#and to the two that read this but understood nothing i'm sorry (no i'm not)

[astro-nomaly]

Age of Calamity

Hey look it's that TKaL au I'm always talking about

Anyways uh this is a standalone only don't expect more of this. This is a spin-off of my main fic To Kill a Legend, basically a 'what if the shrine of resurrection didn't work' so uh yeah. Was gonna post on Ao3 but I didn't wanna trick people into thinking it was a full fic. Don't let that stop you from commenting tho I worked hard on this (it's 16.5k)

@flirty-anon @highbookwormofthecentury @mother-spore-missa @chaotetothecore @ren-cerati (I know you don't read TKaL but idgaf) @emzzy @boom-fanfic-a-latta @artidoesthings @violetstarc4 mmmmmaybe @weekend-whip @snambleiamble

CW: death, MCD death, dead bodies, technical terrorism? blood and injury, dissociative episode, survivor's guilt, religious trauma (kinda). Content under the cut sorry if it crashes your browser

Age of Calamity

Lloyd laughed as he vaulted over the ruins of an old stone house, leaving his friends in the dust. There was nothing in the whole world he loved more than dragging his friends out of their tiny, isolated village of Domu and into the vast fields of Hyrule to explore the rubble left in the kingdom's wake.

He'd never been able to quite explain it. Sally liked to joke that it was his namesake — Lloyd had been named for the last, and deceased, Prince of Hyrule, Prince Lloyd Garmadon. They even had the same last name, though that wasn't really uncommon. Garmadon was a popular last name for Hylians, that and Wu (coincidentally his uncle's first name, actually) since one of their Twin Gods, the Oni God of Destruction, was named Garmadon. Lloyd always thought that was silly. Tons of kids had the same name as the dead Prince. It was only respectful, after all.

Gene chalked it up to wanderlust. The nerd thought that Lloyd was simply too hyperactive to ever be contained to even one city for long, much less a village as small as Domu.

But Brad understood. It wasn't just 'wanderlust', wasn't just some arbitrary want to see places he'd never seen before. He wanted a life outside of Domu, a real life. One full of excitement, and monsters, and-

"Lloyd Garmadon, I swear to FSM, slow the hell down!" Lloyd barked a laugh as Gene screeched from behind him, panting and glasses askew as he tried to get over the same crumbling ruins. Sally giggled as she vaulted over with ease, Brad simply walking around the half-destroyed wall. He kicked a loose stone, looking around nervously.

"Maybe we should head back…" Brad said, eyeing their surroundings uncertainly. "This place creeps me out."

"Scaredy-cat!" Sally teased. Brad spluttered, offended.

"I just don't want to run into monsters!"

Lloyd stuck out his tongue as he scrabbled his way to the roof of a forge, loose stones crumbling beneath his feet. "But Brad!" He called back with a bright smile. "That's the best part! Imagine the look on my dad's face when I bring back a Hinox eye!"

Brad sighed, flushing. "That's what I'm worried about… Gene, don't you agree with me?"

Gene huffed, sticking his nose up despite being the most out of breath from their near-daily excursion. "Anything Garmadon can do, I can do," he said haughtily. Lloyd and Sally exchanged a glance, snickering at their oldest friend. "Besides, somebody has to keep an eye on you three!"

Sally laughed, jumping onto a precarious fallen tree, sticking her arms out and dramatically high-kicking her way up, purposely off-balance. "You mean like when Lloyd had to bail you out of that rock slide?"

"Or when Lloyd had to fight a siren because you dropped your glasses in its den?" Brad asked, crouched on the ground and inspecting an interesting looking flower.

"Ooh, ooh, or when Lloyd totally saved your butt—" Sally sang, interrupted by Gene's outraged screech.

"I was only in those situations because Lloyd-" he pointed an accusing finger at Lloyd, who wasn't paying very close attention to any of them, "-is always dragging us out here! And you two are always getting into trouble as well!" As if to illustrate his point, he snatched Sally off the precarious trunk just before the rotting wood fell out from beneath her and set her down in the grass.

"Not as much as you, though." Gene gave her an unimpressed look. Sally grinned, slyly turning her gaze to Brad. "But if you ask me, I think Brad likes getting saved~"

Brad shot up, hurriedly shushing Sally and nervously eyeing Lloyd, crouched on the roof and staring at something. "Shush!" He demanded, pressing his hands into Sally's face. "D-don't say that so loud!"

Gene rolled his eyes. "Your 'secret' crush is no secret, Tudabone-"

"Shut! Up!" Brad hissed, glaring at them both. He sighed, brushing his brown hair back. He was due for a haircut. "Besides, it's not like he'd ever… I mean, not that I- well, Lloyd is just so-"

Sally laughed in his face, poking his nose. "I hope you don't stutter this much whenever you two are alone, or he really won't ever date you!" Brad yelled, lunging for her as she ran circles around Gene, laughing her head off. "Brad and Llo-oyd, sittin' inna tree~!"

"Shut up shut up shut up!"

Both teenagers raced around their tallest friend, who pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He snatched Sally by the back of her coat, dragging Brad back by the collar of his shirt. "You're both giving me a headache," he deadpanned. Sally laughed as Brad hung his head, burying his bright red face in his hands from embarrassment.

"Tell Sally to stop talking so loud…!"

Gene set Sally down on the ground, crossing his arms. "Seriously, I have no idea what you see in him," Gene said, unimpressed. "Lloyd is literally the most impulsive, reckless, mindless, accident-prone idiot I've ever met."

"Because you've met so many people," Sally snorted.

Gene shoved her. "I genuinely don't think he knows the difference between a dangerous monster and a cute pet."

Brad grinned dopily, looking at Lloyd like a lovesick school boy. "I know. Isn't he great?"

Lloyd, despite having the best hearing of any of them, didn't seem to have heard any part of their conversation as he stood, turning around and looking down at them. "Hey, Genius!" He called, a sharp, mischievous grin on his face. He pried a loose stone from the crumbling forge, tossing it up and down in his tan brown hand. "Bet you twenty rupees I can knock this skeleton's head clean off!"

Sally whooped, racing to see the spectacle. Gene and Brad both climbed over the ruins of the old Hylian city. A few dozen feet away, a lone Skulkin wandered the plains aimlessly, dressed in a ragged loincloth and armed with a primitive club.

Brad ducked behind the half-broken wall, chewing his cheek. "Should we really be antagonizing it…?"

Gene scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No way you can knock the head off with such a small rock from this distance," he said. "Not only would the air resistance drastically slow-"

"Hey, Gene?" Sally leaned her cheek on her hand, looking at them both upside-down from the roof next to Lloyd. "The Academy's abolished. You know, on account of the unkillable demon? You don't have to prove you're smarter than everyone."

