for making you wait so long for this update, but finishing my thesis was super important! I still have to study and such this month, but I promise next update won't take as long as this one did! (I'm writing other stories too while writing this one, so that kinda backfires sometimes lol) I am forever grateful that you are patient and stick around for the new chapters, this story is so dear to me you wouldn't even believe it. I am also super grateful and happy whenever you leave feedback, so please, keep on doing just that!<3 This chapter only exists because I was randomly inspired, and I'd like to apologize if it's a little rusty, I always have to get in "character" when I write this story lol. I am soo excited for next chapter, I think it's going to surprise you hehe. PLS PLS imagine that airport look from Mingi when reading this chapter, the pics from the moodboard, you'll see during which part! I also have a very small surprise at the end of this chapter hehe. I hope the time jumps aren't too confusing:(( Please, listen to the song called You before or while reading! Enough yapping, I hope you enjoy and leave feedback! (Taglist is always open for those interested! ^^)

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf @hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

Later that day

I hate him: hey…just checking in that I got home safely what are u up to?

I blinked, fingers tightening around my phone before I locked it, leaving the message on unread. My mother’s shuffling outside my door caught my attention, bringing a smile onto my lips as I watched her struggle while bringing all the dirty laundry to the bathroom. Then, I got off my bed to go help her.

Friday (11:30 am)

I hate him: i see u still haven’t checked my message… nothing too worrisome u certainly know how to make a man yearn for you lol that was a joke…dont freak out on me pls (lowkey true tho)

Friday (12:50 pm)

I hate him: lol, wooyoung has been bitching about seulgi’s professor for half an hour now mr. kwon u know him? i mean…i suppose he also teaches u i should take a sneaky video for u…wooyoung looks like a clown hanging upside down my bed and pouting like a damn child too (dont say im also one, thanks)

Friday (15:26 pm)

I hate him: well…ik my messages are going through so uh… why tf are u ignoring me???! *cries and dies in loneliness* entertain me dollll!!! im so bored pls oh…u said u had an important assignment…i bet u’re busy with that sorry for spamming u (text back tho when u’re done, im dying here…wooyoung is with seulgi and so is seonghwa with hongjoong…the single life sucks, bestie…lets be single and depressed together<3)

My jaw clenched as I heaved a long sigh, falling back on my bed as the sun shone brightly through my open window, the light breeze making me shiver as I only wore a t-shirt and sweats. Autumn was slowly turning into winter; the weather wasn’t so warm anymore. I threw another look at my phone, unlocked it, and stared at the received messages from Mingi for a second before finally deciding to delete them from my notification center, rolling over in bed to muffle a frustrated scream into my soft, and purple, pillow.

            Saturday (9:09 am)

I hate him: i had the weirdest dream and im not even sure i want to tell u about it LOL but uh…a grisly was chasing me??? and then u appeared on a fucking white horse like a prince LOL and threatened to like…slay it if it didnt leave me alone??? honestly…what a slay, bestie good morning, btw, doll hope u had a better night’s sleep than me (and dreamed of me ehehehe)

            Saturday (17:40 pm)

I hate him: i cant believe i allowed myself to be fooled like this back in highschool yuyu and i used to play baseball for shits and giggles and hongjoong (that rich prick) rented a whole ass baseball field for us for the afternoon and let us play with some of his (rich af) friends and uh… i think i wont be able to walk straight for another week with how much running i did… hongjoong kept scoring homeruns…i wish yuyu was here to kick his loser ass (dont tell hwa or hong i said that PLS) yo doll…everything’s alright with u? uh u…really havent answered me since… yk…i stayed over and waited for the rain to stop… have i done something wrong?

I sighed and put my phone on ‘do not disturb’, suddenly having lost all of my appetite as I forced the rest of the lettuce down my throat. My mother was sipping her kiwi and apple smoothie, eyes narrowed as she muttered to herself while trying to memorize the recipe of a dessert for later. Desserts were never her forte, unfortunately.

“Is it Seulgi?” She asked absentmindedly as I took a large gulp of my own smoothie, staring down at my salad, steak pushed to the side in my plate.

“Huh?” I asked distracted, eyes still glued to the dark screen of my phone.

“Texting you, your phone keeps buzzing, my starlight.” I rolled my eyes at the nickname, but didn’t bother to comment on it. I took a peek at my mother and her eyes were narrowed at me already, video on YouTube paused. Fuck, I had to answer her now or else she’d pester me all day long. And that would be a nightmare.

“Yeah, it’s Seulgi.” I lied, trying to make my voice sound convincing.

“Well, answer her then, don’t be rude.” My mother chastised me, pressing play on her video again, pursing her lips as she shook her head at whatever the man baking was saying.

“Later.” I whispered, biting my lower lip as my eyes remained glued to my phone, stomach clenching and heart dropping.

But I couldn’t.

            Sunday (1:01 am)

I hate him: …you’re ignoring me, arent u? im sorry, y/n, i dont know what i did wrong, but we can talk about it we’re friends, after all…right?

『When you came along, I knew what was wrong

If you want to know exactly what I've missed』

            Monday (present time)

            It truly would have been a missed opportunity if Seulgi and I wouldn’t have grabbed coffee and went to sit in our usual spot in the back garden. The campus of our University was huge and that was perfect, because it meant people migrated and didn’t stay in one spot for long—at least long enough to irritate me to no end. Last week deemed to be rather rough, and I still didn’t feel like completely myself. To be honest, I thought about staying home today—and for the rest of the week—but I couldn’t afford missing any of my classes as exam period was slowly nearing, and so, I had to force my ass out of the house this morning before my mother could come and nag me about my weirdly unusual broody mood that has been going on for the past few days.

I hummed as I took a sip of my sweet coffee, enjoying the taste of warm caramel as Seulgi sighed loudly next to me, both hands cupped around her own coffee cup. The scent of cinnamon wafted from her cup and I scrunched up my nose, not too fond of the ingredient’s smell. Our classes started early in the morning today and we’d be here for at least four more hours, caffeine seemed like our only hope to stay awake and aware at this point. Given the fact that my baffling thoughts kept me up all night yesterday, I felt grateful that I was still on my feet at two o’clock at noon. As Seulgi fidgeted again, I chuckled and finally turned my head to look at her. She had a sheepish look on her face, and I tried not to laugh as I knew she was bursting to tell me all about her date with Wooyoung on Saturday.

“Well,” I started as I took a sip of my coffee, prolonging the suspense for her, “how did your date go?”

“It was amazing!” I had barely finished asking as Seulgi exclaimed, her cheeks turning rosy—and it wasn’t due to the cold air, “Wooyoung is—everything I thought he would be. He’s sweet and up for anything, he makes me laugh until I feel like passing out, and there’s just never a dull moment with him, you know?”

“One would expect that from him.” I muttered against my cup, laughing as Seulgi nudged my side, not looking too happy with my comment, “Oh, come on, it would be hard for Wooyoung to be different than the way he mostly presents himself; don’t you think?”

Seulgi grumbled something against her cup as she lightly bit into the carton, shooting me a pointed stare, “Well, yes, but…he makes me happy. Treats me well and all that, you know, he’s the perfect embodiment of what a boyfriend should be like.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” I teased with a smirk, wriggling my eyebrows at my best friend as her cheeks flushed an even darker color as she bit her lower lip, trying to mask the huge grin expanding on her lips. But as soon as I started giggling, Seulgi also broke out in a fit of giggles, hiding herself behind her wavy hair, pressing her cup of coffee against her face.

“God, I’m so down bad for him, Y/N, I don’t think you’d understand.” She mused, voice airy as she threw her head back, leaning back against the back of the bench. I chuckled and took another sip of my drink.

“Maybe I’d do.” I muttered, memories of my relationship with Yunho resurfacing. Thankfully, however, I managed to repress them as quickly as they came. They didn’t feel so gut-wrenching anymore, and to my surprise, didn’t leave a bitter taste in its wake either. What has changed? Certainly—certainly getting closer to his best friend didn’t influence the way I feel about Yunho, right? Right.

“So,” I glanced at Seulgi from the corner of my eyes as she swung her legs, looking down at her feet in the process, “how are you?”

“Fine, why?” I asked confused, angling my body to face Seulgi better.

“You’ve been…distant the whole weekend. I could barely reach you.” Seulgi’s voice sounded small and I gulped, feeling bad for making her worry about me, “You know…the last time you pulled away and disappeared, it was bad.”

“I promise you I am doing completely fine, Seulgi, you’d be the first person to know if I was in a bad headspace again, alright?” I reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Seulgi sighed and then raised her head to look at me, lips pulled into a thin line.

“Promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” I smiled at her warmly and she hummed in contentment, squeezing my hand back as she took a sip of her coffee. I followed suit before removing my hand from hers to fiddle with my half empty cup, “I’m just dealing with some things right now. I think I’m confused.”

“About what?” Seulgi asked curiously, leaning closer as I continued to avoid eye contact with her.

“I’ll tell you once I have my thoughts sorted about it.” I chuckled, making Seulgi roll her eyes in displeasure.

“You know, I tell you absolutely everything about myself and how I fell, and you always shut me out and tell me how you felt about a situation when it’s been over for years.” Seulgi pouted, narrowing her eyes at me, “How’s that fair, Y/N?”

“Hey, we work differently, don’t try to guilt trip me now.” I chuckled and took a sip of my coffee, making Seulgi roll her eyes, “Anyways, what did you do on your date with Wooyoung?”

“We went to the cinema,” Seulgi’s face lit up once again, grinning from ear to ear, “He bought me roses, a big bouquet. And after the movie we went for a walk and ended up stargazing in his cabriolet. It was really romantic.”

I smiled, feeling happy for my friend, she deserved someone like Wooyoung, “That actually sounds really amazing…and romantic.”

“Oh, my God, are you really Y/N? Where is my friend that hates anything that has to do with romance, cute stuff, and love?!” Seulgi’s shocked face was mocking and I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I leaned back against the back of the bench.

“I don’t hate it, I’m just not a huge fan of all of those things, okay?!” I shrugged, letting my arms fall from my chest as I pushed them inside my coat’s pockets.

“Who’s the culprit?” When I raised my eyebrows at Seulgi, a sign that I didn’t understand her question, she chuckled and leaned closer, “Who’s the man that’s changing your views on life, huh?”

“Man?” I asked with a scoff, giving Seulgi a deadpanned expression, “Does it always have to be about a man? Can’t it be just the fact that I had a change of mind?”

“Sure, because of someone.” Seulgi had a smug look on her face, acting as if she won the argument. But there was no argument here and she had no idea what she was talking about.

“Whatever—” But I got cut off as her phone dinged loudly. Seulgi, very comically, scrambled to reach for her phone and as she opened it up, a wide grin stretched onto her lips. It didn’t take two braincells to realize who had texted her, and thus, I chuckled and turned my head. I sipped my coffee, taking in my environment while Seulgi answered her boyfriend, giggling quietly every now and then.

The campus was finally silent and not as busy as it usually was in the early morning hours. The cold weather also helped in keeping the garden a little quieter as most people preferred to stay inside the warm corridors and classrooms. But the chilly air was good, it soothed my nerves and erased thoughts that weren’t productive. Similar to that, were the emotions that I didn’t want to deal with again, like the guilt that’s never left me ever since Mingi walked out of my house wearing Yunho’s old clothes. It felt wrong letting him take them without knowing the truth about them, but I didn’t feel ready to tell him yet about the truth. I was scared, surprisingly, of what he’d think of me once he found out about Yunho and I. I was scared that—he’d walk away, like Yunho had once done. And that was a very frightening thought. But when had I become so attached to Mingi? When has Mingi managed to infiltrate himself so thoroughly in my life, that the thought of completely losing him became scary? And why was I taking the past few days so badly? It’s not like we were as close as Seulgi and I, or him and Seonghwa and Wooyoung, yet, ignoring him felt like the wrong move to do. However, the reasoning I always circled back to was the fact that I needed space. I had to clear my mind, to find the purpose of this whole friendship that’s been blooming between us, and to make sense of everything. I had to figure out first why Yunho barely scraped my thoughts now, and why was it was Mingi who I found myself thinking of so often. In case you were wondering, no, I still haven’t found the reason, and it was becoming frustrating quite quickly. That near kiss was a—mistake. Yet, it could have been so much worse—it could have been a real kiss. And a real kiss would have ruined everything. I didn’t want to open up to anyone just yet, not when the memories of Yunho still haunted me in my dreams and drawings. Drawings that now more often than not consisted of Song Mingi.

And to my horror, the flipping of paper sheets is what alerted me back to my surroundings as I had been lost in my thoughts, oblivious to Seulgi putting her phone down and grabbing my sketchbook that lay between the two of us on the bench. As I turned my head, my eyes widened as Seulgi’s expression held surprise but amusement as well. She chuckled as she looked up, making eye contact with me. I lunged forward in an instant, trying to take my sketchbook out of her hands, but she leaned back and away, putting it behind herself.

“Bitch, I’m not the only one who’s down bad for a man.” She said with a laugh, making me groan as I gave up trying to snatch my sketchbook back from her.

“I’m not down bad for a man, Seulgi, stop this non-sense.” I hissed, cheeks burning in embarrassment as she kept flipping through my drawings.

“Please,” She scoffed, turning my sketchbook around and making me grimace as I came face to face with an exact replica of Mingi, sitting in his chair, at his studio that one time he invited me inside, “Who the fuck draws so many drawings of one single person if they aren’t in love with them—”

“I’m not in love with Mingi, stop it!” I exclaimed, heart beating fast as Seulgi raised her eyebrows at me, looking unimpressed, “Don’t ever again say that, Seulgi.”

“Okay, calm down, whatever. You’re not in love with Mingi.” She chuckled, closing my sketchbook but she didn’t hand it back yet, “But let’s face it, Y/N, you have a thing for Mingi. It’s super freaking obvious even without the drawings.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hissed and finally snatched the sketchbook out of her hands, clutching it to my chest. I knew bringing this along today would turn out to be a mistake, and here I was, facing the repercussions of my actions.

“There’s this glint in your eyes whenever you look at him—”

“Yeah, it’s called dislike.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“And I see how you struggle to refrain yourself from smiling when you’re around him—”

“Bitch, be for real, Mingi and I aren’t even often together around you for you to notice that.” I scoffed, completely appealed by whatever absurd claims my best friend was making.

“So you’re not denying it—would it really be so bad if you liked Mingi?” But Seulgi ignored all my interruption as she raised her eyebrows at me, smiling softly, “He’s a nice guy. Very well-mannered and with a big, and good heart. Wooyoung loves him a lot and is always worrying about him. He says Mingi hasn’t been the same ever since his best friend moved away for college—”

“Mingi is Yunho’s best friend!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, finally feeling like a stone was taken off my chest as I bit my lower lip, averting my eyes from Seulgi’s shocked expression, “Mingi is the best friend Yunho had always talked so much about while we were together. I—do you understand why it would be so bad if I ended up liking Mingi?”

“Y/N,” Seulgi whispered, eyebrows furrowed, “for how long have you know?”

“Long enough.” I muttered before clearing my throat, “So please understand that I’m not ready for whatever the hell me drawing all those sketches of Mingi could mean. A month ago I was close to bursting out crying even at the thought of Yunho, and now I fail to remember his existence on my best days.”

When I dared take a peek at Seulgi, she was smiling softly, almost proudly, “Fine, I’ll pester you about this later on, when you’ve figured things out, but until then—you can’t deny Mingi isn’t hot—”

“Can we stop talking about Min—”

“Hi, girls!” I jumped in fright at the overly excited and shrill greeting as both Seulgi and I turned our heads to be met with…Wooyoung and Mingi. Speak of the devil. Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat, and my heart started beating just a little bit faster as my eyes fell on Mingi’s tall form. It didn’t help that underneath his coat he was wearing Yunho’s sweater—the one I had given him.

“Hi.” Seulgi giggled as Wooyoung leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek, the two looking sickly in love. It was actually endearing, but I’d never admit it out loud for my own sake as I knew I’d get teased about it by Seulgi. I averted my eyes from Wooyoung and Seulgi as they were muttering things to each other, and so, had no choice but to look up at Mingi, who looked—expressionless. Something in my stomach dropped at his cold demeanor, and it was worse that I wanted to assume it was my fault that he looked like that. But just as I was about to look away, he cracked the tiniest smile ever, and I exhaled, licking my lips.

“Hi.” My voice was small as I gulped, eyes trans-fixated on the tall man as his smile became just a little wider. I don’t think I had the power to ignore him anymore, not when he was standing right in front of me, looking like he wished to be anywhere but here.

“Hi, Y/N.” Having not heard his voice in days, it sounded even deeper and raspier than usually, making butterflies erupt in my stomach as my grip tightened around my sketchbook. I felt a little awkward, perhaps even tense, as Mingi didn’t say anything else, just continued gazing down at me with his sharp dark brown eyes boring into my own. I had so many things that I could’ve said to him, but I felt tongue tied. I didn’t know what would be the right way to approach him after I ignored him for so many days. Would he understand? Is he mad at me now? Does he hate me now? Will he forgive me—

“Okay,” Wooyoung chuckled, syllable drawn out and sounding amused, “I feel like I’m interrupting something here, yet they are basically just staring at each other.”

“You’re right.” Seulgi giggled, and I finally looked away from Mingi, throwing a glare at my best friend as she had leaned into Wooyoung’s side, who stood next to the bench and her.

“Shush, you two.” Mingi beat me to telling the two love-birds off, and I couldn’t help but smile, “Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong to.”

“Look who’s lecturing me about poking my nose where it doesn’t belong to—”

“Wooyoung.” Mingi’s tone held a warning, and it made Wooyoung giggle as he leaned down and pressed a fat kiss against Seulgi’s cheek—again—making her push him away playfully.

“We’re headed to class, are you coming over later?” Wooyoung smiled down at his girlfriend, playing with a strand of her hair.

“Maybe, if I get to finish my project.” Seulgi said with a pout and Wooyoung hummed, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips this time around. I averted my eyes, not a fan of seeing couples kiss, only to catch Mingi already looking at me. He was expressionless once again, but he was fidgeting with his fingers, looking almost nervous. And as Wooyoung stood up straight and ruffled Seulgi’s hair affectionately, Mingi took a deep breath.

“Will you come to Outlaw this Friday?” He asked in a rush, sounding almost reluctant as his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he chewed on his lower lip. To my horror, I found my eyes fixated on his plush mouth and I gulped before I quickly averted my eyes, praying that nobody caught it.

“Yes.” I answered before Seulgi could, and nodded, smiling a little bit, “I won’t miss it.”

A beautiful smile spread on Mingi’s lips and he nodded once, looking too happy for something so little. I don’t think I’ll understand anytime soon why he gets so excited and happy when I listen to his songs or watch him perform. I’m no expert when it comes to music, my feedback is merely amateur and I’m not even a fan of his band yet.

“Cool, see you then.” And Mingi didn’t wait for Wooyoung as he turned around and walked away, steps hurried. I didn’t miss the confused glance Wooyoung and Seulgi shared before Wooyoung was off, chasing after his best friend. And maybe I would be soon able to make sense of my thoughts and feelings around Mingi, figure out what they meant and why they felt so real at times.

