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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Note

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #request

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jellymochii · 2 days ago

Text

OT8 SKZ - What Kind of sub are they?

the sequel to dom!skz hcs

𐙚 pairings: ot8 sub!skz x fem!reader

𐙚 genre: SMUTTTTTTTTT

𐙚 cw: oh boy, where do I even start, dom!reader x sub!skz, cnc, pet play, dacryphilia, BDSM, oral (m and f receiving), shibari, masochism, mentions of knives, unprotected s3x (please don't), use of strap-ons, etc.

𐙚 wc: 2k

↪author's note: hello! sorry for procrastinating on this lol I'm still goin thru it. anyways this one contains some themes that may be nasty to some (like eating men out) so reader discretion is advised. Hope you enjoy!

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED**

Chan - Pleasure Sub

My sweet channie bug

He's totally obsessed with being your perfect little fuck doll

PLEASE use him and ride him whenever you want–even if he's busy in the studio, the others can wait.

Looooves when you ride him unprovoked. Feel free to take a seat whenever you feel like it. (Railway Reference lol??)

Even if he's overstimulated from how raw his cock feels from multiple orgasms, he'll always sit still and be your good boy!

“Fuck that's it baby, use my cock however you like.”

This is honestly such a good way for him to relieve stress too. Had a rough day at work? He'll flop into a chair and let you ride him for hours.

And his face is so so cute whenever he's about to cum. He gets all scrunched up with high pitched whines while he holds onto your love handles for dear life.

He's more than happy to let you manhandle him into any position you want for your pleasure–his thick cock can reach every single one of your spots without him even moving it!

Poor baby loves shutting off his brain after a rough day and becoming your brain dead little dollie~!

Subspace is so real and yet so sacred for him. He trusts you enough to treat him with respect no matter how rough you are–especially when he's oh so zoned out from pleasure and overstimulation.

Moral of the story–Chan would do anything to please you and let you use him to your heart's content–all out of love.

Lee Know - Brat

Just like in the previous parts–It's all a game to him.

And he is just soooooo stubborn about it too.

Likes to rile you up and tease you all day because he knows what's coming as soon as dinner is over.

Or, if he’s really misbehaving–you might just punish him then and there over the kitchen counter.

And this man is strong willed. It's gonna take a lot of patience to tame this man–and you're gonna have to do it over and over again each time.

He's decently strong and can handle any punishment you dish out at first, so be prepared to go for hours with him.

Your go to is to cuff his hands to the bottom of the bedframe and hover over him–forcing him to eat your pussy while you smack him if he refuses.

If he’s being extra bratty? Cuff his legs too and tie a vibrator to his dick and leave him there.

“Oh really? You think that's mmph–enough to break me?”

Or even worse, keep edging him with a fleshlight until tears start running down his face from the pain.

Eventually after many hours of smacking and edging, he'll go brain dead and obey your every command! Mindlessly eating you out and begging you to cum.

The worst part? He does all that teasing because of how much he loves being your little bratty whore.

Changbin - Pillow Princess

This one is kind of a hot take but

The man is exhausted. If he's not busting his ass in the studio he's pumping out any of his remaining energy at the gym.

You feel so bad knowing that he'll come home with a raging boner but no energy to do something about it.

That's where you, his sweet baby comes in!

Like Chan, you can ride him as much as you want and he'll take anything you give him.

Sometimes he just prefers to lay back and let you use your strap on him while he holds onto the pillow for dear life.

Eat him out pls!! It feels soooo good to him after a long day at work, and you don't even have to stroke him to make him cum if you do!

“Annngh~that feels so good, jagi.”

Eventually his grunts and moans will turn into high pitched whines when he's close, practically begging you to make him cum.

Binnie has a lot of trust in you in general, he's not used to being this vulnerable physically since he's usually perceived as the big and tough rock of the group.

But it's nice for him to come home and let out all of his emotions while cumming on your strap.

Pls treat him nicely he's gentle on the inside.

Hyunjin - Masochist

Hyunjin is by far one of the most loved idols in all of kpop. Everywhere he goes girls are dying for just a chance to touch his shirt.

But something about you treating him like shit in the bedroom (consensually) just makes him feel so alive.

He's always been the experimental type so when you suggested being the dominant one he was all for it, and over time his taste got more and more filthy–to the point he loved feeling pained.

His favorite position is being handcuffed on his knees while looking up at you with pleading eyes, as if he’s begging to be bruised and battered.

It starts out light–smacking him across the face and twisting his nipples, but his need for further stimulation made him into a starved man.

“More.” Is all he’ll say to earn a kick to his cock while your hand collapses over his throat choking him out.

The first time you ever did it he fell over in pain and…came.

Needless to say both of you were very surprised and he almost considered begging you to do it again right then and there.

His pain tolerance has gotten a lot better, which has made you have to get more aggressive in terms of choking–almost to the point where he’s turnt blue and about to pass out.

Even after you release, he’ll wheeze and look up at you while licking his lips and smirking in satisfaction.

He'd never dare tell anyone that despite his tough and charismatic exterior, he desires nothing more than to be broken down and degraded.

But hey, that's dopamine addict Hyunjin for you.

Han - Rope Bunny

Oh this man is nasty

Loves everything involving sex toys as it is, so when you brought up the idea of doing Shibari he was ecstatic.

And best believe he wants it all–being tied up, blindfolded, ballgagged, and edged to the end of eternity.

Acts so whiny and whimpery like he wasn't the one humping your leg an hour ago begging for you to tie him up and make him cum.

He loves the way your pretty rope designs highlight the best parts of his body ever so delicately. The ropes are so tight and snug around his wrists and ankles, making it impossible for him to move at all and make him feel helpless (he's never been harder.)

Poor whiny baby always begging you to let him cum with tears streaming down his face.

“P-Please, Mommy--I've been a good anghh boy, just please let me cum!”

He's so lost in pleasure he's begging for even just a taste of your sweet pussy to help him cum faster.

I'm a firm believer that he sticks his tongue out and pants like a dog when he's about to cum.

If you're feeling extra fun that night, you can even finger him or eat him out until his cock is spasming from how angry and red it is.

And yes, if it becomes too much for him he will squirt and probably be forced to clean it up later.

His orgasms are so pleasurable for him, he lives for this moment and loves enduring all that pain from being tied up just because of how amazing he feels after.

Felix - Service Sub

My sweet people pleaser lixie

You could tell him to steal a million dollars from Mr Beast and he’d be back in an hour with an extra 5 million.

The point is, he’d stop at nothing to please you.

It doesn't matter how kinky or nasty you’re feeling–he’s gonna deliver on his promise to do whatever you want.

You want him to eat you out for hours and make you cum? He’ll get as many orgasms out of you as possible. You want him tied up and pegged till he’s crying? No problem.

He's always watching your every facial expression attentively to see if there's any sign of satisfaction on your face.

“Mommy…do you like when I do that? I-I'm your good boy, right?”

And a good boy he is, always so doting and loving on you.

He looks up at you with his adorable boba eyes, even when there's tears in his eyes from overstimulation as if to say “You love me, right?”

Sometimes you like to toy with him by seeing how long he can go without cumming. You're often surprised by how long he can hold out, all for you.

Even with his angry red tip spasming from the lightest touch, the sheer overwhelming desire to make you happy lets him stop himself.

He's so sweet, please tell him what a good boy he is for you.

Seungmin - Puppy Sub

Ok so I know in the dom skz hcs I said that he's the one who enjoys treating YOU like a dog but hear me out–

I think it's fun for him both ways, he's the puppy of the group for a reason.

If he's feeling extra subby after a long day he'll put on his collar with your initials on it and snuggle up to you–signaling to you that he wants to let it all out.

Or if he's extra needy he'll crawl up to you on the couch and start humping your leg mercilessly like a dog.

The only difference is that he's not a bratty puppy like you, he's a sweet puppy!

He'll gladly eat you out for hours if it means he'll get his sweet release from you~

If he’s been extra mouthy that day and gotten on your last nerve, he’ll go in the very kennel he's so used to putting you in and have your vibrator tied to his tip while he whines and cries.

You’ll only let him out if he barks like a good puppy, of course.

“Mommy please! I've been a good puppy, I swear!”

You may as well just hold your hand out and let him rut his cock relentlessly into it.

He’ll get you back once he’s the dom though~

Jeongin - Prey Sub

All i gotta say is get ready to run, I hope you’re good on a treadmill.

There's nothing more exhilarating to Jeongin than the feeling of being chased through the woods by you, only to be caught and have his hole brutalized.

You talked this out extensively with him and made absolutely sure that this is what he wanted, and his face lit up with excitement.

You can even chase him down with a knife for extra adrenaline on his part. (pleeeease do not do this unless you know what you're doing.)

Even if you're just at home and you're feeling needy, he’ll look at you with a smug ass smirk and say “Oh yeah? You want me? Well, you better catch me first.”

It's almost comical watching him jump around furniture to “prevent” himself from being caught.

But that's not what he wants, he wants to be caught by you because he knows how good he's gonna feel underneath you–-so he'll run slower on purpose.

He loves feeling small and helpless underneath you (even when he's 10x stronger than you) and letting you use him like a whore.

He's typically face down ass up while you thrust unbearably fast with your strap, earning ungodly guttural moans and pleas of mercy.

The feeling of getting caught and ultimately punished for trying to run away from you makes his head fuzzy from all the primal urges swelling in his body.

And oh boy he could go for HOURS like that too.

It's all worth it to him at the end though, when he's soiled the sheets beneath him with layers of thick white cum.

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vettelsvee · 18 hours ago

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Hello! I hope this is the correct way to request..., can you write a lewis story for prompt 28? It can be something like, reader is a new wag and there is some online hate, and lewis comforts them. It's completely fine if you don't wanna do this story, Thank you!! 💞

DON'T LET THEM SAY THAT. YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL | Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader

SUMMARY: Lewis and you decided to make your relationship public in Maranello before 2025 Formula 1 season starts. However, love from fans isn't there as you expected ↳ REQUESTED: Part of VEE'S F1 PROMPTS LIST (VOL. I)! Feel free to request anything you want <3 Hope you liked it anon! 💖

WORD COUNT: 2043

WARNINGS: Age gap (reader is on her early 20s and Lewis is 40), fans acting like crazy, hate towards Y/N

VEE'S NOTES: I received this prompt on the inbox today and I don't know how I wrote, corrected, translated and corrected once again it today. Also, first ever Ferrari!Lewis fic I'm so emotional right now. Not really happy with the result since like Y/N in this fic, I have many intrusive thoughts about my writing and I didn't have the best of the weekends, but hope you enjoy it anyways! Remember that I appreciate your comments, feedback, as well as reblogs, thank you so much! :)

The whirlwind of emotions you’ve experienced since your relationship with Lewis Hamilton became public has been unimaginable... and that’s putting it lightly.

Although you were somewhat used to the spotlight thanks to your rising career as an actress, flashes from cameras, crowds shouting for you to turn around so they could get a picture, and the occasional fan asking for a photo or autograph, the world of Formula 1 was completely new to you.

You couldn’t deny that you were unhappy with how drastically your life had changed. The man who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari had become everything you had ever imagined in a partner. kind, undeniably caring, and, most importantly, empathetic enough to understand how overwhelming this sudden rise in fame was for you.

Lewis had noticed how down you’d been ever since he decided to post those photos of you both in Maranello. You had both agreed to go together so he could test one of those legendary red cars for the first time, fully aware that people would inevitably start talking. That day, you decided to make your relationship public after keeping it a secret for about six months, agreeing that it was best to do so before the 2025 season began.

Despite it all, despite how much you had started closing yourself off in the following weeks, Lewis remained by your side, making you feel like the most important person in the world. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for him, especially when all you did was act like everything was fine on the outside while you were slowly destroying yourself inside.

The nightmare began with small comments on the photo Lewis had uploaded to Instagram, just you, posing timidly in front of the Ferrari while he held you around the waist, smiling like never before. At first, the comments didn’t seem like a big deal, with people just wanting to know more about your relationship or if it was serious. But soon, the messages started pouring in, insults and threats far worse than you had ever imagined, many of them coming from underage girls. Eventually, you had to disable comments on every single one of your photos, no matter how old they were.

However, what truly became a living nightmare for you were the Twitter threads and, especially, the accounts dedicated exclusively to Formula 1 wags. They were relentless, tearing you apart, analyzing your every move as if dating one of the 20 drivers on the grid was equivalent to committing first-degree murder.

“She’s just looking for fame now that her acting career is taking off.”

“She doesn’t deserve someone like Lewis.”

“She’s too young for him.”

“And let’s not even talk about how ugly she is… have you seen her?”

You sighed, throwing your phone onto the couch with such force that it ended up crashing onto the floor. But you didn’t even bother to check if it was broken. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t read any more comments, wouldn’t even open your Instagram account, yet you couldn’t resist. After all, you were human, and the weight of it all was becoming too much to bear, even more than you were willing to admit to Lewis, to whom you hadn’t fully opened up yet.

The hotel room in Tokyo, where you and Lewis had decided to stay for one of your last vacations before the season began, fell into complete silence. The only sound that filled the space was your muffled sobs.

“And who even is she? Nobody knows her.”

“Lewis deserves someone better, that’s for sure.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

You couldn’t understand it. It felt so unfair... Why were you being treated this way just for loving someone? Why did people throw venomous words at you without even knowing you, without even trying to? Did being a fan of Lewis automatically mean they had to hate you?

You tried to relax, to break free from the spiral of thoughts that only led you to overthink, but it was impossible. Once your mind started down that path, the only thing it knew how to do was tear you apart from the inside.

As you tried to steady your breathing and quickly wiped away your tears, a knock echoed at the door.

You pulled yourself together as fast as you could, forcing a smile while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything possible to pretend that everything was fine, that you were fine.

But the moment you opened the door and saw Lewis, drenched in sweat from his gym session and pulling out his earbuds, you immediately turned around and rushed into the nearest room, the bathroom, locking yourself inside to keep him from seeing you like this.

“Come on, Y/N...”

Lewis knew you too well by now. No matter how hard you tried to convince him otherwise, he could see right through you, he knew you were struggling, and struggling pretty badly.

He didn’t do anything at first. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that whatever he said or did might only make things worse, might make you shut down even more. Instead, he rested his forehead against the closed door, feeling defeated, thinking of ways to make you feel worthy enough to stop torturing yourself over what strangers were saying online, people who knew nothing about your relationship and even less about you.

Eventually, you decided to come out. Lewis saw you, completely defeated, and he cursed himself for letting things get to this point. What had he done wrong to make you feel this way? God, you were just a girl in your early twenties who had recently made the leap to Hollywood stardom after moving to Los Angeles at sixteen, waiting tables in a run-down bar, and facing countless failed auditions until you finally landed the role that changed everything.

“Hey, love,” Lewis spoke as gently as possible, his eyes scanning your red-rimmed ones and your tangled hair. “What’s wrong?”

He knew exactly what was wrong, but he wanted you to be the one to speak, to let it all out.

You took a deep breath and pointed at your phone, still lying on the floor. A nervous knot tightened in your stomach, and your hands began to fidget anxiously. As if on cue, tears started streaming down your face once more.

“I just… I don’t understand why they have to be like this. What did I do to deserve this? Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough for you?”

Lewis sighed. He had known from the beginning that not everyone would accept your relationship, but the amount of hate you were facing was beyond excessive. He was exhausted by the senseless comments and social media accounts created solely to spew hate at you. And even more, he was tired of becoming tabloid fodder, followed everywhere by paparazzi eager to capture any moment they could.

Seeing you like this hurt him in ways he couldn’t even describe, and it made him feel miserable.

“Hey, Y/N… look at me.”

Despite speaking to you firmly and holding your hand, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb to calm you down, you didn’t respond. Lewis then cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to look at him.

“I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, and I also know that with how stubborn you are, you probably won’t listen to me, but don’t let what they say about you bother you,” he wanted to say, but all he really cared about was you. “What matters is that I love you, okay?”

“But... why does it have to affect me? Why did I used to not care about anything, and now I care so much about the opinion of strangers?” you asked, hesitantly, biting your lip in an attempt to relax.

Lewis moved even closer to you, wrapping his arms around you. He hated seeing you like this, especially when before all of this started, you were a light in his life, and it was him who used to lean on you when race weekends got overwhelming.

“Because you’re human, babe,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you tighter. “Even though we sometimes say the opposite, we all care about what others think of us, especially when all they want to do is bring us down.”

“But... what if they’re right? What if I’m not what you deserve?”

“Do I need to remind you again that they’re wrong?” Lewis said, pulling you slightly away so your gazes met. “You need to remember how much you mean to me, but more than that, you need to remember who you are and all that you’re worth. That’s all that matters.”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, once again crying quietly to avoid him seeing you like this.

“I’m ugly, Lew. Really ugly,” you confessed without lifting your head. “I don’t even know how you love me, or how you agreed to be with me after all those months we spent talking and hanging out as friends, or…”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t let them say that. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, and you’ve always been, alright? Anyone who says otherwise needs to get their eyes checked.”

You laughed, and Lewis felt that as a small victory.

You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. For the first time in a long while, you pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, the destructive comments you saw daily on social media, and allowed yourself the luxury of, for just a moment, trying to stop torturing yourself and accepting that there were things you couldn’t change.

Lewis’s words, while brief and somewhat familiar to you, brought a peace you hadn’t felt in days. You did your best to let the tension in your shoulders melt away, slowly separating from him and moving your arms bit by bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lew,” you whispered, once again wrapping your arms around his waist, wishing you could never let go of him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lewis chuckled, planting kisses on your forehead. “I’m never going to leave you, and I hope you’ll never leave me either.”

Neither of you said anything more. Your bodies remained close, exchanging shy kisses, making promises that everything would get better as you both talked about the changes you’d face in 2025. That was enough for you both to know things were going to be okay.

You both understood that the big, risky changes you were taking, especially your relationship, were going to be difficult, just like what was happening with you and the wave of hate you were receiving. But once you stopped giving it too much importance, or rather, no importance at all, no one would stop you as the newest couple in Formula 1.

“Hey, listen to me, please... I’ve been thinking about something.”

Lewis’s words caught your attention as you were starting to drift off to sleep in bed. You straightened up, your hand still intertwined with his.

“How about we take a walk, and you can get to know the city a bit?” he suggested. “You know… we could go eat out, hit up an arcade, or maybe…”

“Can you get me a stuffed animal from one of those weird claw machines?!” you interrupted him, excited, which made Lewis burst out laughing.

“Of course, I can get you a stuffed animal, or buy you all the ones you want.”

You smiled, and as Lewis went to the bathroom for a shower, you began to prepare for the day. That moment was exactly when you realized you needed to trust yourself more and, specially, just as Lewis valued you. Because if there was one thing you’d learned from him in the short time you’d been together, it was that, no matter what you did, you’d always be the envy of others, so you just needed to remind yourself that you didn’t need to feel worse for living the life you’d always dreamed of and, moreover, you worked hard to have.

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genderqueerdykes · 1 day ago

Note

TW: Transphobia, intentional misgendering/mentions of abuse, gaslighting, and generally gross behavior. You asked for experiences from transmasc people, so, here I am. I'm a transmasc person. Still figuring out what kind of person that is, but... I'm transmasc, which is what matters here. I've been told a LOT of harmful things in the community, both from abusers and from friends(who I no longer talk to). This is my experience. My first real experience with all of this was from a shitty ex, who at that point controlled my life and had identified as bi since he was 12. He denied me the ability to transition (I couldn't drive myself to the doctor and had no money to pay for more than the prescription), saying that I would turn into a monster and break up with him, abuse him, become violent, etc. He pressured me into using she/her pronouns along with he/they. I used genderfluid transmasc at the time as my labels, and he used this as an excuse to proudly call me "his wife in training", saying that because I didn't bind half the time, I was practically a woman. I'm now in therapy because while the term genderfluid fits, I legitimately get panicked when I try to use it because not only did he use it against me, but people used it to... detransify me. De-masc me.

Now, I'm a feminine person in some respects. I like a good accessory and bright colors and cute things. But because I wasn't performing hypermasculinity to become "a true man", people used genderfluid as a term to say "Well, clearly you're fine with female pronouns and terms because you wear earrings/paint your nails, and genderfluid falls in the scale of woman, so I'll just call you woman." People used the term so often to de-transify me, ESPECIALLY in the community.

When out and about, it does not matter if I have he/him or they/them pins on- people, even queer people, CONSISTENTLY read me as transfeminine even though I'm the opposite. I love trans women, but that's not what I am- and to be agressively labeled female by people who mean well and aggressively labeled male in a "you're just a monster masquerading as a female" way from strangers who are transphobic feels like absolute dogshit.

I'm nervous about top surgery sometime this year or next year. I want to keep a little bit of my chest, because I'm a larger person- but I'm legitimately worried my doctor will go against my wishes and give me a bird chest or carve out too much. I want top surgery not only because it will make me feel more like myself, but because my stupid chest is what EVERYONE points to- queer or non- and says that "but you have that, shouldn't you enjoy it?"

Being labeled a faker, a potential monster in the making, as someone who's just confused, and worst of all, being labeled as someone who didn't know what my own label meant... it's worn me down. I'm not sure what to do with myself, and am in gender therapy to unpack the trauma of what other people have placed onto me, both queer and cishet alike. I have quite a few understanding, loving friends in the community- but there have been just as many people who haven't understood and try to fit me into a box until I bled.

This stuff isn't just "oh silly transmasc! That's part of the experience! You just have to deal with it!" I don't, actually. And I refuse to. I refuse to give up the things I love for other people's assumptions of my body, label or identity. Even if it hurts to fight back, I'm tired of letting transphobes inside and outside our community harm me based on what THEY think I should be. This is my story. Sorry if it's bleak, but... that's the truth. I hope it helps others see that blaming us for all the harm the community faces, and making us into your blank dolls to play with, breaks us. It's awful. Please, treat us better. We deserve better. We always have.

Thank you for letting us share our stories.

thank you for taking the time to type this out and share, i really appreciate it. this is very insightful and important. i can't believe how awful people are to you. that shouldn't be happening. i don't want to take away from your story so i'll keep it brief

people, even queer people, CONSISTENTLY read me as transfeminine even though I'm the opposite. I love trans women, but that's not what I am- and to be agressively labeled female by people who mean well and aggressively labeled male in a "you're just a monster masquerading as a female" way from strangers who are transphobic feels like absolute dogshit.

this happens so often. this is what i mean when i say that trans men and mascs are also affected by transmisogyny. many people mistake trans men and mascs for trans women and transfems. it's a real thing and we need to acknowledge it.

#asks #feedback #transmasc #transmasculine #transandrophobia #trans men don't pass easy

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justagalwhowrites · 16 hours ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 7: Precautions

You and Joel deal with a growing threat as you prepare to take on a new role. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 6 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild violence. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.7k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

Three Weeks Later

“You remember your talking points, right?” Quinn asked, watching Ellie closely. “And all the rules?”

“No,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve completely forgotten the four things you’ve told me because I’m fucking dumb.”