Gene flushed, looking away as Brad hid a laugh behind his hand. Lloyd grinned down at him, tossing his long braid over his shoulder. For some reason, Lloyd insisted on having impossibly long hair. Even thickly braided up, it reached his ankles, and what couldn't be stuffed into the braid fluffed up around his head like a wild animal's mane. "So?" He asked, tossing the rock up and down. "Twenty rupees, or are you a coward, Genius?"

Sally whistled, kicking her feet. Gene adjusted his glasses — he thought it made him look cool for some reason — and sent a mean grin back. "Twenty-five rupees says you can't," he challenged. Brad groaned. Those two literally never stopped competing with each other. How long would it take for Gene to realize that Lloyd defied the laws of physics?

Sally laughed at Gene. "Man, no way am I taking that bet. Have you seen Lloyd's throw?"

"Not to mention his aim," Brad muttered, blushing slightly.

Gene rolled his eyes. "You two give him far too much credit," he said. "Even Lloyd can't accomplish such a thing from this distance with such a small rock. He probably won't even hit the Skulkin-"

Lloyd wound up his arm and chucked the rock as hard as he physically could like a baseball. It sailed through the air, creating a physical gust of wind that slightly rustled the nearby treetops as it collided with the Skulkin's skull with a harsh, ringing CRACK! The skull was cleanly knocked from the skeleton's neck, rolling away still chattering angrily.

Gene gaped, stunned. Sally's eyes glittered at the feat. Brad blushed like a wildfire. Lloyd laughed loudly, whooping with a childish jump as he sprung down from the roof. "Ah-twenty-five rupees, please," he teased, holding out his hand to Gene smugly. Gene grumbled, stuffing his hand in his vest and bringing out a handful of colorful gemstones.

"You'll get the rest at home, you freak of nature," Gene said. Lloyd took the gems like the sore winner he was, bowing to Gene mockingly.

Sally kicked her legs on the roof. "Told you," she teased. "You should really stop making bets with him."

"Yeah," Brad poked a flower that had grown from the weeds breaking through the broken floor of the ruins. "You always lose."

Gene huffed, turning away. "One of these days, I'm going to find something Garmadon can't do."

Lloyd, absent-minded as ever, had already abandoned them in favor of anything that caught his eye. If anything, he was predictable in his unpredictability. They could always count on finding him exploring some ancient ruin, or crumbling cave, or fighting some terrifying monster in nothing but his green gi and busted boots. It was impossible to keep Lloyd contained.

Sally tagged along for the excitement. Gene tagged along because "somebody has to keep you in check!", and because he was determined to find something that Lloyd wasn't inhumanly good at. Brad tagged along because of his raging crush on the blonde, and because he could usually find a pretty wildflower or two out here.

Lloyd had already found new crumbling, weed-overtaken infrastructure to climb on. He crouched on the roof, braid pooled around his ankles. Brad tapped his arm nervously.

"Shouldn't we head back?" He asked again, glancing at the sky. "It's going to be dark soon…"

"Aw, come on Brad!" Lloyd whined. Brad blushed at the attention, to Sally's amusement and Gene's annoyance. "The day's not over yet!"

"It's about to be," Gene grumbled. Brad ducked his head, glancing to where the Skulkin had been beheaded.

"I just mean, monsters will be coming out soon…"

"And I'll kill 'em!" Lloyd said brightly, completely unconcerned by the monsters that had driven their people to hide in isolated valleys.

"But your parents will kill us if we're late coming home again," Brad said, wringing his hands. Gene raised a brow.

"Don't you mean your parents?" He asked. Brad shook his head.

"No way. Wu, Li and Koko are way scarier than my parents."

Lloyd lit up, not having paid any attention to their conversation yet again. He jumped up, grinning in a way that told Brad they weren't going home anytime soon. "Hey, Genius!" He called. "I bet you thirty rupees I can tame that horse!" He pointed out to a horse that had wandered away from its herd. It was huge, with thick, powerful legs and a long golden mane atop a pure white coat.

Gene grinned. "Do it in half a minute, and you have a deal!"

Lloyd whooped. "You're on!" He leapt off the roof of the building, hitting the ground on his palms and doing a grotesquely athletic twisting backflip to flip onto his feet. He took off running, leaving them all in the dust.

Sally hummed thoughtfully. "You know," she said, hopping onto the grass next to them. "Lloyd is really weird."

Gene snorted. "You're just now realizing this?"

"No, but…" she tilted her head at the sight of Lloyd sneaking up on the horse. "He's, like, really weird, y'know?"

Brad leaned back against the exterior of the forge. "I definitely don't think it's normal to break bones and heal less than a month later," he noted quietly. "He broke his sternum and rested for less than three days."

Gene rolled his eyes. "You two are dramatic. Lloyd is just another Hylian like us. He's just…" he paused as Lloyd used his own braid as a makeshift rein on the bucking horse. "…a little more durable than average." It was probably a good thing, too, given Lloyd's tendency to jump off of high places, or climb crumbling ruins. On the other hand, maybe his uncanny durability only encouraged him.

Sally laughed, clutching her stomach as Lloyd scrambled for balance on the wild animal. "Don't forget batshit insane!" She said gleefully, wiping a fake tear away as she nudged Brad with her elbow. "Go get your man before he breaks another bone!"

Brad groaned. "Then his parents will really kill us!"

Gene cupped his palm over his eyes as Lloyd was kidnapped by the wild horse. "And there he goes," he remarked, leaning against the forge.

Sally stood up, rocking back as she stretched her arms high over her head. "You guys think Miss Koko will let us stay for dinner if we go back without Lloyd? I want springrolls."

Brad picked a small lavender colored flower, twisting it between his fingers. "…hey, do you guys ever think there's something really off about Lloyd?"

Gene and Sally both stared at him, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "I- I just mean that… well, I mean…" He stared into the distance where Lloyd had disappeared. "Maybe it's just because Domu is so small… but I've really never met anybody like him at all."

Sally snorted. "Yeah, Brad, he's weird — how he's missed your raging crush this long is a straight miracle." Brad shot her a glare. Gene rolled his eyes.

"We might as well wait here. That moron owes me thirty rupees," he said. "We'll be here a while; knowing him, he'll find a ditch and play in it for the next three hours."

This ditch sucked.

Lloyd grumbled as he sat up, holding his head. His excursion with the horse had been going great until he'd been whacked off by a stray tree branch.

Aw man, and now he owed Genius money! He pouted as he hauled himself over the lip of the ditch, brushing twigs out of his tangled hair. The horse kicked at the ground a few feet away, still grumpy about being commandeered by a manic Hylian. Lloyd jumped to his feet, brushing off his torn gi — oh, Uncle was going to be pissed about that, gis were just about the only nice set of clothes he had left — and trying to wipe the evidence of the attacking branch from his face.