            Monday (16:58 pm)

I hate him: hi Me: hi I hate him: would it be a lot if i asked to meet u tomorrow? Me: no, im free in the afternoon I hate him: cool, me too so uh…we can hang out in my studio? Me: or we can go to that new café with pottery I hate him: really? Me: u did say u wanted us to go… I hate him: i certainly said so i’ll pick u up around 4 Me: u don’t have to i’ll meet you there I hate him: come on, y/n…let me drive u Me: u’ve driven me around too many times by now i’ll meet u there and that’s final. I hate him: okay, boss, see ya there Me: :))

            Getting here before four o’clock and having to wait in front of the cute café had no business being this nerve-wrecking. Yeah, Mingi hasn’t shown up yet—but perhaps that’s because there were still ten minutes until it’d be four—and I knew I had no reason to think he’d bail on me, but we hadn’t spoken since yesterday, when he had asked me if we could hang out. And so, waiting for him shouldn’t have had me breaking out in a sweat despite the cold weather, making me bite my lower lip harshly as I tried to smooth down the wool, green, brown, and beige patterned coat I was wearing. First of all, why the hell would I be so nervous about meeting up with Mingi alone at this cute café? He probably wanted to talk about that near kiss, and once we had that cleared, things would go back to normal—right?!

And maybe that was the reason which made me want to vomit on the sidewalk, the thought that I knew Mingi would demand answers—answers that I wasn’t yet ready to hand out. Why did I even agree to this? Because I missed him? I should have just stayed at home and done the project I’ve been procrastinating on—again. But when I heard the rumble of Mingi’s old Honda’s engine, I knew there was no turning back, catching the bus and running home to hide underneath my blanket.

As Mingi took his time to parallel park, I took a deep breath and gripped onto the strap of my tote bag harder, looking down at myself. My apricot orange sneakers matched the color of my blouse, the top two buttons out of five undone, but not showing too much skin. My blouse was tucked inside my washed out high waisted mom jeans, the black belt matching the color of my tote bag—I know black isn’t a color, I’m an arts major after all. My hair was pulled in a low ponytail just to prevent the wind from blowing it in my face, and I was thankful that I chose my wool coat as it kept me warm enough. I have opted to wear quite a few rings today, and because my neck felt too exposed, I decorated it with three necklaces of different length. I gulped hard one last time as Mingi got out of his car and took a few seconds until he managed to lock it. However, those few seconds were exactly what I needed to prepare myself to not pass out at the full sight of him.

Mingi, in true fashion to him, wore all black, except for his jeans that were a very dark shade of blue, almost black too. His turtleneck was tucked inside his jeans, a black coat with a hood keeping him warm from the cold late autumn weather. It almost made me smile upon seeing his own tote bag, black, and funnily matching mine. Except that his was plain, while mine had Claude Monet’s Water-Lily Pond painting painted on it, done by none other than yours truly, me. Mingi’s eyes were concealed by black sunglasses, and I snorted as he almost splashed himself up by stepping a little too enthusiastically into a big puddle. Two necklaces hung around his neck, reaching down his chest. A very obvious and sturdy silver cross necklace, and another longer chain that had pearls scarcely strung on it.  And in true Song Mingi fashion, his rings weren’t missing, only two of his nails painted black on each hand, almost as if he didn’t have time to finish doing them. My heart racing in my chest so fast just at the mere sight of him, certainly wasn’t healthy, right?

“Hi!” I squeaked out and wished to burry myself instantly as Mingi chuckled, a very charming smile spreading onto his lips. It was a little annoying that I couldn’t see his eyes, forced to stare at his plush lips instead—let’s be real, nobody forced me, I did it because I couldn’t help myself, “The sun is quite blinding today, isn’t it?”

And of course, in good old fashion, my mouth worked before my brain would agree to saying something out loud, and my cheeks were burning as I knew Mingi saw me look at his lips. I had to divert the attention somehow, and teasing him was my best method, actually. It always worked.  

“I’m trying to make a fashion statement,” Mingi grinned as he gripped the sunglasses and took them off in a very unnaturally hot way, “but hello to you too.”

“No need for a fashion statement when it’s just the two of us,” I narrowed my eyes, finding Mingi’s hair very soft and fluffy looking, almost as if he had recently washed it, and it wasn’t completely dry, “I’m not one of your fans.”

“Pity,” Mingi hummed, stepping slightly closer to me, “I thought I might just finally wove you.”

I scoffed, and as I was about to tell him off, he grabbed my tote bag and pulled me after himself, headed for the entrance of the café, “Did you have to wait long for me? Traffic was busier today, I had to take a few detours to get here in time.”

“Don’t worry,” I smiled as he opened the door for me and let me walk inside first, “I only waited half an hour for you to arrive, runway princess.”

“Runway princess?!” Mingi’s eyes bulged for a second before he started laughing loudly, making a few customers glance our way as we made it inside the café. I elbowed him in the stomach gently, not too keen of having people glare at us as he disturbed their peace.

“Don’t like the nickname?” I asked with a raised brow as we neared the front desk. The cashier had a friendly smile on her face while she greeted us as Mingi and I looked up at the menu, trying to decide what we’d like to have.

“Never said that,” Mingi answered with a chuckle as he threw me a quick glance, “it’s just surprising coming from you.”

“Why, can’t I call you a princess?” I chuckled, turning to face the cashier as I have made up my mind about what I’d like to have.

“Up until now you seemed to prefer the term ‘bro’, but I’m fine with whatever you decide on calling me, doll.” The look the cashier gave us made my cheeks flame up and I cleared my throat loudly, shooting Mingi a look that told him to shut up.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered embarrassed, smiling at the cashier, “can I get a strawberry cheesecake?”

“Sure, right away, and you, sir?” Her attention was on Mingi now, cheeks flushing the longer she looked at him. Okay, I could totally understand why. Mingi looked quite good right now, it was hard not to ogle him.

“A mint-chocolate cheesecake and a cappuccino?” Mingi hummed, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he looked down at the cashier.

“Plain cappuccino or with vanilla?” The cashier typed in our orders as she asked Mingi, averting her eyes shyly once he looked at her, pursing his lips.

“Plain,” He decided at last, turning to look at me, “are you not getting anything to drink?”

“An orange fresh will be alright.” I said as I reached inside my bag to fish around for my wallet.

“And would you also like to paint some pottery?” The cashier asked, pointing behind herself at all the displayed options. Mingi and I shared a look and I smiled as I nodded at him, making him grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, we’ll paint some pottery too. Can I have a cup?” He asked, pointing at one on the higher shelf. It was a smaller cup, specifically made for drinking coffee. The cashier nodded and then looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, a mug will do for me.” I said and thanked her once she handed us the pottery and the paint that was used for painting these. Then, she tapped a few more on her tablet and told us the total. I opened my wallet to pay for my purchase, but Mingi had a card in his hands, the cashier already typing in the total sum for him to pay.

“Mingi,” I hissed quietly, looking at him with a frown, “what are you doing?”

“It was my idea to come here—”

“No, it wasn’t.” I cut him off, fingers curling into the scratchy fabric of his coat as I reached out to hold it, “I suggested we come here instead of going to your studio.”

Mingi sighed and pocketed his card, already having paid, then turned his body to face mine. I didn’t let go of his coat just yet, “Yeah, but when I drove you home during that downpour I asked you if you’d come here with me. So technically, it was my idea. Initially, anyways, it really was.”

“Mingi—” I started, but soon swallowed my words as he stepped closer, invading my personal space. My fingers tightened more into his coat and I gulped, suddenly feeling nervous due to our proximity. He faintly smelled of vanilla, it was a fragrance I didn’t except to smell on him.

“Can you not fight me on this one, please?” Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed and his eyes softened up and I—struggled to breathe for a second as I stared up in his pleading eyes, mouth going dry. He looked—adorable like this, and I did not like the way I felt myself getting lost in his soft gaze.

“Let’s find a table.” I muttered, forcing myself out of the trance he placed on me, and grabbed my mug and the painting supplies. Mingi followed suit as he took his own cup and followed after me closely. We walked further inside the café and found a smaller table in the next room, closer towards the window. The walls were painted a faint orange and were decorated by white stripes that created abstract shapes. The chandeliers were white and hung low, the place well-lit for those who wished to paint pottery.

I placed the things in my hands on the table carefully, and then discarded my coat on the back of my chair and my tote bag by the leg of the table, pulling my chair out for myself. Mingi followed suit, however, he managed to almost send his cup tumbling to the floor when he took his seat. His eyes were wide as he just barely caught the cup, and I giggled as I watched him while opening the box that held all the paint. Thankfully, the table was spacious enough to harbor both our pottery and paints as the cashier brought out our delicacies. She threw Mingi a lasting look before she hurried back to the front desk, glancing our way at times.

“This is going to be a tough one.” Mingi said before scooping up a bit of his cheesecake with his little spoon.

“Why?” I asked with a chuckle, choosing a thin brush to start painting some flowers on my mug. My cheesecake could wait.

“Because I’m literally sat at a table with an arts major, having to decorate some cup by painting.” Mingi sounded stressed and I chuckled as I looked up at him, amused by his expression. His hair fell in his eyes a bit, and I found myself absentmindedly reaching over the table to brush it to the side. Almost as if realizing at the same time what I had done, we both froze. It felt like time stilled around us as I watched Mingi with a gaping mouth, slowly but surely, my cheeks becoming the color of a fire hydrant. But Mingi wasn’t better off as he bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes shyly as his cheeks turned the faint color of pink. Clearing my throat and accidentally choking as I hastily pulled my hand back, I averted my eyes and fought for my life to not choke. Thank God the orange juice was right there, I quickly took three large gulps.

“Th—thanks.” Mingi stuttered, staring at the table as he licked his lips, “Uh, it’s gotten long, my hair, I mean, I have to cut it when I get the time.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, grabbing my mug and chewing on my bottom lip in embarrassment—God, could the Earth swallow me up right now? Why the hell did I do that?! “Yeah.”

“Do you think I should change it up a little?” I paused as I had dipped my brush in red paint, and slowly looked up at Mingi, “Do something fun with it—like going blonde?”

“I hate blonde hair.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Nice one, idiot. Yunho was blonde while we were together, and thus, yeah, I’ve hated blondes ever since. And to be fair—and this is not me shitting on my ex—but that hair color did not suit Yunho at all.

“Oh, noted.” Mingi whispered, pouting a little. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hating myself for the weird atmosphere I have created.

“Mingi, you can do whatever you want with your hair.” I spoke up, leaning down to try and look him in the eyes as he was busy staring at the table, “My opinion shouldn’t matter. It’s your hair. Go crazy with it, have fun, try out something new. Really.”

“But do you think it would suit me?” Mingi was still pouting as he finally looked up at me, looking quite crestfallen. My eyebrows furrowed and I tried to imagine him with blonde hair. He was quite blessed with his skin complex as most colors looked good on him, but perhaps I preferred Mingi with dark hair—black hair, more specifically. Like he had it right now. He looked—good. Handsome, even. Completely gorgeous. Fuck.

“I think it would suit you.” I settled on saying that. He didn’t have to know my train of thought, like at all. Mingi hummed in appreciation, and I watched as he reached inside his tote bag, pulling out a case that held his glasses. He took it out of the case and put it on, pushing it up on the bridge of his nose. He grinned when he looked at me and I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked down at my mug, finally starting to decorate it.

“There goes the cool, mysterious, hot celebrity act.” I teased under my breath, not expecting Mingi to hear me. But he did, and he started laughing, giving me a cheeky grin.

“Not quite a celebrity yet, but at least you admit I am hot.” Of course he was smirking as I gave him a deadpanned look, about to argue him on his statement, but he didn’t let me as he continued talking, “By the way, let’s exchange our cups when we are done. The mug will be mine and the cup will be yours.”

I tried to fight the smile off my lips, “So that you get the artwork of a talented artist for free to sell for an outrageous price later on when I’m famous?”

“I fear you have misjudged my character, doll.” Mingi’s eyes narrowed playfully, but there was truth to his words. I might just have misjudged his character.

“I still think you’re arrogant and selfish.”

“Of course you do, didn’t except anything less from you.” Mingi winked and then looked down, his cheesecake forgotten as he started decorating his cup, tongue just barely sticking out as he concentrated hard on whatever he had in mind to paint onto the cup. I chuckled and shook my head before focusing on my own mug, the silence that’s settle around us comfortable, as always.

            Mingi and I were the quietest table in the café as we worked in silence diligently in, painting our own pottery. Mingi, at times, would hum along quietly to the songs that were played on the radio. Despite his cup being smaller and easier to paint, I finished painting mine before him, and so, I took the time to savor my cheesecake even if it had gotten warm and a little too soft. Mingi was hunched over in his seat, glasses low on the bridge of his long nose, with his full lips either pursed or with the bottom one bitten as his eyebrows would furrow every time he almost made a mistake. It was a funny sight, and I grabbed my phone without thinking much, and snapped a few pictures of him, leaning lower and even closer to his face to get the funny angles, all while Mingi remained oblivious to it. I chuckled as I looked at the pictures I had taken of him, looking at him when I felt eyes on me.

“What’s so funny?” He asked curiously, eyeing my phone for a second.

“You.” I chuckled and stuck my tongue out as Mingi rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he heaved a long sigh.

“I’m finally done.” He grinned and I looked down at his cup, taking in the yellow chicks he had painted quite—clumsily. Well, not all of us had the skills of a painter—not that it was an issue or anything—it’s just that it’s been long since I had seen someone have the skills of a—kindergartner, “It’s pretty sick, huh?”

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from giggling and nodded with my eyebrows furrowed, “I’d give it a seventy out of a hundred mark.”

“Hey! That’s too low!” Mingi said, looking offended. I chuckled before shrugging.

“You’ll have to work on your skills for a higher mark.”

“Fine, next time you come to the studio, I’ll make you sing.” Mingi raised his eyebrows, making me narrow my eyes at him playfully.

“Oh, I didn’t know we are in a competition.”

“We weren’t, until now.” He winked and then stood, grabbing my mug and his own cup carefully as he took it to the front desk for drying. I gathered the items we had used to paint the pottery with to place them back in the box, and couldn’t help it but sneak a glance at Mingi. He was leaned up against the front counter, grinning widely at the cashier as she spoke to him, using her hands for big gestures as she was probably explaining something. My eyes narrowed as Mingi leaned slightly closer to her, only to detach himself from the front desk and walk back towards our table. I looked away and busied myself with my glass of orange juice.

“So, we’ll get them delivered to our houses once they are dry and all.” He said with a smile, sitting down, “I hope you don’t mind I gave her your address too.”

“I don’t.” I muttered, chewing on the straw for a second, “I didn’t think you’d know my address.”

“Well,” Mingi flattened his hands on the surface of the table, “I’ve been to your house twice now. I think it’s only right I remember your address, doll.”

“Right,” I muttered, “you’ve been to my house.”

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and I figured he didn’t like the tone of my voice. But before I could correct myself and explain that I had nothing against that, he spoke up, “Y/N, I—I didn’t mean to scare you or—I don’t know—make you think that I want anything from you. I mean—we are friends, and I respect you as a woman and as a friend, and I know we almost—kissed. But I—I don’t want you to think that I’m playing some sort of game with you to get—to get in your pants. I’m your friend. And even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t do that to you.”

Hearing him say all that felt wrong. I didn’t deserve any explanation from him. I was the one that’s overreacted that day, and Mingi was the one that deserved an explanation and apology from me for the way I have acted. I knew I couldn’t completely open up to him right now, that some parts of the truth had to be omitted today, but he also deserved to know why I had pulled back. And I wanted him to understand that it wasn’t his fault for the way I reacted to everything.

“Mingi,” I offered him a small smile and gripped my empty glass for some support, “If you think you are the reason why I ignored you, please, stop thinking that. It’s—we both leaned in, okay? We were both about to kiss each other, it’s not like you initiated it or forced me to do something I didn’t want to. And nothing even happened, for God’s sake. I reacted that way because I—”

When I paused, Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned over the table, gently poking my hand with his ring clad fore-finger, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable sharing it, Y/N.”

“But I want you to know this, Mingi.” I averted my eyes and took a deep breath, embracing myself for what I was about to tell him, “I had a boyfriend back in high-school who completely broke my heart, shattered it into pieces. And I know that happened a long time ago, and yes, I am over him, but I—I am scared people will treat me like he had treated me. I’m scared that if I let you close, you’ll just—leave. Like he did. And I know ignoring you for days was very shitty of me and I shouldn’t have done that—because quite frankly, Mingi, you deserve better—I just didn’t know what to do. I needed a few days to myself, to figure things out. It’s a bad excuse, but it’s the truth, and I think you deserve to know it. Since we are friends.”

Mingi’s face conveyed no emotion for a few seconds and I gulped, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Did he figure it out now? That I was talking about Yunho? That maybe I have started feeling something for him too, for Mingi? Would he stand up and leave? But to my surprise, a wide smile stretched onto his lips and he hummed, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Thank you for trusting me, it means a lot that you told me all that.” I bit my bottom lip, looking down at the table abashedly, “And I was never mad at you for ignoring me. I completely understand you, Y/N, and for the record, I have zero intentions of leaving you. And your ex is a fucking asshole for breaking your heart like that, tell me who he is and I’ll beat him up when I cross paths with him.”

There was nothing funny about what Mingi had said, especially since he was talking about his best friend, but the comically tough look on his face made me snort loudly as I shielded my mouth with my hand, trying to stop myself from laughing too loudly. Mingi started grinning like an idiot, his giggles deep, and making something coil in my stomach. When has Song Mingi become adorable instead of annoying?

“I doubt you’d want to kick his ass once you find out who he is…” I grimaced once that was out of my mouth, regretting it instantly. What was it about today that I couldn’t keep my thoughts and mouth in check? It was turning really frustrating.

“So, you plan on telling me one day?” Mingi wriggled his eyebrows, making me snort, “Like real besties gossiping and shit.”

“You never fail to make me cringe when you call us besties, Mingi.” I shook my head, taking a glance at my wrist watch. Oh, the time had flown away, it was well past five now, and the sun was going down. I’d probably have to head home soon to have dinner with my mother. I was becoming hungry too.

“Well, that’s what we are so…” He cleared his throat before slowly standing up, making me look up at him, “Did you know today we’re celebrating the Festival of Light?”

“Nope, I had no idea.” I shook my head, standing up too as Mingi wore his coat, “I don’t follow the events our city organizes.”

“Pity, it’s really pretty.” Mingi pouted, waiting for me as I grabbed my tote bag and pocketed my phone, “Should we check it out?”

“I mean…maybe?” I shrugged and Mingi beckoned me over as he crossed his arm with mine, making me chuckle as I looked up at him. He wasn’t much taller than me, but his sneakers had a thick sole and they made him even taller, “Where is this festival held at?”

“Just down the street, at the Citadel.” Mingi smiled as he led the way out of the café, waving at the barista as she blushed again, making me chuckle as I subconsciously nuzzled up against Mingi’s side, the air chilly as the sun had set by now.

“That barista totally has a crush on you.” I found myself saying as we walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid crashing into the people that came towards us. Yeah, there certainly was an event on-going in the city, otherwise you wouldn’t see so many people out and about around this time. Everyone preferred staying inside after the sun had set, not keen of the cold nights.

“You think so?” Mingi mused, bottom lip jutting out as he narrowly avoided a child that was running around, “I didn’t notice.”

“You must be really dense then.” I snorted, eyebrows furrowing as I looked up at him, “She was constantly blushing, and she was totally looking at you with hearts in her eyes.”

“How do you know when someone is looking at you with heart eyes?” Mingi’s question threw me off, and I detached myself from his side, clearing my throat as I looked ahead, pushing my hands in my pockets. He was warm, it made me realize as the cold bit at my skin now that I wasn’t nuzzled up by his side anymore.

“Well, they have this look in their eyes, you know? It’s warm, and soft, and it lasts.” I explained, feelings my cheeks heat up, “And their eyes always linger on you when you aren’t watching them. It’s like…puppy eyes, I suppose? I wouldn’t actually know, Mingi, nobody’s ever looked at me like that.”