“Hey,” you said, giving her a look. “C’mon, kid.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Language. Yes, I know I can’t swear. I have to talk about how great Sissy is…”

“You don’t have to,” you said, giving Quinn a look. “You should be honest.”

“Then I’ll tell them all about how you make me do the stupidest homework and don’t let me stay up late and also don’t let me beat up people at school even when they deserve it,” Ellie said, smug.

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “You can’t…”

You cut her off before she got too far.

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “Ellie, say whatever you think is best. However this interview goes, it’ll all blow over in a few weeks, anyway.”

“Just try not to swear quite so much, kiddo,” Joel said, his arms crossed as he hovered between you and the front door, waiting for the reporters to arrive. “You and I both know you know better than that.”

“But I like to fucking swear,” she smirked and Joel, you could tell, was trying not to smirk back. “But if Big Miller says so…”

“Jesus,” Joel rolled his eyes.

The doorbell rang and Quinn ground her teeth but went with Joel to answer the door all the same.

This interview had been a last ditch effort on Quinn’s part. The media had latched on to the concept of Ellie’s existence and hadn’t eased up since the news broke. Photographers still showed up outside her school half the week, paparazzi camped outside the gym where you’d been training for Savage Starlight and would yell questions with Ellie’s name in them at you, there were several viral posts theorizing that you and Anna had secretly been lesbians and Ellie was your daughter together.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your breaking point. Quinn had the idea to offer up an interview to the biggest publications, one in your home where you posed for pictures and answered questions about Ellie, the adoption, Anna, the works. In exchange, they agreed to stop buying photos of you and Ellie as you went about your private lives in Austin.

You hoped it worked. You didn’t want to have to uproot Ellie yet again. The whole reason you’d come to Austin to begin with was that Elise had retired here and you didn’t want to keep Ellie from the only blood relation she had left or ask Elise to move to whatever new place you decided to settle, especially if you’d just have to do this same song and dance again in six months to a year when the press found out where you were again.

You were, at least, out of your brace now. It had been a close call on the interview date, Frank planning a few outfits for you - some designed to downplay the brace, others without worrying about it - just to be safe. But the fracture had healed well and quickly, not requiring a full cast or any extended time in the brace. You’d gotten permission to take it off at your follow up appointment a few days earlier and had been relishing your new-found freedom ever since. Your training for Savage Starlight was slated to pick up more now that you were healed but you were enjoying the small reprieve where you weren’t dealing with the brace and weren’t sore and exhausted every night.

Once things calmed down with the paparazzi, though, you could handle it. You hoped, anyway. In part because, outside of all that, things had been going smoothly - even with your surly bodyguard.

It was still a total mystery to you what he’d meant by keeping things “professional,” but things had definitely been that. Cool and distant, no more sitting next to each other by the pool late at night or sharing a drink now and then - things which seemed perfectly professional in your opinion but apparently weren’t for him. But, while he wasn’t wearing the watch you’d given him, he never snapped at you like he did the day you’d presented it to him, either.

You took what you could get with him. It was a little disorienting, having someone treat you with such indifference - especially when he’d shown some basic, human care in the past. Not that you expected him to treat you the way everyone else did. You weren’t stupid, you knew that almost every person you interacted with every day treated you the way they did because you were famous and because you had a carefully crafted public persona that was only loosely tied to who you really were. They were either fans of someone who didn’t really exist but had your body and face and name or they wanted some proximity to your fame and all that came with it. Of course someone like Joel - who had to be around you all the time, whose job required him to move quickly regardless of your feelings - would treat you differently. But it still stung all the same. Anything short of the harshness he’d treated you with that day in your driveway felt like mercy and you were almost ashamed at how desperately you clung to that.

“Hey,” you said to Ellie, reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Her eyes met yours. “I’m sorry about this. And you should know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can shut it down right now if you want.”

She smiled a little tightly at you, giving your hand a small squeeze back.

“I know,” she said. “But… this will make it all easier, right? They’ll leave us both alone and you won’t be as stressed?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you to do this because you’re worried about my stress level or…”

“I know,” she cut you off, smirking a little. “But I’m also doing it for me. Fuck switching schools again, man.”

You laughed a little and rested your head against hers, taking a deep breath as you heard the distinctive sound of Quinn’s reporter wrangling voice from your entry way.

“Well, now you’ll get an idea of what I do every day,” you said, lacing your fingers with hers. “See just how boring it is so you can tell all your friends at school that they don’t actually want to be movie stars when they grow up.”

Ellie snorted.

“Please,” she said. “I know you’re really off doing cool shit while wearing fancy clothes all the time. Definitely one big party, no work at all.”

You laughed before getting up to go greet the reporter, slipping into the version of yourself that you shared with the press as you did.

The interview went surprisingly well. Quinn had handpicked the reporter so that wasn’t a surprise, a well known freelancer who didn’t ask anything too invasive. Ellie held her own, curbing her swearing (mostly, a few, more minor, curse words snuck in) and being her witty and charming self. The photographer posed the two of you together on your couch, by the pool with your guitars, by the kitchen island pretending to cook - even though you basically never did that yourself, anyway.

Joel hovered the entire time. You could feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze sharp. He stayed at the back of the reporter and photographer the whole time they were in your house. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, his jaw set firm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your hand going to rest gently on Joel’s back, when the photographer was focused on Ellie and the reporter was reviewing his notes. “You OK?”

“Fine,” he grunted, glancing over at you. “Just tryin’ to do my job.”

“It’s just a reporter,” you said, raising your brows and trying not to smile. “I don’t think they’re going to bite.”

He just made a disgruntled sound and kept his eye on the visitors, his whole body still tense.

He didn’t ease up until the reporter and photographer were gone and outside the gates of your property.

“That was kinda fun!” Ellie said. “A lot of bullshit but not that awful.”

You smiled a little.

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Told you you don’t actually work,” she teased. You snorted and she turned her attention to Joel. “Hey Big Miller, wanna kill some zombies? I was playing a level the other night and getting my ass kicked, I could use another gun.”

You glanced toward Joel, still worried that, at some point, he would decide he wanted to keep a professional distance from Ellie, too. She’d grown attached to your bodyguard over the last few months, not that she would ever admit it. She sought him out often to play video games or watch a movie. You could usually hear when she got home from school when he picked her up because she was still laughing at something he said when she walked in the door.

It still surprised you, how the two of them had connected. You hadn’t expected a - presumably - single, childless man to have bonded with your brash teenaged niece so thoroughly. Had it been anyone else, it would have sent alarm bells ringing. You had plenty of reason to not trust the motivations of men, especially around teenaged girls, but there was something distinctly safe about Joel and his connection with Ellie. And she needed as many people to care for her as she could get. You didn’t want her to lose that because of some misplaced notion of propriety.

“Been a minute since we went and messed up some undead,” he said, noticeably less tense now that the only people in the house were you, him, Ellie and Quinn. “Guess we should go show ‘em who’s boss.”

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said, punching the air. You didn’t scold her for her language choice, instead just smiling a little at the two of them as he settled into the couch and picked up the controller - the device looking oddly small in his large hands - before going to find Quinn in your office.

“Ellie’s got some natural skill,” Quinn said, glancing up from the Emmy that functioned as a paperweight on your desk. “She’s smart, charismatic. Got a hell of a mouth on her.”

“Tell me about it,” you snorted. “Aren’t you glad you usually only have to rein me in?”

“Wrangling the two of you all the time would be a bit much,” she said. “I get the feeling you just feed off each other…”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “It used to be worse, back when I wasn’t actually responsible for her and we could just goof off and hang out. Drove her mom insane. I’m half surprised she wanted me to take her when…”

You trailed off, a knot tugging at the back of your throat.

“We won’t get any kind of prior article review,” Quinn said, sensing that you were ready to change the subject. “But I’m sure it’ll be positive. You gave them great shit to work with.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, tightly.

“So,” she said. “Ready for the fight choreo?”

“Think so,” you nodded. “It’ll be weird, I think, but good. I hope good, anyway.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding a little.

“What?” You asked. “I feel like there’s something you’re not saying.”

“Well, we have some timing updates and some new asks,” she said.

“OK…”

“They want you in LA a bit earlier than originally planned,” she said. “They’ve got the costume ready and they want to get you properly in it for a final screen test and fitting as well as for a few shots they can polish into a teaser trailer of sorts for the announcement at the con.”

“Seriously?” You groaned. “When?”

“Friday.”

“Friday?” You gaped. “Thursday is Thanksgiving!”

“I know,” she said. “But they’re pretty set on this and it’s already a hell of a truncated timeline given your injury.”

“Jesus,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Fine.”

“They also want you to attend the premiere of Scarlet Sentinel after the announcement,” she continued.

“When the hell is that?” You asked.

“The 11th,” she said. “Just a few more days, it’s not too bad.”

“A few more days during the first Christmas after Ellie’s mom died,” you snapped.

“I know,” she said.

“And they know what happened at the last fucking premiere, right?” You asked. “Because…”

“They know,” she said. “But you and I both know with the timing of the convention and the announcement, your name is going to come up a lot on that red carpet. They figure, better to have you there to talk about it yourself than leave it to someone else.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m coming back on the 12th. This damn movie had better be worth it.”

“Just think of all the little girls who will have a badass superhero to look up to because of you,” she smiled a little. “And remember that you’re the one who wanted me to chase this role for you.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know. I’m guessing I’ll have my grumpy shadow for this whole adventure?”

“After what happened at the last premiere?” Quinn scoffed. “Absolutely.”

You sighed, frustrated both at the situation and yourself. Part of you was glad that Joel was coming, his presence making you feel more protected than anyone else’s - including the guards who filled in when he was off. But you knew this trip was going to make both of you miserable.

Another few weeks in Los Angeles with Joel. Perfect. Just perfect.

***

Joel ground his teeth, his head on a swivel.

Was there ever going to come a time that he wasn’t tense and frustrated when it came to you?

He doubted it.

There was something inherently frustrating about you. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was but it was absolutely there.

Maybe it was that you were insufferably, disturbingly stubborn. Maybe it was that the whole fucking world seemed drawn to you. Maybe it was your ceaselessly annoying habit of underestimating any potential threat when it came to yourself.

Maybe it was the fact that, in spite of his request for professionalism and his newfound practice of trying to shove some distance between the two of you, he was just as drawn to you now as ever. Even though you were a bad idea, even though you terrified him, he had to fight to keep himself away from you.

He had to force himself to stay in his room when sitting at your house instead of seeking you out. He had to stop himself from thinking about you in ways he fucking knew he shouldn’t, stop himself from searching your name on Google when he was aching and desperate and couldn’t think of anything else. On the rare occasions he wasn’t near you - when he was taking Ellie to school or on his mandatory days off in between stints of protecting you - he’d see something that would remind him of you and have the strange urge to text you about it. As though he’d ever texted you about anything besides business, as though you were friends. As though he was anything at all to you.

Now, he was stuck sitting outside where you were doing some kind of fucking training for that damn movie. Fuck if he knew what it was, all he knew was that he’d tried to talk you and the trainer - some musclebound jackass named Alan who looked like he knew more about making punching look good than making it effective - into moving the training to your house. Alan had vetoed that.

“No,” he’d said, shaking his head as he took a look around the space that Joel had worked with you in for weeks. “No, this is way too small for what we need.”

“The hell you mean it’s too small,” Joel snapped. “What are you doin’, throwing a goddamn party?”

The guy looked at Joel for a moment.

“You realize that this is a favor, right?” He said. “That I’m the most in demand fight choreographer in the goddamn business and I’m taking time away from other work to come here so I can train her because it’s supposedly safer here than LA? I’m not about to slim shit down any further than I already have, I’ve booked us time at a private gym in the city, she’ll be perfectly safe there since you’re apparently incapable of doing your damn job in California.”

Joel fought the urge to swing on the fucker.

“She gets hurt because you need a goddamn ballroom to teach her how to throw a more cinematic punch…”

“That’ll be on you, won’t it?” He said.

Joel couldn’t argue with him. He was right, the weight of that settling in the pit of his stomach. Your safety was on his head.

That was a double edged sword. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe. He wasn’t comfortable with something like your life sitting squarely on his shoulders. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him with other clients but you were different. In so many things you were different.

He’d been standing in this stupid fucking waiting room of this stupid fucking private gym for what felt like a small eternity. Nothing had happened, of course. Nothing had happened the two days before, either. That didn’t seem to make a damn difference, though. He was still tense, still watching for any threat, still frustrated that you were in an uncontrolled space and out of his sight.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Joel did a quick scan of the area - including the parking lot that he could see through the large windows - before checking it. It only ever vibrated for family, work or clients, it had to be something important.

He was right. It was a text from Tommy.

Been a change on the Siren case. Come to HQ with principal ASAP.

“Shit,” Joel said quietly, going to text him back when he heard your voice - sharp and panicked and muffled by the door.

His body reacted before his mind caught up. He reached the door before he fully realized what he was doing, damn near ripping the thing off its hinges and racing into the room where you were training.

You were flat on your back in the middle of the room, mats on the floor to cushion any falls, and Alan was on top of you. He was straddling you, his knees astride your hips, his hands on your throat, holding you down. Your hands were on his chest, face twisted into a snarl as you shoved at him but the man was bigger than you, stronger than you and Joel had to stop him.

He ran for you with a roar, tucking his shoulder and slamming into the other man, the mats on the ground cushioning their fall as they tumbled.

“What the fuck!” Alan yelled as they came to a stop, Joel shoving the other man into the ground and pinning him.

“Joel!” You yelled but he was focused on the man below him.

“I don’t know what -“ Alan began but Joel cut him off with a punch, sharp against the man’s cheek, sending his head whipping around.

“Joel!” You caught his elbow as he went to punch again and he let you pull him back, Alan groaning on the floor. You tugged Joel to his feet and he panted for breath, looking down at the man who’d been hurting you, the man who he wanted to hurt more. But, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere and Joel turned his attention to you.

Your eyes were wide, your skin slick with sweat and your hand had gone from the crook of his arm to his side when he turned and the weight of your palm was heavy on him. But you were alive. He could breathe.

“Joel…” you panted, almost like a question. His hand went to your cheek, your skin warm. He tilted your head gently, looking over your neck, trying to see any damage.

“He hurt you?” He asked, voice rough. “You OK?”

“What?” You asked, gaping at him.

“Did he hurt you,” he said again.

“No!” You shook yourself free of Joel’s hold on you. “No, he didn’t hurt me! It was fucking fight choreography!”

You ducked around Joel and rushed toward Alan, kneeling beside him as he sat up, holding his face and adjusting his jaw.

“Fuck,” Joel said quietly, wincing as he watched you gingerly examine the other man, the two of you talking low, your back to Joel the whole time.

He should be more embarrassed about this and part of him was but he couldn’t help but just be relieved. You were safe. He didn’t need to see you hurting, didn’t need to live in that shock of fear that had all but swallowed him when he saw you on the ground, your life in the hands of another man. You were alive, you were safe. That was all that mattered, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about anything else.

After a minute, Alan looked ready to get up and Joel approached him cautiously, your trainer’s eyes narrowing at him.

“Sorry,” Joel said awkwardly, offering him his hand. “Didn’t know… Never had a job with an actress before…”

“S’alright,” he said before taking Joel’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and he cracked his neck. “I’ve taken worse hits but damn, man, you hit like a fucking hammer.”

Joel caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes off to the side and he smirked a little.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “Might be your job to make it look good, it’s my job to knock someone on their ass and keep ‘em there.”

“You’re damn good at it,” he said before turning to you. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to say we call it early.”

“Of course,” you said quickly. “Again, I’m so sorry, I…”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, laughing a little. “Does me good to take a hit now and then in my line of work. You should be more than prepped for the shots they want to get later this week but I’ll be in LA if you run into any issues. Now I’m going to head back to my hotel to ice my face and try to think of the best way to explain this to my wife when she picks me up from the airport.”

“We need to go, anyway,” Joel said and you frowned. “Got a text from Tommy, told to bring you to HQ as soon as possible so that’s where we’re headed.”

“Fine,” you sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just run home first so I can change…”

“No,” he cut you off. “We’re going straight there.”

“But I’m disgusting!” You said, arms out at your sides as if to prove your point. “I’m not about to go to a meeting when I’m dripping sweat, that’s just…”

“Don’t matter,” Joel said.

“Is everything OK?” Alan asked, looking between the two of you.

You answered before Joel got a chance to respond.

“It’s fine,” you said, shooting Joel a look that almost dared him to talk. “He just loves to make my life difficult, it’s his favorite hobby, so he’s using this as an excuse.”

Joel quirked his jaw but bit his tongue.

“Come on, Siren,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He watched as you stalked off to get your bag and water bottle, snatching them up with an almost comically angry look on your face as you did. He made you stay behind him while he surveyed the small parking lot before keeping you safely hidden from view from as much of the broader world as he could until he got you to the car.

You reminded him of Ellie as he started the drive to the office, your arms crossed tight over your chest, staring straight ahead with your eyes narrowed. It would be intimidating if you were more… well, intimidating. On you it was almost comical, like watching a lion cub try and snarl at a threat.

“That was mortifying,” you said eventually, your fingers digging into your upper arms so hard that Joel could see the indentations in your flesh. “Completely fucking embarrassing, I can’t believe…”

“Can’t believe I did my job?” Joel asked. “Can’t believe I tried to keep you safe? Shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you at this point, Siren, been doin’ this for a few months now.”

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped. “That was not you doing your fucking job, that was you losing your temper for who knows what reason and…”

“That was me intervening when you were in danger,” Joel snapped back. “How the hell was I supposed to know that guy was supposed to be fuckin’ choking you out? And you, what? Expect me to just sit there and let it happen? Jesus.”

“This is why I don’t need a fucking bodyguard,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Let alone one who doesn’t know the fucking industry. I fake die sometimes, too, Joel, you going to call 911? Plan my funeral?”

Joel ignored you, clenching his jaw as he called Tommy.

“Yeah,” Tommy said by way of greeting.

“One minute out,” Joel said.

“You’re gettin’ an escort in,” Tommy said.

Joel frowned.

“That serious?”

“We’ll discuss it when you get here,” Tommy said. “Just… being cautious.”

A team of four men met the car when Joel pulled up to the building where Tommy’s business was based. He passed the keys to one and fell into formation around you, immediately at your right as the four men surrounded you, blocking you from any view from passing or the random pedestrian.

“This is such overkill,” you muttered.

“Better over kill than you killed,” Joel glared at you as you rolled your eyes.

But Joel did feel like he could relax a little now that the two of you were in the office. This was a controlled space, you weren’t at risk here. You might be pissed at him but he’d take that. If you were safe, alive? Pissed he could handle.

Tommy seemed prepared for it, at least, not shaken by your sour attitude.

“Joel,” Tommy nodded to him before looking to you. “Ma’am.”

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I smell like a gym sock,” you said, clearly pissed but trying to control yourself. “Someone didn’t let me shower or change before coming here.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Tommy said. “I got Quinn on the line, I’m gonna loop her into this conversation, too…”

He switched on the speaker phone.

“We’re all here now,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We OK to get started?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Lay things out.”

You frowned and glanced at Joel, as if he’d have any better idea about what this was going to be about than you did. He just frowned, too.

“This was sent to your address here in Austin,” Tommy said, dropping a printed image of a letter on the other side of his desk, closer to you and Joel. You stepped forward and picked it up, Joel looking over your shoulder at it. “Police have the original.”

It was a note, like the ones before.

I love your home. I can’t wait to share it with you. But why do you have other men spending the night? They won’t love you like I love you. Don’t you know that? Don’t you see?

If I can’t have you, no one will.

Joel’s hand trembled as he took the copy from you, tracing the words over and over.

If I can’t have you, no one will.

For a moment - just a moment - Joel had that vision of you again. The one that had come to his dreams more often than he cared to admit, the one where he couldn’t save you.

There was someone out there who wanted you, wanted you so badly they were willing to kill to have you and what if he couldn’t stop them? What if they got to you when he was off for a few days, what if something happened when you were just out of reach? What if all he could do was stand there and watch you die?

“Well someone’s getting ballsy, isn’t he?” You said wryly.

“You don’t sound like you’re taking this seriously,” Quinn said, the sharpness in her tone apparent even through the crackle of the speaker phone.

“Probably because I’m not,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your torso, your chin raised defiantly. “He’s just some weirdo. He knew where I lived in LA, too, and was too cowardly to show his fucking face, what difference does it make if he’s got my Austin address?”

“We’re going to tighten up security,” Tommy said, looking around you to Joel.

“Tighten up?” You gaped at him before Joel had a chance to respond. “Tighten up how! Someone already follows me everywhere I go, is he supposed to, what, chase me into the bathroom when I take a piss now, too? This is insane! Quinn, tell them they’re insane!”

“It’s not insane,” Quinn said. “He’s escalating, there are valid concerns for your safety and we’re going to take the appropriate precautions. Maybe you should hear what those precautions are before you fly off the handle about it.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes before you sighed. “Fine. Alright, what else am I going to have to fucking give up.”

Joel’s jaw twitched but he remained silent, watching you closely as his brother started reviewing the changes.

“Biggest one will be you’re never on the exterior of your home alone,” Tommy said.

“I’m already never alone outside my house!” You gaped at him.

“You’re never alone when you leave your property,” Tommy corrected. “But you’ve been able to go outside, swim, run, take a walk on your own as long as you stayed on your property. That will no longer be the case.”

“Seriously?” You looked between Tommy and Joel, aghast. “I can’t step outside my own front door unsupervised? What am I, a toddler?”

“We will also be stepping up who is on hand at your home,” Tommy said, ignoring your protests. “We’ll be doing more frequent perimeter checks and generally have a more active presence there. But that will be less obtrusive, you will still have just one body man when you leave the property for most outings.”

“What about when I’m in LA?” You asked.

“You ain’t serious,” Joel said before Tommy had a chance to answer. “You’re not still goin’ to fucking California, not after that letter.”

“Yes, I am,” you said. “I have to do some early shots in two days, the con is a week after that, followed by…”

“And you can’t do any of it if you’re fuckin’ dead!” Joel snapped. “So you’re staying here, not goin’ to where that asshole is!”

“No, she’s not,” Quinn said, a sense of finality in her voice. “She’s going to LA…”

“You really willing to put her fucking life on the line for a goddamn movie?” Joel snapped, louder than he’d meant to but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “You’re gonna let her get hurt, get killed so you assholes can make a few bucks?”

“She won’t be at risk if…”

“Not at risk?” Joel cut Quinn off. “If she ain’t at risk then why am I here!”

“She is actually in the fucking room if you assholes would fucking listen to her!” You yelled, Joel turning to face you, shocked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard you yell like that before. “I’m going to LA.”

Joel went to protest but you wouldn’t let him.

“No!” You snapped, rounding on him. “I’m going to LA! I’m going to LA, I’m going to do my fucking job and I’m going to go to the con and the goddamn movie premiere and then I’m going to come home and spend Christmas with my niece and you’re going to stay out of my fucking way!”

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn said.