He looked around curiously. He actually didn't recognize this place super well. They usually went the other direction, in search of streams or hilltops. Once, Lloyd had managed to coerce them all onto a cliffside to spy on Taluses. But… he'd never been over here, before. It was just more wide, expansive plains and grass.

His stomach clenched as he rounded the top of the short hill. Below, what seemed like a thousand Guardian corpses littered the grassy plains. Scorch marks marred the earth beneath their metal bodies. Lloyd swallowed.

He wasn't exactly scared of Guardians, but… he wasn't exactly fond of them, either. Something in the back of his head had always associated them with danger, even more so than one would expect. Of course, they were the machines that destroyed Hyrule sixteen years back, but he could always tell it wasn't the implication of their power that he was wary of.

"Man," he muttered under his breath. "These things creep me out." But he wasn't some kind of wuss! They were dead anyways, so what was the harm of checking things out?

He hesitated for a moment more before shrugging it off, smiling to himself as he trotted down the short hill. The horse behind him kicked the ground with a snuffle as he pulled it along, clearly too sensible to agree with his activity of choice.

Lloyd didn't pay it any mind. He poked through the Guardian remains, growing more and more at ease as he found no sign of movement. "Man, Genius is gonna flip," he said as he jerked out a Guardian Eye from its socket. He grinned, undoing the obi of his gi and using the excess fabric to hold mechanical parts as he collected more and more of them.

"You know," he said, "the old Prince? Legend says he destroyed a hundred of these suckers. Even just one could destroy a whole village!" He straightened, gaze automatically locking onto the Great Plateau's foggy silhouette in distance. "One day… I want to be just like that."

What would it be like, to live a life of adventure? To travel the world, kicking monster butt and saving people? He imagined it constantly. Domu was a wonderful place, full of great people, but he wanted more. He wanted the entire world and every quest it had to offer. He wanted to see every Domain and their people, he wanted to fight every kind of monster, he wanted to climb on the tallest mountains in Shintaro and dive into the deepest depths of the Zora Domain.

There was always something tugging on him, urging him to run as fast as he could and never stop. And for some reason, that tether always led, inexplicably, to the Great Plateau.

Maybe because that was where Hylians first originated when the First Master made them. Maybe because it was supposed to be the most dangerous place in the world. Maybe just because he wasn't allowed to, and so wanted to go even more. Whatever it was, he couldn't help longing for it.

He blinked, shaking his head as he woke from his stupor. He internally laughed at himself — Sally would totally make fun of him for getting so deep. Well, if he ever did go on a real adventure, he knew he wanted to do it with his friends. He'd probably get himself killed without them around.

He grinned when his eyes landed on the near hollowed-out skeleton of a Guardian. "Aha, jackpot!" The horse snorted, giving him a judgemental look as he dropped his plethora of gears and mechanical parts to crawl inside of the Guardian. He gaped as the hollow inside, poking the sharp inner workings. "Ohoho, Gene is gonna be so jealous!" He exclaimed, his voice echoing in the metal robot.

As he was busy inspecting the inside of an ancient machine, his voice carried loudly as he continued speaking.

Collapsed in the ground, legs splayed out and immobile, a Guardian Eye sparked.

Lloyd laughed as he poked his head out of the top of the Guardian torso. "This is so cool," he said, shimmying his legs out. "We've got to come back tomorrow! Oh, Mom will love this!"

The hairs on the back of his neck raised as a strange, high-pitched whirring noise came from behind him. Before he could think to turn around, a bright, white-hot blue light arced over his head with the smile still frozen on his face.

The horse screamed, rearing up in a panic. Lloyd yelped, toppling off the Guardian. He jumped back to his feet, whipping around. To his horror, a Guardian was slowly clambering over the corpses of its fallen brethren, headed right for him. It advanced slowly, with janky, stilted movements. Its blue Eye sparked erratically.

Lloyd breathed harshly, feet frozen. His heartbeat pounded in his chest like a war drum, echoing in his ears.

His palm all the way up through his arm and bursting PAIN across his shoulder and his chest and creeping up his neck like a horrible little PARASITE-

A second sputtering arc of energy is enough to wake him up. Lloyd shrieked, stumbling backward. Trinkets forgotten, he sprinted for the horse, jumping over the strewn legs of Guardians. The Guardian skittered after him, whirring like a broken clock.

"Nope nope nope nope nope nope-" Lloyd chanted as he pushed himself over a fallen Guardian. The horse brayed loudly, stomping the ground in agitation. Shit, why did Lloyd have to steer them into a den of these things?! It was impossible to get anywhere without an obstacle!

He jumped onto the horse's back, kicking it into movement. He panted, relaxing only a little when the Guardian slowly disappeared from sight behind them as the horse galloped away. In his hand, he noticed he still held a Guardian Eye.

He blinked, still breathless, before he burst into laughter. He'd just escaped a Guardian! How many Hylians could say that? "Whoo!" He cheered, throwing his hands into the air. "Let's go! I'm a fucking legend!"

He couldn't wait to tell Brad! He was always so impressed with Lloyd, and Lloyd couldn't help but revel in pride. This would knock his socks off for sure! And then he'd call Lloyd cool and brave and-

Getting off track.

Gene, Brad and Sally were all leaning against the side of a ruined house. Lloyd waved both arms, catching their attention. "Guys! Guys, let's go!"

"We were waiting on you!" Gene protested.

"Why are you covered in dirt?" Sally asked as she tilted her head. Lloyd waved her off.

"It's nothing. We gotta go, there's a Guardian-"

"A Guardian?!" Brad shrieked, glancing over his shoulder like it would descend from the sky or something.

"Yeah, so let's go! Chop chop, people!"

His friends quickly piled onto the horse behind him, much to the poor animal's chagrin. He internally promised it lots and lots of sugar. Brad, directly behind him, held his shoulders awkwardly, which was making Sally laugh for some reason.

"Ugh, Brad, you're gonna fall off-" Lloyd muttered as he tugged his friend's arm around his waist instead. Brad's face went bright red as he stuttered incoherently. Gene spluttered from the very back.

"I'm going to fall off! Scooch up!"

Mostly just to tick off Gene, Lloyd chose that exact moment to kick the horse into action. It kicked up, braying loudly, before taking off through the village ruins. Gene, Brad, and Sally all shrieked loudly as Lloyd laughed at them, urging the animal faster and faster.

Man, today was going even better than he thought! A Guardian graveyard, a new horse, and eternal bragging rights? He's on a roll!