When there was no response, I looked back to find Mingi looking at me intensely. My eyebrows furrowed as we have arrived to the Citadel, the gates open for the visitors of the festival. The place was packed, this wouldn’t be so fun anymore. I would’ve turned around and walked back home if I didn’t see how excited Mingi was when I agreed to come check it out.

“There’s lots of people here.” Mingi muttered, and then walked closer to me as I led the way inside, a little baffled by his reaction to my answer. I just merely gave an answer based on my beliefs. It was him that was acting weird now. But as I looked at him, I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about this topic anymore, that he wanted us to drop the subject. His last comment was a way to veer the conversation in a different direction. What was it about us today making everything weird? I sighed and just walked further inside, trying to avoid the big crowd which seemed almost impossible as it stretched on and on. The Citadel, however, was beautiful as it was coated in darkness, only the little paper lamps and fairy lights illuminating the place. It had a certain aura to it, almost romantic, and I soon found myself smiling as we walked down the cobblestone path, still trying to avoid people and stick close to each other’s sides. The air was chilly but the walls of the Citadel did a great job at keeping the breeze out, and the crowd certainly kept the place warmer than it was outside the stone walls.

I found myself admiring the décor in wonder, my mouth hanging open as I took in all the little lamps placed down on the ground, following the cobblestone paths, illuminating our way. It was truly beautiful, it almost felt like the scene was taken out of a fairytale. I found myself filled with excitement and happiness as I turned to grin at Mingi.

“This is so beautiful!” I giggled, absentmindedly grabbing the sleeve of his coat and dragging him away from the path and into the dying grass as there was a panel covered with paper, and people were writing on it. Mingi remained silent, but as I searched around for a pen or pencil, I felt him watching me, “What, do you not want to write something?”

“If you manage to find a marker or pen, I will, sure.” He said with a shrug, adjusting the strap of his tote bag before he pushed his hands deep in his pockets. I chuckled and looked around for a marker, but it was hard to see it in the darkness whether they were laying around in the grass or not. To my surprise, a little girl standing next to me looked up at me with a small smile on her lips, and offered me her purple-coloured marker, saying she was done with her drawing. I thanked her with a chuckle and turned to face Mingi with a grin.

“I found one!” Mingi chuckled and took the marker from my hands, being able to reach high up where the paper was still empty, due to his height. The panel was illuminated from the inside so you could actually see what was written on the paper. I watched him as he wrote on the paper, hesitating for a second, before he stepped back and handed me the marker. I raised up on my tip toes curiously, and craned my neck to see what he’s written. ‘The moon is beautiful tonight.’

I felt a smile spread onto my lips as I looked back at Mingi, who’s expression was serious and almost sad-looking as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his tall nose. I craned my neck back once more to gaze at the dark sky, at the moon, and indeed, there she was, beautiful and shining brightly. It was a new moon. Taking a swift glance at Mingi, I raised back on my tip toes and stood close to the panel, reaching up, just underneath Mingi’s writing. Thankfully, I could reach just bellow it, and I grinned as I quickly drew a new moon, adding a little shading to it and dents as well, creating the illusion of a real moon. Mingi remained silent as I took a step back, admiring our work. I handed the marker to another child as I fished my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture quickly of our artwork.

“The moon turned out beautifully.” Mingi commented once we had stepped away from the panel to let others draw too, headed back onto the cobblestone path.

“Still, it’s not as beautiful as the real one, but I tried my best.” I chuckled as I crossed my arms in front of my chest for a second, avoiding a man as he wasn’t looking in front of himself as he raced down the path. Mingi threw him a displeased look before looking down at me.

“Your drawings and paintings are always beautiful, Y/N.” Mingi said and I found myself blushing, thankful that it was so dark he wouldn’t be able to see it. I uncrossed my arms and turned my body a little to face him. There was music coming from one path, the one which led to the southern part of the Citadel.

“Are you nervous about Friday?” I found myself asking him as Mingi veered us towards where the music was coming from. He looked at me for a second, and then shook his head.

“I’m rarely nervous when we have to perform.” He said nonchalantly, the back of his hand brushing lightly against mine. My heart did a somersault against my ribcage, but I ignored it.

“Oh, you’re such a cool guy.” I teased him with narrowed eyes, making Mingi chuckle.

“I rarely get nervous, to be honest, even less when it comes to performing.” He hummed, looking up at the dark sky for a second, “I trust myself and my bandmates that everything will go well, so, there’s no actual reason to feel nervous.”

“But I’ll be there on Friday, that still doesn’t make you feel nervous?” My question was meant to be teasing, part of our playful banter, but the way Mingi gulped and quickly averted his eyes told me that perhaps I hit the nail spot-on. Well, now I have turned things awkward again. I sighed loudly, chewing on my bottom lip as Mingi remained silent, the two of us walking down the narrow path as the music became louder as we were nearing the stage. Jazz music was playing, the lady who was singing had a powerful and smooth voice that carried over the crowd neatly. There were a few people dancing in the crowd.

“Perhaps having you there will make me nervous.” Mingi’s voice was barely above a whisper and I tensed when I felt his pinkie brush against my own, making me clench my hand into a fist. But a very quiet voice inside my head demanded me to accept Mingi’s subtle request, and willing my heart to stop hammering so hard in my chest, I relaxed my hand and slowly slipped it into Mingi’s. If he stopped walking for a milli-second, I didn’t say anything about it, and he also ignored it. His grip turned firm as he intertwined our fingers together, gently pulling me closer into his side as he smiled at a mother who apologised for his son almost running into us.

I gulped and kept my eyes ahead of me, too nervous to look at Mingi. Holding his hand like this meant nothing in particular, but it was a nice feeling. It made my cheeks warms and heart race. And I didn’t have to look at Mingi to know he was smiling like crazy, his cheeks just as red as mine as we came to a stop behind the dancing people.

Have I started falling for Song Mingi?

『It's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

I'm just saying it's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

You're what I've been chasing

Show me where my days went』

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so...the festival of light scene was totally inspired by me and my bestie attending it in our city lol; it was sooo beautiful and the pictures in the moodboard were actually taken by us; also, her and I kept laughing about the romantic vibes we were getting, all in all, we had a nice time...and OFC we make everything about Ateez so :))

I wrote that LOL I'm like Mingi, tall enough to reach the top where people haven't scribbled onto yet lol

also, this is what y/n's outfit looks like for anyone wondering, except for the colors as they are the way I have described them in the scene ^^

[lakesbian]

you know what. im going to follow my heart so we can move on with the wormread and just copy-paste what i said about danny in chapter 6.9 on discord with some minimal editing because it's not pretty but the general thesis is there and i don't feel like making it into proper paragraph form

okay so the thing thats fucking killing me abotu 6.9 is that danny is literally like. he tries to call taylor a nickname only her mom called her once he realizes he's fucked up bad and is trying to recover whichi s insane [because it's obviously going to be upsetting to her by reminding her of her mom being gone, and it also indicates that his fall-back for something going wrong w/ taylor is to try to appeal to her by poorly copying someone else's parenting style] and he also randomly tells her about how her mom wanted to move her a grade ahead but he wanted her to stay in school with emma to make her happy. and he's been Stewing On That despite knowing it's objectively not his fault (and i am reminded of how in his interlude he spends time Stewing about how he wishes annette were there to give advice) and he also cops up to the fact that that the whole thing about "being her parent and not her ally" (<- demented thing to say for obvious reasons) wherein he locks her in a room and demands emotional vulnerability from her even as she's becoming visibly upset & compares his actions to emma's was her grandmother's idea and then. here's the real kicker. once lisa shows up and prepares to take taylor away there are any number of actions a parent confident that they're doing the right thing for their child would normally do in response--not, like, Good actions, but things that a parent would be likely to pull. threatening to call the cops bc blah blah you're my daughter, wanting to speak to lisa's parents, any form of power move pulled over these two teenage girls but instead he speaks to lisa like she's an equal authority over taylor and seriously asks if she's "okay with this" (i should remind you of the concussion chapter where lisa is doing some insane power move shit over taylors dad covertly establishing herself as more competent at caring 4 her than him lmao) which is just like. it's so glaringly wildly obvious how this guy has Zero confidence in himself as a parent so he generally does nothing and then while he's doing nothing he oscillates btwn rationalizing it to himself as allowing her privacy/dignity, getting angry at himself/calling himself a coward, or getting mad at TAYLOR and blaming HER for not being the one to take initiation to be vulnerable with him and, like. he literally does make functional decisions prior to this for a bit! he's good and supportive at the meeting with the school board about the bullying!!! but it doesn't immediately solve literal years of distance between them that have led to taylor having to take decisionmaking for her wellbeing entirely into her own hands w/o being able to tell him about it [& having literally no route for human connection or support other than the undersiders] so he just completely crumbles on his own calls and seeks out/takes completely shit advice from taylor's grandma instead so i very much think what's insinuated here is like. especially given that he knows he has anger issues and never wants to Be Scary with them. he might have frequently leaned on annette for parenting decisions before she died and/or is really fucking haunted by the time(s) he didn't listen to her and it went wrong and now that she's gone he's just kinda floundering and trying to toss the baton for parental decisionmaking onto anyone else, including, at one point, the literal teenage girl who shows up to help taylor run away from his house. insane ! also. thinking about how taylor says her grandma (maternal) never liked her dad. that man would literally rather talk to the mother of his dead wife, who hates him, and take her advice than go 'yeah ithink im gonna keep using my own judgement for compassion towards my daughter' fucking worst anyones ever done it this guy has the spine of a twizzler it's great

...and then doing All That & severely triggering taylor's trauma from the bullying in the process completely shatters any trust he had built with her, catalyzing her realization that she wants to be able to have meaningful relationships with the undersiders & leading to her running away to leave with them! i don't think anyone can say for sure whether or not danny Not doing this would have led to taylor turning the undersiders in before realizing that she would regret it, but oh fucking boy does he make SURE she doesn't go thru with it. and it would be bad to call the cops on a bunch of systematically neglected traumatized teenagers regardless of how much crime they're doing so you know what maybe we should actually thank danny for his Shit Parenting stopping taylor from being a narc

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (03)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, drama, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

←Previous Chapter (02) | Next Chapter (04) →

****

Eight Years Ago; 2015

There was a small food cart on the outskirts of Incheon where two best friends frequent.

“Oi, shithead. You’ve been fucking staring at your food for twenty-two minutes already. What the fuck is wrong with you? ”

Jungkook whined, complaining about how creepy it was that his best friend knew how long he looked at his food and how you spit out three profanities in one sentence.

“Shut up.” your face turned red, embarrassed that your habit of knowing the exact time was showing. You developed this meticulousness back when you were writing your thesis paper. Time was precious. Thanks fuck you were done with it.

You graduated today. You and Jungkook were currently eating noodles to celebrate. Your best friend initially demanded that you cook his favorite crab spring roll, but your hands were tied. The graduation ceremony took forever to finish; your professors and friends even pulled you to celebrate after.

You were not a killjoy, but you didn’t want to end this day without seeing your best friend, so you quietly ditched the party and sought Jungkook’s company instead.

“You really came to see me. What a good girl you are.” Jungkook cooed when he saw you waiting at his doorstep. “ Here, your graduation gift.”

“HA!?” You were dumbfounded upon seeing his present. “You got me a choker?!”

“Of course! You are so busy these days. I got you a collar so you wouldn’t forget who you belong to.” Jungkook said in jest to conceal his selfishness. He wished you could spend more time with him, not just fleeting moments like eating spicy noodles in a small food cart, which he didn’t even like.

“Why the fuck did you order it if you don’t like spicy noodles!?” A vein popped into your head.

Jungkook groaned, “You know how much I hate upsetting a pretty lady.”

The ‘pretty lady’ Jungkook was referring to was an old lady called Louisa, the owner of the ADA--the food cart. This place was near your high school alma mater. You and Jungkook still went here despite graduating high school many years ago.

Jungkook usually ordered the shop’s best-seller crab spring rolls, which inspired you to make your version of said food. You remembered begging Louisa to teach you how to make it, but the lady couldn’t just give away her family’s recipe. She taught you the basics, and that was where you started until you got Jungkook’s approval.

Content with your version, Jungkook no longer ordered spring rolls whenever you two ate at ADA. He preferred their crab noodles, but only spicy foods were left now since you arrived late. Jungkook refused to change stalls because he adored Louisa.

“You’re really something.” You bought a can of milk for Jungkook to counter the spiciness of his noodles.

Jungkook pinched your cheeks in appreciation. He was happy that he managed to take a few bites and ignore the old man across the street who was singing out of tune.

Natsume was what the old man called himself. He had been doing his business across ADA for a long time. The only reason he wasn’t shooed away was that his performance wasn’t a song at all. He was making up random tunes while expressing what the ‘future’ of some people would be like.

In short, he was a fortune teller, and all his ‘predictions’ apparently came true.

Jungkook didn’t dare believe him. He got particularly annoyed at Natsume when he predicted his future and yours. He sang, “Fall out, fall out, you two will have a fallout. One so nasty it will break your hearts, with no hopes of returning ~.”

Jungkook still cringed every time he remembered that. He looked at you, ready to ridicule the fortune teller in front of you.

Who would have thought this was the start of the fortune teller’s prediction coming true? You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, but you did, saying, “Jungkook, what are your plans for the future?”

You were influenced by the main topic at the graduation party earlier. Everyone you knew was planning their future. You feared Jungkook wasn’t doing the same—that he wouldn’t belong.

“Haven’t I told you already? Jimin-hyung and I are committed to our business.”

Your jaw automatically ticked upon hearing Jimin’s name. You never really hated anyone, but Jimin might be the exception. Jimin was why Jungkook dropped out of university. He coaxed Jungkook into emptying his bank account for Bighit, their Business Process Outsourcing venture.

Now Jungkook was broke, only relying on his small interest in Port Mafia.

“How about school? Don’t you plan on going—”

“No.” Jungkook ruthlessly cut you off. The move didn’t deter you from speaking your mind, though.

“Why not? You only need to finish two semesters to graduate. It’s a pity you’re settling with just this.”

“Just what?” Jungkook raised his brow, irritation flaring up. He had a hunch of what you were implying.

Sure enough, you swallowed hard to cover your nervousness. “With this…I mean…dropouts are…” You struggled to find the right words to say.

Jungkook huffed, supplying the words for you. “…are what? Stupid? Lazy? Unambitious? Or a waste of time?”

“Oi, don’t put words into my mouth.” You hissed, getting pissed off too.

“But that’s what you wanted to say, right? You think lowly of me. You’re just like the rest of them.”

Jungkook heard all kinds of snide remarks when he dropped out of university. His adviser even called him a lost cause— that he would never be successful if he didn’t finish school.

  Bullshit.

Jungkook felt acid crawling up to his throat. “People like you think you’re above everyone just cause you have a degree, right? Arrogant.”

You lost your composure because of how hurtful he was being.

“So what if I’m arrogant!?” You dropped your chopsticks, no longer in the mood to eat. “I’ve earned a degree. I’m finished with my commitment, unlike you, who quit and only settled with faking smiles and licking the butt holes of people richer than you!”

“You--!” Jungkook clenched his fist. He always knew his best friend had a sharp mouth. You said things that made sense, but damn, they hurt. This wasn’t the first time you said something biting, but it was the first time you had hurt Jungkook’s feelings.

It was too late when you realized what you had said. Jungkook’s eyes were already red. You knew Jungkook hated fake pleasantries and wooing greedy businessmen, yet you used those things as a weapon to hurt him.

Truly a low blow.

“Screw you.” Jungkook spat before storming off.

Feeling defeated, you didn’t run after him, deciding to just go home alone and leave Jungkook to cool off.

But the following day, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment. The thing about you was you couldn’t bear fighting for real with your best friend. Bickering with him was fine, but you’d rather die than really hurt Jungkook.

You rang the doorbell. It was early in the morning. 4am. Every second that passed knowing you and Jungkook were not okay was like a stab in your heart.

Surely, Jungkook had calmed down. If he hadn’t, you would accept any kind of punishment. You just wanted to see him.

“Come on.” You pressed the doorbell once again. It never took Jungkook two rings to open the door for you, so you seriously considered breaking in.

But to your delight, the door swung open before you could do something stupid.

“What is it?” Stone cold voice hit you on the face.

A lot. You wanted to convey many things, such as apologizing and saying Jungkook had misunderstood your point. However, looking at your best friend’s still angry face left you no choice but to lower your eyes. Your heart felt like it was pricked by thousands of needles.

You knew you were in the wrong. You could only raise the paper bag you were holding.

“I made crab spring rolls. Do you want them?”

“What makes you think I want them?” Jungkook crossed his arms, which caused you to swallow hard.

You bit your lip too, looking at Jungkook despite your guilt. “You’re right, you might not want them anymore, but I can only bring this hoping you’d accept my apology and also...also to—”

You weren’t planning to bring this up while still outside Jungkook’s home, but you couldn’t bear to look at his angry face anymore.

You voiced out your trump card. Your last resort. “—to ask you if you’re willing to guide me on investing at Bighit?”

As expected, Jungkook was shocked. His lips parted wide. “Why? You don’t mind licking butt holes with me?”

“Oh, for Fuck’s sake!” You pushed the paper bag into Jungkook’s chest. “I was wrong, okay? I’m an arrogant devil. ”

You craned your neck, purposely showing off the choker adorning your neck.

Fire danced in Jungkook’s eyes. He lowered the paper bag to cover the bulge in his sweatpants.

Fucking hell, you’re so hot. Jungkook scolded himself, forced to contour his expression to neutral.

“Then what are you waiting for? Come in.”

Needless to say, you left Jungkook’s apartment feeling grateful that you had a choker to cover some obvious bite marks.

Present, 2023:

“Pwetty lady! Spring yoll! Bin-bin! Want!” A certain someone was banging the top of ADA’s table, almost as if he couldn’t wait for even one more second.

“Hey, kiddo. You already ate seven pieces.” You folded your arms across your chest, your brows furrowing at the small child sitting before you.

The said the child pouted his lips, his eyes losing their sparks.

Jungkook’s sparkling eyes were still vivid in your mind, probably because you had just finished reminiscing about what had happened five years ago. As a result, you couldn’t help but associate this kid with your former best friend.

You always thought that Jungkook’s eyes could replace the stars. It was your weakness. Those eyes made you want to dig your heart out and give it to Jungkook for free. The universe knew about this, so why must you suffer it the second time?

Why did Soobin, the kid in front of you, have to have the same sparkly eyes as Jungkook?

“Spring roll! Want!” They even had the same favorite food.

You scoffed. Like father like son, huh?

“A brat dares to make demands when he can’t pronounce the words right? Spring yoll, my ass.” You mocked the kid.

Soobin ignored you. He continued banging on the table.

“Spring yoll! Bin-bin! Want! Spring yoll!”

“Okay, fine. I’ll buy you more. Just you wait, young master.” You playfully rolled your eyes, giving in to the request of your adoptive son.

“Is it that good?” You took one piece of spring roll. It had been many years since you last tasted this. Back then, you’d rather have Jungkook eat them all.

“Good! Very good!” Soobin stuffed another piece inside his mouth, clearly enjoying it.

The kid was right. The crab spring roll was delicious. It tasted the same way it did five years ago. You unconsciously gripped your phone, fixing your gaze on the screen as if waiting for a New Year’s miracle.

But it never came.

Last night, you met up with Jungkook, hoping to talk to him. Unexpectedly, Jungkook was drunk.

Now that he was sober, you thought he would call.

What wishful thinking.

“But nothing’s changed.” You thought to yourself as you looked around the place. ADA was still open for business; its famous spring rolls were still loved by many. Even Natsume was still singing across the street. The only difference was that you couldn’t hear the old man singing.