“What?” You asked, still sounding pissed but not yelling now.

“He won’t be out of your way,” Quinn said wryly. “Because he’s coming with you to everything.”

“Well obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s been doing that.”

“I mean,” Quinn continued. “He’s going to come with you to the premiere. As your date.”

You and Joel both stood silently for a moment, dumbstruck.

“What,” Joel said eventually.

“You’re going to the premiere as her date,” Tommy said this time, looking between the two of you. “They decided they need you there,” he said, nodding to you. “And last one was enough of an opening that you got hurt but having you walk the red carpet with a bodyguard isn’t really an option. So, we keep Joel close - as your date - and he keeps you safe.”

“No,” Joel shook his head. “No, the answer is she don’t go to the damn premiere, not sending me along with her like I’m some kind of goddamn undercover agent or some shit, this ain’t…”

“Can’t I just go with Chris or Justice or something?” You asked and Joel tried to ignore how his stomach turned at the thought of you with either of those fucking guys on your arm. “We just tell them what’s going on and…”

“Someone who isn’t trained ain’t gonna cut it,” Tommy shook his head. “It has to be Joel.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s what it takes? Fine.”

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Joel muttered. “I don’t…”

“Oh, come on Big Miller,” you said, your tone shifting to something more familiar, that dry, sarcastic edge to it he’d come to know well. “Didn’t you know? I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. There are men who would kill to be in your shoes.”

“Yeah,” Joel muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He didn’t press the subject when the two of you got back to your house that night, the new cadence of protection already kicking in, more guards obvious at the perimeter of your property. You didn’t wait for Joel to open the car door for you - something you’d become more willing to do as time had passed. Instead you just stormed off toward the house, Joel following quickly behind you. Before he had the chance to lecture you about it, you looked back over your shoulder to him.

“I’m going in the pool,” you snapped. “Since you apparently have to fucking babysit me anytime I step foot out my goddamn door now.”

He expected you to go get changed into a swimsuit but you didn’t. Instead you just stalked straight through the entry way, the living room, out the back of the house, stepping out of your shoes as went, walking straight to the water’s edge without pausing and jumping in fully clothed.

Joel stood and watched, worried for a moment when you didn’t surface immediately. But then you screamed under the water, the sound muffled and distorted and sounding almost desperate. You went quiet and surfaced, immediately going to a ladder and pulling yourself up, more stalking toward the house than walking, eyes straight ahead like Joel wasn’t even there, leaving a trail of water on the floor in your wake as you went to your bedroom and closed the door.

Joel tried to ignore the tug of concern in his chest. He picked up Ellie from school - the kid so excited about having a few days off for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother - and played a video game with her. You didn’t come out of your room. He kept hoping to hear some sign of you when he went to his own room, even as he was desperate for some distance, and he thought he heard you come out at one point. Just your quiet steps in bare feet and the cadence of talking just out of reach of where really hear it.

He tried to let that soothe him. You clearly didn’t want anything to do with him - not that he blamed you, he had literally asked for this - but he couldn’t help but worry as he stared at his ceiling. You were upset but you’d left your room, talked to Ellie, hopefully eaten something. That was… it was fine. Good, even. He didn’t need to be a part of it or see it for himself and he’d done everything he could to make sure that here, within these walls, you were safe.

That thought didn’t help him actually, really rest, though. He started to drift off and the image of you, pinned down with a man’s hands around your throat took over. But this time, he was always too far away to fix it. He’d run and run and run but it was like he was moving through Jell-o, not able to reach you but not able to look away.

He jerked awake, his heart racing in his chest, and he sighed, wiping a layer of sweat away from his face.

It was late now, quiet in the house. He debated it, for a moment, but not for long, getting up and going to the kitchen for a drink. But when he passed the hall with your room and office, he saw a soft glow around your office door. He frowned at that, going to the kitchen and grabbing two beers before going to that glowing door. He hesitated for a moment. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew better. He was the one who asked for a professional distance, he was the one who knew this couldn’t go anywhere good. But… you were right there, the comfort of knowing you were OK so close.

He knocked.

You were silent for a moment, long enough that he considered just going back to his room when you spoke.

“Come in.”

He did, finding you tucked into a corner of the couch that sat below the window, a tablet and papers spread on every surface around you. You seemed almost surprised to see him, your eyebrows rising as you looked at him through your lashes, not fully looking up from something that was sitting open on your lap.

“I thought you might be Ellie,” you said. “Can I help you?”

He shrugged.

“Saw the light,” he said, handing you the bottle, staying far enough away from you that he had to stretch to reach and you had to reach back to take it. “Thought you might… I dunno.”

You nodded slowly, opening the beer and taking long pull.

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting enough that the pages spread on the couch around you rustled. Joel just nodded, opening his own beer and taking a sip, too. He didn’t taste it much, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pajama pants as he walked slowly through your office, taking everything in. He was rarely in this room, he didn’t know it well. There was an Emmy on your desk and three more on a bookshelf. There were two Golden Globes, too, all in better shape than the Oscar was. He frowned at that.

“How many of these damn things do you have?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder to you.

“Emmys?” You asked. “Just the four. Three for Siren and then one for Family Tree. That was my first one, they gave me some meatier things once I was in my teens. Some ‘very special episode’ type bullshit. One where I had to decide whether or not to have sex with my high school boyfriend, that sort of thing. The television academy ate it up. Then there are the Globes - one for Siren, one for The District - and there’s a SAG in my office in LA. I think that’s it.”

“Lot of hardware,” Joel said, coming back to the sitting area of your office, taking the chair near your end of the couch, his fingers rapping against the glass of his beer bottle.

“Yeah, well,” you laughed, a little cynically. “I keep telling Leo he needs to get me on Broadway so I can win a Tony. Then all I need is some bullshit way to win a Grammy and I can EGOT.”

“EGOT?” Joel frowned.

“Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony,” you said. “All the big ones.”

“Shit,” he shook his head a little, taking another swig of beer. “Aim high, I guess. What are you workin’ on?”

“Character research,” you said, holding up what was on your lap. It was a comic book, one from the series he’d seen Ellie reading. “I think I’ve just about figured her out but I’m trying to make sure I feel good with it before Friday. I’ve been reading up on how people react to certain traumas, trying to fold that in, see what seems right.”

“Didn’t know playin’ a superhero needed so much research,” he said.

“Playing anyone requires research,” you said. “People are complicated things.”

“Suppose so,” he said. “What…”

“Why are you here, Joel,” you cut him off.

He clenched his jaw for a moment.

“I…” he took a deep breath. “Do you really have to go to LA.”

“Are you serious?” You gaped at him.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not safe. Should stay here where we have shit more locked down and…”

“And I have a movie to make!” You cut him off. “Do you really expect them to relocate production to fucking Texas because of me?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Joel,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

“Ain’t you some huge star?” He pressed on, staring down at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumb. “Got all those damn trophies, everyone on the damn planet knows your name, just have all that shit come to you and…”

“Joel,” you said, more gently this time, gentle enough that he frowned, looking over at you. You smiled a little. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why not.”

“Because,” you said. “Do you know what goes into making a movie? It’s not just some actors and camera men. There’s equipment we’re using that only exists in a few places on the planet and LA is one of those places. We start principal photography in January, do you know how much work has already been done so we’re ready to shoot? Do you know how many people’s livelihoods depend on this movie being made when we said we were making it where we planned to make it? And I mean actual people, not just rich assholes like me. The budget on this movie is $210 million and yeah, $35 million of that is coming to me but the vast majority of that money is going to support the hundreds of people who work on the movie who are just trying to pay their mortgage and put their kids through college. We move locations, shift filming dates now? Those people are suddenly out of work when it’s too late to get on any other projects. If you don’t think you’re up for it, talk to Tommy, have them send someone else…”

“No,” he said sharply.

You frowned.

“Why not?” You asked. “Just…”

Joel clenched his jaw, looking down at the beer bottle again. The corner of the label was shredded.

“Don’t trust anyone else,” he said. “If you’re goin’ to LA, it’s with me. End of story.”

You were quiet for a moment.

“Why do you care so much?” You asked eventually.

“I… I don’t…” he bounced his leg, trying to find the words before finally looking over at you again. “I don’t want to watch you die.”

You scoffed.

“I don’t think anyone would really hold it against you if I do,” you said wryly. “So don’t worry about it.”

“That ain’t why I’m worried,” he said sharply before taking a deep breath and going back to the bottle, picking away at the label more and more. “I didn’t take this job to watch someone fuckin’ hunt you down.”

You were quiet again.

“Why did you hit Alan today.”

He took a shaky breath.

“I thought he was hurtin’ you,” he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “And I.. I can’t…”

He clenched his jaw, gripping the bottle so tight it hurt.

“I need you to not get hurt,” he said. “Not gonna let you get yourself killed. And you… you just like to ignore what I tell you, you do reckless shit and it’s gonna…”

“I’ll do what I’m told,” you cut him off, a keen kind of honesty in your voice, the shift noticeable enough that he looked over at you. Your eyes were oddly open, looking at him in much the same way you had the night you got hurt at the premiere, like all the artifice of your public persona had been stripped away and all that was left was yourself. “I don’t… I absolutely loathe just how much of my own life is out of my control and how all I am is just some thing all these other people move around to make money and the fact that I can’t even go outside right now without someone babysitting me… It struck a nerve. But… I’ll behave. I’ll do what you tell me to do. I won’t take any risks, I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I’ll obey when you tell me to do something. I’ll take it seriously.”

He watched you for a moment.

“You’ll let me keep you safe?” He asked quietly.

“I’ll let you keep me safe,” you said softly. “I promise. Just come with me to LA. You… you make me feel safe. I’ll do what you say, I’ll let you protect me. I promise.”

“OK,” he nodded, looking at the label in pieces in his hands. “I’ll protect you.”

He just prayed that would be enough.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this took me roughly 6 million years to update and I wish I had a good reason for that but, in all honesty, I just don't. I appreciate you spending your time with these characters, even after I've left you hanging.

Things are going to start ramping up next chapter! I really can't wait for what's coming, there's stuff I've been picturing since I first thought up this story that is just around the corner. I hope you enjoy it!

In the mean time, if you want to see what Thanksgiving Day was like for Siren and Joel, you can check out this (now officially canon) one shot I posted for the holiday.

Thanks again for being here! I love sharing this story with you all.

Love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter @phry-k @sunnytuliptime

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #bodyguard!joel #bodyguard au #tsats #the savage and the sanctuary

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letmereedusyou · 1 day ago

Text

i'm not yours - part 7

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 3.2k

warnings: rough language, I have no idea what else so please do let me know! <3

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! It took me so long to write this because I was ill and then it was my birthday, so I spent it away from electronics and with my family. It was partly proofread, so sorry in advance for any errors. Hope you enjoy it!

Read previous part: part 6

~ 11 MONTHS AGO ~

The sun shone brightly through the tree canopies, shimmering in the nearby buckets of water and reflecting in the cars’ windows. Shadows danced gently on the ground, as the breeze swayed the branches. The air was warm, filled with the scent of the lavender bush that was growing by the road and the distant hum of the bees. You could hear the generator noises coming from a shed, and some birdsong in the woods. You sat on the soft grass, feeling the dappled sunlight kiss your skin. You could see Carol and Lori doing the laundry. You could still see Dale sitting in a foldable chair on top of his trailer, wearing his bucket hat and Hawaiian shirt, even though he wasn’t with you anymore. You missed him dearly, and your heart ached whenever you thought of him. He most definitely didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not yet. Andrea and Shane was nowhere to be seen, and Daryl and Rick were on a supply run for some medicine. Glenn and Maggie were chopping wood in the shade not that far away from the camp. Carl was playing in the sun with some sticks and stones.

To your right stood a big, white farmhouse that belonged to Hershel and his family. It was a modest, two-story building with a traditional American farmhouse style. Sitting on a large plot of rural land, it was surrounded by rolling fields and patches of woodland. The front porch, with its white railings and steps, offered a welcoming, rustic charm.

You met Hershel’s family a while ago, in an unfortunate situation of Carl being shot by Otis. Hershel helped nurse Carl back to health afterwards. Even though he was a veterinarian before the outbreak, he have done a great job saving the boy. Slowly, Carl came back to being himself and soon enough was bragging about being like his father - having a shot wound and having survived it.

Maggie and Beth, Hershel’s daughters, were the ones who convinced Hershel to let us stay around his farm for a while. Maggie had a good point in saying that there is strength in numbers, and Beth was adamant that they indeed needed more people around to help out, because Hershel was getting older and couldn’t do much much than he was already doing. He eventually agreed with reluctance.

You were really grateful for it, especially considering that some of you were not in the greatest health. Like you, who suffered a nasty cut on your ankle during the evacuation from the CDC. You have cut it on some rusty metal bars sticking out of one of the cars around the building. You were really lucky to find Hershel when you did, not just because of Carl’s shot wound, but because you were suffering from some type of infection, that not even Merle’s bag of magical drugs could cure. It turned out that a piece of metal was stuck in your ankle all this time, causing your body to try and fight it off, but it never could as the infection was happening over and over, no matter how many drugs you took. Hershel have taken out the smallest piece of metal and gave you some antibiotics, saying that a couple more days and the infection would’ve kiledl you. Soon enough, the fever and the shivers subsided. The wound looked less infected and swollen, but you still weren’t able to walk on your leg properly. It made you feel like a burden to everybody who was helping you move around.

While sitting under the tree, you were chatting away with Lori and Carol, who you made friends with along the road. I guess you could say you made friends with everyone in the group to some extent, and it felt like home with all of them. They all made the world a little bit better by being in it - some more than others. Especially Daryl, who you had been close with since he rescued you, but his confession at the CDC made you grow even closer. He worked tirelessly, helping out the group as much as he could. He usually wasn’t staying at the camp, with everybody - he preferred to stay away, alone in the field. But, because you weren’t able to do anything on your own, he took it upon himself to help you out. So, he moved closer to the camp, right next to your tent.

Daryl showed up with Rick after driving to the town for some supplies. He took the bag of medicine to Hershel and left some for our group. Walking towards you, he put his crossbow down on the ground.

“You alright?” he asked, sitting next to you. He pulled his knee up and rested his arm on top of it, as he looked at you with his blue eyes, his hair covering his face in a ragged fashion.

“Yeah,” you nodded to him and smiled lightly. “Feeling like I’m absolutely useless right now, though.”

“You’re not useless. You’re healing,” he gruffed out, shaking his head. “Being hurt doesn’t make you useless.”

“It sure as hell feels like it.”

“Let’s go for a little walk,” he said suddenly, standing up. He stretched his hand towards you.

“No.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“You’re giving orders now?” you looked at him amused.

Before you knew it, he hooked his arm around your waist and stood you up, holding you tight. You fly up and you have to hold onto his arms to steady yourself. As you put both of your feet down on the ground fully, you feel some pain in your ankle and you wince. You knew that part of the recovery was making sure you move the ankle and put weight on it to regain some strength and balance, but it didn’t change the fact you hated moving when you were in pain.

Daryl held you close as you walked, or should we say hobbled, on the gravelly path around Hershel’s house. With each step, you felt your foot going a bit more numb, but you kept on going. The sweat drops showed on your forehead. You squeezed Daryl’s side harder to make sure you were not gonna fall. Daryl stopped in his tracks for a minute.

“I got you,” he said and looked over to you. “We can stop and have a breather if you want.”

“No,” you breathed out. “I can get to that bench over there.”

You pointed to a small bench under the big oak tree, and Daryl nodded once, turning slightly before you walked further. The bench was on a slight downward hill, which made it harder for your ankle. You struggled for a couple of minutes, trying not to grunt in pain. You took slow, small steps towards it, your hands clutching Daryl’s top so hard, that your knuckles were turning white. He wasn’t stupid. He could see it on your face, how much you struggled, so he scooped you up in one swift motion and carried you, princess style, for the remaining distance to the bench. Once you were seated, you sighed deeply and smiled at him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking a deep breath. You wiped your forehead with your forearm and licked your dry lips. “I could’ve done this.”

“Oh, really?” he said, looking me up and down with some type of amused look. “That is a brave comment to make when I could clearly see your face was contorted in pain.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t in pain, I said I could’ve done this.”

“And hurt yourself even more in the process? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never left your lips. It wasn’t like Daryl, to care so much about people, but once you make a family out of strangers, it changes. And he cared about you the most out of everybody. You were so dear to him, the closest friend he’s ever had.

You stayed on a bench for a little while, talking about Daryl’s day of supply runs and stupid jokes Rick made before Daryl took you to your tent and gave you a worn-out book from Dale’s trailer. You thanked him, seeing how the book can be a great distraction from the fact you were stuck with a hurt ankle and couldn’t help out with anything. You settled on your cot bed and you read that book pretty much in one evening.

The next day, everything was going smoothly, until the evening. You and the group were sitting in Hershel’s house, talking about future crops to plant, water and medical supplies, when you heard a gunshot. It was close, ringing through the walls of the house. You all got up abruptly from your seats and ran towards the doors. Getting out on the porch, you saw Rick running, shouting something about walkers. Seconds later, you all saw a large group of walkers, appearing from the darkness, and all of you started to scramble around, trying to get guns and weapons to fight them off.

You hobbled towards the house, and grabbed your knives, putting them in a holster. Then, you reached towards your machete. It was clean, so clean that you could see your reflection in it. Your face was calm but your eyes panicked. You quickly avert your gaze from it, and you step out onto the porch again. You tried your hardest to ignore the pain in your ankle. Your people needed you, so nothing was more important.

Looking around, you tried to find Daryl, but he was already out there, firing the arrows at the crowd of walkers. He was a good shot, all his arrows landed in walkers heads.

You quickly made your way down the steps and started killing the walkers with blows to the head, your machete bloody and bits of skin and brains all over it. Soon enough, the group got broken up, and everyone flew in different directions.

You find yourself in a situation where you were sure you couldn’t escape from. Your breathing quickened when multiple walkers cornered you off against the side of Hershel’s house. The chaos of the situation was getting to you and you frantically searched with your eyes for anyone from your group, but no one was around. You swung your machete, killing some of the walkers, but there were more and more of them pooling around you, and there was no way you could outrun them with your ankle. Your eyes started to water, thinking that this was definitely your end. How could this possibly get better? - you thought to yourself.

Suddenly, Andrea popped up in the corner of your eye and shouted something intelligible to your ears. Most of the walkers turned to her, and began walking towards her. She broke into a run and it gave you enough time to hobble out of the situation. You turned left and you grunt slightly, trying to weave around the walkers as well as you could.

One of them grabbed your shoulder and yanked you towards them. You took out your knife and stuck it inside his eye socket, some blood spilling on your face and your clothes. You closed your mouth just in time for the blood to stain your lips but not get inside of them. Before you could turn and kill the other one, that was lunging towards you with their bare teeth and eyes rotten and green, an arrow flew through the air and killed it with a pop. You could’ve sworn you heard the skull breaking and the flesh ripping.

“Come on!” Daryl yelled at you.

You broke into a run, ignoring the shooting pain in your ankle. As soon as you got to him, he wrapped his arm around your waist. Swinging his bow to his back, he took out a knife from his belt. You moved quickly through the horde, killing any walkers in your vicinity, until you reached Daryl’s bike. He put you on it, swinging your leg effortlessly around the seat, before swinging his own leg around, sitting down and kicking the starter pedal. The bike roared to life. He told you to wrap your hands around him and you have done so. He accelerated forward, taking you both out of Hershel’s farm.

“You came back for me?” you asked once you were on the road, away from the walkers.

“I couldn’t let ya die now, could I?” he said. “I knew you were in no condition to make it by yourself.”

“I thought I, for sure, was a goner.”

“Not gonna let ya die, as long as I live,” he said looking through his shoulder and at you. His smile was barely visible, but not to a trained and knowing eye like yours.

~ PRESENT DAY ~

You woke up with a headache the next morning. Your head felt like it’s been bashed in multiple times, leaving your brains scrambled and confused. The light coming from the window was almost too bright to look at and the sound of people outside the house was as loud as someone putting an air horn to your ears and pressing a button. All you dreamt about was some painkillers but you knew that hangover wasn’t the greatest reason to use up the already small medicine stash Alexandria had. So you settled for a shower.

As soon as the cold water hit your body, you shivered and your eyes widened, like someone injected you with adrenaline. You wash your hair while at it and then get out of the shower, feeling a bit better, although the headache persisted just a tiny bit. You were for your lookout tower duty, so you jolted around your bedroom, trying to find a clean pair of socks and combat boots. When you finally got dressed, you walked out of your home and jogged all the way down to the lookout tower by the gates of Alexandria. Rosita, who had an entire night shift, looked at you, impatiently tapping her leg. Her arms were crossed on her torso and her mouth was contorted in a slight annoyance.

“You’re late,” she says, observing as you're climbing the ladder. “I hope you have a good reason for it.”

“I got drunk last night.”

“Good enough for me.”

You laughed when Rosita said that and hugged her. She began to tell you about a date she has with Abraham later and shared some explicit details of what they’re going to do. That was all Rosita. Always really honest and straightforward. You didn’t mind at all, and you secretly put all the things she described to you in a little vault in your mind titled ‚shit to do with my next partner.

The day was long and quite boring. Nothing crazy happened. You thoroughly took notes on everything - every walker outside the gates, every opening and closing of the entrance, what ammo you used and if you used any. That was basically the job of a person that was on a watch tower. And it was probably the most boring thing you could do around Alexandria. You knew that you'd rather be out and about, collecting supplies or hunting, but everyone had their duties shared fairly.

Spending an entire day on the lookout tower, you were happy to go home, when Sasha came and switched with you. You gave her a rundown of what happened during the day and then made your way down the ladder and down the street.

It just so happened that you had to walk past Daryl's house to get to yours. As you were walking, you heard some noises coming from the inside of the building. You didn’t think much of it, you just thought it was loud music as Daryl liked to listen to some music pretty loudly at times. But as you were about to pass the house, you heard a loud crash and then a boom.

You turn around at the speed of lightning and you look at Daryl’s house. The living room window was broken, the glass and wooden frame were in pieces, and the yelling emerged from the inside of it. Almost at your feet, there was an old vinyl player, also in pieces. You could see the few plastic bits that broke off of it and rolled in many different directions. Your eyes widen at the sight, and you turn your head towards the house, your body freezes in place. You couldn't see anything but you definitely heard every single word.

„Leah, please, don’t be ridiculous!” you hear Daryl’s raised voice. He sounded frustrated and confused.

„Ridiculous? RIDICULOUS?! You’re the one who’s being ridiculous!” Leah’s voice sounded like screeching, and you could tell she was crying.

„Where the hell is this all coming from?! You didn’t care about it last night or any other fucking day! Why now?!”

The smell of cigarettes gets to your nostrils and you knew almost immediately that Daryl was stressed out and angry. He only ever smokes when his emotions are a bit too much for him and he’s looking for something that will help him relax. Usually, he had a few packs hidden around the house for easy access.

„How comes I don’t know shit about you? Not one thing?” Leah’s scream sounded desperate. „How come she knows more than I do?!”