He leaned over the horse's neck, petting its thick skin. "I'm gonna call you Pillow Mint," he said cheerfully. The horse snorted loudly. Gene audibly rolled his eyes.

"That makes no sense-"

"Shut up it's perfect," Sally gasped, eyes sparkling with an overload of cuteness aggression.

The newly named Pillow Mint raced through the ruins, crossing into the wider plains and streams that separated Domu from its more dangerous surroundings. The sun was rapidly setting, marking the end of their excursion for the day, and probably a lot of scolding from their parents.

Domu was hidden in a valley, surrounded by sharp cliff sides that Lloyd was constantly climbing. There was only one entrance, which Lloyd's parents had ensured was heavily fortified and guarded at all times. His parents were actually half the reason Domu existed at all — sixteen years ago, it was Wu, Li, and Koko that had stepped up and taken charge of the small group of Hylian refugees fleeing the capital during the Great Calamity.

His uncle was terrifyingly intelligent, almost to the point of omniscience. He was wise, too, and always knew his way around things. He tempered his brother and sister-in-law often, given how intense the two could be. He taught Lloyd everything he knew about martial arts.

His father was probably the physically strongest person Lloyd would ever meet. Sometimes it felt like his dad could lift a house without breaking a sweat. He could rally a squadron against an entire kingdom if he tried hard enough. Lloyd would probably never be as big as his dad, but he wanted to at least be as strong. It was his dad that taught him how to use just about every weapon in the book, from swords to crossbows to javelins.

His mother probably did all of the actual leading. She was cunning, ruthless when she had to be, and terrifyingly efficient. She taught Lloyd all of his academics and drilled a borderline insane amount of gymnastics into him.

With those three as his parents, it was no surprise that Lloyd ended up the way he did — afraid of nothing with the skills to back it up. One day, he was going to put those skills to the test and find a real challenge. Somewhere out there in Ninjago, there was an adventure to be had. Monsters to kill, people to save, glory to revel in. He'd discover places nobody ever had, pull feats Hylians would sing songs about, carve his name into the history books.

Well, you know. If Hyrule still wrote history books. His kingdom wasn't exactly the most literate these days, being torn to pieces and all.

Lloyd waved his arms high above his head at the guard posted at the gate. The man, well used to their antics, rolled his eyes and tugged on the crank that opened up the huge wooden gate. He leaned over the sharpened edges of his post.

"A new animal? That's the third one this month!" He called. "You know we have people to feed too, right?"

Lloyd waved him off dismissively, patting Pillow Mint's neck. "Who, Pillow Mint? I basically just birthed her!" Pillow Mint snorted derisively, shaking her head. The gate cranked shut behind them as they entered Domu.

Gene was the first to jump off, brushing off his clothes. "When your parents make you put that horse back, don't come crying to me," he warned, pointing a finger at Lloyd. Lloyd huffed, turning his nose up.

"Pillow Mint is my child, and therefore their grandchild. They wouldn't dare."

Sally jumped off, holding Pillow Mint's face and pressing a fat kiss to her perfect nose. "I'll miss you," she whispered, eyes borderline watering. Then she perked up, turning to Lloyd. "Oh, hey, ask Miss Koko for springrolls for lunch!"

Lloyd offered a salute. Brad departed the horse sloppily, still unused to riding animals. He rubbed his neck, flushed from the quick ride. "S-see you tomorrow, Lloyd," he said, averting his eyes for some reason. "Uh, maybe we could-"

"Visit the Guardian graveyard? My thoughts exactly," Lloyd interjected, immediately causing his friends to groan exasperatedly. He huffed in offense. "Hey, those things have a ton of interesting parts! Don't you wanna see one up close?"

Gene leveled him with an unimpressed glare. "Didn't one come to life and try to kill you?"

"Psshh," Lloyd waved his hand at Gene, rolling his eyes. "Semantics! Besides, I bet you forty rupees I can kill it next time!"

Brad attempted to cut in, looking a little horrified. "Lloyd, Guardians are more powerful than Skulkin. You can't just fight one-"

Gene, determined not to get one-upped, clasped Lloyd's hand and sealed the deal. "You're on," he bet with a wide, feral grin — almost as feral as Lloyd's. "I'll have your allowance for weeks."

Sally nudged Brad, who was slumped over in defeat. "Ten rupees says Lloyd gets a concussion," she whispered. Brad just groaned, already mourning his friend. She laughed, bounding off with a wave. "See you tomorrow!"

Brad and Gene left to their own homes as Lloyd rode his horse off in the other direction. He crossed into the backyard, setting Pillow Mint up in an empty stable — Ms. Hepburn was borrowing their other horse for some farm work — and offering her a barrel full of apples and a stack of hay for her hard work. Man, with a horse as strong and fast as Pillow Mint, he'd be pulling so many cool stunts.

He clambered into the house through his bedroom window, quickly tearing off his dirtied gi and pulling on a new one. It was pointless to wear normal clothes — they were always ruined eventually. He saved them for church instead, the one place he didn't end up causing a commotion. …mostly because Uncle ran the service and would have his head for interrupting.

Not that Lloyd would, though. For some reason, the temple of the Time God was the one place he didn't feel antsy or impatient. It was like a buzz took over his head, leaving him content to just stare at the First Master's statue all day. Probably because the temple was warm and cozy — Sally liked to compare him to a cat in that regard.

Chancing a look at his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't blame her. His hair was a mess, braid tangled and hopeless, and his face smudged with dirt. He did his best to wipe it all off, smoothing the blonde tangles back, before entering the kitchen for dinner.

Uncle Wu was cooking, as usual. He was the only member of the family who wasn't completely hopeless. Dad was pretending to not be stealing bits of food in between the cooking, while Mom was propped up at the table with her book. She glanced up when Lloyd entered the room.

"There better not be another animal in my house, Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon," she threatened, pointing her favorite annotating pen at him. He raised his hands in self-defense, joining his father at the counter and swiping a cookie from the jar. Uncle Wu swat his hand in scolding.

"Of course not," he replied smoothly, hopping up to sit on the counter next to his dad. He averted his eyes when his mom gave him an unconvinced look and bit into his cookie. "…she's in the stable."

"Lloyd," Koko groaned, burying her face in her hands. His dad laughed loudly, clapping Lloyd's shoulder and nearly sending him flying. His dad was huge, and Lloyd was decidedly not. He carried his mom's genes for sure.

"Another horse, then?" Li said, grinning. "What'd you name it this time?"

Lloyd beamed up at him. "Pillow Mint! She's mine now. She's fast, too."

Li blinked. "…better than the last name, I s'pose."