ADA expanded its business. They now had alfresco dining. You chose to eat inside the restaurant, afraid Soobin would catch a cold.

Everything stayed the same except for people. Back then, you went to ADA with your best friend. Years later, you went to ADA with your former best friend’s kid.

You could only swallow the bitterness down your stomach.

“Full! Wanna go home! Sleep!” Soobin said after eating the last piece of spring roll.

You hummed, “We’ll go home in a while. Count one to one hundred first.”

Soobin threw dirty looks at you as if to say, “This young master doesn’t know how to count!” You laughed a little. Of course, he couldn’t count up to a hundred yet. He was still so young.

So young.

But someone had already missed a few years of Soobin’s life.

You looked at your phone again.

Still no call.

“Alright, Bin-bin. Let’s go home.”

At last, you and your son left the food shop. As you two walked out, the horrible singing voice of the fortune teller reached your ears.

His lyrics were as nasty as before. Soobin covered his ears in annoyance, asking you to walk faster as he didn’t want to hear Natsume sing:

ring, ring, ring

the phone rings

the boy saw black

and the girl saw red

ring, ring, ring

the phone rings

how cruel it is

to have you waiting

for someone who can’t

 even

breathe.

****

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A/N: comments motivate me to write. leave some if you can ~~ ❤️

[thetriumphantpanda]

close to you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Nine

Chapter Summary | A week of not hearing from Javi since he ran out has you tearing your hair out, so you throw yourself into your work as a distraction, with catastrophic consequences.

Chapter Warnings | mentions of drugs and the drug trade, alcohol consumption, threatening language, violence, blood, descriptions of a head injury and concussion, Javier Peña to the rescue, soft!Javi.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | I am forever appreciative of how patient you guys are for updates of this series! Thank you for hanging in there whilst my muse and creativity ebbs and flows, I love you all! We're getting towards the conclusion of this little story, with only a few chapters left so I hope you guys are still enjoying this! If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

You wonder when staring at the work in front of you might actually yield something worth writing about. It’s all you’ve done since you picked up this stupid story and decided to chase it. Staring at the pages on your desk has become all the more common in the week since Javi ran out on you. He’s avoided your calls to his phone, you’ve not seen him around town, and the one time you decided to call the house, Chucho answered and with the most sincere voice you’d ever heard, told you he wasn’t in but that he promised he’d ask him to call you when he got back. That had been two days ago, so you’d practically given up all hope of ever hearing from him again.

For the first couple of days, you’d cursed yourself, wondering why you’d kept any of that stuff in the first place. Newspaper clippings and annotated notes about everything he and his team had done in Colombia. You didn’t need it anymore, thesis done, completed, and with a better mark than you could ever have hoped for. But until you’d seen him in the flesh, knew he was back for good and safe in Texas, it was the only way to feel close to him. Stupid for sure. But then the anger had set in - he’d no right to rifle through your drawers, pick up your notebooks and thumb through them. The barrage of different emotions was hard to deal with, and at the very base level, you missed him, you wanted him back, and you wanted to explain everything to him - that’s incredibly hard when he won’t answer his fucking phone though.

Turning your attention back to your work, you try and focus. You’ve met dead end after dead end with this stupid story and there really is only one place left for you to go. If it’s not Tyler then it has to be someone else in the family that’s involved. You can’t imagine it’s head of the family, so that really only leaves Tyler’s brother. It might be stupid and you might make a terrible enemy out of the mayor’s family, but there’s something else going on here and whatever it is, you’re going to get to the bottom of it, no matter how.

You can still never get over the size of the Johnson family home. Richard and his wife had two sons, one their pride, the other, not so much, but if you looked at their house, you’d think they had at least twelve children. No family needed this many rooms, you think, as you walk up the driveway.

It’s the early afternoon and you can see Garrett’s car parked in front of the house. Tyler will be at work, as will Richard, and you’re pretty sure their mother is never at home. You don’t really know what it is she does, but it’s some form of charitable work that involves travelling more than it does time at home.

You take a deep breath and ring the bell, waiting the appropriate amount of time before ringing it again. It’s a huge house after all, it must take a while to get from anywhere to the front door. A few seconds later, the door opens, and Garrett is stood in front of you, dressed in dress pants and a shirt that has the arms rolled up to the elbows. He smiles at you and opens the door a bit wider, invites you in - it’s much warmed than the reception you got from his brother.

“Lovely to see you,” He smiles, guiding you through the foyer and into the kitchen, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Water would be great, thank you.” You smile back, waiting for him to put a glass in front of you, topped up with water and fresh ice.

“I assume you’re here from the paper?” He asks, leaning cooly against the kitchen counter.

“That’s right,” You nod, sipping at the water, “Has Tyler spoken to you recently?”

Garrett shakes his head, “No, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks actually.”

You hum, nodding your head, thankful that you have the upper hand of surprise still - that this part of the family don’t know you’re sniffing around looking for a reason that one of their houses was used as some form of drug den.

“How have you been since Dylan died?” You ask, “I know you were really good friends.”

It’s a question that makes sense, they were very good friends, and although it’s been a while, you’re hoping your feigned concern for his mental welfare might make him open up.

“It’s been hard,” He starts, “He was my best friend, and to suddenly not have him around anymore…” He trails off, “I miss him.”

You nod, hoping the look of concern you think you’ve got across your face is projecting enough to make him feel like he can trust you.

“Was he the reason your dad has started being heavier with drugs in town?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Garrett nods, “He saw how fucked up it made me to lose my friend and decided enough was enough, that someone needed to do something to fix the trouble we’ve been having in town for years.”

There’s another nod from you, “Makes sense,” You offer, “Not really working very well though, is it?”

“These things take time.” He offers, in that perfectly practiced politician way that they always answer things.

“Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase Garrett,” You sigh, “That house in town that got raided recently? We’ve been looking into it and it all leads back to you, to your family, and it doesn’t matter who I ask, no-one knows why that place was being used as a drug den, but someone in this family knows exactly why.”

Garrett scoffs, “You’ll want to talk to my brother about that.”

“Well, that’s the thing Garrett,” You speak, “I did, and that man is clean as a whistle, he hasn’t taken drugs in at least a year, and the last time he was at the house, it was clear of anything,” You shrug, “I can’t imagine your dad being involved in anything like this, so that just leaves you.”

You can see his demeanour change almost immediately, he’s uncomfortable, moving from foot to foot and you can see the start of perspiration on his forehead.

“You’re telling me you think I’m involved in something?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

He pushes himself from the counter he’s been leaning against, takes a few steps towards you, trying to intimidate you, but you know you’re pushing in the right direction, he wouldn’t be reacting like this if you were barking up the wrong tree.

“Where’s your evidence?” He asks.

“Maybe you’ll have to buy the paper to find out?”

“Listen here you little bitch,” He spits, pointing his finger in your face, “You ought to be careful about this, you think this is just me?” He asks, stepping even closer to you, making your breath catch in your throat, “You think you publish this story and it’ll just be me you have to worry about? You’re dead wrong, publish whatever story you’re planning and you’ll have a rain of fucking fire to deal with from people you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.”

“So, it was you then?” You can help but smirk, having caught him redhanded in a confession, the recorder in your bag that you’d pressed on before he’d answered the door your little secret.

You watch some kind of fury flick over his eyes as he grits his teeth, his hands pressed into your shoulders to push you back, “Stupid little girl.” He says as he pushes, but it’s a lot harder than you’d anticipated and it makes you lose your balance, falling backward.

It all happens in a blur, the side of your head makes contact with the corner of the kitchen island, pain spreading almost immediately across your forehead, vision blurring as your backside hits the floor. You’re sort of aware of something warm and wet dripping down your cheek, which you brush away with the back of your hand as you try and quickly reorientate yourself. Then you feel a hand wrap around your arm and a presence next to you, not quite all there enough to push it away.

“Oh shit,” You hear Garrett speak next to you, “Shit, shit shit,” He’s touching your face now, “I'm sorry, I- oh god - I didn’t mean to push you that hard.”

You groan, letting your head tip back against the cool marble of the kitchen island, “Am I-” You struggle to speak, “Am I bleeding?”

“Oh god-” Garrett mutters, “I’m going to be sick.”

And then he’s gone, the sound of his shoes clipping against the floor as he runs to God knows where, leaving you disorientated and bleeding on his kitchen floor. You know you need to get out of here, slowly moving yourself just enough to push yourself to your feet, hands gripping the counter as you reach for your bag. You’re dizzy as you walk towards the door, looking down at the floor because as soon as you look up, you feel like you’re going to throw up and pass out. You can see yourself leaving small drops of blood on the floor as you move - a trail that follows you all the way down the driveway and to your car. You fumble with your keys, dropping them on the floor. When you bend over to try and pick them up, your vision goes fuzzy before you can grab them from the ground. You know you can’t drive like this.

In the haze of confusion you look around, a little way down the street you spot a phone box. It’s slow going, but you make it, pulling open the door, leaning against the glass wall, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and ease the ache behind your eyes. You shuffle through your bag to find your wallet, pulling out a handful of coins that you push into the slot. You think about phoning your father, but realise there’s only one person you want right now. Despite having his number memorised, you pull the worn card from your wallet, mainly to make sure that the haze of confusion doesn’t make you dial the wrong number. You drag your thumb over the faded number, watching a smear of blood cover it, and then press the number into the dialling pad, listening to it start to ring.

“Please Javi,” You whisper, “Please answer.”

You’re about to lose hope, expecting the phone to ring out, but through some form of divine intervention, the ringing stops and you hear the voice you’ve craved all week.

“Peña?”

“Oh Javi,” You sigh out in relief, feeling the prick of tears behind your eyes, “Help me.”

“Cariño?”

“Javi please, I need you.”

“What’s happened?” You can hear his tone change, concern and something else you can’t quite place, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, I just-” The ache behind your eyes is making you tired, “I need you to come and get me.”

“Has something happened?”

“Yes,” You reply, “I’m so tired Javi, I can’t drive.”

“Where are you?”

“The mayor’s house,” You reply, “Well- no - I'm in the phone box down the road.”

“You stay right there, okay?” He’s frantic on the other end of the phone, you can tell.

“Please hurry.”

He’s beside himself as he drives from the ranch and into town. A week of avoiding you, of avoiding his feelings towards you, and you’re hurt. He still can’t think about what happened. He doesn’t even know why he’d answered the phone this time - he’d avoided answering anything that had come through on his phone since he’d run out on you before, but there’s something today that made him pick up, and by God is he pleased he did. He doesn’t think he could have lived with himself if he’d let you call and left you hurt and injured in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks of all the other women throughout his life that he's let down. Lorraine and the way he left her, Helena and the way she risked herself for him, for the promise of a fucking visa, and paid the price. Most women in his life ended up hurt, emotionally or physically, and it was becoming evident to him that you were no different.

Not knowing, and not caring about how many speed restrictions he breaks, he makes it to the phone box in record time, cutting the engine and slamming the door behind him. He takes four or five big steps to the phone box, tearing open the door to find you slumped on the floor, eyes fluttering open at the disturbance. He takes a deep breath, dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Cariño, it’s me,” He speaks softly, “Can you hear me?”

He takes your face in his hands, turns it towards the quickly fading light, finding the cut on your forehead. The blood has dried and scabbed over, but there’s a trail of crusting blood down your cheek and side of your neck. He thinks of Helena in this moment, about draping his jacket over her naked body, cradling her to his body, reluctantly handing her over to a paramedic, not knowing what would come of her.

“Javi?” Your voice is quiet, but your eyes are looking at him, glassed over, but at least you recognise him.

“That’s me,” He speaks softly, “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” You mumble, and then you shake your head in his hands, “Head hurts.”

“Shall we move you?” He asks, knowing he can’t leave you here, “Come here.”

Letting go of your face, he runs his palms down your arms to where your hands are clasped together. He gently pries open your fingers and takes hold of the card there, holding it up. It’s the card he’d given you with his number on, edges torn and worn. He can clearly see where you've run your fingers over the printed text, and where it's sat in your purse, pulled out and slotted bacon whenever you've needed him. He tries to take it, but your hand clasps over it again.

“Don’t,” You whisper, “It’s mine, don’t take it.”

“It’s okay, Cariño,” He replies, “I’ll keep it safe, just let me have it whilst we get you into the car.”

“My keys,” You mumble as he stands up, leaning down despite the protest of his knees and his back, “I dropped them.”

He’s scooping you up, not quite able to carry you, but able to lean you against his side to walk you to the passenger side of his truck.

“Where did you drop them?” He asks, settling you into the passenger seat, leaning across you to clip your seatbelt in.

“My car-” Your head lolls to the side, eyes hooded as you look at him, “On the ground.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, shutting the door gently. He finds your keys on the ground by your car, and then after checking that the doors are still locked, he shoves the keys into his pocket and focuses his attention back to you.

The drive out of town is slower, Javi conscious that he doesn’t want to jostle you too much. Each corner he turns makes you groan. He had considered taking you to your own home, but he decides instead to take you back to the ranch. He pulls up, noticing the lights on in the living room. He knows he’s going to have questions from his father, but he doesn’t worry about that, instead he focuses on getting you out of the truck and into the house.

There’s a look from Chucho when he bursts through the front door, but Javi gives him a clipped shake of his head and instead walks you up the stairs and into his room. He sits you down on the side of the bed, kissing your forehead as he grabs some supplies from his bathroom - a warm, damp washcloth and his bag of first aid supplies, put together by Chucho when he’d come back to the ranch - his dad not convinced he wouldn’t injure himself with the manual labour.

“Hey, cariño?” He speaks softly, on his knees in front of you, “Look at me?”

You do, but your eyes are barely open. He works quickly, wiping away the crusted blood from your face first before he turns his attention to the actual cut. Once he’s cleaned it a little, he can see it’s not as deep as he’d anticipated. He brushes it with an antiseptic wipe, soothing you when it stings enough to make you gasp, and then covers it with a small plaster.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble as he eases you back on the bed, head down on his pillows.

“What for?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Scaring you off.”

“Oh hermosa,” He breathes, feeling guilt pool in his stomach, nut not ready to quite face the conversation of what really made him run that night, “I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

He listens to you groan in approval, moving your body to get a little more comfortable.

“What happened today?” He asks quietly, trying to keep you awake so he knows who did this to you.

“Went to the house,” You speak, punctuated with a yawn, “Asked Garrett about the house.”

It’s almost like you get a second wind, trying to sit up, but he knows you need to stay still, so he gently pushes you back down.

“It’s him Javi,” You groan, “He’s the one dealing the drugs.”

“Shhhhh,” It’s the only thing he can think to do, “Just rest, cariño, we can talk later.”

Javi sits there for longer than he needs. You’re softly snoring within minutes, but he still sits there to make sure you’re out for the count. When he’s sure you’re settled and still breathing, he heads downstairs, ignoring his father’s knowing look as he pours himself a generous amount of whiskey.

“When were you going to tell me?”

Javi shrugs, “I’m not sure,” He answers honestly, “It’s new.”

“Not that new,” Chucho huffs, “You were always shit at sneaking around,” He picks up his own drink, “Saw you after my birthday.”

Javi tips his head back and can’t help but chuckle because it’s true, he was never good at keeping things from his dad. He just hopes you’ve both done a better job at keeping things from your parents.

“You know what you’re doing with her?”

It’s a question he doesn’t really know how to answer, mulling over the answer in his mind before he lets his mouth speak.

“I just know I want to keep her safe,” He speaks, “And that I think I might love her.”

Javi watches as Chucho’s mouth grows into a smile, a small nod given in his direction.

“Will she be okay?”

Javi nods, “I think so yes, hit her head pretty hard, but I think after she’s slept she’ll be okay.”

Chucho pushes himself from his chair, draining his almost-empty cup. He puts it in the sink and then puts a warm hand on Javi’s shoulder with a squeeze.

“I just want you to be happy, finally,” He says, “That’s all that matters.”

Javi watches as he walks away, off to his room to sleep, and speaks into the silence of the empty kitchen once he’s gone, “Thanks, dad.”

[randomness-is-my-order]

i was watching the founder of diabolism animation with my cousin (for the first time!) today and it just made me extremely emotional about this story once again. i’ve already talked about alot of motifs in mdzs which are close to my heart but one thing the animation reiterates so well is this whole seeming dichotomy between wei wuxian and lan zhan.

now, i have my gripes with the show, as is the case for all adaptations of canon but the way the colours, effects and even the opening lyrics are used to maximise the differences between wwx and lwj is very fascinating. i’m not one to really buy into the “oh they’re not black and white, but they’re grey” when it comes to the wwx-black and lwj-white representation because morally speaking, i don’t find that the “greyness” tracks.

the dichotomy is moreso appealing to me for what the story inevitably delivers: appearances are deceptive, rumours are deceptive, the surface hides the true depth underneath. you go into this animated show with your protagonist surrounded by a clear narrative of some kind of fall from grace, while the deuteragonist is painted in a virtuous light from the get-go. you don’t know how it’s going to happen but the narrative so far wants you to perceive the characters a certain way while still giving you just enough to make you doubt yourself. but here’s the thing: you do doubt yourself but not to the extent that you should. wei wuxian does become some sort of heretic path cultivator, apparently, but you know he’s a nice, chirpy teen and helpful in the future but surely, he embraces the darkness when his hand is forced. and surely, lan zhan only goes against him because his morals and rules demand it. surely, lan zhan’s hand is forced as well.

and while there is some truth to it, you don’t realise that morally, very objectively, and very harshly speaking, the fall from grace doesn’t happen from wei wuxian’s end but lan wangji’s and here the whole white/black, good/evil motifs become completely secondary because who exactly is devolving here? it never was wei wuxian and realising that in it of itself is a major part of mdzs’s storytelling.

i mostly bring this up because my cousin noticed something that i, as a novel reader & cql watcher can’t pick up–that during the punishment scene in cloud recesses, wwx internally muses about how he couldn’t have lwj’s resolve during his silence endurance of punishment and later he tells jc that he won’t try to dabble into demonic cultivation ever again. setting aside the fact that this doesn’t clarify the misnomer and that these are scenes which are slightly altered or completely new when compared to canonical material, it still maintains the essence of the earlier chapters, imo. in that, my cousin remarked that wwx himself says he doesn’t have the resolve and so he might end up practicing demonic cultivation anyway. (i was sorely tempted to reply with a thesis on why that is... wrong but what’s the fun in spoiling this journey for her?)

it’s just masterful how certain story beats paint this dilemma across the two characters, where you would think wwx is likely to have acted in a certain morally questionable way while putting more faith into lan zhan but as the past unfolds and you see beneath the surface of this young guy called wei wuxian, you realise just how much of his inner strength you have glossed over and that lan zhan’s resolve was always rooted in conflict with his rules vs his morals.

and i don’t mean this to be a way of propping wwx above lwj in some arbitrary moral olympics. it’s to simply to show how falsifying paragons and making the audience doubt wei wuxian is fundamental to experiencing mdzs in ANY format. the thoughts you have when you read/watch the first few chapters will have inevitably done a one-eighty after reading/seeing the conclusion. infact, the true black/white, good/evil, wrong/right debates aren’t even centred around wei wuxian and lan zhan but wei wuxian and the cultivation society as a whole.

and if i had to give an analogy for wei wuxian’s moral representation, then it wouldn’t be grey but––and all gay puns aside––it would be a ‘rainbow’ wherein the ‘white’ morality is very much a spectrum and leaves room for more questionable methods to ultimately reach an unequivocally good goal, without defaulting to the ‘grey’ area that is more often than not used as a backhanded way of representing wei wuxian’s moral complexity.