"She doesn't know more!" Daryl's voice resounds in the air, a roar that could only come from a man who is slipping into a rage mode.

"Oh, don't fucking bullshit me! I could see it in her eyes! She knows you! She knows things about you! Why aren't you telling me shit?! I want to know you, too!"

Your heart stops in your chest realising that they’re arguing about you. Oh, God.

There is a deafening silence after Leah’s last words and you chose not to stick around for more. This wasn't meant for your ears. This wasn't something you should listen to. Shaking your head, you looked at the vinyl player on the ground. It was completely broken. That bitch, you thought to yourself, feeling a bit frustrated at Leah yourself. You picked up the pieces, threw them into your pockets and lodged the music device under your arm. You decided on taking it with you before someone helps themselves. You started walking away, but you could clearly hear the next words Leah said to him.

„This whole relationship is fucking bullshit! You’re not worth it, you’re not worth me or my love! You are nothing! Just a stupid, little man that is too broken to care about someone as much as they care about him!”

You almost stopped and turned on your heels. You wanted to storm inside and let her hear a piece of your mind, but you didn't. It made your blood boil. The way she spoke to him. The way she assumed he didn’t have feelings, because he didn’t share some past experiences with her. The way she thought that he didn’t love her, because he didn’t tell her things about himself. And the way she said he was nothing and worthless. That there made you thirsty for blood. It was the farthest from the truth. He was worth it. More than anyone. He deserved the world. And more.

You quickly made your way home, not wanting to hear anything else, the vinyl player under your arm. The words echoed in your head like some kind of mantra.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction

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bagholes · 10 hours ago

Text

English subtitles for Johanne Sacreblue

You've probably heard of a parody of Emilia Pérez (produced by a Mexican trans woman!!!) called Johanne Sacreblue. The whole thing is in Spanish (and French, obviously), so I translated the whole thing to English (see read more)

While I wasn't involved in the production of the original short, I'm Mexican and I have a degree in Translation and Applied Linguistics, so hopefully you'll enjoy my translation. Please give the video some love and don't give Emilia Pérez more attention!!

!!!!!!!! ENGLISH SUBTITLES !!!!!!!!!

(Hey! I'm a professional translator, and I translated the whole thing in English. Please upvote so more people can enjoy this video!)

Ah, nauseating France.

Home of wonderful food such as baguettes, croissants, and more.

Lots of wonderful people live here.

Obviously, we’re French.

This might look like a love story,

but open your eyes and pay attention!

In France there’s rising burglary rates.

But why tell you about France when I can show you?

Welcome to la France!

♫

Welcome to la France.

A unique and special country.

Where you’ll know what it means to truly love. Love, love from France.

Live the experience of this place.

[Homer Simpson voice] Wow, classy.

Maitre D': Good evening, sir. Would you please leave without a fuss right now?

Homer: OK.

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Crêpes? Les crêpes? I didn’t shower today.

I’m not worried. I smell just fine.

Like rats, sweat, and wine.

The cheese I eat smells better than me,

but my perfume can take care of it.

I love feeling superior.

Here’s some rapping just because.

Oh, mon ami. Merci. Sacré bleu. Comment tu t’appelles? Merci. Déjà vu. Bon voyage! Pizza, kwason.

It’s croissant, croissant, croissant!

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Hit it, Mbappé.

Viva Cinco the Mayo!

Long live cakes!

Marie Antoinette!

Long live cakes!

My fucking crêpe still hurts when I think of you

Part 1: surprise and challenge.

Maybe all those years living in a ranch were good for him.

He wasn’t living in a ranch!

He lived in Mexico City for ten years.

Same thing. It might as well have been a jungle.

Mexicans are savages.

Do you know what they do to cheese over there?

They eat it fresh!

I don’t think he copied their ways.

He’s still a good Frenchman.

He better be. I expect no less.

He’s my only son.

All the suffering in Mexico must’ve gotten rid of his rebel nature.

He’ll be the perfect man. The perfect male successor for the largest baguette company in France.

My son. My manly son.

Did I already mention that my son is a man?

He’s here!

Maman, papa… bonjour!

Son of a-

[title credits] Johanne Sacreblue. Directed by someone with ADHD.

What were you up to in Mexico?

I learned how to open a beer using a bill.

Jonathan is using a dress, Bridgitte. And he has breasts! What do you think he was up to in Mexico?

Now my name is Johanne.

Nonsense! You’re not getting the company. No way.

That’s fine. I don’t even want it.

Honey, it’s your future. You’re our only DAUGHTER. You have to take the position.

You’ll get the company. End of story.

You don’t even want me to own the company!

Because I didn’t think it’s what you wanted!

Why did we stop speaking French?

What did you say?

Nothing. I got confused.

I’ll tell you something: remember the Ratatouille? They gave us this letter. They challenged us to the national France competition to decide once and for all what’s better: baguettes or croissants.

Do you want to enjoy your fortune? Win this competition and manage the company. Or go back to Mexico to eat guacamole.

For the last time, no! You won’t get the company.

I’m the only one who’s always loved croissants.

I’m the oldest son. It’s my right.

Your right? How can think that about your brothers?

Any of them could do a good job.

Hugo can’t get over his artistic phase and he’s addicted to sniffing paint thinner!

I’m not just sniffing paint thinner! Yellow paint makes me happy.

Mario Hugo! Good luck with his twangy voice.

Mario Hugo: I agree with my beloved brother, but I love you, my family.

No one knows what you’re saying!

Dugo is young! Why can’t it be me?

Well, first of all, you don’t have a penis!

Oof. Gotcha.

I’m trans. Other than that, I haven’t changed at all.

Does it really affect you that much?

I’ve made myself clear: anything that affects our family affects me!

It’s not that we don’t love you, honey, it’s just that… you embarrass us.

You’re not even an Hugo!

Yes, I am! I’m [French accent] Arturo! (Translator’s note: the rhyme got lost in translation. Sorry about that).

“Arturo” isn’t “Hugo”!

Yes, it is! Ar-tu-ro!

Where did you get that?

Well… Chofls!! The letter!

The Sacrebleu have invited us to the Great Paris Competition. We will show once and for all what food item best represents our country! If you beat that family’s stupid transexual, you’ll get the company

I don’t know what to do, bestie. I don’t want to own that goddamn company.

And why don’t you learn how to do something?

Because if I do it, they’re gonna cut me off, and I’ll be an unemployed, 28-year-old trans woman who has no life skills.

Why don’t you just tell your father that you don’t want to do it and that you won’t do it?

It’s too late. I have no choice.

Bestie, I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy your fortune with no commitment.

It’s awful…

Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?

I’ll have some French molletes.

I’ll have chicken.

Of course, ma’am. How shall we cook it?

Anything is fine as long as you kill it as cruelly as possible.

Excellent choice, ma’am.

Anything else? Would that be all?

That’ll be all. Well, actually, I think I also want-

You said that would be all! You must assume the consequences of your decisions. Rot in hell! [spits]

Oh my, what a great service!

I know! They have the best customer service in France! Okay, so are you signing up for the competition?

I really don’t have a choice…

Bestie, you can do anything. You’re stronger than every woman I know, and I’m not just saying this because you used to be a man…

Thanks for the clarification.

You’re gonna compete and you’re gonna win.

Emily, you have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the only reason I wanted to come to Paris. I wanted to see my friend Emily in Paris. It was the only reason I wanted to come tot this city: see Emily in Paris.

Oh là là, I know! Everyone tells me that! What I don’t get is why you don’t want to compete. This is such an honor for France-

It’s just that there’s a lot of things I don’t understand since I came back. Why are we so impolite? Why do we love animal cruelty? And why exactly do we hate Muslims?

Because it’s fun!

Yeah, maybe, but have you ever considered that it’s wrong?

Oh my God! You’re right! I’d never thought about it! We’re awful!

Oui!

What we do to birds… we drown them in cognac! Why are we doing it? Who thought of that?

I don’t know.

I feel.. dirty! I want to take a shower!

I knew I wasn’t crazy!

Seriously… I never thought that we were doing something wrong. I always thought that people who get minimum wage liked how we treat them. No wonder they sent you to Mexico… You’re crazy.

I got sent to Mexico for being trans.

They sent you to Mexico because you’ve been hallucinating. You’re seeing Marie Antoinette.

I’m not hallucinating! It’s the actual ghost of Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette: don’t listen to hear. She dresses like a Guatemalan. I’m as real as my tragic death. They should behead her for having such damaged hair.

There’s no point in knowing the truth about France. At the end of the day, I’m just an ordinary French millionaire with enough money to live for four days. There’s nothing I can do.

Marie Antoinette: [unintelligible] sleep paralysis at night.

If you win, all of France will listen to you.

Ladybug: Welcome to the most important competition of la France, where France’s most important families will make a very important decision.

Cat Noir: that’s right! We’re here to make a very important decision. What food best represents France: baguettes or croissants?

Our fellow citizens will know what we’re talking about, but for those dirty foreigners that only know how to use soap…

Wear perfume!

We’ll explain the rules.

There’s two events: whoever wins both will be victorious!

The first even will be a race! The first one to reach the Eiffel tower, touch it and say our catchphrase “we give up!” will be the winner!

Without further ado, we’re heading to the competition!

It’s the best race I’ve seen years!

The Ratatouille throw a croissant to the Sacreblue and almost slashes her throat. It’s cat-tastic!

But Johanne takes the lead with 400 rats, and she wins the race!

Rats! Meow!

Here she comes!

Vive la France!

Your love for croissants ends here. What an embarrassment!

Don’t feel bad, honey. I never really expected anything from you.

Arturo, I’m not gonna lie…

Brother, defeat will only make you stronger.

What?

You’re a great man. You’ll make it.

Can I have five French dollars to buy yellow paint? I want to paint.

Later that night in some French dumpster

♫

I’m just a trash man in Paris.

Another piece of trash in Paris.

But I’m also the greatest trash

I’m the trash man.

I’m such trash that I made a fortune using other cultures.

I’m such trash that I enjoy cancelling last minute

because I’m scared

that they’ll see my tiny baguette.

I don’t have the guts to say that I fucked up.

I’m scared to know what people think of me

If I’m a good guy or just a bald bad guy

I’m such trash that it’s embarrassing.

I thought Karla Sofia was from Puebla.

I’m such trash that I wrote a musical about narcos.

“Penis to vagina, woman to man.”

What the fuck was that shit, bro?

I’m disgusting, don’t you see?

Part 2: from hate to love

Why did you ask me to meet you here?

[sigh] I came to ask you to stop fighting over something as dumb as bread.

Baguettes are just bread, but croissants are France itself. It’s in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Arturo, wait, don’t do it!

[coughing]

You can’t take a deep breath in France. Dumbass.

Whatever. You’re just saying this because you’ve been away for a long time. You’re nothing but a chimichanga lover.

Cinco de Mayo!

How dare you!

Does it make you feel good to be a man hitting a woman?

Actually, yes. Now I get why we do it.

I’ve had enough! I can’t take it anymore! What’s wrong with France? Why do they like to hit women? Why do they like racism? Can’t you see that what we’re doing is wrong?

Actually, no. I had never thought about it. I never considered that… Oh my God… We’re monsters! What are we doing? We must put an end to this!

But how?

You’ll do it with me. With your amazing arguments, we’ll change France.

Do you think it can be done? But how?

Oui, mademoiselle. If you let me win the second event, it’ll be a tie, and they’ll have to listen to us according to the French rules I hadn’t mentioned before.

I don’t know if I can trust you.

Trust me, mademoiselle. Trust this stinky French heart.

Alright. Kiss me.

Do you want me to kiss you?

Yes. Give me a French kiss.

Here it’s just “a kiss”, stupid

Welcome to the second competition!

This is the most fabulous competition! It’s the racism competition!

That’s right, Cat Noir! And for those stupid Americans who don’t know what we’re talking about, in this competition, participants are given a total of 30 minutes to deport and catch as many immigrants as possible.

Everything is allowed: from making up crimes to blackmailing!

Each Muslim is worth 5 points. However, participants can get extra points from hate crimes against Muslims, Black people, Latinos, members of the LGBT community, and fans of Emily in Paris!

Let’s watch the racism competition!

We apologize for the technical issues. Cat Noir had a fanatic episode.

It was amazing! With a great lead, our winner, Arturo, was victorious. So we’ll have to call this a tie.

Oh! For the first time in more than ten years, we’re getting some words from our ten French emperors!

Stop!

There… won’t be… a tie!

This decision will no longer be postponed.

Declaramos abierto el duelo final.

And it’ll happen right now.

Because I love Queen Marie Antoinette.

The final duel…

It’s the fight to the death with baguettes!

Good luck! And may the Frenchest win. Yes. Oui. Oui. Oui.

[Elmo]

Part 3: destiny

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

I think there’s gonna be a fight to the death with baguettes.

What? Fight to the death with baguettes? What’s that?

Oh, fight to the death with baguettes. I’ve heard about it. I think they’re gonna fight to the death… with baguettes.

[gasp]

Johanne: I don’t want to fight to the death with baguettes with you.

Arturo: Neither do I, but we have no choice.

J: Yes, there is. Haven’t they considered that this is wrong?

No!

Arturo: Papa Johns!

Papa Johns: I pitted your families against you with a little help from whom you love the most… your butlers.

Arturo: Chofls!

Johanne: Wigles, why?

Wiggles: I’m sorry, madame. I need the money, and you haven’t given me raise in 25 years.

Papa Johns: I’ll destroy you so the greatest French food gets recognition: French fries!

Johanne: You’re losing a lot of wine.

Johanne: you have a rat on your head!

Papa Johns: this tiny chef taught me his secrets, and I used them for evil.

Wigles: I think I got Stockholm syndrome due to so many years of labor exploitation.

And that’s how we got away from the bad guy, Mr. French ambassador.

Controlled by a rat… The nightmare of every French. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how Johanne Sacreblue and Arturo Ratatouille restored the glory of France. What a captivating story you’ve brought us, full of pain and social commentary. Is there anything else you would like to add before we run out of funds?

Well, actually, yes. As many of you know, I went to Mexico, and my fellow Mexicans asked me to bring a gift to France when I came back, and what a better person to give it to than the ambassador?

Oh, what wonderful surprise have you brought from Mexico? Could it be some wonderful Mexican tortillas?

Wait… Is that-

Yes, a cake. Un gâteau.

[Credits]

And that’s the story of how your parents saved la France.

Thanks for telling me these stories, grandma.

My grand-son. My grand-son, a boy…

[sigh]

♫

Tito, my grandson Tito (translator’s note: another rhyme that got lost in translation. Sorry again). Tito, tito. My grandson Tito.

You smell like frog legs in the morning.

You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks.

You smell like a moldy baguette.

You smell like the omelette that I ate.

You smell like cheese. Smelly, smelly!

You smell like your grandma.

Tito, Tito, Tito, my grandson Tito.

You smell like snails. You smell like escargot.

You smell like France.

#emilia perez #johanne sacreblue #selena gomez #mexico #zoe saldana #karla sofia gascon #jacques audiard #trans rights

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benispunk · 2 days ago

Text

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 18: More Than Roommates

Wade is getting tired of this slow-burn. It's his time to shine now. Or, Logan learns the truth about the center's rescue.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W.

A/N: hellooo!! chapter 18 is up (wtffffff???? already!!!!!) and I would say things ARE FINALLY interesting.....but are they really?? I was giggling by myself writing it...and there's still THREE chapters left. I don't want to let this story gooooo...hope you enjoy this chapter!🩷

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

Logan’s first few weeks at the high school had been a mix of chaos and… cautious optimism. Everything felt new. The routine was unfamiliar, the building was different, the people were different, and numerous. This wasn’t the cosy place they had nurtured for years in an old building in the middle of the city, no…This was so much bigger. So much more serious. Logan felt like a fraud every time he put a foot inside the school. He was no teacher. He wasn’t like Hank or Ororo who had dedicated their life to this. He barely passed high school before he joined the army—not because he wasn’t good, hell he wasn’t dumb—life just had a way of pulling him down until he couldn’t stand on his own two legs.

So, when he left the army and he was jobless, barely homeless, and most importantly hopeless, the center’s job ad for maintenance staff was a godsend. He didn't really care at first. He was just there to maintain the building and fix broken things when there were any. He was always there. He didn't give a damn about anything, he just did his job, was nice to the people at the center and left it at that. But the kids started to like him. At first, he pretended to push them away. But he knew these kids were there for a reason: nobody out there wanted to help them. A bit like him in the end, he thought. After this, Charles asked if he could keep an eye on some classes when the teachers needed to go somewhere for a few minutes. And oh boy, Logan didn’t joke around.

After a few months of juggling between being the center’s janitor and the kids’ babysitter, Charles came to him and asked if he wanted to be a little bit more than that.

He hadn’t opened a school book in decades. His immediate answer was no. But Charles being Charles, he won. He always fucking did. For a year, Logan followed evening and online classes to become a teacher in the center. He’s still laughing about it today.

So, yes. Everything was new. And way too official. But some things remained the same—his students. They were still the bright, resilient kids he’d fought so hard for back at the center.

It wasn’t without challenges. Some struggled with the rigidity of the high school’s structure, missing the familiarity and intimacy of the center. Logan had calmed more than a few meltdowns, but he met every obstacle head-on with the patience and determination that had carried him this far. For every tough moment, there was a victory—small, but significant.

The quiet student who finally raised their hand in class. The one who cracked their first smile in weeks. The team effort during a group activity that ended with laughter instead of frustration.

They’re still here, he reminded himself often, a quiet mantra that kept him going. The center might be gone, but the heart of what they’d built wasn’t lost. His kids were still thriving, and somehow, so was he.

And then, there was Y/N.

Logan caught himself watching her more often than he wanted to admit. Whether it was during a quick coffee run in the teachers’ lounge or when she breezed past him in the hallway, her presence had a way of grounding him. She carried herself with a quiet confidence, her easy rapport with both colleagues and students reminding him why he’d been drawn to her in the first place.

It was becoming too hard to keep in check. She was everywhere. At home, at work. In his every thought…

So, it wasn’t always grounding. Not when he spotted her laughing with Tony near the science labs one afternoon.

From his vantage point, leaning against the wall with Ororo, they looked like they were sharing the kind of joke that left you breathless. Y/N tilted her head back, her laughter ringing out, and Tony, ever the charmer, leaned in with a grin that practically lit up the hallway. Logan tried not to let it bother him, but the twist in his gut told another story.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Ororo’s voice cut through his thoughts, laced with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Logan grunted, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. “What are you talking about?”

She smirked, leaning slightly into his space to whisper. “The brooding. You do realize Tony is married, right?”

Logan turned to her, caught off guard. “What?”

“Married,” Ororo repeated, clearly enjoying the moment. “Happily, too. And he’s got a kid. Adorable little guy—spitting image of his dad.”

Logan blinked, torn between disbelief and a sudden rush of relief he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “Why are you even telling me this?” he muttered, attempting a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t care what Tony does.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t,” she said, her tone teasing but not unkind. “But I figured it might save you some unnecessary brooding.”

Before Logan could respond, she sauntered off to her next class, leaving him grumbling under his breath and feeling more transparent than he cared to admit.

Later, Logan found himself in the teachers’ lounge, nursing a coffee as he unwound after a long day. Natasha and Tony were seated across the room, deep in conversation about some elaborate project Tony was planning for his engineering students.

“You know, Pepper keeps telling me to stop using the house as a test lab,” Tony said with a chuckle. “But hey, Peter loves it. He’s always asking me to teach him this or that.”

Logan’s ears perked up at the mention of a name. “Peter?” he asked, his tone casual, though he wasn’t fooling anyone. “That your kid?”

Tony turned to him, his grin widening. “Yeah, my son. He’s got my brains, poor kid, and his mom’s everything else, thank god.” He laughed warmly, clearly proud.

Natasha, sipping her coffee, raised an eyebrow at Logan over the rim of her mug, a smirk tugging at her lips. If Logan noticed, he didn’t let on.

“Didn’t know you had a family,” Logan said, keeping his voice neutral.

“Yup,” Tony said, pulling out his phone. “That’s Pepper and Peter. My world right there.” He handed the phone over, showing Logan a photo of a beautiful woman and a young boy with Tony’s unmistakable features. All three of them were mid-laugh, their faces glowing with joy.

Logan nodded, his grip on the phone tightening briefly before handing it back. “Nice picture.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, pocketing the phone. “I don’t wear a ring, though. Can’t keep track of them—lost my first one in the ocean, the second at a barbecue. Pepper just rolls her eyes at me now.”

Natasha snorted softly behind her mug, her gaze flicking between the two men. “That’s one way to keep people guessing,” she said, her tone light but knowing.

Tony grinned. “Hey, keeps things interesting.”

As Tony returned to his conversation with Natasha, Logan leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee. The jealousy that had clung to him for weeks seemed to evaporate, leaving behind a quiet sense of clarity.

Maybe, just maybe, there was no reason to worry after all.

———

The apartment buzzed with the easy rhythm of a friendly dinner. Y/N, Logan and Wade had opened their home to their colleagues from the school for a casual evening—a mix of food, drinks, and laughter that made the small space feel warm and alive. It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. This was exactly the kind of night Y/N loved: simple, genuine, and surrounded by people who felt like family.

From his seat near the window, Logan watched the scene unfold. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. The sound of conversation flowed around him, and he let it wash over him like a tide. But even if he tried to ignore it, his gaze kept drifting back to Y/N, like a magnet he couldn’t resist. She was everywhere at once—chatting with Natasha, laughing at something Tony said, checking on the food Wade had sworn he’d handle.

She made it look so effortless, but Logan knew better. He could see the little tells: the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she felt overwhelmed, the quick glances she sent toward him or Wade when she needed help. It made his chest tighten in a way that was both unsettling and oddly comforting.

How does she do it? he wondered. How does she make everyone feel like they belong?

Across the room, Y/N caught his eye for the briefest moment before quickly looking away. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face, but it was gone so fast he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

Wade, passing by with a drink, noticed Logan’s lingering gaze. “Subtle,” he muttered, smirking.

Logan scowled and took another sip of his beer. “Shut up.”

The evening had settled into an easy rhythm when the conversation shifted, almost inevitably, to the old center where Logan had worked.

“I still can’t believe it had to close,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair. “It was such an important place for those kids.”

Y/N froze mid-bite, her grip tightening on the fork in her hand. She hadn’t expected this to come up, not tonight. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she quickly looked down, pretending to pick at her plate.

“It’s a shame,” Scott added, his tone sincere. “But it’s a good place we have now. Right, Logan?”

Logan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it’s a good place,” he said, his voice soft. “I think it’s what they needed. It’s…a new beginning.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at his words. She felt the weight of what they didn’t know—what he didn’t know. She’d done everything she could to keep it that way, to make sure it wasn’t about her.

And then Wade opened his mouth.

“You know,” Wade interrupted, his grin practically announcing trouble, “there’s someone here who doesn’t get enough credit for all that.”