Uncle Wu shot Lloyd a near identical look to his mother's, unimpressed with his antics. "You're responsible for her, Nephew," he said. "That means actually cleaning her."

Lloyd shrugged, taking another big chomp out of his cookie. "I'll get Sally to do that! She likes bathing horses."

Dad tutted, plucking the remaining cookie out of his hands, much to Lloyd's dismay. "You should be more responsible," he scolded lightly, popping the rest of the stolen treat in his mouth. If anyone ever doubted Lloyd was Li Garmadon's son, all they had to do was refer to their shared sweet tooth. "You can't always have someone else do the hard work for you."

Lloyd rolled his eyes with a loud groan. His parents were always so serious about stuff. "Daaaad, c'mon! It's not that big a deal." He turned to his mom with a hopeful smile. "Oh, and Sally wants springrolls for lunch tomorrow!"

Koko sighed. "Doesn't that girl's aunt feed her?" But it was obvious that she was making the treat. Lloyd's friends were so entwined in his life that his parents were basically theirs as well. He couldn't count the number of times they'd slept over at one another's houses, to the point where he basically lived at Sally's. He thinks he left a pair of earrings at Brad's.

Uncle slipped a bowl of food into Lloyd's hands, patting his head. "Eat," he commanded, knowing how much activity Lloyd got up to. He probably needed the calories.

Lloyd dug into the food without a second thought, barely registering what he was eating. In between bites, he yammered about his day, from throwing Gene into a creek to knocking the head off a Skulkin from four yards away.

"And then," he said, swallowing another huge bite, "I fell in a ditch and found a Guardian graveyard!"

All three parents immediately whipped their heads around to stare at him, wide-eyed. Mom set both her book and plate down. "You found a what?!" She exclaimed.

Lloyd nodded vigorously, oblivious to their panic. "Uh-huh! And one came to life! Tried to shoot me, but I got away."

Dad clutched his chest tightly, leaning over. "I'm too old," he lamented. "First Master, why? Why is my son like this?"

Uncle grabbed Lloyd's arm, scanning him for injuries aside from the usual scrapes. "Did it touch you?" He asked quickly, taking the issue far more seriously than his older brother. "Did it follow you?"

Lloyd rolled his eyes. "No, Uncle, it didn't follow me." How dumb did he think he was? He wouldn't let a Guardian into Domu. He did silently elect not to tell them that he was planning on fighting it tomorrow, though.

His parents slumped in relief, another crisis averted. Mom shook her head, exasperated. "This boy…" she murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose. She shot Lloyd a fake-grumpy look. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

Lloyd pressed a sincere hand to his chest. "I'm a vagabond, mother," he lamented. "Adventure calls me! I must heed her!"

Dad ruffled his hair, laughing. "Boy's not half wrong, Koko," he said. "Coming up on his seventeenth. It's about time we set him loose on the rest of the world, don't you think?"

Lloyd's eyes lit up, rapidly flicking between his mom and dad. "Wait, Dad, seriously?" Koko sighed, glancing away.

"Well… he could use a little more experience…"

Lloyd jumped to his feet, bouncing on his toes. "Guys, seriously?! I'm gonna get to leave Domu?!"

Dad chuckled, slinging a heavy arm around his neck. "Don't sound so excited," he snarked. He directed Lloyd to the dinner table next to Mom. "You'll be an adult soon, Lloyd. So, we were figuring-"

"We didn't actually agree to this," Koko pointed out disapprovingly.

"-We'd take you on a little adventure. Just the three of us — your uncle would stay to watch Domu," he finished. Uncle huffed, dumping the dishes in the sink.

"And because I'm not traveling across the kingdom," he said.

"That too," Dad agreed.

Lloyd practically buzzed with excitement, hands flapping uncontrollably at his sides. "FSM, guys, for real? Where would we even go? OOH, we should go to the Great Plateau!"

"Absolutely not," Mom shut him down immediately and severely. "The Great Plateau is far too dangerous."

Dad ruffled his hair as he slumped, disappointed. "She's right," he said lightly. "Besides, we were figuring we'd visit another village."

Lloyd tried not to pout and failed. "Aw, c'mon, another village?" He whined. "Why not a canyon? Or cool temple ruins?"

Mom smiled knowingly. "Because, son of mine, this is Jamanakai Village. It's filled with warriors, skilled fighters, people from the capital before it fell. You'll get an adventure there, I promise."

Warriors? People from the Great Plateau? No way. Lloyd buzzed with renewed excitement, beaming. He couldn't wait to tell Brad, Gene and Sally. He was going to learn so many cool fighting moves!

Out of his sight, his mother and father exchanged a somber look.

"I can't wait," Lloyd said breathlessly, clutching his braid in an attempt to calm his hand. "I'm gonna learn so many sick moves, and they're gonna teach me how to fight all kinds of monsters-!"

"Slow down," Mom said with a laugh, bringing him back down to Earth. "We're still working it out. But on your seventeenth birthday, we'll go for sure."

Dad rubbed his shoulder, pulling him in for a half hug. "There's nothing they can teach you that your old man can't, anyways," he joked.

Lloyd pushed him away, grinning. He went to respond but was abruptly cut off when the ground suddenly rumbled. He stumbled, sent off balance for a moment. His pointed ears pricked, swiveling. Distantly, loud booms were set off.

Mom stood, alert. "What was that?" She breathed. Dad's hand drifted to his side, where he always kept his giant broadsword. Uncle Wu turned, shutting off the water. He stepped out of the kitchen, holding Lloyd's shoulder protectively.

But Domu was safe. They were hidden, well guarded. There wasn't anything that could threaten his village aside from a few teenage antics. …right?

He wanted to brush it off, but his parents seemed so alarmed that he couldn't. He swallowed, looking up at his father. "Dad?" He asked uncertainly.

Another sudden BOOM went off, much closer and louder than the last. The ground shook, dust raining down from their roof. Dad swore and took off, throwing open the front door. Mom and Uncle quickly followed, retrieving weapons of their own from their storage by the door. Lloyd's breath caught in his throat as he hurriedly tugged a decorative dao off the wall, racing after his parents with the golden blade in hand.

Please be a bad invention, he internally begged, rounding the street corner, or a stray firework-

Screaming. People fled their houses, running in all different directions, trying to escape the rapidly growing fires. Several more explosions went off in quick succession, toppling homes and businesses without prejudice. Lloyd flinched away, heart pounding in his chest.

Yiga? He'd heard of them, the monsters that worshiped the horrible demon that haunted Hyrule — Domu was hidden for a reason. Were they attacking his home? He growled, clutching the dao in both hands. He'd kill anybody threatening the people he cared about.