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 3

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), praise kink? WC: 6.7k AN: y'all i am SO proud of this chapter!! i'm so so so excited for you all to read it, i loved writing it so much. thank you all so so so much for the love you have been giving this fic, it means the absolute world to me. requests and asks open, as always!

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, [Ch. 3], Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 3: Bonding

In the morning, you woke up slowly, with the taste of night-old beer and regret in your mouth. And also a splitting headache. But your bed was really warm, much warmer than usual, and you snuggled into the covers for another minute. Just one more. And then you realized that it wasn't the covers you were snuggling into, but a person. A person who had their arms wrapped around you. The memories surged back--Anakin, the loud music, truth or dare, kissing him, straddling him, his body against yours. You patted his arm a few times, suddenly completely awake. He let out a low noise of annoyance, but you kept tapping him.

"Five more minutes," he groaned, deeper and gruffer than usual. In that voice, you could hardly refuse him. Five more minutes, fine. With his nearness, warm and stable against you, your heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour. You thought back to the night before, how hard he was for you and how smooth and warm his skin had been under your fingers when you teased below his shirt. Those thoughts would have made you horny beyond belief--fuck you right then and there, maybe--but you had the joy of a massive headache that blocked all of those fun thoughts. The light was too bright to close your eyes and drift off, so all you could do was turn around, awkwardly shifting underneath his arm, to look at him.

Anakin had little freckles on his cheekbones, you realized when you looked at him up close. When his face was completely relaxed like this, he had a kind of ethereal serenity about him. You feared that, if you didn't hold him tightly enough, he'd run away and jump into the sea like a selkie, never to be seen again. He was almost inhuman in that moment, all sharp angles and full lips. The morning light kissed his skin like it came from some radiance within him. He wasn't just handsome in the college-jock kind of way, he was truly and deeply beautiful, you realized.

Calling this Anakin a dumbass, an asshole, or a motherfucker felt just wrong. It would be like calling the stars in the sky boring. Laughably silly. With his jaw slack from sleep, he was a marvel, a gift from nature itself, molded and crafted into a careful, wonderous machine of blood, feelings, and thoughts. And he was laying there with you. If this Anakin wanted the prize, the money, the job, whatever, you would give it over in a heartbeat. All of that just didn't matter in this moment. And that was terrifying.

As quickly as you could, you tried to ground yourself in what was really important to you. Creating something meaningful. Winning. You reminded yourself all the times Anakin called your work amateurish, or the way he still denied damaging Barriss's bot. The way he'd raise his hand to argue that your answer was wrong in lecture during second year. Other images flashed in, unbidden. Anakin's kind eyes when he realized you were upset, before your first kiss. Anakin's sweet voice last night, full of respect for you. The way his teammates obviously respected him. You willed your mind to go back to his smug smile and the way he hogged the soldering station.

Anakin shifted a bit, then opened his bleary eyes to the morning light. It wasn't that late, you knew based on the fact that Ahsoka hadn't pounded down your door, but it was a Sunday, so maybe she didn't intend to. You reached for your phone on your nightstand, which was mercifully alive but hanging on for dear life at 3%. There was a text message from Ahsoka.

Slept over at TKD on the couch, heard u got home safe! ;) Go get some!

Ah. So she clearly thought you and Anakin had fucked. Not that you minded, really. Even if he was an asshole, or if you felt however you did about him, he was still hot. You definitely intended to screw his brains out as soon as you felt better. You tapped him again.

"Mmm, good morning," he mumbled out, "what time is it?" You clicked on your phone.

"11:55," you told him. He bolted upright.

"Shit, we slept through breakfast," he said. He was right, you had. Not that you got breakfast much. You shrugged. Anakin's eyes passed over you, catching your mussed hair, the smudges of mascara surrounding your eyes, and last night's now disheveled dress, then appeared to realize that he was, indeed, pantsless in your bed.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was hushed, tentative. He wasn't saying it outright, but you both knew the question was actually do you regret last night? You took a moment before answering him, trying to find the most correct phrasing for how you felt about it. About him.

"Honestly, I--" you started. His eyes widened, and he read into your hesitation a bit too much. Anakin got out of bed instantly, a gesture that would have been more dignified if he didn't have to shimmy out of the comforter and then hop over you to do so. The lack of his warm weight behind you made you feel oddly empty.

"I knew it, I'm so sorry. I'll leave now, I just--" Anakin said as he grabbed his jeans and started putting them on. Were you imagining it, or was he flushed red in embarrassment? It was kind of cute.

"God, you're stupid. Get back here," you said, motioning for him to come back. Anakin paused, his jeans pulled halfway up, then caught your eye. Based on your annoyance, he sensed that this probably wasn't a get-away-from-me type of conversation, so he finished putting his jeans on and buttoning them, then sat down on the edge of your bed. He was still tentative, like if he said or did the wrong thing, this moment would disappear. Anakin perched carefully on the edge of your bed, as far from you as mathematically possible. He probably had run calculations in his head, you thought.

"I was just saying that I'm too hungover, but we should still… Just not right now. My head is killing me." As you spoke, a smile grew on his face, but then he tried to hide it by pressing his lips together, an effect you would have thought worked better if he wasn't so horrible at it.

"Oh," he said, still obviously elated, but then his expression turned to concern, and he scooched an inch closer to you. "Do you have any Tylenol, or, like, electrolytes here?" You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course not." He didn't seem to think you capable of planning in advance, which flared annoyance inside you, but you decided to tamp it down. For now.

"Nah, I think I just need water and food. I'm gonna head down to lunch once I get dressed, then the lab," you told him through a yawn.

"Already? You practically live there," he laughed. Nerd, his tone cried.

"Big words from someone who is always there before me," you said reflexively. The retort had come out of your mouth as easily as breathing, and you hoped he didn't hate you for it.

"Touche," he said, though there wasn't any annoyance in it, just a smile. A silence fell between the two of you, and, unlike most times, it was comfortable. You weren't fuming, which was definitely a new one. Anakin looked down at his hands resting on his thighs, then seemed to work up the courage to say something.

"Look, before you go downstairs, can we talk? Actually talk?" What on Earth did that mean?

"You go first," you said. What did he want to talk about? As far as you were concerned, your positions were clear. Maybe you'd fuck tonight, maybe not, and then he'd be out of your system. You could get back to work. Something twinged in your chest, but it was from your hangover.

"Okay, so, um. I think you know that, even though you're literally the worst, I am… attracted to you. Somehow. And that I'd like to, y'know. Do stuff. I just feel weird about it because of the competition," Anakin said. His confession that he was attracted to you stirred something inside you, but you ignored it.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, I don't know about you, but if we… did things. I think I'd feel more upset if you won. Not that you will, to be clear, but if someone sabotaged my project and cut off my hands, you might have a shot." You snorted, then smacked his shoulder. He held up his hands, defensively, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

"But, I think I'd also feel weird when I win. You've been really helpful. At staying late so that I can use machines, to be clear. So I've been thinking, we're engineers, right? And, most of what we do is optimize. So why don't we optimize this competition? Maybe we could split the prize money. Because if I don't win, you do, and I need that money. Like, really need. And I'd rather get something than nothing at all if you win, and, for that insurance, I'm willing to let you have some of my prize money. And, in exchange, we help each other as much as possible to make sure that the two of us get first and second place."

Initially, you bristled. Giving away some of your hard-earned prize? That motherfucker was trying to take away from your victory. But, then again, with the way your tests were going now, there was no certainty that you'd be able to produce a working prototype by March. And, if you didn't, he'd probably win. Souring his win just a little would probably feel really good, you reasoned, given how full of himself he was now. The idea wasn't horrible, you thought. You decided to be honest, even though it almost killed you.

"You'll only hear me say this once--and don't you dare tell fucking anyone--but I don't know if I'll win. It's probably rigged in your favor, anyway." You ignored the indignant "hey!" Anakin let out, and continued. "So sure. That works for me."

You held out your right hand for him to shake. The sight was probably hilarious, given that you were still in bed with last night's dress and last night's makeup, but you were deadly serious. Anakin shook your hand, still smiling, and then pulled you up.

"C'mon, get dressed. Don't wanna miss lunch, too, or else we'll never see the lab in the daytime!"

Two hours later, you found yourself on the shuttle to the engineering building. You'd probably walk back long after the shuttle system stopped running, so you wanted to spare yourself one walk in the biting cold. Anakin was sitting next to you--the two of you and Ahsoka had eaten together, and you had spent most of the time getting questioning glances from her. His thigh was warm against yours in the cramped shuttle seats, and you caught him smiling at you once, which made your heart flutter.

You were not alone in the lab. You decided not to question why that was disappointing. On the upside, you got to see Barriss, who was in the corner of the lab, tapping something out on her phone. When she saw you, she came up to you and asked you about how you were doing, and you answered honestly. Tired.

Asajj was on the other side of the room and shot you a glance, but you ignored it. She wasn't your favorite member of the engineering department, but she was an environmental engineer. Not your circus. In the few classes you'd shared, she was kind of a bitch, actually. Barely acknowledged you. She narrowed her eyes at Anakin when he followed you into the lab.

You kept chatting with Barriss for a while, catching up. You felt like you hadn't seen her in ages, especially since she got a job working as an admin assistant for the department. She told you about her new idea for a thesis, some sort of collapsible electric bicycle, and how she was trying to make a better replacement for electric scooters. She pulled up her chair to sit next to your lab bench while you tinkered with your prototype, peppering in some questions about it. You lied through your teeth. It was going great, actually. You were more than on track. You had passed your initial tests with flying colors. Right as she was about to leave, you had worked up the nerve to say the truth, that you were terrified of how it was going. She would be the only person you'd ever admit that to--God knows you wouldn't tell Anakin.

Well, actually, now that you were in your agreement, maybe you could. The idea made you feel scared, honestly. What if he sent you on a wild goose chase? While you were thinking, Barriss said goodbye and rushed off to go get a late lunch, leaving just you, Anakin, and Asajj in the lab.

Now that Barriss was gone, you let yourself deflate. Pretending to do something productive while she watched killed you a little bit, and you found yourself not wanting to do anything else today. Maybe eat some pasta and sleep. Anakin came up to your bench a few times, checking to see how stuff was going, but you weren't really feeling up to engaging with him. You fended off his questions for several hours as you agonized over your failed test, checking the software's code over and over. It still worked on all the test cases other than the one where it really mattered, the one that took it from being a model on your computer to a device that looked at real, physical eyes. Sometime right before dinner, Anakin came up to your desk again, looking frustrated.

"Hey," his voice was low, so that Asajj couldn't hear. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Why do you want me to?" You couldn't help it. You were being defensive, and you felt guilty the moment the words left your lips. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Because…" he trailed off, expression inscrutable, then continued after a moment, "We promised to help each other. I just want to help, honest." You studied his completely earnest face, so open. You faltered, for a moment. Even though you'd had that nice conversation earlier, you couldn't help but still see his face biting out a mean comment, or his sweet smile when he told you the circuit design you had drawn in freshman year for your final project looked fine, even though it had glaring errors. You could handle this on your own. Maybe, just maybe, if you got desperate, you could ask him. But not right now.

"I--It's fine. I think I just need to work on it a bit more." That seemed to placate him, all the way until you told him that you were going to go back home, to have dinner and study, then call it a night. He gave you that same inscrutable expression, which was kind of starting to annoy you, and wished you luck.

You, in fact, did have dinner, but you couldn't study. The equations swam in front of your eyes, all of them turning into questions of focal distance and refraction. You tried for two hours, and it was nine already, so you decided to switch tasks. Maybe now you would make some progress on your thesis.

And, so, the minutes ticked past as you sat alone in your bedroom, flipping through pages and googling random things like "refraction of printer paper." Ahsoka was studying for some exam she had tomorrow, and she said she'd be out late at the library, so you had room to spread out. You found yourself pouring cups of tea in the kitchen more often than was technically productive, and, more than a couple of times, you wanted to throw your prototype against a wall.

It was 11 when you caved and texted Anakin for help. It had been almost a week since you had this issue, and you were really getting to be behind, so this qualified as desperate. And if he was going to make fun of you, so be it. You cringed a bit when you saw that his contact name was still Asshole, a change made in anger in junior year when he called your group project idea the most boring thing he'd ever heard.

You: U up?

Asshole: bffr did you actually just send me a u up text Asshole: yes i am up

You: Can you come over? You: To help with an optics question

Asshole: yes Asshole: be there in 10

You: Thank you

Asshole: course

You changed his contact name back to Anakin. He deserved that much, at least. And, in the ten minutes before he came, you changed into some kind of lacy set of lingerie you'd bought the last time you went clubbing. Just in case. When you were with Anakin, there was always a chance things would go there, even if you called him over for a math issue. You threw your favorite comfortable pair of shorts back on, along with a loose Coruscant U shirt.

When he arrived, looking upsettingly hot in the bomber jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans he was wearing, you led him to your room, trying not to imagine the other reasons you might bring him there at night. Once he understood what your project was trying to do, his fingers scrolled the code you had written. He asked the right questions about various modules you'd used, then turned his attention to the hardware. He re-ran the tests, then grabbed your prototype and moved your detector around the room a bit.

Twenty minutes later, he had a diagnosis.

"I'm afraid the reason your machine doesn't work is that… you're stupid."

"What?" If you didn't need his help so badly, you would have smacked him.

"Yeah, look. First of all, you're getting a false negative from the fact that your code says to output a 'no glaucoma' response whenever it doesn't see glaucoma. So you could point it at the wall and it'd tell you that it doesn't have glaucoma, because, technically, it doesn't. And it's not reading either of these images accurately because, look, when you hold the paper like this," he lifted it up at a diagonal, "you can see that there's some reflection of light off the ink you used to print it. There isn't that in the training images you showed it, so it doesn't read it right. I bet if you did this whole thing on an actual eye with glaucoma, not a printed picture, you'd be fine," he said. "You've spent so much time hooking up the camera that you didn't spend enough time on making a good test, that's all. And, also, you need to make sure there's a way for the program to recognize whether something is an eye or not. That would also be helpful."

A certain calm took over him when he started explaining, like you saw in him when he was doing something particularly difficult. Those were the moments you found him most attractive, and, right now, the first time he was helping you for no other reason than that you asked, you thought this might be the most attractive you've seen him. His hands, gesturing. His eyes, sparkling. I want to kiss him. The thought propelled you to stand up, so that you were closer to his height.

"Thank you, Anakin. I mean it. As much as it hurts to admit… you're probably right," you said. After a beat, you continued, your voice lower than before. "And I'm really glad you came tonight." The confession slipped out of your lips like a secret, quick and quiet. Anakin's body was so close to you, you could have pressed yourself against him if you just leaned forward.

"You're welcome," he said in the same husky tone, his gaze flitting from your eyes to your lips. The air was charged with something, some kind of magnetic pull between the two of you. His softness toward you was new, exciting. Your hand reached out, brushing his wrist before finding his hand. When his eyes widened and he shuddered out a breath, it was like a jolt of lightning. He wanted you, badly. So badly even you could tell. The previous times you had done this, it'd been the heat of the moment driving you. Now, you weren't sure how to get from here to making him horny. This was soft, almost romantic, not angry and sexy and intense. What could you say?

"So, um. Wanna watch something?" Your suggestion was a little bit stupid, but Anakin's lips pressed together as he tried to subdue giggles. He failed, and started full-on cackling. You felt your whole face get warm from embarrassment. Well, damn. There goes that.

"Did you really actually for real just ask me to Netflix and chill with a straight face?" He was almost wiping away tears, apparently. Jesus Christ, you were just trying to break the ice. You smacked his upsettingly hard chest in annoyance.

"Stop laughing! Or else I'll--" you were trying to find some threat, something to say that would actually get him to shut up, when he jumped in.

"You'll what? What are you gonna do about it?" Something in his voice morphed, mocking, and though he was smiling, it reminded you more of the expression an animal makes before catching its prey. Self-satisfied. Smug. So, so fucking handsome.

You didn't need another second before you slammed into him, kissing him with a kind of fever you had only imagined. He'd been riling you up for days, weeks, months at this point, and you were finally going to get him inside you. Your hands found their way into his hair while he pulled you to him by your lower back. When you gently tugged, he let out a little noise deep in his throat and started nudging you toward the bed. The effect you had on him was overpowering, addicting. And, if you were being honest, he was riling you up just as much. His thumbs were playing with the skin that was directly under your tank top, sending little fires to your core.

You finally reached the bed, still kissing sloppily, and then he pushed you down onto it before connecting your lips again and climbing over you. Though he was hovering over you, supported by his arms, Anakin kept his hips just out of reach. You horribly, horribly wanted to feel that hardness pressing against you again. You trailed your hands down his chest, all the way until you reached the button of his jeans. You ghosted your hand over his length, trapped against him in his jeans, and he let out a hiss of air.

"Be patient," he said, going back down to kiss you. He notably didn't remove your hand, but you decided there was something else you'd like to explore first, anyway. As he slipped his tongue into your mouth, you moved your hand up his shirt, running your fingers everywhere they could reach. He was taut and warm, so smooth as you felt the divots of his stomach and the clenched muscles in his chest. You knew he was an athlete, but he was properly built in a lean and strong sort of way. You could have sworn you felt abs under your hand, which was only confirmed when he quickly pulled away from you, then shrugged off his shirt. Anakin could have been carved from marble. Even though you were drunk on him, a piece of you recognized the same otherworldly sense from that morning. Like a statue of Apollo had broken out of stone and stepped into your life, still above you and staring down with such intensity that it made you shiver.

His hands came up under your tank top, sliding up your stomach before they reached your bra. Tentative, warm fingers slipped under the wire and grazed the bottom of your breasts. A positively embarrassing moan slipped out of you. He chuckled against your neck and brought his hands further up until his fingertips traced your nipples. The moan that followed was even needier, and you didn't even care.

"Stop teasing me, Anakin, please take it off," you whined, pressing your chest up into his hands and lifting your arms above your head. He didn't need to be asked twice, and slipped one hand behind your back to unclip your bra--with some ease, which surprised you. Everyone you'd been with before had struggled at least a bit, but apparently Anakin was a natural. You briefly wondered how many other people he'd slept with, but you abandoned the thought when jealousy flared in you. Anakin then brought his hands back down to the hem of your tank top before pulling it off above you, then gently guiding the straps of your bra down, finally exposing you. His eyes over you, hungry, starving.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. You have no idea what you do to me," he groaned before leaning down to your collarbone and trailing wet kisses down until he reached your nipple. His wet, warm tongue darted out to circle your sensitive skin. His right hand came up to play with the other, pinching and pulling and twisting until you were mewling. Then, he let his mouth trail even lower, kissing down until he was right above the drawstring of your shorts.

"Can I take these off, baby?" He was looking up at you with that smirk, the one that meant he knew you wouldn't say no. Of course you wouldn't. You nodded feverishly, and he undid your shorts and drew them down your legs. As he did so, the word stuck in your head. Baby. Did he mean that? Either way, you weren't going to question the way it slicked your pussy. Your shorts landed somewhere at the foot of the bed, but you didn't care. You were too busy watching Anakin take in the lacy underwear you had on.

"Damn. Do you have someone else coming over, or was this all for me?" His tone was light, but he was looking at your pussy like a man possessed. He was practically drooling.

"Shut up, Skywalker, and just take them off." He did so, happily, hooking his fingers under the waistband and drawing them down your legs until they were all the way off. If you thought he was staring before, he was practically glued to you now. One of his hands came up to rub your upper thigh before he drew it closer, inward. By the time he got close your pussy, you were thrusting up and trying to get him to touch you, rub you, finger you, whatever. As long as he put his hand on you, you'd stop feeling so sensitive and needy. But then his finger trailed up to your other knee, perfectly skipping your pussy. That motherfucker. You groaned, and you swore you could hear him chuckle. Asshole.