Y/N froze. Her heart lurched in her chest, her grip tightening around the edge of the table. She knew where this was going. She turned towards him, her hold on her fork tightening.

Wade ignored her entirely. “Come on, Y/N,” he said, leaning back with a smug look. “You’re the reason the kids ended up at the school in the first place. You fought for them when no one else would. Hell, Charles barely had to do anything. She practically forced him to make it happen.”

The room went silent. Every head turned to Y/N, who felt like she’d been caught in a spotlight. Her cheeks burned as the weight of their gazes settled on her.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “What is he talking about?”

“I swear, Wade,” she hissed, glaring at him.

“What?” Wade said with exaggerated innocence. “You deserve the credit. Why keep it a secret?”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Y/N, his voice quieter now as he repeated his question. “What is he talking about?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her heart pounded as she looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes. “I… I just wanted to help,” she finally mumbled.

Jean’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. “You’re the reason the school took the center?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/N gave a small nod, not trusting herself to speak.

Ororo was on her feet in seconds, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. “You saved them,” she said, her voice trembling. “You saved our kids.”

Scott joined in, his usual stoicism cracking under the weight of his gratitude. “You didn’t just save them. You saved us. That center—it was our home too.”

Jean hugged her next, her voice soft but full of meaning. “You gave them—and us—a future. Thank you.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as she tried to keep herself together. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, and it felt overwhelming. “It wasn’t just me,” she said quickly, her voice shaking. “It’s mostly Charles.”

“Don’t downplay it,” Ororo said firmly, squeezing her shoulder.

Natasha, leaning back with her cup of coffee, smirked knowingly but said nothing. She’d known this was coming and had been waiting to see how it would play out.

Y/N’s own colleagues looked equally stunned. Tony was the first to speak, raising his glass. “To Y/N,” he said, his voice steady. “The unsung hero.”

“To Y/N!” Clint echoed, grinning.

The room filled with cheers and clinking glasses, but Y/N could barely process it. Her cheeks burned, her throat tight with emotion. She felt a mix of embarrassment, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name.

And Logan…

She was going to kill Wade.

Logan was still staring at her, his beer forgotten on the table. Something shifted in his chest, something he hadn’t been ready to confront. She had done all of this. She had saved the center. His home.

Y/N, still overwhelmed by the attention, avoided Logan’s gaze at all costs. She didn’t think she could handle what she might see there.

But he wasn’t looking away. And as he watched her fidget under the weight of everyone’s praise, he knew two things for sure:

She didn’t just light up the room. She carried it.

And he was absolutely, hopelessly, head over heels for her.

———

As the last of their guests filed out, the apartment settled into an unusual stillness. The echo of laughter and clinking glasses faded into the soft click of the closing door. Y/N lingered there, a warm smile and a few parting words of thanks on her lips as the final guest disappeared down the hall.

Her posture seemed relaxed, casual even, but Logan could see the faint tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her shirt, and the almost unconscious habit of tucking her hair behind her ear. It was a tell he’d come to recognize—a sign that something was swirling beneath the surface.

From the kitchen, Wade busied himself with what could barely pass as tidying up. He clinked glasses together with unnecessary force, muttering exaggerated commentary under his breath, clearly more interested in the unfolding drama than cleaning. He knew he was in trouble. Did he care though? Absolutely fucking not. Logan, standing by the couch, barely registered Wade’s antics. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled and sharp.

The truth of what Y/N had done had hit him harder than he’d expected.

As the door clicked shut behind the final guest, Y/N hesitated, her hand lingering on the doorknob. For a moment, she stood there, her back to the room, as though steadying herself. When she finally turned around, her gaze met Logan’s.

He stood just a few feet away, still as stone. His expression, usually so guarded, was raw with something she couldn’t quite name—uncertainty, gratitude, maybe even awe.

“So…” he began, his voice rough and hesitant, “you’re the miracle?”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson at the words. She laughed softly, a nervous sound, and tucked another strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know about that,” she mumbled, her voice quiet. “I just… wanted to help.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his brow furrowing as he struggled to put everything he was feeling into words. Her humility, her quiet determination, the way she seemed to take the weight of the world on her shoulders without asking for anything in return—it made his chest ache.

“You didn’t have to do it,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “No one asked you to. But you did.” He paused, the next words sticking in his throat before he forced them out. “And I—” He stopped again, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled heavily. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice made her breath hitch. Her lips curved into a shy, uncertain smile. “You’re welcome,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

A heavy silence settled between them, filled with all the words left unsaid. Logan shifted on his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. For a moment, it seemed like he might turn away, might let the moment pass.

Then, without warning, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Y/N froze, startled by the sudden gesture, her breath catching in her throat. But the embrace wasn’t rushed or awkward. It was warm, grounding, and spoke of everything Logan couldn’t seem to say aloud. Slowly, she relaxed, her arms coming up to wrap around him in return.

For a few moments, they stood there, the world around them shrinking until it was just the two of them. Logan’s grip was firm but gentle, his face pressed into her hair as he exhaled deeply. Y/N closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest as she let herself lean into him.

And for the first time, she let herself admit what she’d been so determined to ignore: Logan wasn’t just her friend or her roommate. He was something far more dangerous. He was the one who made her feel seen, safe, and alive in a way that no one else ever had.

Her feelings for him weren’t some fleeting crush or admiration. They were rooted deep, growing quietly until now, when the weight of his gratitude and the warmth of his embrace cracked open the walls she’d been so carefully keeping in place.

It wasn’t just the way he made her feel safe—it was how he carried so much of his own pain, his own battles, and still found space to be there for others. For her. Logan didn’t just share her world; he anchored it, even when he was struggling to stay afloat himself.

She loved him. And there was no pretending otherwise anymore.

In the kitchen, Wade rummaged loudly through a drawer, the clatter of utensils deliberately exaggerated. “Just looking for the… uh… thing,” he called out, his voice laced with amusement.

Logan pulled back slightly, shooting a glare in Wade’s direction. “Go to bed,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

Wade smirked, unbothered. “Sure thing, miracle man. Don’t let me interrupt.” With a mock salute, he disappeared into his room, the sound of his laughter trailing after him.

Y/N’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t move. Her hands still rested lightly on Logan’s sides, and his gaze remained fixed on her.

“Sorry,” Logan murmured, his voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, a small, genuine smile breaking through her shyness. “I didn’t mind.”

His lips twitched into something close to a smile, but the emotion in his eyes—the gratitude, the affection, the unspoken promise—spoke louder than any words could.

And Y/N knew, with startling clarity, that her feelings for him weren’t something she could keep burying.

———

The apartment had finally settled into silence, Y/N had long since bid them goodnight, retreating to her room after the whirlwind of the evening. Her door had closed with the softest of clicks, but Logan could still hear her voice in his mind—the nervous quiver when she’d admitted what she’d done, the sincerity in her words, the vulnerability in her smile.

Now he stood on the balcony, the cool night air nipping at his skin. The cigarette in his hand burned low, more ash than anything else. He wasn’t smoking it for the habit—he barely noticed it was there. His fingers toyed with it absently, his focus lost somewhere in the city lights sprawled out before him.

The view wasn’t much, just rows of buildings and the faint hum of late-night traffic. Yet tonight, it felt infinite, a reflection of the mess swirling in his head. Y/N had done so much—more than he’d ever dared to ask of anyone—and she’d done it without hesitation. For him. For his students. The weight of it settled heavily in his chest.

The soft slide of the balcony door broke through his thoughts. Logan didn’t turn, already knowing who it was. Wade stepped out, a slice of pizza in hand, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Wade leaned against the railing beside Logan, the faint scent of pepperoni wafting between them. He took a massive, obnoxious bite of his pizza, chewing with exaggerated fervor. The silence stretched, heavy but companionable, until Wade inevitably broke it.

“So…” he began, his voice carrying that familiar tone of mischief and expectation.

Logan didn’t look at him. He exhaled through his nose, his shoulders easing slightly. “I think I’m in love with her.”

The words came out quieter than he expected, but there was no taking them back. They hung in the air, raw and exposed.

Wade froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as if Logan had just confessed to committing a crime. A beat later, he choked violently, pizza crumbs flying as he slapped his chest with one hand, wheezing dramatically.

Logan didn’t so much as glance at him, his gaze fixed on the city beyond.

When Wade finally recovered, wiping at his mouth with exaggerated flair, he turned to Logan with a look of mock betrayal. “You—you couldn’t have warned me first? I almost died!”

Logan shrugged, his face unreadable.

“Oh no, you don’t get to shrug this off,” Wade said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You just dropped the L-bomb like it’s nothing and nearly sent me to the great beyond in the process.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “The L-bomb?”

“Love, brooding one! Love!” Wade gestured wildly with his pizza, his grin spreading wider. “This is monumental! My Super Bowl, my World Cup, my Oscars all rolled into one. I feel like I should give a speech or something.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but Wade wasn’t deterred.

“Let me tell you,” Wade continued, pacing the small balcony like a coach delivering a halftime pep talk. “You and Y/N? Adorable. The slow burn? Chef’s kiss. But come on, man, we’ve all been rooting for you two forever.”

Logan shot him a glare, but it lacked its usual bite.

“And don’t think for a second that I’m not already planning your wedding,” Wade added, tapping a finger to his temple. “I’m picturing it now—rustic theme, maybe some wildflowers, and me as the best man, obviously.”

“Wade,” Logan warned, his voice low.

“What? You think I’d make a terrible best man? I’ll have you know, I—”

“Wade,” Logan repeated, turning to fix him with a look that might’ve scared off most people.

Not Wade.

“Okay, okay,” Wade said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop. For now. But seriously, man.” His voice softened, the humor giving way to something more sincere. “Don’t mess this up. She’s special. You know that.”

Logan sighed, leaning against the railing as he turned back to the horizon. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I know.”

For a moment, Wade was silent, watching Logan with an expression that bordered on fondness. Then he clapped him on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary.

“Well, good talk,” he said, his grin returning full force. “I’ll leave you to your brooding. Don’t forget to invite me to the baby shower.”

Logan groaned, rubbing his temples as Wade slid the door open and disappeared back inside, humming a tuneless song under his breath.

Alone again, Logan let the quiet settle over him. He stared out at the city, the distant lights blurring as his mind wandered back to Y/N. Wade was right about one thing—she was special. And Logan knew, in the quiet honesty of this moment, that he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it.

He didn’t know where this was going, didn’t know how to put everything he felt into words. But he was certain of one thing: he wanted to figure it out—with her.

And, oh, how scary that thought was.

XXX

#fanfiction #fandom #ao3 #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #marvel cinematic universe #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #xmen fanfiction #xmen x reader #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #deadpool movies #deadpool #fanfic #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

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greenleaf4stuff · 22 hours ago

Text

Of Convenience – Epilogue (Part 11.2)

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 11th snippet / epilogue, part 2. Adar and Celebrimbor consummate their marriage, aka, make love to one another.

Here be smut! This is at least M rated people. Please mind the rating!

This is it, the Good Stuff(TM)! Again, this is smut, but there is also a lot of fluff and sappiness mixed in here. It's also the final bit for the 'main story' of this AU – though, who knows, maybe I’ll pick it up again for some interludes or some glimpses into everyday married life for those two in the future, though likely at a much slower pace than this one. Thank you, again, to everyone who has joined me on this journey. I appreciate all of you and your support means the world to me. (And also, hopefully, I’ll see you guys in the notes for any future fics of those two I might write. Because I still have a couple ideas and WIPs to work on.) Enjoy, and once again, Thank You! <3 <3 <3

Once they had separated again, Adar appeared much more confident. He used only his right hand as he reached down, grabbed the hem of his tunic, and then began to pull it over his head.

As his long hair began to tangle in the garment, Celebrimbor reached forward and helped him out of it. Like his own tunic and Adar’s armor, they let it drop to the ground, forgotten.

The uruk’s chest was littered with scars as well; burn marks and the remains of old wounds that the elf could not identify. Perhaps, Adar would be willing to tell him about each of them one day.

"You are beautiful," escaped the smith without his permission, but he couldn’t regret the words. Even as Adar stared incredulously at him. "I mean it. I look at you and see beauty."

Celebrimbor wanted to make himself clear. "Maybe not in the typical elven way, but I can see you have survived great strain and terrible hardship. I do not mind the scars. They are a part of you, and I love you."

He knew he was being awfully emotional about all this, but- he had to speak these words. He didn’t want to leave any doubt about what he felt for the other, or how he saw him.

The uruk closed his arms around the elf and brought the two of them together in another embrace. He kissed Celebrimbor’s temple, his cheek, his jaw, and then whispered against his lips. "It has been a very long time since I have been called ‘beautiful‘. And even longer, still, since I believed it. But I believe you."

A pause, a breath. "How have I gotten so lucky? The most decent, the most kindhearted of all elves, and I get to call you my own. You, the one who was willing to see me and my children as more than just Morgoth’s creations."

"You are more than Morgoth’s creation," Celebrimbor said with conviction. "And if you have gotten lucky, so have I."

He dared Adar to disagree with his words by frowning just the slightest bit, until the uruk laughed and pulled him close again. They kissed once more. As Adar let his hands roam, so did Celebrimbor.

Adar’s body certainly was not like an elf’s, but this was not a detriment in the smith’s opinion. He enjoyed letting his hands move over the scars, felt shapes beneath his fingertips whose textures felt new and unique and exciting to him.

Likewise, his husband seemed unable to let his own hands rest either; they moved over the expanse of Celebrimbor’s back and between his shoulder blades, to his arms, up to his neck and then down to his pecs, which the uruk squeezed. The elf gasped into their kiss as a result, and when Adar made to draw back, he caught the uruk's fingers to press them onto his chest again and moaned into the other’s mouth at the resulting pressure.

They soon shed the rest of their clothing, stepping out of their shoes and boots as well as their breeches. Adar’s mouth wandered from Celebrimbor’s mouth to his jaw, his ear, and then his neck.

He was soft with his kisses, mindful of the bruising, until the elf drew his head closer with his hand and groaned as the other sucked his own bruise into the hollow of his throat.

Celebrimbor didn’t care in the least whether or not someone else would see it, come morning.

Moving against one another sent sparks through the elf’s body now that they were completely bare, and he felt heat rise up his body when he felt how aroused Adar was already.

The uruk grabbed his behind and drew them against each other fully. Both groaned at the contact.

"Celebrimbor-" Adar began. He already sounded breathless.

"Tyelpe," the smith replied, quickly, before Adar could finish his sentence. At the other’s questioning look, Celebrimbor drew him forward and kissed him, before he repeated. "Call me Tyelpe. It’s short for-"

"Telperinquar," Adar finished. He sounded reverent as he said it. Celebrimbor felt himself shiver at the sound of his name on Adar’s tongue. He nodded to confirm it.

"...Tyelpe," Adar repeated the name as if tasting it. In turn, Celebrimbor moved forward as if to lick it out of his mouth. The kiss left them both breathless and flushed.

"...let us move over to your bed," the uruk suggested, quietly, and the elf let himself be walked over without hesitation. Instead, he tried to catch Adar’s lips again. It was like he had gotten addicted to them – their warmth, their softness, the pressure. He couldn’t stop seeking them out.

The uruk was careful as he helped his husband lay down and then moved on top of him. He caught Celebrimbor’s eye as he kept himself suspended above the elf, and only laid down when Celebrimbor stretched out his arms and beckoned him to do so.

Soon, they were moving against one other, rubbing skin against skin as they kissed, hands restless on each other’s bodies.

"What do you want to do?" Adar asked, once they managed to break their kiss for a moment. A fine strand of spit hung between their mouths and neither of them was willing to move far away from the other.

"Whatever you want to do," Celebrimbor replied. To make himself perfectly clear, he untangled his legs from Adar’s and loosely wrapped them around the uruk’s hips, who groaned deeply and thrust down against the elf in response. "If you’d let me, I’d want all of you."

His hips moved up into Adar’s thrusts all of their own. Both of them moaned at the feeling of them sliding against one another.

They could barely control themselves, and Adar eventually had to use his hand to grab Celebrimbor’s hip and pin it to the bed – though gently – so they would not finish too soon.

"Do you have any oil?" He sounded hopeful, even if he looked a bit skeptical.

His expression changed to one of surprise when Celebrimbor reached across and over the side of the bed, only to produce a small bottle, which he pressed into Adar’s hand. The smith felt rather proud of himself in that moment.

The uruk raised his eyebrows. "Do you always happen to have some spare oil nearby, or…" He suddenly narrowed his eyes, though it was clearly playful. "Did you hope this would happen?"

The elf grew just the slightest bit sheepish and fluttered his eyelashes at the uruk. "What can I say? If the the last two days have taught me anything, it is to always be prepared – and not let anything go to waste by holding back."

Adar looked at Celebrimbor with wide eyes for a moment, and then he smirked and shook his head, before he gave his husband another peck on the lips. "My dear, you are full of surprises. I hadn’t expected that you’d be quite so bold in this."

A pause. "I think I like it."

The uruk was careful as he prepared his husband; he took the time to warm the oil, helped Celebrimbor place a pillow underneath his hips and placed one of the smith’s legs over his shoulder. Before he touched the elf, he kissed the side of his knee and leant over him to have a good look at his face.

"Are you still certain?"

The smith smiled brightly at the question, and nodded. "Yes," he took a shuddering breath. "A bit nervous though, I’ll admit. I haven’t done this in a long time."

The uruk leant down to press his lips to Celebrimbor’s forehead, then kissed him deeply. "Me neither. I promise I’ll go slow."

The elf nodded, and held onto the side of the uruk’s face and his upper arm. "I know."

And indeed, Adar took his time. Not only did he stretch his husband, but he also stroked him as he knelt before the elf, twin sensations that kept Celebrimbor relaxed and in a state of near perpetual pleasure.

The elf languished in his position and how it allowed him to watch his husband while the other worked. There was a look of concentration on Adar’s face while he alternated between focusing on his tasks and Celebrimbor’s face, as if to make sure the other was truly enjoying this.

Celebrimbor smiled and made no attempt to hide his reactions; he looked at Adar with hooded eyelids and his mouth half-open, spilling sighs and gasps whenever the other touched him in a particularly pleasant way.

He could tell the uruk was slowly but surely becoming more impatient, though he was good at hiding it. He hadn’t once touched himself, so Celebrimbor stretched out a hand and tried to motion the other to come closer, "Let me do something for you, too."

Adar smiled gently, and used one hand to stroke the space between Celebrimbor’s leg and his lower stomach for a bit. "You don’t have to do anything but lie back. I’ll take care of you tonight."

"Next time, then," the elf insisted cheekily, and then moaned and arched his back when Adar found that sensitive spot inside him.

Whether Celebrimbor’s reaction had been the final straw to entice his husband, or whether he simply deemed him ready, the elf would never know, but Adar soon finished his preparations and began to arrange the elf’s body to his liking.

Legs wrapped high around Adar’s upper body, ankles crossed at the back, the elf let his lower body be hoisted up by an arm around his hip while Adar reached down to line himself up to Celebrimbor’s entrance.

The elf cupped his husband’s cheeks once more, stroking gentle fingers along the scars there. Their faces were so very close. Adar’s eyes were almost black with how dilated his pupils were by that point. He was a sight to behold, with sweat beading on his forehead and strands of his hair stuck to his skin.

And yet, his expression remained so gentle, so attentive.

"May I?" the uruk asked. Celebrimbor nodded, not quite sure if he’d be able to manage any words.

They both sighed and pressed close when Adar began to sink into Celebrimbor’s body. This was not just warmth, but heat that spread through him now.

There was no pain, only a stretch that felt wonderfully intimate, and Adar who seemed to fight his own pleasure to keep his eyes on Celebrimbor, to make sure he was alright.

Trembling with how good he felt, the smith let himself spill whatever words came to him. "You feel wonderful," he said. It was true. "You’re being so gentle with me, so careful, nobody has touched me with such reverence."

"I wish you could see yourself right now. I could look upon you all day. Want to-" his breath hitched and he moaned once more as Adar finally sank in to the hilt and crowded close, rubbing their noses against each other as the uruk tried to catch his breath. "Want to sketch you like this, so you can see how radiant you are-"

With a loud groan, the uruk brought their lips together. The kiss was deeper, more urgent now, it almost felt as if he wanted to drink Celebrimbor down. He wrapped his hands around the elf’s shoulders and behind is head.

They both were breathless when they broke apart.

"Can I-?"

"Yes, please, move-" Adar laughed, very softly, at Celebrimbor’s eagerness, and pecked his lips before he began to follow his husband’s request.

The friction felt downright otherworldly, and the pleasure was only heightened because the elf got to experience his husband’s as well. They moved with each other and quickly found a rhythm that worked for them as they slowly built up the pace.

Still, Adar seemed to hold back. "I’m alright, I feel good- you can let go. I want you to. Please," the elf coaxed the other. It was clear the uruk was enjoying this, with the way every other breath turned into a deep groan and how he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open.

Adar needed a moment to find his words, and moaned when he found a good angle on his next thrust before he answered. "I’m- quite strong-"

"I know," Celebrimbor remembered Adar’s battle prowess. He curled himself up and brought their foreheads together as he clenched down onto the uruk. "I want to feel it. I don’t care about bruising – you won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. I trust you."

This time, it didn’t take long to convince the other, and the smith soon held onto Adar with all his limbs and pressed his face into his neck as his voice rose in pleasure.

Adar hadn’t lied when he said he was strong; the way he snapped his hips down now was intense, but good. He managed to hit every single sensitive spot Celebrimbor had and still, nothing he did hurt, there was only pressure, and bliss.

"It’s good, it’s so good-" the elf reassured the other, encouraged him. "Please, don’t stop-"

They both were reaching for their completion now, desperate in how they scrambled against one another. Celebrimbor smeared spit onto Adar’s cheek as he attempted to speak, could feel the groans – no, growls – the uruk let out against the junction of his neck and shoulder, the way he mouthed at the skin.

"I’m close-" Adar warned through clenched teeth, before he brought his and Celebrimbor’s eyes into alignment again, both their hands around one another’s shoulders and on their cheeks now. "You feel so good, I’m so close-"

"I am too," Celebrimbor replied, breathless, eager, near overcome. "Please, you can-"

"Come for me," Adar asked him instead, and the elf was powerless to do anything but comply with a long moan of Adar’s name. Judging by the way Adar thrust down with all his strength and then shouted, loudly, he was quick to follow.

They were both shaking as pleasure washed over them, their hands slipped on sweat-covered skin, but then renewed their grip and held onto one another.

Celebrimbor couldn’t speak for himself, but Adar was quite the sight. His face was completely open now, and there was no strain, only the euphoria of release and underneath, the love he held for his husband, clear as day.

What a gift, the elf thought, that he got to see the other so unguarded and so content. Would get to see him like this, again and again.

The two husbands collapsed onto the bed in the aftermath. Adar was pressing Celebrimbor into the bed with his own weight, whereas the elf cushioned the uruk’s body with his own. Their grip on one another loosened as they caught their breath, but they did not fully let each other go.