He ran through the streets, shoving people behind him and yelling for them to get to safety. People occasionally listened to him, on account of his parents, and it came in handy now. They pointed him in the directions of his parents and ran off with their families. He commanded a few to start a water brigade before the fires could get out of hand.

But when he finally reached his parents, finding them frozen, he realized that the idea may be hopeless.

Lloyd forgot to breathe as he took in the sight. A Guardian, Eye ablaze, skittered over fallen rubble. Several lasers shot from its glowing Eye, decimating houses like piles of sticks.

That… was the Guardian from the graveyard. It had followed him. His hands shook. He'd led a Guardian to his village.

A high-pitched whirring noise came from the machine just before it spun around, top swiveling, and cut a burning wound across the street. Fires burst to life in its stead, smoke clogging the air and making it difficult to see anything. Lloyd flinched back, fear clouding his mind.

They're going to kill me, he thought with absolute certainty.

"M-mom? Dad?" He whispered.

Uncle turned, pushing Lloyd back. "Go, now! To the temple!" He urged, unsheathing his iron sword. "We will handle it!"

Lloyd, frozen, couldn't react to the words for a moment. He processed them after a beat and shook his head, forcing himself to step forward. "N-no!" He protested, raising his dao. "I can help fight it! Just tell me where to hit it, I can-"

"No," his father said, more serious than Lloyd had ever seen him. He placed a hand on Lloyd's shoulder and pushed him away, expression somber and resolute. "You will go to the temple, where it is safe. You will ensure that everyone else reaches the temple, and you will guard them. Understood?"

His dad did this sometimes. When people were scared, he talked to them not like victims, but like soldiers. People to be given instructions, important instructions. Lloyd latched onto them with a desperate ferocity, and before he knew it, he was nodding and racing off to find as many townspeople as he could.

Explosions and fires rung in his ears as he dashed down the streets, pulling people away from their homes. He found himself constantly stooping down mid-run to scoop up small children or animals, shoving them into the closest available set of arms and yelling for everyone to make their way to the Time God's temple. The First Master would protect them.

Right?

His eyes caught onto Sally's form, wandering around and looking for something frantically. Lloyd felt his heart screech to a stop at the sight of crumbling debris right over her head. He rushed to her side, tugging her to the ground and kicking the debris away. Sally latched onto him immediately, eyes wide and wet.

"Lloyd, I can't find my aunt! What's going on?!"

"Guardian," he said quickly, tugging her to her feet. Her face rapidly paled. Guardians were one thing when they were nothing but empty husks in a graveyard, but when they were alive and lighting villages on fire? Lloyd was starting to think he should've been more afraid of them. He pushed her in the direction of the temple. "You need to go; help get everyone to the church! My parents are dealing with it!"

"But my Aunt Ming-"

"Now, Sally!" He yelled. "I'll find her!"

She hesitated for a moment more, paralyzed by fear. A searing hot beam of light arced over their heads, causing Sally to shriek, and Lloyd swore under his breath. He'd just take her with him. He snatched her hand and sprinted in another direction, calling out for everyone he passed to run to the temple. He had to believe they would be safe there, that the First Master would recognize their devotion to him and protect them all.

Where's a Hero of Destiny when you need one?

Sally yelled for her aunt, choking on tears, as Lloyd pushed aside rubble to get into a fallen house. He pulled out a woman, and realizing she had a broken leg, picked her up. "The temple, Sally," he said. He couldn't run amok while carrying somebody. But the woman yelled, clutching her bleeding temples as she attempted to speak.

"My- my hus- hus-!" She slurred, pupils contracting in totally different sizes. Lloyd set her on the ground and dove back under the house. He shoved rubble aside with ease, instinctively picking his way through the sturdiest path. He stopped at the sight of a growing pool of blood. A limp hand, its attached arm buried in stone, grew cold in the puddle. Lloyd swallowed and turned back.

Sally was holding the woman — he recognized her now, Mrs. Anderson, she once gave him a bunch of cookies she'd accidentally burnt because he liked the toasty taste — under her arm, desperately trying to get her to speak complete sentences. Lloyd hoped the concussion wasn't serious, but maybe it was for the best that she was out of it. At least she couldn't understand that her husband was dead.

"We've got to go," Lloyd gasped as he pulled himself out of the ruined home, covered in dust and grime. "I can't carry her and the sword at the same time, help me-"

"Lloyd!" Said Hylian internally swore at the sound of Brad's voice. He turned over his shoulder to see Brad and Gene running to his side, apparently oblivious to the raging fires and five-ton robot wrecking everything. Brad panted heavily, leaning on his knees. "Wh-what's happening? Why is everything on fire?"

"Guardian," Lloyd said, turning his attention to their surroundings. He couldn't see the damned thing, so his parents must be keeping it busy. He buried the worry he felt for them. They were the most capable three people in the entire village; he had to believe they could handle this.

Gene gaped at him. "You- you mean there's a- a-"

"Yes, Gene," Lloyd snapped, dropping the nickname for once. He had been trusted to take care of the villagers, and his friends were the most important by far — for once, he didn't have the time or care for jokes. He pulled Mrs. Anderson to her feet and shoved her in the taller boys' direction. "Carry her to the temple," he told them, hefting his dao. It wasn't very sharp, being decorative and all, but he had no doubt he could put it to good use. "And then stay there. I need to find Miss Ming."

Gene blinked at him blankly, his huge brain clearly having processing issues. "M-my dad," he blurted out, desperation seeping into his voice. "I haven't seen him. I left out of my window, and- and I haven't- I don't-"

"I'll find him, too," Lloyd promised. Brad made no comment after his own caretaker — they were on tolerable terms at best, and no doubt Brad hadn't even thought about the guy. "Now go!"

Before his friends even get the chance to turn around, the stone and brick house, already crumpled, bursts into shreds of shrapnel. Lloyd is blown back, tumbling to the ground and barely managing to roll back onto his feet. His friends, neither as athletic or lucky, hit the ground in varying degrees of injury. Mrs. Anderson passed out completely, and Lloyd desperately hoped she wasn't dead.

He froze at the sight of the Guardian clambering over the rubble on spider-like limbs made of tubed rubbed. Its Eye glowed malevolently, a burning hot magenta as it observed the wreckage.

Lloyd remained as still as possible, hoping the Guardian would assume they were dead and move on. But his mind raced as panic built by the second. Where were his parents? They couldn't be dead, they couldn't be. They were the strongest people he knew. If they hadn't survived, what chance did the rest of Domu have?

The Guardian stared in the direction of his friends, not having noticed him. Why wasn't it moving? Lloyd realized, as his heart dropped into his stomach, that it was looking for something.