"Look how soaked you are. Is this all for me?" He was sin itself, a demon sent from hell to tempt you. Well, it was working. You nodded. There wasn't any shame or anger left, just a desperate need to be touched where you wanted it. Needed it.

He trailed one finger to your clit, then ran it down the rest of your slit, letting it linger right on the opening of your pussy. He tapped it once, twice, and it made a wet slapping sound that would have made you a little embarrassed had you been less turned on. But this was Anakin, and he was clearly enjoying this as much as you were, if the rock-hard outline in his jeans was any indication.

Anakin slid the finger inside you and groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him as he curled it upward. His thumb came to play with your clit, and you blurted out his name. His eyes shot to you as he took in a ragged breath. So he liked it when you said his name, got it.

And then he lowered his mouth onto your clit, and his name came out of you immediately. When his tongue started moving, fast and warm, rubbing little circles into your clit, you started chanting his name like a prayer. He added another finger inside you, stimulating you everywhere. Your hands tangled into his hair. This had to be the best head you'd ever gotten, you realized. The last person to go down on you was probably your boyfriend in junior year, and he was sloppy and got tired quickly. It almost felt like he couldn't wait for it to stop. Anakin, on the other hand, ate you like it was worship. You could tell he was reading you, then changing what he was doing when he saw a good reaction he wanted to repeat. If there was a movement you liked, he would find it and do it again and again until your legs shook.

Words spilled out of you. Telling him how good it felt, how much you wanted him. Things you would never say, only think, if he wasn't destroying you. You thanked your lucky stars Ahsoka was out, because not even three walls between you would be able to muffle your moans. You grabbed his hair particularly viciously as you were getting close, and he groaned against you before somehow getting even faster with his tongue, finally bringing you over the edge. Pleasure washed over you, and the world was still for a moment before the first wave of your orgasm hit. And, when it hit, you let out a moan so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear. You didn't even try to hide it from Anakin, who could definitely feel you twitching and clenching around his fingers.

"Fuuuuuuck, baby. You look so pretty when you cum," he said as he pulled away a bit, before pressing a kiss against your inner thigh while your legs shook around him. You caught your breath, but your pussy was still hungry. Demanding. Anakin got up from between your legs, still panting, his chin covered in a combination of spit and pussy juice. You took a mental snapshot for later reference. His eyes were so wild, and you knew you were about to get fucked like never before. Anakin was back over you, and you reached out your hand to the hard flesh that was practically bursting out of his jeans. As soon as you grazed it, he grunted, looking you straight in the eyes.

"You want it?" You nodded as fast as you can. Anakin smirked in that way that usually pissed you off, but now it just made you wetter. "Tell me how bad," he commanded. You didn't know where the words came from, but, once they started, they didn't stop.

"Fuck me, please Anakin. Please. I've waited so long and--I, Fuck. I need you inside me, more than anything in the whole fucking world, please," you begged. His jaw clenched as he smiled, obviously satisfied by your answer. He popped open the button of his jeans before undoing the fly and pulling both them and his boxers off in one go.

His cock almost made you drool, and you vowed to have it in your mouth next time. You'd had this one boyfriend, and you had sworn to all your friends that he was the biggest you'd ever had, seven inches. Anakin blew him out of the water. He was at least eight, if not more, and girthy enough that you wondered if you could even wrap your lips around him. The light skin of his shaft had purple and blue veins that snaked upward, and you longed to taste them. He was leaking a bead of precum, which he smeared across his head with his thumb.

Anakin turned around and pulled a condom out of his jeans. Had he planned this? Did he come here, knowing, hoping that you two would finally fuck? He obviously caught your weird look, and looked at you with knowing eyes.

"What, did you think I didn't know exactly why you wanted me here tonight?" Anakin chuckled, and you had the good decency to look a little bit embarrassed, but he rejoined you on the bed quickly enough that it didn't really matter.

"Damn, you look fucking amazing like this," he breathed, a little bit wonderous as he looked down at you, your legs spread for him. He situated himself between your legs, then wasted no time teasing you before he thrust into you with a loud moan. You let out a strangled sound, finally full to the brim with his cock, which was hitting parts of you that your fingers never could. And then he moved, and every nerve in your body was on fire. Your jaw opened, slack, as he pressed his forehead to yours and drilled into you. You were so wet from his spit that everything was sliding just right.

"Shit, you feel so fucking good. I'm not gonna last at this rate," he grunted out as he sped up.

"I don't care, Anakin, just fuck me," you moaned out. His hips slammed into yours, finally giving you what you'd been fantasizing about when you were alone. You relished the way his eyes squeezed shut, the hot breaths he huffed out, trying to stave off his release. He was fast and efficient, but listened to your reactions as he fucked you, adjusting angles until you were making the loudest noises you had that night. It felt like he was stretching you out, filling you up until there was no more air left in your body. Then, suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and wanting.

"Ride me," he growled. You scrambled to sit up, and he sat himself up against your headboard so that you were in his lap. Using your tired thighs, you lifted yourself up just enough for him to slip back in, which he did with ease as you both let out moans. You started raising and lowering your hips on him, working your way slowly so that he was fully inside you. From this angle, he was even deeper, if that was possible. Anakin's hands came up to grab your ass, squeezing it and occasionally giving it a gentle smack. You sped up, and words started tumbling out of his lips.

"Fuck, you don't know how much I wanted to do this at that stupid fucking party. You looked so fuckin' hot, I almost came when you sat on me," he confessed before letting out a particularly loud moan. You thought back to the way he was looking at you at the party, and it was the same glare he was casting you now. Like he'd give anything to be with you, like he was desperate for you. And he was. He kept repeating your name and how good he felt as you bounced on him.

"Shit, baby, I'm close," he gritted out. You could see it in the way his eyes squeezed, his brow furrowed, and his arms clenched around you. Your thighs burned, but you got faster. You were going to make him cum as hard as you possibly could. Soon enough, his breathing got faster, louder, letting moans fall from his lips freely. Then, he came so powerfully you swore you could feel it too. His hips twitched and jerked up into you as spurt after spurt shot out of him and into the condom. He threw his head back against your headboard, scrunching his eyes shut and moaning out your name. You could feel every twitch of his cock, every jump of his muscles under you. It was joy itself.

Once he finished cumming, you lifted yourself up and let his cock slide out of you. He was still panting, flushed and sweaty, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. Your head was resting against his chest, his left arm around you, as he pulled off the condom and tied it off, tossing it into your bedside trash. Both of you were a little bit more recovered, but your voice was still hoarse when you spoke.

"Fuck, that was amazing," you said. And it was. It really, truly was the best sex you had ever had. Anakin seemed equally as happy when he looked down at you with that soft, tender look in his eye.

"Really?" You gave him a little mhmm before he continued, "I feel bad I came so early. It's just, it's been a while for me." The confession came quickly. Like he almost wasn't sure whether to say it, but you were glad he did. You felt the same way.

"Me too, like six months. You?" The hand on his chest traced patterns across his stomach.

"Two years," he answered, like it was nothing.

"What?!" You expected him to say a month or two, maybe three at maximum. How could a guy who fucked that well stay celibate for that long? There was no way this was his first time back after so long. It was just impossible. He obviously saw the shock on your face, then elaborated.

"Yeah, since I broke up with my ex, I just… haven't found someone I wanted to do it with." Anakin was gazing at you with such affection that, for just a second, you thought it might be love.

"Until me." You didn't know where the words came from, but he didn't seem to mind. Part of you just wanted to hear him confirm it.

"Until you," he added as he gave your forehead a kiss. You lay there, your legs entwined and your hand rubbing patterns on his stomach while his pet your hair, in a happy, contented silence. The minutes passed, and his breathing slowed back to normal, but the look he was giving you didn't change. It was terrifying. You found yourself saying something to cut off the thought.

"Hey, you wanna know something funny?" You asked. Anakin, entangled in you, cast you a questioning look.

"What?"

"Check the pocket of my pants," you said. He pulled his arm out from under you, then got out of the bed and found your shorts behind your chair. From their right pocket, he pulled out a condom, and then burst out laughing. You joined him, and, in the moment, you felt like you were on the same team, the two of you against the world. The feeling only intensified when he kissed your forehead, still smiling.

"I'm gonna go get us something to clean up. Be back in a second," he said as he pulled on his boxers and pants again, before leaving the room to go find your bathroom.

He returned a few minutes later with a towel, soft and warm under his fingers. One of your washcloths, which he'd run under warm water to keep it comfortable. As he cleaned you up, then waited for you to use the bathroom, you wondered when he became so caring. So considerate and sweet. But maybe he had been that way the whole time, you thought as he put his arm around you in the bed. His skin against yours felt amazing, even better than it did during sex. For the first time, as you drifted off with your head against his chest, you wondered if being with him like this could happen more often. Maybe all the time. And then the words slipped from your mind, like footprints in sand on a beach, before you finally fell asleep.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @johnbassplayercutie @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck

[smarthamartha]

I read acotar and wrote an 84 page review JUST to prove I hate it

So ACOTAR is insanely popular and honestly... I. Do. Not. Get. It. My friend S (29, f) gave me a brief synopsis after she wrote her Master thesis on series YEARS ago (She studied literature and I still hope she'll post her work online one day) and I have been using that to form an "opinion" on the ACOTAR series.

My boyfriend told me I shouldn't use her opinion as my own, even though S and I like most of the same stuff. But yeah, I mean... fair. So, I decided to read it so I could form an opinion myself.

I used an audiobook on YouTube because I didn't want to spend any money, but also because I wanted to listen to it while doing chores and by using an audiobook my boyfriend would be slightly forced to listen along to it. I suffer, you suffer with me, boy!

I really didn't know much about the book, to be fair. I was aware that the main character is called Feyre, that the relationships in this book are questionable, that it's about fairies and that later books are spicy (this one should be fine), that Maas has a masters degree in creative writing and that there is a "riddle" that is really easy to solve.

Just to prove a point, I wrote a chapter by chapter review. I am a thorough queen. It's 84 pages long in my notes app. I couldn't post all of them as screenshots, so my general review of the book are photos, the chapter by chapter thoughts, comments and concerns can be read below.

Spoiler alert: I hated it (and so did my boyfriend)

Chapter 1

- "I strung my bow" HO IS U KATNISS?

- Girliepop, less thinking in fancy words and more shooting

- Drink every time "wolf" or "fairy" is mentioned

- Girl has (except for an internal monologue the length of a movie) no physical reaction to seeing a monsterous wolf

- Tiny girl skins giant wolf NO PROBLEM

- Ok was fine

Chapter 2

- Mean/evil/ungrateful (step)sisters trope?

- Feyre is obviously the youngest daughter

- Maas is trying to make Feyre likeable by making her sisters absolute asses

(it's not working)

- "We're SO poor"

- "if it weren't for ME" 🙄

- Feyre has a superiority complex and is projecting this onto her sisters

- No money for tea so Feyre decides to drink yucky warm water... How about ypu either drink cold water or try and find some herbs or flowers or something 😅

- There would be no food or money if Feyre didn't hunt. HO IS U KATNISS?

- The "gentlemanly" fingers of her father

- You're poor WE GET IT

Chapter 3

- The concersation with the acolyte reminds me of Christians pushing their beliefs on others even though they said they were not interested. Even more so when they keep insisting they just "have to come over once just to see"

- Feyre taking about the skin of her sisters being shreddable... girl that's psycho 😂

- poison from at least 4+ monts ago may eventually kill or cripple (??) the mercenary?

- first mention of (loveless and quiet and frankly quite boring) sex

- Feyre asks herself if she's still going to be able to do the shmexy timz when Isaac is married 😂 GIRL WHAT

- Isaac took a contraseptive brew... progressive i guess?

Chapter 4

- Tiny girl plans to fight big beast with a table knife or a (rusty) nail

- And why do we think the fae are allergic to steel?

- treaty says: "a life for a life" which humans apparently forgot... (has no-one ever double checked? Cuz this sounds like gaslighting to me)

- What is the thing with Maas and ribbons?

- Again, Feyre is surprisingly calm and ready to attack

- a life for a life... Plz send Nesta you clearly despise her

- "ok FINE I'll come and join" 🙃

- "Bruises are easier to hide than poverty" ?????????

- *dramarisc* "Feyre don't go you are the only person who can care for us how will we ever surv- kbyeeeee"

Chapter 5

- The wolf is gonna be a guy isn't it?

- I'm pro locking Feyre up in a dungeon with only water and bread... but knowing this book it is probably going to be a sex dungeon so... pass.

- 50 shades of beast

- This chapter is just as long as the road that took them to the wall... surprisingly short.

Chapter 6

- HOLD UP is this a beauty and the beast retelling? Beast kidnaps girl?

- AGAIN WITH THE RIBBONS?

- you grew up with chants and songs about fairies so you know not to eat or drink anything... yet STILL nobody double checked the treaty? Idk seems like an oversight

- Yep, the monster IS a dude!

- "My captor or savoir, whatever he is" girl are you confused? Definitely not the second one 😂

- FINALLY a physical reaction! Breath!

- Girl still has some fight in her

- There is one with a fake eye, cool! Is he a fairy pirate?

- Wowowowow wait... she is being bathed, gets a haircut and is being plucked like a chicken? ✨️spa day✨️

- No but seriously though... Nobody seems to know what Feyre is doing there so maybe the dungeon isn't such a bad idea?

- Why is everyone like "She only needed a single arrow to murder him. So yeah let her run wild, no biggie!

- Another physical reaction! Trembling!

- "I tried not to cringe at the warning" yeah well I am trying not to cringe whilst reading this book

Chapter 7

- "Your skills with females" GOOD GRIEF

- "Because killing us is easier in pants" 😂

- Feyre is being asked about her hobbies. Her answer is "No I don't have them" because she can't explain her paintings to them. What kind of monstrosities those must be then. (Ok yeah I know about the paint quality but besides that...?)

- "The fae can't lie" yeah but somehow I DON'T BELIEVE IT

- "A shared look between the two males" men. Men. Is the word you are looking for.

- Feyre looks at herself in the mirror and basically describes a skeleton. She is worried Tamlin won't have any compliments for her because she's not perfect (like he is, according to her)... ok is this what people think young girls who have to hunt to keep their families fed and out of poverty are concerning about?

- "Fairy bastard" oof Feyre, shots fired

- Masks being fused with faces due to a curse is frickin' cool, I love it.

- The sickness ok yeah I kinda dig it

- Why is Feyre scared the blight will cross the wall? There is no magic there? It won't do anything to her family... right?

Chapter 8

- Distrust from both sides

- Tiny girl wants to attack 2 "males" who can turn into giant beasts with a table knife (part 2)

- Was busy doing other stuff but eyes were rolled

Chapter 9

- honestly I don't know why but these characters are SO BLAND

- I like Lucien and his creepy eye though

- "I admire your balls, Feyre" lol

- Ok but WHY have the past 6 chapters been about the exact same thing. "Should I stay or should I escape?" - "You can/may but we'd rather you didn't" and again and again and again...

- SO CAN SHE LEAVE OR NAH?

- I sense Feyre is gonna do something stupid

- Yep, love Lucien and his magical eye

Chapter 10

- Yo the bogge is pretty scary and I love it

- I get it, feyre. I, too, am curious about Luciens' eye

- Tamlin control yourself you emotionally unstable fairy bastard

Chapter 11

- Oopsie Daisy that's not pappie

- Feyre you're repeating yourself again! - We're on chapter 11 and you've talked about the treaty what feels like 27 times. Yes we know how you got there... I WAS THERE WHEN IT HAPPENED!

- Ok we have seen 3 monsters so far, but is anything going to happen with them or...?

- My GOD this book is frustrating

- Feyre talks about Tamlin as him being a "natural born predator" 🚩

- *sigh* YES FEYRE WE KNOW YOU HAVE TO STAY THERE

- Something interesting happens but it turns out to be a dream... what is this? The fight in beaking dawn?

Chapter 12

- RIP Bogge

- I sense sexual tension between Tamlin and Lucien tbh

- Feyre talking about her survival instincts is killing me 😂

- Yep, there is that superiority complex again

- Also there we have that "boohoo poor me" complex again

- Yes Tamlin is a vicious beast who can kill anything in his way, we know

- So ehm... guess what? This chapter is literally more of the same stuff we already know... (again, what a surprise)

Chapter 13

- A WEEK!? IT HAS ONLY BEEN A WEEK?

- Feyre basically can't read nor write... taking note

- Ok she is learning, good for you

- The mural sounds cool

- My friend sent me a picture of the map AND IT'S THE BLOODY UNITED KINGDOM?

- I ADORE the different courts, though

- Feyre has some big feelings about a children's book

- "I was still a child, unfinished and raw" ick

- Feyre doesn't mind writing with ink in Tamlins books, because he is rich so he should be able to replace a few. The nerve. Is that how we treat other people's posessions?

- Lucien... don't give her any ideas...

Chapter 14

- Prettyyyy

- I am listening to an audiobook and the reader keeps pronouncing "mural" the same way as "suriel" and it is annoying me.

- MY BOWELS TURNED WATERY 😂

- Tamlin is a high lord confirmed (I prefer Lucien tho)

- "I tucked away my fear" Where? In the pocket of your big girl pants?

- "Human woman" When the Suriel knows better than the Fae. (Well, Tamlin sees Feyre as his posession, but "human woman" is still better than "female")

Chapter 15

- I really am digging the monsters

- "my bones groaned" ???

- Tamlin to the rescue

- Soooo grounded or nah?

- Feyre constantly wants to alarm her family... but what are they gonna do? What difference does this info make to them? Feyre, you are CONSTANTLY moaning about the 'fact' that you are the only capable person in your whole darn family (or at least in your eyes), but now they should know about this thing that:

1) doesn't influence them

And

2) they are unable to do anything about....So why even bother?

Chapter 16

- People "produce like rabbits" and the fae are rarely able to produce "younglings"... yuck, really, use normal words and descriptions

- "I never looked lovely a day in my life" oh Feyre you are such a teenager

- Dun dun duuunnnnn the fae CAN lie (oh how i am not even slightly surprised)

- "ofcourse we can lie, how else do we get them to trust us?" ...... HUH? 😂

- Iron WON'T kill them, and irony probably won't either... cuz they are that oblivious to common sense *ba dun tsssss*

- Yet again Feyre just so happens to do the impossible as a human and everyone is bamboozled (except for me)

- Is he coming onto her? The girl who murdered his friend? I still find this SO WEIRD that this is her 'punishment' for involuntary manslaughter BUT OK

- Tamlin changing the minds of Feyres family is so friggin intrusive i hate it

- Again: all of this could have been avoided if someone double checked the treaty, no?

- *Sigh*

- Feyre wants to paint, ok girlie do your arts and crafts

- Heck yeah a gallery

Chapter 17

- OMG! Somethings new is happening!

- "She took my wings" gave me chills

- Yeah yeah she took your wings (Sarah J Maas is constantly repeating herself... both to fill her chapters without actually adding anything of value to the plot, as well as just repeating literal text. I hate it)

- Poor fairy

- Feyre be lying again, or is making promises she can't keep

- RIP Summer court fairy you will be missed

- Ok wow what, this was honestly a good chapter compared to the rest

- What a breath of fresh air

Chapter 18

- Liquid starlight sounds ABSOLUTELY MAGICAL i want it

- Lucien is... NOT GAY? 😭

- Human killing fae? Sure, come and live with us. Here, beautiful dresses and even servants, just for you! Fae crossing border from one court to another? Death! Death to you! Tamlin with his double standards

- Low key love Luciens backstory, still think it should have been a boyfriend tho

- "I took pride in myself that my fingers didn't tremble once" looool

- They are... going in the water

- Yep, clothes are already off

- Oh Feyre 🙄

- Idk what it is but the chapters seem to be getting slightly better, but maybe it's just because I have lowered my standards. Or have I weirdly been getting into it?