Celebrimbor continued to rest his legs over his husband’s back and stroked fingers up and down between his shoulder blades. When Adar shivered and grew restless at the light touches, the elf moved his fingers into Adar’s hair instead, slowly carding through the soft strands and scratching his scalp.

Adar, too, seemed unwilling to move. His head was tucked under Celebrimbor’s chin where his breath fanned out over the elf’s collarbones. His right hand stroked a thumb up and down Celebrimbor’s hip, whereas his left one – the one usually in his gauntlet – sought of Celebrimbor’s free hand and linked their fingers together.

It was the elf who brought their hands to his lips for another kiss. Adar sighed in response, and rubbed in nose into Celebrimbor’s skin when the elf kissed the top of his head next.

They should probably move and get cleaned up, sooner or later, but for now, Celebrimbor just wanted to enjoy this moment.

He smiled, happy and exhausted, when Adar lifted his head. The uruk, too, looked like he’d soon fall asleep. Which was probably a good thing – both of them still needed to recover from the previous weeks.

As Celebrimbor stroked the back of his hand across Adar’s cheek, the other smiled back at him.

"I love you, Tyelpe," he said. Celebrimbor hadn’t ever seen him look more at ease, more happy, than in this moment.

His own resulting smile felt so wide the elf wasn’t sure how it could still fit his own face.

"I love you too, Adar. My husband."

The uruk reached over and brought their lips together once again. "Indeed. My husband."

#writing this last part was such a treat after the buildup of the fic. just really self indulgent but those two dorks deserve it.#I also felt a lil melancholic. knowing that this is (for now?) the final part of this fanfic.#I wrote this at such a breakneck speed that for about 3 weeks it filled almost all my free time so finishing it is weird. To say the least.#(for reference: the total wordcount is at about 40-45k words. all of which were written in 2.5 weeks.)#they are so SO soft. i loved writing this story and esp tender moments like these ones. it really is a fix-it fic in so many ways.#lemme know if you lovely ppl would be interested in seeing more of those two (and what) - can't promise anything as of yet but who knows...#of convenience #adar #adar trop #adar the rings of power #celebrimbor #adar x celebrimbor #silverscars #trop #the rings of power #fanfic #my fanfic #my trop fanfic #mine #political marriage trope #marriage of convenience trope #smut #tw smut #cw smut

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astra-galaxie · 2 days ago

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Taking a Break

Hi everyone.

As you’ve probably guessed from the title, I am taking a break from the Criminal Case fandom. I’ll be gone for at least 2 weeks, maybe more if needed. While I’m gone, I will not be on any sites, at least not for CC-related reasons, updating any of my stories or posting new content on Tumblr. That means I won’t be checking notifications or even going on some platforms, and I will be leaving all the Discord servers I am in after posting this.

If you need to reach me (please don’t contact me about CC), I will occasionally check my direct messages on Discord.

2024 has so far been the worst year for my mental health, and to summarize how I feel in one sentence: I’m tired, and honestly, I have considered leaving CC more than once. I tried not to let my mental health affect my relationship with CC since it was like the light at the end of the tunnel for me. But with things calming down IRL, I’ve realized how straining CC was on my mental health and a person can only bend so much before they break, and I fear I will break if I do not step away…

I have been in the CC fandom for over 10 years, most of that time spent as a lurker and then as a writer who stayed in a little bubble isolated with my stories and rarely engaging with others. But over time, I came out of my bubble with the help of friends I made through CC and gained even more along the way. However, things have happened recently behind the scenes that are making me consider leaving the fandom, so it's time I take a break and focus on other things for a little while.

This is not goodbye forever. If you know me and my stories, you know my goal is to write every Criminal Case season from 1 to 8 (yes, I will be writing and hopefully improving City of Romance!). I’ve been at it for about 8 years, so I’m too far into things to give up!

But I have another goal, and no, I’m not referring to making headcanons for every CC character. It's to create a safe space for people to share their ideas, thoughts, and opinions without fearing ridicule. There is enough hate in the world, so why should I contribute to it when I can use my platform to be positive instead? It’s why, even when the idea might not be my cup of tea, or I might not understand parts of it, I still encourage people to pursue their ideas and focus on the good things. I hope people know that you can send me the craziest, crack-filled ideas (anonymously or not) and that I will do my best to give positive feedback.

I do give constructive feedback if people ask me to, but again, I’m no Goddess of Writing and Content Creation, so I would never expect people to take my words as gospel. I would never want people to feel they HAVE to change something in their creation just because I suggested it. I want people to be happy with THEIR work, just as I am with mine.

The biggest piece of advice I always give people when they ask for my help or opinion on their project(s) is to write about what makes you happy. While it is important to listen to feedback to learn what you can improve on, ultimately, YOU are the creator. YOU are putting in the time, effort and skills into the project, and if YOU are not happy with what you are creating, then you will lose interest in it. Create things you are happy and proud of. YOU are bringing your ideas to life and sharing them for others to enjoy, not the other way around.

You can never please everyone, but you can always please yourself.

But do NOT use that as an excuse to spam, rage bait, or terrorize others. Everyone is entitled to their likes and dislikes, but you should not force your opinions on others. If you see something you don’t like, just ignore/block it and keep scrolling. It takes much less time than writing a hate comment or making a call-out post. And while sometimes those are reasonably warranted, please still take the time to consider the repercussions of something before you post it and ask yourself: Is it really worth it?

If you’ve stuck with me this long, thank you for listening to my rambling.

Maybe it's naive or wishful thinking to hope people have learned from 2024 and will think before they post, but I hope at least some people will learn from their mistakes or those of others. I know I have learned from the mistakes I’ve made. I don’t think I’m perfect or anyone special because, at the end of the day, I’m just a writer who discovered a hobby for creating fanfiction when they were a teen and somehow gained a following of amazing fans and made fantastic friends along the way. I’m human and make mistakes, but it's from those mistakes that we grow and improve as people.

That said, I am signing off for now. My mental health is at rock bottom, and all I can focus on recently is negative. I keep thinking the worst of my writing and other content. All my mind has been telling me is that everything I make is terrible, and no one likes it. And while I know that is far from the truth, thanks to the amazing support and love I receive from all of you (shout out to everyone who keeps the CC fandom alive!) I must leave and stop focusing on everything before returning with a clear, more positive mindset.

I will see you all when I return. Will I not do anything CC related? Probably not, since you can take Astra out of CC, but you can't take CC out of Astra! But I will not be touching or even looking at my mainstream series while I’m gone, so don’t expect me to return with an update ready for it.

Thank you for listening.

Astra G.

#criminal case #sorry for tagging the main cc tag #astra speaks

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emylilas · 2 days ago

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Ladies of WOT - a potential community ?

Hello fellow WOT show enjoyers!

I am deliberately not tagging the show because I am aiming for a very specific demographic. Among those who watch WOT and are talking about it in different spaces (discord, twitter, here), I've noticed that people are having very different experiences watching the show, depending on what they want the focus to be on; to the point it might sometimes feel like we're in very different fandoms.

I realise the show is a book adaptation and I understand why people would expect more attention to be given to Rand, or Perin, or Mat, because those are the names who often come back, rather than some of the Aes Sedai who aren't as fleshed out in the book (I'm looking at you, my beloved Liandrin), but I have no interest in developing a sense of community with people who are watching the show for very different reasons than I.

I am absolutely not here for the men of the show, it's fine if you are, good for you but don't come at me. There are some men whose stories I enjoy following, but I'm here for the aes sedai, the forsakens (I can't wait to really meet Moghedien next season), the younger girls, the seanchans... and I would very much love to be able to share my love for the show and those characters, and to enjoy the show with people who share a similar enthusiasm.

Here's my issue, though, I find it hard to build a sense of community on Tumblr, interactions are limited by a very poor comment section, which is a shame.

I don't believe Twitter should be the main place for fandoms, because there's no room for in-depth conversations and everything has to be done quickly, It's more about posting and liking than engaging together.

I enjoy Dreamwidth and it would be, I think, a lovely place to build a community (besides, there is some WOT content over there) but I know it's not the most popular place, and it works more as a forum, which might lack the spontaneity of conversations.

Then there's Discord, and I am conflicted about Discord, on the one hand, it's convenient to chat and it can be well organised, on the other hand... I have wandered on quite a few fandom servers and they weren't for me, except for one. They're usually too crowded and I found that, in some places, the conversations are overwhelming in quantity but there aren't any real discussions.

As for that ONE server that worked for me, that one is quite special. You see, it's a small fandom of a show with a lot of wasted potential, but it's also the best fandom I've had the pleasure to join. People really interact, most of us know each other at least vaguely, we have a general idea of what are people's likes and dislikes, even when they aren't people we've chatted a lot with, and the mods always come up with fabulous events to keep the community living and it does keep on living, even after the show got cancelled in 2022. This discord doesn't have that many people in it, we talk a lot about the show, we also talk about specific characters, talk about ships in their dedicated channels, chat about our progress in our fic/gif/edits and support each other... people are interacting and we're all loving it. And those same people participate in fandom events because what unites us, even if we don't love the same characters or ships, is our love for that same show.

This is this sense of community built on the common love for a show and its potential that I would like to find for WOT, and more specifically in this case, about the women of WOT (but of course, talks about the show as a whole are always welcome and encouraged, it's just that watching with a preference for the female characters really change the conversations ones might have...) Especially with the new season coming in March, with all those new intriguing women that joined the cast, it would be lovely to have our little corner somewhere to chat together, as a small part of a bigger fandom, rather than individuals floating in the big WOT show tag and struggling to connect.

(And maybe those places already exist and I just haven't found them yet and I'm the only one struggling to connect. In this case, if you know places, please fill me in, I am dying to connect with fellow ladies of WOT lovers.)

So I guess that's it. I would love for us to get a chance to better connect, as show lovers (book readers are welcome, but please, be really mindful of spoilers, I am sick of being spoiled things even though I muted tags because people believe using emojis to talk is good enough to prevent spoilers, like we don't have functioning brains enough to put 2 and 2 together...).

To sum up my wish list: I wish we, those of us with similar interests (I don't care which women you enjoy in WOT, I love them all and they're all interesting, even if I have my own preferences I will gladly chat about any of them with you), could create a little corner in this big fandom so we can start acting as a community rather than separated individuals scrolling through tags. But a community who takes its time, to have nice little chats about the show and its women, to discuss our ideas and hypothesis, to share our thoughts and headcanons about our favourite ships (and yes, please, let it be plural and not just one ship) and characters, to support each other's in our writing, drawing, giffing, editing... all that, free of the drama that too often seem to happen in fandoms. A little place where we could always find someone who's up to chat a little about the show, and its women.

(Little place, because I really think once you're over 100 persons in a discord server (and probably less) it becomes nearly impossible to really get this feeling of a community).

So I'd love to know your interest in building such a place, and where you think it would be the most convenient for you!

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vindicated-truth · 1 day ago

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🥹 The inspiration for this story is actually based on real life. It came unexpectedly one day as I logged onto my personal social media account and saw one of my queer friends posting about how they had to wait for their partner's actual biological family to arrive in the hospital to make the important medical decisions, because they weren't allowed to do it on their partner's behalf—despite the fact that they've been living together as partners for years now.

They also had to wait outside, and weren't even allowed in the same room, because they weren't considered family.

It's often taken for granted and even overlooked especially by people in the more privileged parts of the world who are already enjoying these rights that it's a basic human right that not everyone is able to have.

Heartbreakingly so.

I'm currently living in a country who doesn't grant queer people these rights, and it made me remember that despite how we've come to naturally accept Joowon and Dongsik as partners in every way, we do tend to forget that they also hail from a country who doesn't grant these rights either.

I've been wanting to write something special for you, @eonni92, for a while now, because I've always been overwhelmingly grateful for your own gifts that you always give without even asking anything for return, and I wanted some way to give back to you too, so the timing of this unexpected inspiration—one that's quite literally close to home—was somehow meant to be 🥹

(Especially because I almost managed to finish it in time for your birthday! If only life hadn't been so demanding lately, I would have 🥲)

I think, more than anything, it's why I somehow felt a weird sort of pressure to make this story work, not only for what it represents—the true value of equal rights in the eyes of the law that every citizen deserves—but also because of who I was writing it for. It came to the point that I had been working at it and staring at it for so long that I couldn't even tell anymore if it's good, so more than anything I'm just simply relieved to know you enjoyed it 🥹

I don't really have any other skill or talent other than writing to the best of my limited ability, so it's the only thing I could humbly offer—the only thing I could do to also make your stay in this fandom worthwhile 🥹

Thank you for your gifts, thank you for your talent, and most of all: thank you for reading ❤️

“Noona!”

The sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor fills the eerily quiet corridor of the hospital as Jihoon skids to a halt in front of his sister.

He takes one look at the somber faces looking up at him, and immediately feels his body break out in a cold sweat as his stomach plummets. “Noona…?”

He hears how his own voice sounds small and shaky—not unlike the time when he was just a kid and he had just found out that he would be living with his big sister now as his legal guardian.

“He’s currently undergoing surgery,” Jihwa answers Jihoon’s unspoken question as she runs a hand distractedly through her hair, and Jihoon’s heart twists at how exhausted his sister sounds, not unlike all those nights she’d come home late from pulling double shifts to support them both because their mother had a new family.

The relief that instantly courses through Jihoon makes his body sag weakly as he falls onto the nearest seat, followed by the immediate dread that they’re not out of the woods just yet. “What happened?”

“Car accident,” Hyeok speaks up from beside him, and Jihoon can’t help but marvel at how calm the prosecutor sounds. Lawyers’ nerves must be made of steel, Jihoon muses.

He furrows his brows as the words sink in. “But…” Jihoon says slowly, “he always drives safely.”

“Yes. He does.” This time, Jihoon can detect the grim bitterness of Hyeok’s tone. “He wasn’t the problem.”

The seat across the hallway creaks as Jihwa flops down on it with a heavy sigh. “Drunk truck driver beating the red light crashed onto him at a crossroad. The other driver is also currently undergoing surgery at another operating room, and Dosoo-ya is conferring with the medical team there regarding the DUI case.”

“DUI…”

Jihoon trails off as his gaze finally lands on the lone man slumped over at the other end of the corridor. The fluorescent light directly above is flickering, casting the despondent figure in shadow.

“Dongsik-hyung…” Jihoon trembles. “Why are you here?”

He feels both Hyeok’s and Jihwa’s gazes turn to him in silent, outraged disbelief, and Jihoon swifty shakes his head.

“Why are you here—” Jihoon whispers as he gestures at the bleak corridor they’re all stuck in, “—and not in there with Joowon-hyung?”

He feels a hand on his knee, and his gaze snaps to his sister, who has reached across the hallway to touch him tenderly.

“Inspector Han is in critical care,” Jihwa tells him softly. “Strictly family only.”

Jihoon opens his mouth.

“And to answer your question, Jihoon-ah…”

The words die on Jihoon’s lips as Dongsik finally raises his head to meet Jihoon’s eyes.

Dongsik has never looked so—lifeless, like this.

Not since Yuyeon was finally cremated.

“According to the law, I am not family.”

A thunk beside Jihoon makes him jump, and he looks over to see the back of Hyeok’s head hitting the wall as Hyeok stares balefully at the ceiling, chuckling bitterly.

“And neither am I.”

—

The beeping pattern that has lulled her into a fitful sleep suddenly changes, and the sound breaks through the haze of her semi-consciousness.

Blearily, Jaeyi uncurls herself from the tiny sofa bed to peer at the monitors—and then at the patient to whom all of it is attached.

The drowsiness instantly disappears. “Inspector Han!” she gasps as she throws away the blanket draped over her legs and sways a bit on her feet from the dizziness of standing up too quickly. “You’re awake!”

Her instinct to go to him is immediately overridden by the memory of the nurses’ strict reminder to contact them as soon as the patient regains consciousness, and Jaeyi quickly reaches for the call button.

The fingers that curl around her wrist are weak, but insistent.

“Wait,” Joowon rasps, voice hoarse from being previously intubated during surgery. “Not yet.”

The herculean effort to speak seems to already drain so much out of Joowon that it makes Jaeyi relent. Instead, she pulls out a chair to sit close by his bedside. “How are you feeling?” she gently inquires, trying her best to mask her worry.

Joowon lolls his head to the side to look at her with a swollen face full of bruises and stitches, and manages to offer a small smile. “Like I was just crushed by a giant truck.”

Jaeyi smiles back tremblingly despite herself. “Your doctors don’t have to worry about psychological damage to your brain, considering your sense of humor remains the same.”

“Hilarious?”

“Non-existent.”

A soft gust of breath escapes Joowon’s lips before the laughter is quickly smothered by a grimace of pain. Jaeyi bites her lip anxiously. “Should I be calling the nurses now?”

“No,” Joowon repeats firmly, and Jaeyi is a little taken aback at how vehement he sounds. Joowon must have registered her surprise because he then quietly, shamefully confesses: “I don’t like being around medical professionals.”

Jaeyi’s eyebrows rise dubiously, but she holds her tongue, respectfully—smartly—waiting.

Eventually, Joowon takes a deep breath and, as if the admission pains him, closes his eyes as he explains:

“They were often at our house when I was a child. Their presence meant my mother has once again attempted to kill herself.”

Jaeyi doesn’t know if Joowon is keeping his eyes firmly shut for his benefit, or for hers. Either way, she is immensely grateful for it, because Joowon doesn’t need to see the cold waves of shock, rage, shared grief and unwanted pity that slams over her in quick succession, the vicious intensity knocking the breath out of her lungs.

Right now, Joowon needs her to be strong—so she will be.

“Would you like me to call someone else then?” she instead gently suggests. “Prosecutor Kwon has been waiting to hear from you.”

She pauses, letting the weight of her next words hold meaning as she softly adds: “And so is ahjussi.”

Joowon’s eyes flutter open.

And it takes Jaeyi’s breath away, the way Joowon’s entire countenance changes. His features soften, brows crinkling with concern, as he once again turns to her and worriedly asks:

“Has he eaten?”

And it says so much about how far Joowon has come in opening up his heart, because he now completely understands—and fluently speaks—the love language of Lee Dongsik.

She swallows against the lump that suddenly forms in her throat—and lies.

“Yes.”

—

“Ahjussi...”

“Jaeyi-ya? Why are you crying?”

“Ahjussi… I’m on my way to the hospital right now… please… you have to come…”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s—It’s Inspector Han.”

“… What? You—how—”

“I don’t know why, ahjussi, and I found out just now when the hospital called my number unexpectedly, but—Inspector Han listed me as his emergency contact.”

—

Not for the first time, Hyeok wonders how he somehow always finds himself sharing a table with all of these strange people.

It hasn’t been that long ago when they were all mere strangers to him—just another list of names in his ever-growing pile of case files.

Now, however…

Jaeyi arrives with a tray laden with so much food that it makes Hyeok’s eyes widen at how heavy it all looks. He scrambles to his feet and tries to help, but Jaeyi merely shoos him away, leaving him standing there awkwardly as she begins doling out the soup bowls.

“I can’t keep lying to Inspector Han,” Jaeyi proclaims resolutely, “so you all better eat.”

Dosoo peers at the huge serving bowl Jaeyi is ladling from. “Your budae jjigae looks much more appetizing than this, Jaeyi-ah.” He wrinkles his nose. “Smells much better too.”

“And no doubt tastes better too,” Jaeyi smoothly adds, which makes everyone at the table crack a smile for the first time in a long while. “But this is all the hospital cafeteria has to offer, and we have to eat this in honor of Inspector Han.”

Hyeok blinks. In honor of—

“It’s Joowon-hyung’s favorite,” Jihoon says softly when he sees Hyeok’s visible confusion. His voice is a little warbled, his eyes still red and puffy, shoulders trembling as he tries to stifle his silent sobs.

Tightly cradled in Jihoon’s hands is a letter envelope he’s clutching preciously close to his heart.

The sound of stainless steel scraping over wood pulls Hyeok’s attention, and he finds himself staring at a bowl of steaming budae jjigae that has been pushed towards him.

He looks up—and Dongsik smiles warmly at him.

“Eat, Prosecutor Kwon. Joowon-ie would have all of our heads if he finds out we’ve been starving you.”

No, he wouldn’t. He never used to care about whether or not I eat.

The bitter thought comes to him unbidden, and the sting of it makes his throat tighten.

He slowly returns to his seat as everyone at the table digs in, hunger finally overtaking worry and fatigue as the need to replenish their energy makes itself known if they are to continue their vigil.

It’s going to be a long night ahead for all of them.

Hyeok stares at the bowl in front of him as he cycles through his haphazard thoughts, desperately trying to reconcile what everyone else is telling him with what he knows.

Han Joowon hates any food with broth. He hates Korean food. He hates anything that has to do with Korea, because he has always hated coming back here.

Because all of it reminded him of his father.

When did all of that change? Do I even know him at this point?

Who even am I to Han Joowon?

“Don’t take it against him.”

Hyeok nearly leaps out of his skin—since when does Lee Dongsik have the power to read minds?

There’s a knowing glint in the other man’s eyes as Dongsik smirks at him. “And don’t take it against her either,” Dongsik adds as he juts his chin towards Jaeyi, who looks startled at being singled out. “You know why Joowon-ie couldn’t have made you his emergency contact, Prosecutor Kwon.”

No, he thinks sourly, I don’t.

The table falls silent as Dongsik continues to slurp and chew with gusto, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. Unable to take it anymore, Jihwa lets out an exasperated sigh and Dongsik jumps beside her.

Hyeok’s mouth quirks despite himself; Jihwa appears to have kicked Dongsik under the table.

“What?” Dongsik grumbles as Jihwa tilts her head meaningfully towards Hyeok. “He knows he once worked for Han Kihwan, that’s why Joowon-ie is publicly distancing himself from Prosecutor Kwon.”

Chills run down Hyeok’s spine. Whatever he’s been expecting, it isn’t this.

Slapping him across the face would have hurt far less.

“Ahjussi,” Jaeyi says softly. “You should word that better.”

Dongsik looks up from his bowl and finally realizes all eyes are on him. He swallows the mouthful he’s been chewing and eventually fixates his gaze on Hyeok.

Beneath the table, Hyeok’s tightly balled fists are shaking.

Dongsik puts his chopsticks down.

“Emergency contact records are private data that can only be accessed in crises situations by healthcare providers or by authorized representatives. And that includes family.”

Dongsik pauses to let the weight of his next words sink in.

“Han Joowon’s actual family.”

Dongsik spits the word out like vile poison—and the realization slams upon Hyeok.

“The public records of you consistently meeting with Han Kihwan were plenty. Aside from the official logs at his office and the traceable calls and messages on both your phones, there were a significant number of CCTV cameras proving you had been meeting with him even well beyond office doors and office hours. You had even been spotted several times at the Han residence.”

Hyeok’s blood runs cold—because he suddenly, truly understands.

He does know Han Joowon. Far, far too well.

“Han Kihwan is currently undergoing appeals to lighten his sentence,” Dongsik is saying. “And one of the ways he can do that—“

“—is if he can prove he has an accomplice,” Hyeok finishes quietly.