Sally didn't seem to get the 'play dead' memo. She groaned, sitting up, clearly woozy and out of it. The Guardian locked onto her movement as a high-pitched mechanical sound emanated from its Eye. Whatever it was looking for, it had clearly decided murdering his best friend was worth a pit stop.

Brad noticed the Guardian as well, and despite his clearly twisted ankle, rushed to Sally's side. He trembled head to toe, but stood fast in front of her, glaring down the Guardian with terrified tears in his eyes. Gene laid paralyzed on the ground, completely and totally frozen in fear.

The Guardian didn't care. It lined up its Eye as every rune on its terrifying body glowed brightly, energy racing through the circuitry. Lloyd realized with horrifying certainty that it was going to kill them, just like its brethren had killed the capital citizens sixteen years ago in the Calamity.

No. No, not his friends. Not them. He'd rather die than let this thing touch a hair on their heads. He would fight this monster one-on-one before he let it look at them for a second longer.

A primal snarl built up in his throat. On instinct alone, he snatched up his dao and charged forward, unimpeded by any existing injury — whether he had his durability or adrenaline to thank for that, he didn't care — and slid to a stop in front of the Guardian's Eye. A beam of magenta light raced from the machine, aimed directly for him.

He met it head on. He wouldn't move, he wouldn't budge, and he wouldn't let this thing push around the people he loved. He would stand up to this overgrown metal bully.

Something, something, responded to him. Responded to his stubbornness, his will, something. He felt a pulse that didn't belong to him beat loud in his ears, thrumming in his sternum like a war drum. It spread from his heart to his feet and into the earth itself.

A split second before the laserbeam hit, the earth split around them. A rocky dome, harder than diamonds, folded over their bodies in a protective sphere. The laser hit the dome, rocking it violently, but it held.

Lloyd backed up, staring at the earth in shock. Earth shouldn't just do that. How had it done that?!

"Lloyd?" Sally held onto Brad, both staring at him. Her eyes flicked from the dome to her best friend. She looked at him like she didn't recognize him. "What was that?"

He shook his head, trying to still his shaking hands. "I- I don't know," he whispered. "I- I didn't do that. I don't know how-"

"What's it matter?!" Brad shrieked, collapsing against the back of the rough dome. "We're going to die!"

"Don't say that!" Sally wailed, hysteria peeking through. "You're going to jinx us!"

"There's a Guardian knocking outside!"

"Shut up!" Lloyd snapped. They instantly fell silent, staring at him expectantly. They were relying on him. Trusting him to keep them safe and alive. He took a deep breath, ignoring another laser outside of the dome, and tugged Gene to his feet. "We're not going to die," he promised his friend. He held Gene until the taller boy finally nodded, still out of it, and passed him to Brad. Sally pulled Mrs. Anderson behind them, propping her up against the rock.

Another laserbeam, louder this time. Hairline cracks raced through the rock. Lloyd planted his feet and lifted his sword, glowering. As long as they were behind him, he wasn't moving. End of story.

The cracks grew, racing through stone as it shook, raining fine dust on their heads. "Lloyd," Brad whispered, voice shaky. "What do we do?"

"When the rock splits," Lloyd said lowly, gritting his teeth as the rock began to tear, "And I say run, you run. Don't look back. Leave Mrs. Anderson."

"But-!"

"It'll think she's dead," Lloyd said firmly, "And leave her be. I'll lure it away." He can't stand to tell them why he knows it'll work, but if he had to hazard a guess, he'd say that the Guardian is looking for him. It was the exact same hellish robot from the Guardian graveyard, and he's the one who woke it up. Chances are, it wants him dead.

"Lloyd, we can't…" Gene mumbled, trailing off. He shrugged his friend off.

"Come on, Genius, you're smart," Lloyd said, forcing a strained grin. "I'll lose it and loop back around to the temple after I find Miss Ming and your dad. I'll be fine. I'm slippery, remember?"

"You're also reckless and a walking fire hazard," Gene snapped. "Don't be a hero, idiot! Just- just hide in the temple with us!"

"No can do," Lloyd said. He could hear the whirring outside — the Guardian was charging up for a big one. He had to make this count. "Gotta find my parents too. Besides," he glanced over his shoulder, forcing a wide grin and showing off his canines. "After this, you're gonna owe me so many rupees."

Gene, at a loss for words — either at his sheer stupidity or totally unearned confidence, though probably both — just stared at him for a beat. Then he squeezed Lloyd's shoulder lightly. "If you die," he said, his choked-up voice betraying the hot glare, "I'll march down to the Departed Realm to kick your ass myself."

Wow. And who ever said Gene didn't like him? What an outstanding guy.

The rock shattered before Lloyd could respond, spraying sharp pebbles. Lloyd took the brunt of it, hissing as debris created fine cuts in his skin. The Guardian loomed over him, Eye sparking. He growled, lifting his sword in challenge. His arm splayed out as if to hide the three teenagers behind him.

"Try it," he snarled. "Go ahead and give it your best fucking shot!"

"Lloyd-" Sally yelped.

"Wait!" He called. The shining Eye charged up again, glowing fuchsia. Please let this work, he prayed. I've got to protect them. They can't protect themselves, so I have to do it.

And again, something responds to this. There is something in his lungs that cools him down, stills the beat of his heart, makes the hot breath in his mouth crystallize midair. There is something that says protect those who cannot protect themselves, and he agrees wholeheartedly.

Once more, just as the beam of death leaves the Eye of the Guardian, something responds. A glimmering shield crystallizes out of nothing, shining and mighty in all its frosty glory. It's larger than Lloyd's entire body, colder than the dead of night in the midst of winter, than even the deepest depths of the ocean. The bright pink laser hits the shield dead on. The shield shatters like glass on impact, but absorbs all the force of the hit, leaving them completely unharmed.

Lloyd has no idea what's happening. He doesn't know why or how elements are coming up out of the woodwork to protect them, but never let it be said that he doesn't know how to take advantage of a situation. He sends a quick thank-you prayer up to the First Master and screams behind him, "Run!"

His friends, for once, don't hesitate. They book it, sprinting past the Guardian and using the smoky frost and dust kicked up from the blast as cover. The Guardian doesn't even bother looking at them. It only has eyes — or, an Eye — for Lloyd.

Theory confirmed. It makes his raging guilt worse, but that only serves to fuel his anger. This overgrown bucket picked the wrong teenager. He grins, feral and mean and as sharp as he possibly can.

"Come and get me, then," he says. He rolls out of the way, smoothly dodging an extended claw, and bounces to his feet behind the Guardian. He waves his hands wildly, jumping and generally making a nuisance of himself. If he's going to do this, it's got to be as far from the temple as possible. "Over here, tin can!" He yells, skipping backward. "Come and get it, piss bucket!"