Chapter 19

- Feyre paints for weeks on end and nothing looks remotely decent

- "It was a mating present"????

- "He said, caressing my bones" wut?

- Sexual tension

- Crossing "releasing a breath i didnt know I was holding" off of my book cliché bingo

- He... purred 😵‍💫

- He flipped and landed on his feet... Tamlin is a cat confirmed

- The poem 😂😂😂

- It's giving Ken singing Wonderwall to Barbie

- "I dont like losing so i took it upon myself to become good at them" you are talking about writing limericks... being nearly immortal must be boring AF (I am not saying writing poems is boring, but honey you have all the time in the world and THIS is the best you can do???)

- His poetry is as good as her painting

- The "mating bond" makes marriage insignificant BIG YUCK

- Feyre THE FIRST THING your brain does is go to the question if there have ever been mating bonds with humans and Fae?

- Tamlins father was a Tyrant but because they were mated tamlins mother never said anything bad about him... how awful is it to realise your perfect person is a horrible person?

- Fate be like: ✨️here, an abusive relationship for you, for the rest of your long and very fucking miserable life✨️

- I thought this was like a "true love" thing but it seems like it is an unexplainable attraction like "imprinting" in Twilight? Which makes 0 fucking sense and is hella concerning imo...

- What if you're stuck with someone who has an alpha male type mentality like ew

- What if the person you are mated with is a pedophile?

- Do people think this mating thing is romantic? Because that is fucking INSANE and NOT in a cutesy positive romantic exciting sort of way

- I have so many questions

- Lucien what the hell 😭 You are so gay for Tamlin and you're jealous now but you don't even realise it it's so sad

- This evil lady better be the big bad because where the hell is this book going

Chapter 20

- Ominous requests to stay inside

- This girl never listens, does she? 😅

- "The most beautiful man i'd ever seen" oh come on 🙄

Chapter 21

- "The monsters have been let out of their cages tonight so I'm free to roam wherever I like" what the heck is going on?

- "I hated feeling like a disobedient child" THEN DON'T DO STUPID SHIT

- "Tam will allow great and terrible magic to enter his body and the magic will cease control over his mind and body and soul and turn him into a hunter. It will fill him with his sole purpose, to find a maiden." But nobody knows who the maiden will be. Sooooo basically... rape?

- A path to a cave with fairy females ready to be his mate, but HOW do you know it is going to be one of them? Also- this is not te same 'mate' as the strong love bond? This one isnt permanent??

- He does this EVERY YEAR? They ALL do?

- "Once he made his choice we're free to mingle" Jezus fucking christ it's an orgy

- Oh shit they do this MULTIPLE times a year then?

- "She had come to the hill on her own free will" is the bare fucking minimum of consent, Sarah

- Called it. He wants Feyre. Ofcourse.

- "He reeked of magic"

- HE BIT HER?! WTF

- The person reading the audioboek I am listening to has a cold and she sounds awful, which makes this chapter a little bit better (because funny), yet soooo much worse 😂

- Nopenopenopenopenope 🚩

- Is it because it is problematic or because I am probably too asexual for this (possibly both)

- He is LITERALLY a predator in this moment

- Feyre KNOWS he is not himself, but she is not scared nor does she say no, but she didn't give consent either

- Shit's gonna be awkward at breakfast

- Spicy ❌️

- Problematic ✔️

Chapter 22

- "A night of celebrating" well that's one way to put it...

- We happened to meet in the hallway so I just bit her

- Still not over the ritualistic rape

- Feyre: "Everyone snoops in this house"... something about a pot and a kettle, girlie

- Ok Feyres paintings are... fine i guess

- "You were there when they wrecked your father's legs" - "well SOMEONE had to tell them to stop" girl, please 😅

- Oh the yearning...

- Tamlin blames Feyre for not adhering to the treaty... just wait until she can read

- He's so broody

- Honestly Tamlin should just get like a hobby, he seems in dire need of stress relief. I suggest crochet or collecting stamps or something... or press flowers from the garden and make collages.

- Feyre is jealous of Tamlins many "female" lovers, with fancy titles (and oh no they must all be so beautiful).

Girl why are you:

1) surprised

2) mad/jealous/sad

3) forgetting he literally kidnapped you

4) thinking you're the first "interesting" person ever crossing his path?

Chapter 23

- What the hell is happening

- Is he gonna turn her into a fairy? Feyre the fairy? Can he do that?

- Oof a kiss, nonono says Feyre. But my door last night, it wasn't locked 😂

- Kissy kissy nonetheless

- Feyre: who saw "the most handsome man ever" yesterday, got bitten by her captor and clearly doesn't know how to feel about it all yet: "Oohhh he's so ☁️dreamy☁️"

Chapter 24

- Feyre realizing Tamlin used magic so she wouldn't see all the fairies in the court is both hilarious and sick af at the same time. You mean baby girl couldn't see other people but they could see her?

- Heck yeah chopped off head

- Night court aka dark aka evil?

- That other dude was from night court, right? You know, the most beautiful man ever?

- "This is their idea of a prank" ????

- "Omg no no you really shouldn't feel bad that you kidnapped me, you are not your family. I luckily never felt like a prisoner even though I am never allowed to go home, if I take 1 step outside a thousand different monsters will come at me, I deliberately get little information so that I remain helpless and unaware, my family no longer remembers me, my environment was enchanted so that I could not see others, I have wondered endlessly whether I will have to stay here for the rest of my life, you bit me and are trying to seduce me halfway... but you don't have to worry about all that because you are beautiful and I was allowed to finger paint so all is forgiven xoxo"

Chapter 25

- I love stories loosely influenced by the pagan calendar or phases of the seasons and the moon and the sun... connecting to nature instead of religion

- Yes to summer solstice (which ofcourse is not specifically pagan but the fae are clearly supposed to be "magical" so a writer with a religious background like Maas will obviously draw her inspiration from stuff this because ooohhh sounds a bit like witchcraft. I'm ok with it)

- Just wondering if she is gonna turn this sexual as well...

- "I am going to paint you" HAHAHA HELP

- 💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼

- Pretty

- Love de wisps, they remind me of Brave

- Oh boi they smoochin'

- Say it with me kids:

🚩 "If he kidnaps you, but is nice to you, it's still a red flag."

🚩 "If he kidnaps you, but gives you pretty clothes, it's still a red flag."

🚩 "If he kidnaps you, but lets you paint, it's still a red flag."

🚩 "If he kidnaps you, but lets you do fun stuff, it's still a red flag."

🚩 "If he kidnaps you and bites your neck and isn't quite himself from time to time, it's quite definitely a red flag."

🚩 "If he kidnaps you, but you fall in love with him, it's called Stockholm Syndrome... and yes girliepop, that's ALSO a big red flag."

Chapter 26

- Luce and Tam bicker like a married couple

- Yeah so... is anything actually going to happen with those monsters?

- Blight kills 24 people. RIP in peace

- The blight is everything except for the night court... so it OBVIOUSLY originates there, right?

- Footsteps oop

- Ayo another one of Feyres "saviors"

- Himbo

- Mr steal your girl probably

- Feyre getting all hot and bothered

- Amaranthas whore 😂

- "You DARE to put a glamor on me!?"

- Still not over the fact that Lucien isn't gay

- So many feral men

- So many emotional men

- WHAT IS SO SPECIAL ABOUT FEYRE?

I. DO. NOT. GET. IT. Just get rid of her because nobody cares...

- Why keep protecting her? This story makes NO SENSE (they probably need her for something but at least mention it n we're 26 chapters in, dangit)

- Bad boy Rhysant be like "kneel lol"

- So who is this Amarantha? Big boss lady who somehow owns a high fae from the night court? Is she badass? Like *actually* badass?

- Poof he gone

Chapter 27

- FEYRE CAN GO HOME! Is this the end of the book that doesn't go anywhere? No? Okay...

- "What about the treaty" so we're still pretending this thing exists? Ok...

- Feyre: *gets what she wants, to finally go home*

- Also Feyre: "I don't wanna" 😭

- No worries you'll be back this series has more books sadly

- They are both 'breathing' each other's names

- Seriously regretting using an audiobook for this

- Feyre and Tamlin getting steamy. Knowing her, she now has "what she wants" (Tamlin) - so now she'll probably be wanting something else... my guess is "the most beautiful man she has ever seen"

- Goodbye sex

- Feyre matching his freak scratching 'n shit

- Took a nap, did it again but this time boring

- Oh nooo she really has to gooo (sarcasm)

- Oop he said the L word AWKWARD

Chapter 28

- I want to see Feyre in this wack ass outfit

- "My paintings... they're yours" ROFL

- Girlie saw literal monsters, killed a giant wolf man, realised people could see her when she thought she was alone... but now she is in a carriage on her way home and NOW she's terrified?

- There is the L word again

- Feyre can't say it back (drama)

- A "Chateau"? Ho is u French?

- YAY mean sisters

- Plot twist they all rich now

- Sis didn't marry, feel like this is relevant

- Guess what, there is Feyres superiority complex again. Ofcourse you made a big mistake in leaving the spring court, what are they gonna do without you? (Sarcasm)

Chapter 29

- TLDR; Elain is actually an ok person, Nesta is eepy creepy odd, they don't (?) really like being rich ??? and Nesta wanted to visit Feyre but had to turn back (also Feyre I am so over being in your head...)

Chapter 30

- Feyre meets Isaac again (this better be something for the plot and not more filler)

- "He looked so human" girliepop imma say it one more time, you're annoying, stop it.

- "When I left he was a boy and now he blossomed into a man" Sarah please 🙄

- All these riches are unnatural, magical, fake... how are you ok with this and not worried everything will go to shit when the blight grows stronger?

- Oop Nesta

- Daddy issues

Chapter 31

- Something with consequences to your actions, Feyre... a girl is probably dead because of you

- Ok this setup is actually good, would you look at that

- There is that superiority/savior complex again Feyre, have you learned nothing?

- Soooo... what are you gonna do when you're there?

- Yet again they be like "kbye"

- GIRL stop whining about Tamtam, he is a walking and talking red freaking flag 🚩

- "Even if i had to tie him down to listen" 😂

- Hello? Where y'all at?

Chapter 32

- "I gave myself one minute" ooh gurl have you been to therapy? Cuz that's what you learn in therapy 🤩 Is Feyre secretly a self-critical person who likes to work on herself? Hahahaha nah, this girl is so full of herself but "hides" it behind a few minor "insecurities" aka "AM I BEAUTIFUL ENOUGH FOR A FAIRY?"

- Alis ayyyy

- So Amarantha IS the big bad (finally, after 32 chapters this story is finally going somewhere, I am delighted)

- "You want the truth, girl" ALIS I LOVE YOU, YOU SASSY QUEEN 😂

- She took Tampon to some underground cave court. Ok. I guess i know where Feyre is going

- Please let her be a giant bat or something

Ok, this is confusing so let me list it for my brain:

- Amarantha came 100 years ago

- Fought next to the king for 50 years

- She a bad beesh and not the fun kind

- Amarantha loves her sister

- Sister is also a bad beesh but falls in love with a human

- human man is, as to no-ones surprise, an actual asshat

- BETRAYAL

- A ball... in her honor? Didn't we JUST learn she was a very cruel person?

- Amarantha be like "curse you all"

- "Stole their powers from where they originated inside their bodies" and "Plucked like an apple" ??? Huh

- Amarantha been holding a grudge for wayyy to freaking long

- SHE is the blight

- Oh OFCOURSE Feyre was the solution 😂

- "Had you not have been so blind for your own heart" BRUH KIDNAPPED HER what are you on about

- Tampon be like: slavery bad

- Amazon be like: get in my bed

- Tiny: ew no lol

- Amygdala: aww 😭 you made me big mad

- Also: I lust for you (ick)

- "Bile rose in my throat" girl me too

- Guy just doesnt like girl so she gives him a reason to...

- Another ball... who goes to these? Who likes this fuck ass mad woman?

- Oh Tammy, that was a shitty move

- *hates people herself* Y'know who imma let you help break the curse? A human! Suuuure, give him a reason to connect with humankind again

- What a... ridiculously complicated case

- A human can save you BUT it has to be a girl BUT she has to hate fairies (y'know, Feyre... the kid with the fairy name? Sure) BUT she would also want/be able to kill a fairy BUT not just any one, one of your court BUT it actually has to be without knowing what she's doing and without provoking BUT she has to be courted afterwards BUT really it just has to resemble my sister's suffering ok...

- Oddly specific, I friggin' hate it.

- THE TREATY WAS A LIE, OBVIOUSLY

- poor Tam 😭😂

- She had to say I love you?? 😂 oof girl

- I am laughing my ass off this is so dumb. Like, I KNOW this is a fairytale retelling but geez Louise make it a little interesting het is so lame

- Am I supposed to feel bad for Tam?

- I'm convinced that Maas wrote Feyre's story first and then thought "Ok shit that's oddly specific I just have to write the curse exactly as it happened to Feyre because otherwise it doesn't make sense lol" like, i'm 100% sure that woman based Amaranthas story on Feyre and not the other way around, and it shows...

- Amarantha has so much potential to be an interesting character but she's so flat and cartoony it's actually so very disappointing

- Tamlin wasn't allowed to say anything to Feyre? Idk if that makes it better tbh

- Some of my friends who have read the book praise Maas' world building. How? Huh? What? Is THIS Amaranthas incentive? Is she mad because of her sister? Or because Tandem won't do the devil's tango with her? Is creativity in the room with us? It's giving "Imma put you all to sleep because I wasn't allowed to come to the baptism", also her SISTER is the one who got betrayed, not her? Kill all people bc my sister endured something traumatic and my himbo wouldn't sleep with me? Bitch please get a grip. (Talking to Sarah just fyi)

- I am ACTUALLY real fucking mad, I had *some* expecting for this book, but it is actually just shit.

- I have so many questions about this

- They couldn't say anything so they had to lie. Where does the "fairies can't lie" thing come from then?

- "Yeah go ahead and cross the border and hope someone kills you lol" (stupid)

- Also, how many fairies have been killed? By hunters and older women? I thought they were very hard to kill? Feyre I got some sad news for you that's gonna break your egocentric little heart

- They didn't just escape when they realised it was a farmer who was gonna kill them? 😂 aren't they like giant beasts? Don't you need ash wood or immense brute strength or something? Yikes.

- The children of the blessed came over the wall BUT not as brides BUT they were all killed by... blah blah and blah stop yes but-ing your story makes no fucking sense.

- Review ❌️

- Rant ✔️

- "All you had to do is say that you loved him you stupid stupid girl" .2 seconds ago you said she couldn't have known, why so angry suddenly?

- 3 DAYS 😂 WHY DID YOU LET HER GO THEN

- Does he *actually* love her or no because if no, double ew

- Yeahyeah lethal and vicious and oehlala tralala 🙄

- What is this with locked up powers, are we ever gonna see them again?

- Dumb, dumb, stupid, dumb

- I am over it tbh, can I rage quit this book?

- She keeps powers locked up? But she has her own dark powers also?

- Zense? It makes zero.

- There is Feyre again, she's gonna save the world with the power of stubbornness and being really fucking annoyed

- "Your flesh is paperthin" you mean skin?

- Her wild brown hair like glistening mud 😂

- FEYRE 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

- Feyre wholeheartedly doesn't believe in fate... nor cauldrons

Chapter 33

- Feyre on a mission

- Yeah girlie you do you boo kbye

- "I took several breaths" another one for the bingo

Chapter 34

- Again with the groaning bones

- Amarantha isn't a timeless beauty, ofcourse... cuz she's evil

- "To paint her, would have driven me to madness" OK FEYRE

- "Obviously, Amarantha purred" oh please

- Feyre still trying to break the oddly specific curse is sending me 😂

- Ok Almond is already getting on my nerves, she is not intriguing whatsoever, with her white, perfect teeth 🙄

- Eye ring? It's Luciens eye, isnt it?

- It's giving that giant eyeball ring from the Sims every townie is wearing

- "I have never seen her before"

- "Even now he is trying to protect me" *sigh* leave him be.

- "She fingered the bone on her necklace" nope, not a good enough reason to use the word "fingered"

- Feyre has watery bowels again

- A riddle and his curse will be broken

- One task every full moon. Ew. Is this some lycanthrope kink thing?

- Yes! Throw her in a cell!

- Ok, go for the riddle, the terms are flimsy so just agree and figure it out, you smartass

- Jk, Feyre keeps doing dumb shit so... eh

- still confused about their faith and that wack ass couldron

- Prediction: She won't figure it out until the very last minute

Chapter 35

- Oh sweet, sweet Feyre... they can never make me like you

- "How can you be so foolish?" Yeah well...

- "Well I'm here now" lol

- Ok sure someone else's eye not Luciens

- Maas is suddenly shifting the tone of this book and I am honestly wondering who this is for? It previously was a YA tbh

- "I tried not to look up at Claire's rotting body" honestly best line in this whole chapter

- "Humans all look alike to me" Que!?!

- "Tonight tonight, my plans I make, tomorrow tomorrow, the baby I take. The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin I MEAN FEYRE is my name"

- For fucks sake, stop purring

- What is this conversation for again?

- *sigh*

- Riddle time

Ok, a little context: a friend who told me about ACOTAR, has told me about this riddle before I read the book. So yes, going into it I knew the answer of the riddle.

However, this is basically how our conversation went:

* The riddle goes like this: "There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet"

- Love. The answer is love.

* "And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet."

- Oh no wait...

* No, no, that's it, you got it!

- Really?

* Yep

- ... oh

*Want me to go on?

- Nah.

So ehm... yeah. Make of that what you will

- Feyres brain immediately going to diseases is hilarious to me

- Here we go from savior to boohoo help me I am so human and mortal and stupid and probably not very attractive and I probably won't find the solution because I have never known "love" in my entire life

- Back in the dungeon, lots of time to think

- Wondering why Feyre didn't ask for Amarantha to write it down, but then again her reading is shit sooooo

- Time for the full moon

Chapter 36

- Ok so... Feyre is literally *just* a toy

- "Hunt this"

- This world has sandworms like Dune or that giant worm from spongebob

- Finally some action

- "It was blind" aha

- This is actually a good chapter, well done!

- Big ass scary worm has a teeny tiny nose somewhere apparently cuz it can smell

- "She is building a trap" smort

- "She has just become invisible" nice

- "My knees and ankles groaned" girl maybe you should go see a doctor

- "Anyone could have done that" sure, Almond, sure.

- Back in your cell, you

- Soooo... why did we do this during a full moon? Was it a were-wyrm?

Chapter 37

- Broody handsome dude creepin'

- "I'll heal your arm for 2 weeks of you"

- What is it with all this "you owe me so I'll own you"-shit?

- Feyre establishes that evil hot guy does evil things

- "For Tamlin I would sell my soul" Feyre, stop saying dumb shit. I'm serious.

- Big fan of Feyre locked up in a dungeon (although wondering when she'll do something stupid again)

- Aaaaaand... there it is 🙃

- HE GAVE HER A TATTOO??? Dude did you just mark her like a cow or a pig?

- Oh noooooo... shocking jow much I do not care for Feyre, Tamlin, this shadow guy... tbh the only character like is Lucien.

- Oh Rhys... so dark and ✨️mysterious✨️ (barf)

- No. Just... No.