Their table has become a silent, unwitting audience to the tense stalemate between them. The rigid set of Dongsik’s shoulders suddenly sags, and Hyeok knows, with a pang in his chest, that the hell on earth brought upon by Han Kihwan is still burning.

And at the center of the pyre—are Han Joowon and Lee Dongsik.

“Han Kihwan knows he can’t beat you, Prosecutor Kwon.” Hyeok’s gaze is arrested by the way Dongsik reaches for his water glass and lets out a humorless chuckle. “Nor can he defeat the son that you raised. He knows far too well that you are both far too smart for him. So instead, he’ll do the next best thing.”

Dongsik takes a swig from the glass, wipes his mouth with back of his hand, and slams the glass back down on the table, spilling water everywhere.

“Han Kihwan is going to bring you down with him, Prosecutor Kwon.”

There’s a reason, Hyeok abruptly realizes with terrified awe, why Lee Dongsik is Han Joowon’s chosen partner. Why Lee Dongsik has never feared the pyre Han Kihwan has lit.

“And Han Joowon will never let that happen.”

Those are the eyes of a lunatic who will follow Han Joowon straight into hell.

—

“Can I see him?”

“Name, please?”

“Lee Dongsik.”

“Relation to the patient?”

“I’m his partner.”

“… Han Joowon-nim’s business partner?”

“His partner. He’s listed as my dependent on my medical insurance.”

“… I’m sorry Lee Dongsik-nim, but unless you’re listed as Han Joowon-nim’s emergency contact, the hospital cannot let you inside critical care because the NHIS doesn’t recognize your claim.”

“The fuck am I letting you stop me from—”

“It’s alright, nurse, I’ll take it from here.”

“Get your hands off me, Prosecutor Kwon! I have every right to—!”

“She’s right, Lee Dongsik-ssi. According to the law, you are not Joowon’s family.”

—

Gwangyoung pulls a grimace as soon as he takes a sip from the styrofoam cup. “Coffee from vending machines always tastes terrible.”

Ohsub rolls his eyes. “Seoul has made you even more pretentious, Senior Inspector Hwang.”

“Caffeine is still caffeine,” Dosoo says tiredly as he drinks from his own cup. “God knows we all need it right now.”

Jihwa silently agrees as she feels the night’s exhaustion seeping through her bones. She turns to Seonnyeo and musters up the strength to offer her a small smile. “How’s Huimangie?”

“I dropped her off at my parents’ place before coming here.” Seonnyeo returns the smile, and once again Jihwa marvels at the calm and comfort Seonnyeo radiates; there’s no one else more suited to motherhood. “Dosoo-ya will pick her up tomorrow since his shift at work is later than mine.”

Jihwa’s features soften. “You didn’t need to come tonight.”

Seonnyeo’s own gaze is kind but firm. “I wanted to.”

“And we needed her expertise,” Dosoo pipes up, a note of pride in his voice as he beams at his wife.

“So,” Ohsub leans forward in his seat, and all the police officers gathered around the hospital vending machine instantly snap to attention. “What do we know so far?”

Seonnyeo flips through the case file in her hand and begins to explain. “According to the records of the company he’s working for, the truck driver had been going through his usual route at his usual delivery time, so there was nothing out of the ordinary in his routine tonight.”

“Except for the fact that his medical records reveal that his blood alcohol concentration was at 0.306% at the time of the collision,” Dosoo remarks dryly.

Gwangyoung whistles lowly. “That’s the highest ever recorded number for a DUI case in history. Even if he survives tonight’s surgery—”

“Gwangyoung-ah,” Jihwa warns.

“I’m just saying,” Gwangyoung raises his hands in appeasement. “After he recovers, he’ll definitely be going to jail.”

“There’s something strange about the truck driver though,” Seonnyeo murmurs, lost in thought as she peruses the case file; Jihwa has to prompt her gently with a hand on her arm to encourage her to share her theories.

“A BAC of 0.250 to 0.399% is a dangerously high level of intoxication. It can already cause alcohol poisoning and even loss of consciousness.”

She turns to her husband. “We’re going to need to access the truck’s dashboard camera to be sure, but with this level of BAC, it’s entirely possible that the driver actually fell asleep at the wheel.”

“Which explains why he didn’t stop at the red light,” Dosoo affirms.

“Doesn’t really help his case,” Gwangyoung mutters, “although the defense can lobby that at least he didn’t purposely beat the red light.”

Seonnyeo bites her lip.

Ohsub sees her obvious hesitance and sighs. “Just say it, Officer Im.”

Instead, Seonnyeo turns to Jihwa and wordlessly hands over the case file to her.

Jihwa skims through the company records. “The truck driver has been consistent in his routine,” she comments. “No previous records of any road violations whatsoever.”

“Exactly,” Seonnyeo’s relief shows on her face when Jihwa confirms her observations. “If he knew he had a delivery route to go through tonight, why would he purposely get himself drunk before his shift?”

“Not just simply drunk,” Dosoo grumbles. “It’s like he ingested a whole liquor store with that amount of alcohol in his system.”

“It’s almost suicidal.”

Everyone turns to Jihwa at her somber words.

“But if he wanted to kill himself,” she says quietly as she sees the alarming BAC numbers for herself, “why would he go through such a roundabout way of doing it…”

She looks up and catches Ohsub’s penetrating gaze.

“… through crashing into another vehicle?”

Ohsub’s eyes narrow. “Inspector Oh—are you suggesting foul play?”

Jihwa shakes her head slowly. “There’s not enough evidence.” Not yet. “But if it is, then…”

She turns to her partner, and it’s a testament to how long and how well they work together that Dosoo’s face immediately clears as the realization hits him at the same time.

“… it falls to our jurisdiction,” Jihwa concludes quietly.

A tense silence abruptly settles in the air.

“A case for the Violent Crimes Unit,” Dosoo confirms grimly, “for attempted murder.”

—

“Remember that highly controversial case that no one else is taking?”

“… You’re seriously calling me in the middle of the night to talk about this?”

“I’m taking it.”

“Why—you—first of all, they can’t afford you.”

“I’m taking it pro bono.”

“You’re—Prosecutor Kwon, you do realize what this will mean for your career?”

“Yes. I absolutely do.”

“This is career suicide.”

“Good. I’m ready to be reborn.”

“… What are you saying?”

“Tell the client I’m ready to meet them.”

“It’s the middle of the god damned night!”

“Wake them.”

—

Jaeyi blinks when she returns to the table she has just cleared and sees it devoid of its previous occupants—save for one.

“Where did everyone go?”

“Prosecutor Kwon went outside to take a business call.” Jihwa runs a hand through her hair distractedly as she offers Jaeyi a reassuring smile. “I think I saw Dongsik-ie following him.”

She steps closer as Jaeyi takes some paper towels and begins wiping down the table, much to Jihwa’s amusement; Jaeyi doesn’t really have to since this isn’t her restaurant, but Jihwa supposes habits are hard to break, and Jaeyi will always have a butcher shop owner’s penchant for sanitation.

“Everyone else hurried to Inspector Han’s room,” Jihwa adds as she takes a paper towel for herself and starts to help. “They were all way too excited to learn that Inspector Han is finally going to be relocated from critical care to general medical care and can now receive visitors.”

It makes Jaeyi crack a smile. “I can imagine Inspector Han may be annoyed enough to actually speed up his recovery just so he won’t have to deal with any more of their well-meaning nagging.”

Jihwa chuckles. “Well, if there’s anyone who can achieve the impossible, it’s Han Joowon.”

Her remark is only met with silence, prompting her to look up. She stops, tilts her head thoughtfully, and softly asks:

“You know why it’s you, don’t you?”

Jaeyi pauses. Her bun has become loose and her bangs are falling in front of her eyes, making it easy for Jaeyi to deliberately avoid Jihwa’s searching gaze.

“Of course I do. I was the only logical choice left.”

Jihwa raises her eyebrows when Jaeyi starts rubbing at a non-existent stain on the table with much more vigor than is necessary. “We all know it should have been Prosecutor Kwon or Dongsik-ahjussi, but Han Kihwan remains to be a fucking bastard even from behind bars,” Jaeyi bites out.

Jihwa’s mouth quirks; Jaeyi will find no disagreement with her there.

“But I also understand,” Jaeyi says quietly, “why it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

She stops and leans heavily with the heel of her palms on the table.

“It should’ve been you too, eonnie, but you and Jihoon-ie have to look out for each other too, and you’re already each other’s emergency contact. Everyone else is either affianced, married, has kids, or—”

The next words catch in Jaeyi’s throat. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Or has parents to take care of.”

There’s a profound sadness and resignation in Jaeyi’s eyes when she finally looks up to meet Jihwa’s gaze.

“So I understand why Inspector Han chose me, out of everyone. It couldn’t have been anyone else other than the only one of us who has no family left to lose.”

Just like him is left unsaid, but heavily understood.

There’s a soft intake of breath when Jihwa places her hand over Jaeyi’s, gentling the tightness of her fingers by threading theirs together.

“Inspector Han chose you,” Jihwa says softly, “because he knew without a doubt that it’s Dongsik-ie you would call first.”

Jihwa reaches out to tuck stray wisps of Jaeyi’s hair behind her ear, revealing Jaeyi’s beautiful eyes, shimmering with the tears she’s desperately trying to hold back.

“He also knew that you would not make any important medical decisions without consulting with Prosecutor Kwon first.”

Tenderly, she caresses Jaeyi’s cheek with the back of her hand; her fingers feel cold and wet as Jaeyi closes her eyes and the tears begin to fall from beneath those long lashes.

“And Inspector Han knew that just like you always have, you’d find a way to gather all of us here together—for him.”

Jihwa is ready for it, her arms already open to catch Jaeyi as she finally collapses against Jihwa, her whole frame shaking with broken sobs, the weight of everything she’s been carrying since receiving the call from the hospital finally crashing down on her.

Jihwa gathers her close; Jaeyi tightens her arms around Jihwa’s waist and buries her face in Jihwa’s neck to hide her tears.

“Uri Jaeyi. Han Jowoon chose you because you are our home. Because even someone like Han Joowon knows…”

Jihwa presses her mouth against Jaeyi’s hair and murmurs:

“Home is where he will always find his family.”

—

“Prosecutor Kwon.”

Hyeok stiffens at the all too familiar voice behind him. “I have to go,” he mutters quickly and ends the call.

He pockets his mobile phone, takes a deep breath, and turns around.

The lone, imposing figure at the top of the stairs is watching him, silhouette backlighted by the harsh, bluish-gray lights coming from the hospital doors from which he has just exited.

Hyeok swallows. “There’s—somewhere I need to be.”

Dongsik considers him for a long moment. “I know for a fact that you’re not going home,” he finally says quietly. “What’s so important that you need to leave in the middle of the night?”

“Work.”

Hyeok determinedly holds Dongsik’s gaze. He isn’t lying.

“I see.”

Dongsik makes his way slowly down the stairs of the hospital entrance and stops right in front Hyeok.

And it takes Hyeok’s breath away when Dongsik’s entire countenance changes at his next words—as if the weight of the world has finally been lifted from his shoulders as he regards Hyeok with a gentle smile.

“Uri Joowon-ie is finally transferred to general medical care,” Dongsik tells him softly. “He’s asking for you.”

The unexpected revelation sends Hyeok reeling as he sways on his feet. “Good—that’s good,” he stammers. “Tell him—”

Tell him he’s an idiot, tell him he doesn’t need to protect me because that’s my job, because I’m the big brother even though he has never, ever accepted me as his , because it’s my job to give him everything he needs and this, this is the one thing I can do for him, so tell him—

“Tell him… I have work to do.”

Hyeok adamantly tries his best to not flinch under Dongsik’s penetrating, piercing gaze.

Please, he silently, desperately begs. Please let me do this.

“Okay,” Dongsik assents, much to Hyeok’s surprise. “But before you go, Jihoon-ie asked me to give you this.”

Hyeok watches as Dongsik reaches inside his own jacket pocket. He takes something out and hands it over to Hyeok.

He immediately recognizes what it is—and his throat tightens when he sees his own name written on it.

“Uri Joowon-ie made sure you have one, too.”

Dongsik smiles at him.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, Prosecutor Kwon.”

—

“Please make sure to feed that idiot too.”

Jaeyi’s mouth quirks, knowing she doesn’t need to clarify who it is. “I promise to feed them all. I think I saw some budae jjigae at the hospital cafeteria earlier.”

She pauses, considering. “Does he even like budae jjigae?”

From his position lying prone on the hospital bed, Joowon lets out a snort. “That man has ostentatious tastes. He’d do well to humble himself and expand his horizons.”

Jaeyi clamps her mouth shut as she tries not to smile at the absolute irony of that statement coming from Han Joowon, of all people. “He really is the one who raised you.”

She grins when Joowon glares at her the best he can from beneath all those bandages. “Speaking of Prosecutor Kwon,” she adds, “he told me something interesting about you.”

“Dear god,” Joowon mutters.

Jaeyi laughs. “He actually talks very fondly of you, you know,” she reveals, smiling a little sadly at the way Joowon looks at her in disbelief. “He told me that you’re eligible for citizenship in England.”

Joowon’s gaze is contemplative as Jaeyi lets the weight of the implication settle between them. “Why are you bringing this up?” he quietly asks.

Jaeyi hesitates. “It’s legal there, isn’t it?” She bites her lip. “If you and ahjussi ever were to get married.”

It’s the way Joowon’s expression remains impassive and unsurprised that tells it all.

This is not the first time it has occurred to him.

“Ahjussi fought hard to be in here,” Jaeyi tells him softly, choosing not to expound on how Hyeok had to physically restrain Dongsik from charging through the doors of critical care. “He fought so hard for his right as your partner.”

“But according to the law, he is not my family.”

Jaeyi swallows at the way Joowon tonelessly repeats Hyeok’s earlier statement nearly word for word. “He can be.”

Joowon turns his head on the pillow to look straight into her eyes. She holds his gaze as the smile she gives him is bittersweet. “He can be your rightful family in England. That’s why I’m bringing it up.”

“I’m not going to do that to him.”

That is certainly not the fierce declaration Jaeyi expects. “What?”

The wires and tubes connected to his body all jangle at the heavy sigh Joowon heaves. “I’m not going to bring Lee Dongsik to England.”

Jaeyi furrows her brows. “Why not?”

The smile Joowon offers her with his wounded and bruised lips is gentle and warm. “Because Manyang butcher shop doesn’t exist there.”

It feels like Jaeyi has been stabbed straight through her heart.

“I love him.” Joowon’s no-nonsense statement is powerful in its simplicity and sincerity. “And it is my sole purpose in life to make him happy.”

Whatever doubts Jaeyi had in the past about Han Joowon being deserving of Lee Dongsik’s love and devotion is now completely obliterated in the wake of this vow.

Because Han Joowon isn’t just someone who will move heaven and earth for Lee Dongsik.

“I will never take Lee Dongsik away from his own family.”

For Lee Dongsik, Han Joowon will go through hell.

—

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Gwangyoung. “Attempted murder?”

“Wait.” Jihoon finally speaks up in disbelief at the direction of the discussion and the unwanted gravity of the implication. “Why are we even considering foul play?”

His sister then looks straight at her boss, who’s startled by her sharp gaze.

Ohsub clears his throat. “As you may all very well know, as police officers, we have the duty and responsibility to avoid speculation without hard evidence.”

Jihwa crosses her arms—and Jihoon recognizes that look immediately.

It’s the look of his big sister—the woman of the house—not letting anyone get away with any bullshit.

Ohsub purses his lips and finally relents.

“Ever since I’ve been promoted to Superintendent,” he begins hesitantly, “I’ve been rubbing elbows with a lot of higher ups in the force, and I’ve been privy to a lot of their conversations. Even the ones they never meant for me to hear.”

He turns to face Jihoon gravely. “They all hate Inspector Han.”

Jihoon frowns, instinctively defensive. “Joowon-hyung is not a bad cop.”

“Inspector Han is indeed a very, very good cop,” Dosoo easily agrees; Jihoon furrows his brows, noting the austerity of Dosoo’s tone in what’s supposed to be praise.

“Inspector Han follows the letter of the law and enacts justice on everyone without exception,” Seonnyeo says quietly. “Not even his own self. Not even the one person he loves beyond all measure.”

They fall silent at her words. Dosoo intertwines their fingers together in empathetic solidarity.

“Not even,” Jihwa adds quietly, “his own father.”

“Not even the wealthiest and most powerful cop in the country borne out of a law enforcement dynasty spanning four generations,” Ohsub clarifies morosely. “The Han family network is a systemic power that’s vast and deeply rooted in the force. It’s how they kept the power in the family for decades.”

Ohsub looks grimly at them.

“And Inspector Han just dismantled it all.”

Jihoon’s gaze is arrested by the way Jihwa leans her head back against the wall at her apprehensive words. “It’s always been an open secret that the Han family dynasty had steadily built and strengthened their influence within the Korean National Police Agency until the third of their generation finally reached the very top.”

“Only to be brought down by their own fourth generation.” Dosoo presses his lips together. “The best and smartest of them all.”

Jihoon swallows. “Han Joowon,” he whispers.

Ohsub sighs and rubs his eyebrows tiredly. “Han Kihwan had his dirty fingers dipped in a lot of pies and had plenty of cronies in the force, most of whom lost significant power after his arrest.”

“I bet they lost a hell of a lot of money too,” Gwangyoung mutters.

Ohsub inclines his head in agreement at the point. “Which means Inspector Han has an ever growing list of enemies, and all of them are in the police force.”

“And word on the grapevine is that they’re planning to take him out.”

Jihoon holds his breath at his sister’s words as she looks at him straight in the eye.

“Through whatever means necessary.”

Jihoon’s hands curl into fists as he turns back to Ohsub. “Hyung—Superintendent Kwak—can’t you report them?”

“For what? Talking smack about a coworker?” Ohsub snorts bitterly. “I can’t even record their conversations because it won’t hold up in any court, and I have no evidence of them actually acting on their threats.”

“Until now,” Seonnyeo interjects quietly. “We don’t have any evidence for the act just yet, nor do we have any leads for an actual suspect, but we certainly have plenty of motive for the attempted murder of Han Joowon.”

Finally putting it into actual words makes the declaration weigh heavily upon all of them.

“Wouldn’t his father protect him?”

Everyone turns to Jihoon at his despaired whisper. “Joowon-hyung is still his family.” He looks at them all desperately. “How much of a monster would Han Kihwan be to allow his own son to be killed?”

His throat tightens as his sister leans forward and lets her face fall into her hands.“In the recording Inspector Han submitted, Lee Changjin can be heard asking Han Kihwan if he’s willing to kill his own son.”

Jihoon watches as Jihwa slicks her hair back, lips pressed tight at the mention of her abominable ex-husband. “It’s corroborated by Lee Changjin’s own statement afterward, when he confessed.”

“And later on, after Han Kihwan’s arrest,” Dosoo adds somberly, “Dongsik-hyung and Inspector Han separately submitted their own statements about what really happened that night at the Han residence.”

“And their statements matched,” Ohsub affirms.

Jihoon swallows.

“Han Kihwan pointed a gun at his own son’s head,” Jihwa viciously reveals, a quiet rage simmering beneath the bitten out words. “A loaded gun. With the safety off.”

She screws her eyes shut as she fights to calm her breathing. “We don’t know if Han Kihwan is the one behind this attempted murder—”

“Allegedly,” Ohsub firmly interjects.

“—on Han Joowon’s life,” Jihwa finishes anyway. “What we do know for certain is that even if he isn’t, Han Kihwan is the kind of father who doesn’t care whether or not his son dies, if it means saving his own ass.”

The resounding silence is suffocating.

“Dongsik-hyung should know.”

The loud, bitter laughter Jihwa lets out at Jihoon’s quiet declaration startles everyone in their seats. “No. Dongsik-ie absolutely should not know. There’s a very good reason Inspector Han did not list him as his emergency contact.”

“Emergency contacts are accessible by police authorities during criminal investigations,” Ohsub explains grimly. “Killing Inspector Han is like killing two birds with one stone, because it opens up a case.”

Jihoon feels like he’s going insane at how he can actually follow the deranged train of thought. “And it allows cops access to private records, including that of Dongsik-hyung, if he’s listed as Joowon-hyung’s emergency contact.”

“Yes,” Ohsub affirms. “Because everyone in the force also knows that Inspector Han didn’t bring down Han Kihwan singlehandedly.”

“He had a partner,” Jihwa says quietly, “in Lee Dongsik.”

Jihoon stares at them, unwilling to accept what they’re all implying. “Are you saying that Dongsik-hyung needs to be protected?”

“No,” Ohsub says wryly, “the problem is precisely the opposite.”

“Lee Dongsik brought down the most powerful cop in the country and put an end to a family dynasty just to bring justice to Lee Yuyeon.” The look his sister gives Jihoon is tinged with a strange mixture of bittersweet sadness and fearful trepidation. “How far do you think Lee Dongsik is willing to go this time just to bring justice to Han Joowon?”

Jihoon inhales sharply.

“The whole world,” Jihwa quietly declares, “might as well burn.”

—

“The damn truck driver is alive?!”

“Currently in surgery as we speak. Apparently that bastard Han Joowon swerved just enough in time to avoid most of the impact.”

“Pests really are such a headache to exterminate.”

“What are we going to do if the driver talks?”

“What’s he gonna say? He can’t prove that we drugged him.”

“And Han Joowon? There are so many other ways to get rid of that pest, why are we doing it this way?”

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? The father had been brought down by a DUI. It’s poetic that we bring down the son in exactly the same way.”

—

“Doesn’t Joowon-hyung deserve that?”

Jihoon’s hands are tightly fisted on his lap as he looks up at his sister. “After having a father who won’t think twice about throwing his own son into hell, doesn’t Joowon-hyung deserve to have someone who will instead burn the world for him?”

Everyone falls silent at his breathless question. Jihwa tilts her head to one side, watching him thoughtfully.

“Yes,” she finally assents. “He does.”

Jihoon stares at the way his sister unexpectedly smiles.

“Just—not right now,” Jihwa comments dryly, “while Dongsik-ie is still under probation.”

Jihoon blinks.

Dosoo grins wryly, backing up his partner. “Dongsik-hyung can’t protect or fight alongside Inspector Han if he ends up in prison.”

Whatever Jihoon is about to say next dies on his lips as everyone’s attention is arrested when the doors to critical care suddenly swing open—

—and out walks Jaeyi.

Everyone scrambles to their feet in surprise, anxiously watching her amble towards them with unsteady steps; Jihoon notes how she has her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the tremors in her frame betraying how she’s fiercely trying to control her quiet sobs.

Jihoon feels the ground reeling beneath his feet, dreading the absolute worst. “Noona…?”

Slowly, Jaeyi raises her head, and Jihoon’s chest twists achingly at the sight of her: Jaeyi’s clothes are rumpled, her hair is disheveled, her eyes are haggard and red from crying—

And she’s staring straight at Jihoon.

“Inspector Han is awake. You’re the first person he’s asking to see.”

From his peripheral vision, Jihoon sees the way his sister sharply turns to him in undisguised alarm.

“Me?” Jihoon breathes, heart in his throat. “Why me?”

With shaking hands, Jaeyi reaches inside her jacket and takes out a letter envelope.

The smile she offers Jihoon is trembling.

“He wants you to have this.”

—

“Did you even calculate the route correctly?”

“The timing of the crash was supposed to be perfect. We even planted the road detours they were both forced to take and timed the traffic lights to malfunction at the precise intersection.”

“It should’ve been enough to indict the truck driver for beating the red light. He was supposed to be our scapegoat.”

“Except the idiot actually lost consciousness. The spiked alcohol in his system was way too potent.”

“Go through the crash site and get rid of the dashboard camera so it can’t be submitted as evidence.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t?”

“Someone got to the footage first.”

“Who the fuck would want that footage?”

“That meddlesome fool from Team One of Munju Police Station’s Violent Crimes Unit. Assistant Inspector Kang Dosoo.”

—

This is what a heart attack must feel like, Jaeyi thinks as she rushes forward in a panic, heart hammering violently against her ribs.

“Inspector Han!”

She shrieks, a hand firmly on Joowon’s bandaged chest to stop him from rising from the hospital bed; the insistent warning beeping of all the machines connected to his body isn’t helping her already jangled nerves. “Please let me call the nurses now.”

“Officer Oh,” Joowon says hoarsely instead, and it makes Jaeyi’s gaze snap up to him in surprise. “I need to find Officer Oh.”

Jaeyi furrows her brows. “… Jihoon-ie?” Tendrils of worry color her tone as a creeping sense of dread begins to overtake her at the completely unexpected name.

“Please,” Joowon whispers as he lies back on his bed, and it’s a testament to how utterly weak his current state is that he can’t even put up a physical fight against Jaeyi.

It makes her simultaneously ache for him and feel utterly enraged on his behalf.

“Please find him,” Joowon is begging her. “I need to give something to him.”

Jaeyi squeezes her eyes shut. Calm. Inspector Han needs you to be calm, damn it. “Okay,” she relents, “but only if you behave and stay still.”

He has the absolute audacity to smirk at her. “All right, mother.”

“I am not—!”

Jaeyi takes a deep lungful of breath and lets it out slowly as she runs her hands over her face. “Dear god, ahjussi really is the only one who can match your insanity,” Jaeyi mutters between her fingers.

Joowon blinks at her innocently.

Jaeyi scowls. “Fine. What is it that you need to give to Jihoon-ie?”

“It’s in my coat—”

“I just told you to stay still—”

Joowon seems to finally take pity on her—that, or the way she inadvertently pitches her tone incredibly high with worry really does sound like a mother scolding her wayward son. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, looking appropriately chastised. “I just—need to know it’s there.”

Jaeyi sighs, heart softening despite herself. “I think the nurses put away the clothes you were wearing—”

—when you almost died and we almost lost you—

“—when they found you. I’ll see if I can find your coat.”

Joowon is compliantly quiet and still as Jaeyi turns her back on him. She rummages through the pile of clothes she vaguely remembers that the nurses have set aside by the bedside drawers when they first wheeled in the hospital bed—with Han Joowon lying on it deathly still.

Jaeyi firmly presses her lips together and staunchly refuses to let her attention linger on the bloodstains still caked on the clothes, refusing to even think about how much blood Joowon has actually lost.

She inwardly vows to get rid of the stains before Dongsik finds them. She refuses to think about what will happen if he does.

Maybe she should just burn the clothes entirely, before Dongsik ends up burning something else.

“Yoo Jaeyi-ssi,” Joowon speaks up softly from behind her, pulling her wandering thoughts back to the task at hand.

She finds the coat at the bottom of the pile, the dark color thankfully camouflaging whatever bloodstains still managed to splatter on the outer piece of clothing.

“It’s inside the pocket,” Joowon murmurs. “You’ll find a letter envelope.”

Jaeyi begins patting down the coat and reaches inside the first pocket she finds.

She ends up pulling out Joowon’s wallet. It falls open just as she fully intends to put it aside.

Jaeyi stares.

She recognizes the background with how often she’s been at Okcheon lake. She recognizes that it’s summer too, with how clear the skies are and how glaringly bright the sun is shining, as well as the thin tank top worn for the heat.

It’s the way Lee Dongsik is looking back at her that takes her breath away.

His curls are caught in a frozen summer breeze—it’s obviously been a while since this photo has been taken, since Dongsik hasn’t had his haircut yet in this one. The sunshine from above highlights the fond glow of his eyes as he looks lovingly at the camera, the corners of his mouth softened by a tender smile.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who has taken the photo. There’s only one person in the entire world whom Dongsik ever looks at like this.

Like he’s looking at a piece of paradise—his deliverance and salvation all at once.

Like Lee Dongsik has finally been allowed inside the elusive gates of heaven.

“Did you find it?”

Jaeyi drops the wallet on the bedside table as if it scalds her. “I—no—a letter envelope right,” she stammers, feeling weirdly guilty about accidentally discovering what she knows for sure is meant to be kept private.

“Yes.” Joowon sounds amused. “It’s in the other pocket.”

“Right.” Jaeyi responds distractedly. Pull yourself together, she silently admonishes herself. “Here, I think I found it.”

Her fingers close upon the envelope and pulls it out.

Behind her, she hears Joowon draw a sharp intake of breath. “Can you check if it’s all there?”

Jaeyi blinks. Check what?

She opens the envelope—and is entirely taken aback to see all of their names printed on each one.

Han Joowon. Lee Dongsik. Oh Jihoon. Oh Jihwa. Yoo Jaeyi. Hwang Gwangyoung. Kang Dosoo. Im Seonnyeo. Kwak Ohsub.

Her eyebrows rise at the last name she finds.

Kwon Hyeok.

Slowly, Jaeyi turns around to face Joowon once more, the envelope carefully cradled in her hands.

She’s thoroughly nonplussed.

“Concert tickets?”

Joowon looks relieved. “Music festival tickets, to be precise,” he clarifies. “Officer Oh told me that he once promised to take her when he was still an idol trainee, because he wanted to perform for her at a music festival when he debuted. Unfortunately his idol career fell through, so he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to her.”

Jaeyi’s brows crinkle in confusion. “Her…?”

“I figured the timing is now right,” Joowon murmurs, “considering the date of the festival.”

Jaeyi’s gaze falls back to the tickets. She takes one out—the one with her own name printed on it—and inspects it carefully.

Her knees suddenly wobble and she falls back to her seat as soon as she recognizes the date. Her hand flies to her mouth to silence the shocked cry that threatens to burst forth.

“It’s a celebration,” Joowon says softly, “of Kang Minjeong’s birthday.”

—

“ Kang Dosoo? No wonder he sounds familiar. That’s one of the names.”

“What names?”

“On the tickets Han Joowon bought from me.”

—

“Lee Dongsik.”

Hyeok feels the other man’s eyes on him as he carefully pockets the ticket close to his heart.

His hands are surprisingly steady.

“Find the fuckers who hurt our Joowon,” he whispers fiercely, “and leave the rest to me.”

The iron grip on his arm is unyielding when he turns to leave.

“Hyeok-ah,” Dongsik hisses through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you planning to do?”

Hyeok’s gaze travels from Dongsik’s hand all the way up to his eyes. Privately he notes that the fire burning in that gaze is flaring much in the same way as Joowon’s eyes once did when he implored Hyeok to cut off the rotten rope tying him to Han Kihwan.

It’s almost like looking into the eyes of another brother.

“I told you inside that hospital that according to the law, you are not Han Joowon’s family.”

It satisfies Hyeok immensely to see Dongsik looking so unsettled and taken aback at the slow, wolfish grin that creeps across Hyeok’s face.

After all, Lee Dongsik may be forgetting who actually raised Han Joowon.

“It’s time to change the law.”

—

Supreme Court recognizes rights of same-sex couples to receive spousal health insurance coverage

Korea's Supreme Court recognized new rights for same-sex couples Thursday, saying the state must provide health insurance for a gay man's partner in a landmark ruling that left activists weeping for joy.

"National Health Insurance should recognize spousal insurance coverage for same-sex couples," the court ruled, with activists breaking into cheers as the verdict was read out.

The verdict, which cannot be appealed as it comes from the country's highest court, means common-law spouses of the same sex can now register as dependents on their partners' health insurance.

"It is discrimination based on sexual orientation to exclude the couple just because they are same-sex," the court ruled.

"It is a discriminatory act that violates human dignity and values, the right to pursue happiness, freedom of privacy, and the right to be equal before the law, and the degree of infringement is serious."

—

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Text Message

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Common-law spouses?

What happened to hi, hello, good evening? Do old men like you really forget your manners as you age?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hi, hello, good evening Prosecutor Kwon. I’m also only six years older than you, you little shit. Common-law spouses?

De Facto Marriage in legal terms, yeah

My client sued the National Health Insurance Service because it terminated benefits for his partner after discovering they were a gay couple

The NHIS is legally required to grant spousal coverage benefits even to common-law partners, and both the Seoul High Court and the Supreme Court mandated that the NHIS reinstate my client’s dependent benefits

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I didn’t know De Facto Marriage in our country was also applicable to queer couples

It is now

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I see

JOOWON’S LUNATIC So how exactly can a De Facto Marriage be legally established under the law?

(i) Mutual intent to form a marital relationship

(ii) The existence of substance of marital life

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Can you possibly elaborate on that without all the legal mumbo jumbo?

You know, normally I charge clients for consultations like this

By the hour

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Eh, just put it on your brother’s tab

The court looks into various factors such as the duration of cohabitation, the existence of a marriage ceremony, and relationship with other family members

My client already had a public ceremony with his partner three years ago, which was attended by all of their friends and family, and they’ve also been living together since way before the wedding

JOOWON’S LUNATIC So you’re saying the relationship needs to be publicized as akin to an actual marriage

Yeah, basically

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I see

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwon

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hyeok-ah

For the love of god Lee Dongsik it is three in the fucking morning and I have a court hearing in five hours STOP BLOWING UP MY NOTIFICATIONS I NEED TO SLEEP

JOOWON’S LUNATIC How do you feel about officiating our wedding ceremony?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Are you there? Yah, did you actually fall asleep on me?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwon

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwonnn

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hyeok-ahhhhh

I’m putting all of this on your husband’s tab

Also

It’s about damn time

—

“What made you say yes?”

“Technically, he said yes.”

“It’s not a competition of who loves the other more, you know.”

“I certainly don’t want to lose.”

“So that’s why you asked him? The last time we talked, you were adamant about keeping your distance to protect him.”

“That was before I made the unforgivable mistake of failing to be by his side when he needed me the most because of a miscalculation I made last year.”

“You mean when you almost died.”

“Don’t be dramatic, I made a full recovery in record time, according to my physical therapists.”

“Again—not a competition, Inspector Han. So what made you decide to finally publicize your relationship?”

“The law changes everything.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? What Prosecutor Kwon did for you.”

“He charges me by the hour.”

“Well, you and Dongsik-ie will legally have joint finances soon, so I’m sure you’ll be able to afford Prosecutor Kwon’s rates.”

“Dongsik-ssi is actually not happy about that. He said he doesn’t want access to my finances, and while I understand that it’s because he also doesn’t want to have anything to do with my father’s dirty money, the fact remains that he of all people deserves to be paid reparations by Han Kihwan. Why are you grinning like that?”

“Only you, Inspector Han, will blackmail Lee Dongsik into becoming filthy rich through a De Facto Marriage because he won’t accept your money otherwise. You two lunatics truly deserve each other.”

“… I’m trying to ascertain whether that is a compliment or an insult.”

“So—joint finances, joint custody of properties. You’ll also now legally be the co-owner of the Okcheon lake residence. It’s all just a formality anyway, since you two have been living together there for years now.”

“How did you—”

“Jihoon-ie talks. A lot.”

“Finances and property aren’t my main concern anyway, because unlike legal marriages, common-law spouses aren’t automatically granted inheritance should one of us die.”

“Pretty sure neither of you are going to let that happen in the first place.”

“I’m certainly not gonna die before him.”

“Not really a competition Inspector Han, considering you’re thirteen years younger.”

“What I mean is that I simply won’t survive without him. Because I don’t want to.”

“That’s—Inspector Han—”

“And because common-law spouses are still legally mandated to uphold the same vows of fidelity, I am looking forward to him keeping his vow to spend the rest of his life with me.”

“You’re—blackmailing him to keep himself alive for you.”

“That is the gist of it, yes.”

“Huh. Well, whatever works to keep him safe, I guess.”

“It is a grave lesson that the unfortunate situation last year—“

“You almost dying—”

“—has irrevocably taught me. It is better to protect him by keeping him close instead of keeping him at a distance.”

“And the privilege extended to common-law spouses in legally refusing to testify against each other has absolutely no bearing on your decision to ask for Dongsik-ie’s hand in marriage? Publicizing your relationship like this makes you even more of a target.”

“From what’s left of my father’s fallen network?”

“No, I don’t think Han Kihwan’s men will be a problem anymore. I’m more concerned about the homophobic vultures inevitably swarming you both because of your soon to be public marriage.”

“De Facto Marriage. The spousal privilege is not automatically granted in the same way as legal marriages, because every protection and privilege granted to common-law spouses will have to go through further legal proceedings to be granted by the court.”

“It’s a good thing you have a cutthroat lawyer on your side.”

“Whose exorbitant rates are preposterous.”

“It’s worth it though, isn’t it?”

“For Lee Dongsik? Always.”

“I’m really happy for you, Joowon-ah. Both of you. You’ll show me the photos, right?”

“Of what?”

“The wedding ceremony. I’m sure it’s going to be magical.”

“Why would I show you photos?”

“I—I just thought—I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—”

“Why would I show you photos when you can take them yourself?”

“… What?”

“You’ll be out on parole soon, won’t you? For good behavior.”

“How did you—”

“I have, shall we say, a ridiculously overcompensated lawyer working on it.”

“… But why? Why would he—why would you do this for me?”

“There’s a reason we set the date of the wedding ceremony after your prison sentence has ended.”

“I—Dongsik-ie didn’t invite me.”

“You’re not his guest. You’re mine, Park Jeongje-ssi.”

—

“I see,” Gwangyoung murmurs. “I’ll take note of that. Thank you for informing me.”

Jihwa looks up as Gwangyoung ends his call. She sees the way he frowns when he sees precisely who’s missing.

“Where’s Dongsik-hyung?”

“Where do you think?” Jaeyi looks incredibly drained but the smile she gives them all is much more weightless now. “It’s going to be an impossible challenge to pry ahjussi away from Inspector Han’s bedside from now on, unless someone has a pretty compelling reason.”

“Nothing less than the apocalypse happening,” Seonnyeo says amusedly as the tightness of her shoulders finally relaxes.

Dosoo grins at his wife when she lays her head on his shoulder. “Maybe not even then.”

“We’re going to have to ask the nurses to bring in two trays for every hospital meal,” Jihoon chuckles, puffy eyes still red-rimmed but brighter. “And two changes of clothes every night and day too.”

“The hospital bill will also definitely double,” Ohsub says wryly. “Too bad the NHIS doesn’t recognize Inspector Han as Dongsik-ie’s dependent, though I’m sure Inspector Han can afford to pay for everything anyway.”

“It’s not really the money that’s the issue,” Jihoon protests, “but the principle of equality. Especially in the eyes of the law.”

“Yeah well,” Ohsub shrugs as he leans back with a sigh. “The world has never treated everyone equally and that’s never gonna change, kid.”

“I am not a kid,” Jihoon grumbles.

Jihwa smiles and reaches out to ruffle her baby brother’s hair affectionately. Across from her, she notes the way Gwangyoung takes his seat with a sort of quiet tension, and it makes Jihwa pause.

“Everything okay, Gwangyoung-ah? Who was that on the phone?”

He looks up at her with uncharacteristic seriousness. “A friend from the force. Someone who has access to the traffic cameras.”

Jihwa feels her pulse begin to quicken.

Ohsub narrows his eyes. “Can this friend be trusted?”

“Yes,” Gwangyoung says firmly, “because I asked him to review the route Inspector Han had taken tonight before the collision.”

The mood in the hospital corridor instantly changes at his words.

“And what did he find out?” Jihwa prompts impatiently.

Gwangyoung presses his lips together. “We all know that Inspector Han is someone who sticks rigidly to routine. Whenever he gets off work, there’s only two routes he ever takes for either of two destinations: Manyang butcher shop, or Okcheon lake.”

“Wherever ahjussi is,” Jaeyi murmurs.

Gwangyoung tilts his head. “Tonight however, he made a detour.”

Jihwa’s eyebrows rise. “To where?”

“That’s where it gets strange,” Gwangyoung says in frustration. “The cameras coincidentally malfunctioned just as he started to break away from his normal route.”

That’s not a coincidence.

“The tickets.”

Everyone turns to Jaeyi in surprise; Jihoon clutches the letter envelope a little tighter against his chest.

Jaeyi meets Jihwa’s gaze. “Inspector Han told me that he went to pick up the tickets tonight.”

“Where though?” Dosoo pipes up. “Ticketing offices are already closed by the time his shift is over.”

“That’s not even the most questionable part.”

Jihwa turns at the way her brother hesitantly speaks up; his brows are furrowed in contemplation as he gazes at the envelope in his hands. He takes a deep breath and meets Jihwa’s eyes.

“The tickets for the festival were already sold out months ago,” Jihoon says quietly. “I’ve been wondering how Joowon-hyung got these tickets in the first place.”

“Some government offices actually get free complimentary tickets from entertainment companies who want to cut through the red tape,” Ohsub points out. “It’s technically bribery, but unfortunately it’s common practice for crooked officials taking advantage of the perks. Maybe Inspector Han’s department got a hold of these tickets.”

Jaeyi swiftly shakes her head. “No, Inspector Han definitely said he bought them.”

“Also—” Dosoo’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. “Han Joowon? Accepting bribery?”

“… All right, well, point taken,” Ohsub mutters. “It was just a theory.”

Government offices…

“Seonnyeo-ah,” Jihwa calls her out. “Can you go through the list of clients the truck driver delivers to, and see if there are any government offices along his route tonight?”

Ohsub furrows his brows. “What are you up to, Inspector Oh?”

“Gathering evidence,” Jihwa answer simply, startling all of them when she starts rattling instructions. “Jihoon-ah, if it’s true that the festival is already sold out, and Jaeyi says that Inspector Han only got the tickets tonight, it means he bought them secondhand.”

She gestures to the letter envelope in Jihoon’s hands.

“All tickets have corresponding control numbers that are unique to each one. You and Jaeyi should go through the secondhand market online to see if anyone posted photos or screenshots of the tickets with these control numbers and find out who the seller is. Ask Prosecutor Kwon to send you photos of his own ticket too. Dosoo-ya, I need you to get the footage of the dashboard camera from both vehicles involved in the crash, asap. And Gwangyoung-ah.”

Gwangyoung snaps to attention at being addressed.

“Your informant.” Jihwa narrows her eyes. “Who does he work for?”

—

“There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Park Jeongje-ssi.”

“Anything, Joowon-ah.”

“What exactly did you mean when you said my father’s men won’t be a problem anymore?”

—

Dongsik’s grip on Hyeok tightens.

“I know you won’t appreciate hearing this from me, Hyeok-ah,” he hisses, “but I will never forgive you if you make Joowonie go through the agonizing pain of losing the only sibling he’s ever known—”

Even through several layers of clothing, Hyeok feels the way Dongsik’s fingernails dig sharply into his skin.

“—because I know exactly what that feels like.”

Hyeok heart spasms.

“Then you’ll understand precisely what I’m about to ask of you.”

He grasps Dongsik’s arm with equal fervor, his gaze burning with equal intensity.

“I beg of you, Lee Dongsik,” Hyeok invokes beseechingly, casting away all of his pride for the one person he’s risking it all for. “Please don’t let me lose my brother.”

—

Jihwa stares at all the undeniable, irrefutable evidence in her hands.

It all points to a single entity.

Slowly, she raises her head—and sees her family, her team, all watching her.

Waiting.

Jihwa takes a deep breath and looks at her boss.

“Superintendent Kwak,” she says solemnly, “I formally ask for your permission for Violent Crimes to pursue and prioritize this case.”

She glances at her partner. Dosoo nods once—firmly.

Resolutely.

Ohsub’s expression is grave when Jihwa turns back to him.

“And I’m going to need a search and seizure warrant for—”

—

“The Community Safety and Traffic Bureau will be welcoming new employees today, so you all better be on your best behavior.”

“Why? These newbies are going to go through our hazing anyway.”

“What are their jobs?”

“Management changed agencies due to budget cuts, so there’s going to be new custodians on board.”

“You mean glorified janitors.”

“A lot of them are ex-cons who are out on parole or probation, so it’s not like they have the best career options to choose from.”

“Who would willingly choose a career in cleaning toilets, right?”

“Ah here comes one of them now. According to his file, his probation just ended, so he’s now a free man once again.”

“Free to once again commit crimes and land himself back in prison.”

“Who knows, maybe this one isn’t a lunatic for once. You over there, you’re new, right? What’s your name?”

The man in question stops. Slowly, he takes off the cap of his custodian uniform, revealing a wild mess of curls underneath.

Everyone takes an unwitting step back at the maniacal glint of those eyes as the man takes a deep, ninety-degree bow.

“My name is…”

The man straightens, his mouth stretching in a wide, serpentine grin of a psychopath, rivaling that of a serial killer—

—and they collectively feel their heart stop as they all instantly recognize who he is.

And somehow they know, without a doubt, that they’re all about to burn.

“Lee Dongsik, at your service.”

—

모든 게 다 타 버리고 남아있는 한 줌이여 Ash, ash, ash, ash 방주를 새롭게 지어 나아가 저 세계로 Ash, ash, ash, ash

Oh, the handful that's left from everything burning Ash, ash, ash, ash Let's build a new ark and go out into the world Ash, ash, ash, ash

—

Also posted at AO3

For @eonni92, whose multiple, precious gifts of artistry I wholeheartedly treasure, and for whom I can only humbly offer this story as my gift in return.

—

Title and lyrics from "Ash" by SEVENTEEN

References:

The landmark Supreme Court ruling recognizing the rights of same-sex couples is based on factual events in South Korea, as publicized in July 2024. A portion of the article from The Korea Times is lifted word for word for the purposes of this story. You can read the article in full here. The only fictional aspect in this story with regards to the actual lawsuit is who the prosecutor in charge was 😉

Both the Oh family background and the Han family background are all canon, based on the character backgrounds in the official script book by Beyond Evil��writer Kim Sujin herself. You can read the English translations of the script book here, as translated by @rumpleteasa, who is a remarkable gem of a reliable resource for the fandom.

Thank you so much for your time in reading this story, and always remember:

It's not "blood is thicker than water" but "the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb".

May you all find your own Manyang butcher shop, and may you all redefine what it truly means to be family.

#beyond evil #괴물 #jwds #주원동식 #my fic #eonni92

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