Chapter 38

- Cinderelli Cinderelli...

- Oh look it's him again 🙄

- "Each of us has a beast beneath our skin, roaring to get out. While your Tamlin prefers fur, I find wings and talons to be more entertaining"

- Look, I KNOW this is supposed to be some kind of "look how cool and magical we are" thing, but honestly... it's just giving beastiality

- I am now imagining Tamlin in a fursuit and Rhys flapping his arms with sheets of black plastic pretending to be a bat... help

- "His powerful male body" yes yes ok thanks for confirming he is, in fact, a man

- Showoff... why does it remind me of a kid in school acting mysterious yet interesting?

- "Admirable or stupid" the answer is the second one, Riverdance

- Feyre still can't figure out the riddle

- "Cheating are you?" Well if there are no specifics given it is indeed not cheating

- YES BUT she said we can't help you so we won't (says the dude who helped her heal) - Popular mean girl from high school says we can't and I'm cool and want to stay cool so listen up or I might not be cool anymore

- "Here, a gift. For having the balls to even ask" 😂

- "He purred as he walked out" ew

Chapter 39

- "I gobbled it down" Feyres inside beast is a turkey

- The tattoo blinked 😂

- First a free tattoo, now free bodypaint!

- Prisoner gets makeover and a very shmexy dress, makes perfect sense!

- Yeah Riddler, how DARE you objectify me (I mean I objectify you too but that's different)

- Also, consent? Yeah never heard of her

- This book is so incredibly cringe, dang

- What is this chapter??

- "I did such a foolish thing" yeah no shit

- "We made a bargain" ok how many times are they going to repeat this or explain it as if we weren't literally there?

- Feyre be like: "Rhys with the wings and the talons, lurking behind that beautiful, flawless surface" bla bla hubba hubba 🙄

- "That handkerchief he called a dress" lol

- Great, drug wine

- Lucien be like "HeY i WaS gOnNa CoMe YoU jUsT hAd To WaIt" 😾

- Oaths apparently mean nothing to these people...?

- "I barked"

- "Just a week every month, for the rest of my life"... girl, sleepovers at Rhys is low key the personification of you being on your period - inconvenient, painful and probably bloody

- Hilarious how this girl is being co-kidnapped/parented by two men...

- "There was a tall, handsome..." YES FEYRE JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE HERE parently, keep it in your pants

- "The summer court fairy cringed" SAME

- Feyres watery bowels at it again

- RIP he dead

- The last part of this chapter wasn't that bad, it just establishes what we already knew about Amarantha. But ok sure, it's fine I guess.

- Every single hot dude is a walking and talking red flag. Tbh, Rhys is just as bad as Tamlin. Feeding her spiked wine and letting other people do stuff to her? Wtf?

Chapter 40

- What was the point of these trials again? Fun for Amarantha?

- Lucien is literally the only character i don't find insufferable

- Feyres "one is bad cuz it's solitary so it's Amarantha and two is tamlin and me and three is too many like three sisters" 😂 girl you're going cray cray

- Just pull a lever, Kronk

- I, too, would like a tattoo that would help me cheat on tests

- If you're pure evil... how are you suddenly 'honest' in a game? Just cheat? Make sure it's all rigged? Pull any lever - ur ded hehe (no but seriously why give Feyre a chance to win at all?)

- "He licked away a tear" 😵‍💫 BRO WTF

- "It was disgusting" well look at that, I am finally agreeing with Feyre. How far we've come.

Chapter 41

- "... and her pincers are not so kind"

Me: *snorts*

"The other creature snorted that pig noise"

Me: woah wtf 😂

- "I trusted Nesta" DO YOU NOW?

- The descriptions in this chapter are actually pretty good and I must say it's been a while since I enjoyed something in this book

Chapter 42

- "What I felt for him was wild and hard and burning" 🙄

- Biting again

- "Our bones danced" *sums up some random dances as if Feyre knows anything about dancing "no *broody* it was a death dance" lmao I can't

- Fairy sex obviously is wild animalistic sex

- SWEET JEZUS STOP PURRING

- "His eyes flickered" ✔️ bingo

- So many things groan in this book... bones, doors, fae...

- "Forcing himself into me, in the space where I still could taste Tamlin" WTF 🚩🚩

- (talking about Rhys and Amarantha) "How it would hurt to be enslaved by someone like that" oy Feyre, YOU ARE.

- Ohhh, you're groping and mouth fucking her JUST to make Tamling angry! Hahahaha ofcourse it's aaaalll good now

- Rhys, you disgust me

- "Feyre, for cauldrons' sake" 😂

- Also Rhys be like: "Oh but I am not touching you below so it's fine"

- "It is the only way to convince him I was on your side. Believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to enjoy you" maaaaaan get a grip

- "Beyond the obvious? And he gestured to his perfect face" oh he is so fucking full of himself I'm over it

- "My father killed Tamlins father, and his brothers" oh how I did see this coming

- "What a mess." This book? Yes.

Chapter 43

- "She pouted" Omg!! I know who Amarantha reminds me of! It's king George from Hamilton 😂 she is just as (not at all) scary and intimidating as him! Only difference is - King George is also a big baby, but he is still somewhat silly (like his dance) and that is the only thing that is likeable about him. Amarantha is just "fear me for I am an evil sex goddess/queen and my wrath will rain upon you" but all I feel is like "Ma'am you should try therapy and stop bullying others. You should learn to work on yourself, maybe then people will actually like you"

- Final test: murder

- One of these victims is gonna be someone she knows, right? Probably Lucien, Tamlin or one of her sisters

- Honestly at this point I do not care if Feyre dies. Nor do I care about her internal monologue and 'struggles' tbh.

- RIP fairy 1

- No way back now, Feyre.

- Ofcourse it's Tamlin

- Thankfully it's not Lucien

- *Feyre rambling*

- All this in the span of... a few seconds?

- *Feyre only now contemplating suicide*

- Put 1 and 2 together, girliepop...

- Tamlin is a vampire confirmed

- (definitely not) RIP Tamlin

Chapter 44

- Told ya

- "Feyre didn't tell me WHEN I had to release them" woah what a lame "twist" but then again seems on brand 🤦🏼‍♀️

- Amarantha you sore loser

- Back again with the "Yes but..."

- "Say that you don't love him" Amarantha spat SEE IT'S KING GEORGE 😂

- THIS is how she figures the riddle our? Oh please...

Chapter 45

- And... why did she die now?

- Don't worry she won't stay dead sadly

- Sorrows, sorrows

- Maas trying to redeem Tamlin

- I'm so happy it's almost over...

Chapter 46

- "I felt strong and fast" is giving "You're incredibly fast, and strong... I know what you are... vampire" 😂

- Feyre - the girl with the fairy name - evolved and will now probably be even more insufferable

- "What had they done" 😭 girl this is your wet dream and we all know it

- "with a predator stillness" yuck

- What in the victory fuckery...

- This is basically Bella acclimating to becoming a vampire

- So Feyre still has to go to Rhys, even after dying? I'm pretty sure dying helps getting you out of contracts

- "Home" oh please 🙄

- After all that and she's still swooning like a teenage girl over the guy who literally kidnapped her... ok

[romancecroc]

Circles (part 8) - Jason X MC

(Ao3 version) (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

(This chapter contains NSFW contents)

It was a strange feeling.

Ysaline was in the exact same spot she stood a few months ago. Admiring the city view from Jason’s apartment, with the smell of food spreading across the room.

And she was starving.

The only thing keeping her occupied was Jason’s criticism related to the private event.

“Why request a statue of a man holding the globe, when the host doesn’t even know what it represents?” Jason continued, rolling his eyes and moving the pan.

“Not everybody is a nerd.”

“Please, there is a difference. I am an intellectual.”

“How would you define an intellectual?”

“Obviously, someone who holds a great deal of knowledge about a specific subject and-“

“Interesting. How does that different from a nerd?”

Jason gave a loud sigh.

Ysaline used the distraction to snoop around. There were countless books focusing on various mythologies. Based on the labels, Greek mythology seemed to be his favorite one. No wonder he was so insistent about the Pegasus.

“Found something interesting? I’m afraid all my secrets are hidden elsewhere...” he called across the room.

“Just trying to guess which Greek mythology character is your favorite.”

The resulting thesis that came out of him was astonishing. Jason did not only explain a handful of characters, but also their different representations, why they differ and the meaning behind it all.

In other words, he couldn’t possibly pick one.

“You can relax on the couch, the food is almost ready.” Jason commented, scooping portions of the pasta and placing them on the plates.

“I can help.” Ysaline offered, but Jason shook his head.

As instructed, she sat down on the couch. She must have bumped into a remote, because there was a small buzzing sound. And after that, a TV that suddenly emerged, rising from a cupboard on the opposite side.

It was a pretty nice TV.

“You really live for the finer things in life.”

“Why not? I worked for it.”

He walked over, placing the plates on a small table next to the couch. The cutlery and wine followed.

“Is this the part where you reveal your villain origin story?” Ysaline asked, inhaling the delicious smell.

“Nothing you don’t know already. Having somebody sell off your personal belongings, just because they can, is unpleasant. Not worth reliving.”

Ysaline sighed. The story of Jason’s stepfather was playing in her head. If they ever crossed paths again, it wouldn’t go well for either of them.

“Jason Mendal hates being at other people’s mercy… A little ironic.” Ysaline commented, eyeing Jason.

He shrugged.

“You can’t really be all sunshine and flowers in our line of work. Especially when a lot of money is involved. So, a little intimidation or a few threats sometimes save the day. But that’s mainly reserved for difficult cases-”

“Riiight, like the difficult case of posing as my fiancé. Or the challenging scenario of telling my coworkers that I asked for your help. Lots of money involved, too bad I never saw it.” Ysaline explained, counting with her fingers. Jason took his time to sit down next to her.

He was silent for a moment.

“There might have been situations where I… purposefully messed with you.” He slowly articulated, trying to select his words carefully.

“You were new in the field and suddenly started making declarations of war. It was adorable. But you were so determined to prove me wrong and…” Jason continued, realizing how far he was from an apology.

“What I am trying to say is-“

“Do take your time, there’s enough wine for the entire evening.”

Jason’s eyes perfectly communicated the annoyance of being cut off. He was trying to be sincere for once. Ysaline quickly waved her hands as an apology.

Jason turned away again, looking into the distance.

He suddenly seemed more serious than usual.

“I lost a client that day. When I found you in the woods?”

Ysaline looked at him confused.

“It was a project proposal presentation. The client and I had been talking for weeks. But once I saw the message, I just bolted, almost forgetting to find a replacement. For obvious reasons, the client found that unprofessional and refrained from collaborating further.”

“Oh…” Ysaline mumbled, squeezing a pillow on the couch.

“I am not blaming you, I made that call. But Ysaline, I was furious. You were unconscious on the ground. It had been raining for God knows how long and your coworkers were nowhere to be found.”

He realized the anger in his voice and tried to tone it down a little.

“You’re right. I don’t like being at anybody’s mercy. And there I was, dropping everything for somebody working at a rival firm! I was beside myself.”

Without looking at her, Jason reached out for the plates and handed Ysaline her pasta.

“Me. In the rain. Soaked while wearing a suit, hair all over the place. Never in my life have I found myself in a similar situation.”

Ysaline took a bite, trying to recall the image. To be fair, it wasn’t the most pleasant memory to call upon. But in a way, seeing him drenched and out of breath compared to his usual appearance was quite a sight.

Then another memory played in her mind.

“So… What changed?” Ysaline finally asked.

“I had my regular life back. Just as you promised – no phone calls, no texts.”

She noticed that he hadn’t touched his food yet. His hands were busy removing the tie and releasing the upper button of his shirt.

After taking a few bites, Ysaline placed her plate temporarily away on the small table.

“And guess what?” he continued, changing his position on the couch to face her.

“It was terribly boring.”

He said it with such a dramatic tone, Ysaline couldn’t help but chuckle.

Jason took the opportunity to pull Ysaline towards him, wrapping his arms around her.

“Everything was going soooo smoothly. Nobody argued with me or told me I am full of myself.” He continued, getting comfortable on the couch. Ysaline lied down next to him, still wrapped in his arms.

“Sounds like your personal hell.” Ysaline added, letting herself sink into his embrace.

“It was. So, when the opportunity came to have you in my office once a week… I took it.”

He was gently caressing her cheek. Fingers slowly gliding down her neck.

There was another pause.

As if he was hesitating.

“I am sorry I couldn’t answer your question back then.”

Am I a burden?

Ysaline studied man in front of her. They were both lying on the couch, cuddled up together in their fancy clothes. Most of the wine and food remained untouched.

Jason had a sharp tongue, always knew where to hit. Ysaline had imagined herself beating him at his own game countless of times. Some big imaginary victory event, with her holding a trophy and Jason angrily storming off on the losing side.

I win.

Maybe there was some part of her that really wanted to prove herself. Or all the anger Ioan left, which Ysaline desperately needed to let out on somebody.

So she painted Jason as the main villain who needed to be beat. A lot of times.

But it was getting tiresome. Especially when he kept proving her wrong by being thoughtful again and again.

“Ysaline?”

She didn’t answer Jason at first.

Instead, she lifted herself up. Jason was about to follow, but Ysaline gently pushed him down against the couch. Only so she could position herself on top of his lap.

Now he was paying attention.

Eyes focused on her.

“Here’s the deal.” Ysaline slowly expressed, getting comfortable. Perhaps exaggerating certain movements, a little more than necessary.

“I accept your… interesting way of apologizing.” she continued, while her hands were gliding up from his shirt to his face.

“However… I feel like we should postpone all that sweet chatter to tomorrow morning. What do you think?” Ysaline asked with the sweetest voice she could muster.

She wasn’t aware how much her breathing had changed. But in her defense, it was exhilarating to have Jason underneath her. Observing her every move.

His eyes narrowed, his sly smile returning.

By now, he must have noticed her arousal.

Not that he was trying to hide his either.

“Jas-“

He lifted himself halfway up with ease. Pulling her closer, crashing his lips against hers.

There wasn’t a lot of time to think. His tongue rolling over hers was already distracting enough.

At least that’s what Ysaline thought, until he started grinding against her, hands gripping around her waist.

She couldn’t help but moan out loud, a shiver spreading across her.

For a second she could hear him groaning in response, his body tensing up underneath.

Every time she tried to create a little distance, just to catch some air, he’d pull her right back in. His movements becoming rougher with every minute passing.

She gasped again, when he had suddenly lifted her up. Despite his tongue moving on to her neck, he gracefully carried her into the bedroom.

And once her back hit the bed, she finally looked up.

He was standing in front of the bed, very much out of breath, swallowing hard at the sight of her.

“Not the first time you imagined me here, is it?” she whispered cheekily, knowing the potential consequences.

His eyes were enough to make her tremble. Almost devouring.

Just like she wanted.

“We’ll see how much you’ll be laugh by the end of it.” He huffed, taking off his vest.

He must have enjoyed her undivided attention, because his pace was slowing down immensely. Taking the time to with his shirt. Buttons and cuff links.

Her pouting face did not help.

Jason was doing this on purpose.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Can’t a man take his time?” he hummed amused.

Ysaline stared at him defiantly.

Then smiled as the devil herself.

“Of course you can. I’ll just keep myself busy until then.”

He looked perplexed at first.

But his eyes widened, watching her slip off her underwear. Dropping it next to the bed.

And without breaking eye contact, she slowly gliding her hand between her legs. First one finger.

Then another.

The wet sounds were echoing across the room, accompanied by Ysaline’s breath hitching. Occasional moan in between.

She wished she had a timer, just to measure how fast he unbuckled his belt, dropping the pants and finally taking hold of her hands, just to pin them against the bed.

“You really are the worst.” he groaned, chest rising.

“Only for you.” she whispered back, biting her lip.

Her chuckles were quickly replaced with cries. He tore that dress off so quickly, hands exploring ever inch.

His tongue was moving towards her breast, gripping it with one hand. And then slowly, the other was descending downwards, reclaiming the position Ysaline’s hands were previously at.

The sensation was overwhelming. Or maybe because Jason was the one doing it.

His fingers must have been engulfed by wet heat already. Especially with him taking his revenge by maintaining an agonizing pace.

Just when she thought he was done tormenting her, he suddenly stopped.

Ysaline was about to protest, but then realized Jason was lowering himself, wrapping his arms around her thighs.

And then suddenly, she felt his tongue delving inside of her.

“Fuck!” she gasped, her hand instinctively grabbing his hair.

His grip tensed up, occasionally switching between kissing her inner thighs and tasting her.

Or feasting, at this point.

Ysaline could feel herself dissolving into pleasure. An intensity building up in her abdomen.

But it wasn’t enough.

She was growing impatient once more.

“I...” she managed to stutter, trying to control her breathing.

“Hm…?” Jason responded, slowly lifting his face to meet her eyes. Without stopping the flickering of his tongue.

She tried to say something again, but he intercepted her by inserting another pair of fingers along with his tongue.

“I am sorry kitten, are you trying to ask for something?” he purred in between, letting his fingers continue the work while kissing her inner thighs once more.

She really was helpless. Pride preventing her once more from what she wanted.

Her eyes were almost pleading her case, a new form of betrayal.

Jason laughed softly, pulling himself up again. Licking his fingers with pure delight.

She couldn’t help but stare at his erection in the meantime, hoping he wouldn’t catch her in the act.

But then Jason was suddenly hovering over her, grasping her chin and tilting it up for another deep kiss.

He used the moment to position himself between her legs and then carefully sank into her. A groan escaped him at the first point of contact.

Ysaline immediately held on to him, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

A rhythm was starting to set in place, with Ysaline occasionally pulling her hips down harder whenever she got impatient. Burying her face into his shoulder, his rasped voice saying something in the meantime.

But at this point, her brain stopped functioning. All she wanted was to lick off his sweat and sink deeper into this exhilarating feeling caused by every thrust.

Jason was only happy to reciprocate.

At one point he switched Ysaline on her stomach, his hand tangled in her hair, head facing the pillows. All while slamming into her deeper, with a faster pace from behind.

She could feel the tension building up again. Her moans no longer held back, fingers gripping the sheets around her.

As if recognizing the signs, Jason continued without breaking, feeling Ysaline’s release as she shattered underneath him.

Before the feeling overtook him as well, he quickly pulled out and finished in his hands.

“You know… I wouldn’t have minded…” Ysaline tried to express, out of breath.

“I know, kitten. I know.” Jason whispered warmly, kissing her shoulder gently.

It didn’t take long for him to wash up in the bathroom and to return to bed. Ysaline had already lifted herself up, not wanting to imagine the state of her hair.

“Come here…” he hummed, lying down next to her and pulling her back into his embrace. With another soft kiss on her shoulder, he pulls the blanket to shield them against the cold.

“I should take a shower...” Ysaline mumbles, but Jasons arms tighten around her.

“The bathroom is all yours in the morning...” He promised, nuzzling his face against her hair. Slowly descending into sleep himself.

Jason’s gentleness melted Ysaline melt.

He was right. Everything could wait until the morning. The shower. Their talk. Her questions about their future.

But they’d figure it out somehow. With occasional losses of pride, arguments followed by apologies and mending affections.

Ysaline was determined to make it work somehow. And based on what she’s seen, Jason seems to be willing as well.

And before another thought could be formed, Ysaline finally drifts into a deep sleep, smiling to herself and enjoying her partner’s warmth.

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Hey everbody! This will be the last chapter of Circles - work has started to picking up again, so I wanted to make sure I leave those 2 in a good place before wrapping up (and before another episode realses, knowing it'll influence me). Thank you again for reading this fanfiction! It has been a lot of fun to write something again, I hope it was enjoyable!