The Guardian charges for him without hesitation. Lloyd books it in the opposite direction, weaving in and out of buildings and low overhangings. He jumps over rooftops, trusting his inherent sense of balance to keep him going, and hits laserbeams out of the air with his golden dao. Unknown to him, lightning sparks at his feet, making him faster than humanly possible. If he were any quicker, he might as well be flying.

He leaps over a bright, searing hot laser. "Slowpoke!" He yells behind him. There is in fact a reason he's yelling so much — his parents have got his 'yelling modes' locked and loaded. They know better than anyone how to tell when he's yelling just because he's naturally loud, or if he's in actual trouble. They're also fucking bloodhounds, the overprotective geriatrics.

He jumps off a thatched rooftop, hitting the ground in a roll. He gets to his feet just in time to deflect another blast. He can only do that a few more times before the blade breaks, though.

Well, he's not afraid to put it to the test. Nobody ever said Lloyd didn't love a good fight.

"Come on," he mutters between clenched teeth, glancing all around him. He has no idea where his parents are, can't assume the worst or he'll crash, so he makes up a new plan. He can't fight the Guardian one-on-one, no matter what bet he made — though he really wants to try — so he'll do something else.

The Guardian is after him, right? Good. He can lead it out of the village and drop it off a cliff, or make it square up with a Talus instead. He wished he had a horse, but he can make that run.

He changes direction, sprinting for the village gate. The Guardian follows close behind, shaking the very ground with its weight as it scampers after him. Those things are so fast, it's unfair. Thankfully, it's too heavy to make tight turns, so Lloyd resorts to bobbing and weaving his way out of its grasp.

Then, to his surprise, the sound of the Guardian stops. He glances behind him, confused, and finds that there's an arrow lodged in its metal body. He's tugged into an alley by his braid a second later.

He lands in a heap on the ground, coughing and spluttering as his sword clatters to the ground, and looks up to find his dad. Relief crashes into him at the knowledge that his dad is okay. The man looks to have aged about sixteen more years and glares at him with a grim expression.

"You were supposed to go to the temple!" Li Garmadon snaps, dragging him to his feet by his upper arm. "Why are you all the way out here?!"

"I had to protect the others," Lloyd explains breathlessly, holding onto his dad for balance. "It was gonna kill them! Listen, I've got a plan. It's after me-"

"You let it see you?!" His dad yells, but there is true, unfettered fear in his eyes now.

"It was looking for me, Dad," Lloyd says. "Let me help! I can get it out of Domu and then we all can-"

"No," Dad snaps. There's horror etched into his aged face at the confession, as though the man is being haunted by something. "Get to the temple now."

"But I promise I'd find Miss Ming-" Lloyd is immediately cut off. The much taller man grabs him by the shoulders, lowering himself to his knee to look Lloyd in the eye.

"Lloyd, I promise you, we will explain everything," Dad says, much to his confusion. "But you need to run. You need to get to the temple and hide."

"I can help-"

"No." Li raises to his full height and pushes him in the direction of the temple. "Go, now!"

Lloyd hesitates a moment more, hot tears gathering in his eyes. Then a blast into the side of the two-story building overhead spurs him into action. He leaves his sword in the dust, weaving through the alleyways and abandoning his parents to fight the Guardian.

He passes burning piles of rubble, ravines seared into the molten earth, craters blasted into oblivion. He ignores it all when he hears nor sees no sign of life. If anybody was there… they're gone, now.

Finally, finally, he reaches the temple. It gleams in the light of the fires, an untouched white and gold. The Guardian hasn't laid a finger on it, just like they all knew it wouldn't. The temple is safe.

He shoves the double doors open, slamming them shut just as quickly behind him. He turns to find a few dozen people gathered, in varying states of injury and undress, on the floor and in the pews. All eyes turn to him. He's immediately accosted by adults who want information and kids who want reassurance. He focuses on Mr. Mathews, an older man who always gets the balls out of trees or off of roofs.

"Where are you parents?" He demands, the only semi-level-headed person in the room.

"Fighting the Guardian," Lloyd responds. "They have it handled." Mr. Mathews nods, satisfied, and turns to deal with everyone else. Lloyd finds himself gravitating toward the corner where his friends are huddled. They're hiding against the large marble base of the First Master's statue. The Time God, in all his glory, holds the legendary Sword of Sanctuary in his grasp to ward off evil.

"Are you guys okay?" He asks. The light is dim, their only source being small, flickering candles, only half of which are lit, but he can see the fear and unease on their faces clear as day.

"W-we're fine," Sally mumbles. Gene's arm is wrapped around her, the boy only marginally more aware. He was in total shock. His best friends, the three horsemen of fear responses: fight, flight, and freeze. Lloyd was partial to 'scare it back', but to each their own.

Sally looks behind him. "Where's my aunt?" She says in a small voice. Gene blinks, brought out of his daze for the moment.

"M-my dad…?"

Lloyd stiffens. "I- I didn't see them," he admits, shame curdling in his gut. "My parents made me come straight here."

He looks around, taking in the true amount of people gathered. A few dozen? He barely counted thirty-five people including his friends! There were more than thirty-five people in his village! He turned back to Sally.

"Where is everyone?"

They fell silent. Brad swallowed. "They… they haven't come," he said softly. "We haven't seen anyone else."

That means they're still out there. People he'd grown up around, people he knew and cared about, were in the line of fire. He started for the door, uncaring of his father's orders. "I've got to find them-!"

He was tugged back by his braid. Sally held the other end, eyes wide and wet. Her bottom lip trembled. "Lloyd…" she said softly. "We need you."

"Look around," Gene said grimly. "Nobody else can fight."

He glanced at the small crowd. Older adults, adults who were bakers and gardeners, children who could barely throw a ball straight. He deflated. Hylians weren't fighters. The old kingdom might've had an army, but they could never measure up to people like the Rito or Gerudo. Hylians just weren't fighters — that's what the Guardians were meant for.

He glanced at the stained-glass windows lined around the temple, murals depicting a divine green being. He sighed, lowering his head. If there was no Hero of Destiny to protect them, then he'd have to fill in.

He silently apologized to the rest of his neighbors and settled down on the steps of the raised dais. His friends huddled closer, relieving some of the weight of exhaustion. Brad hesitantly locked hands, offering up his own energy. Lloyd leaned his head on the other's shoulder, pulling his knees to his chest.

For what felt like eternity, they listened to the distant booms and explosions of the raging Guardian. They were all exhausted, but fear kept them antsy and awake, flinching at every sound. Lloyd counted his blessings that the smaller kids had finally cried themselves out, passed out in fitful sleep in the pews. They had no food, no blankets… only the protection of the First Master.

Everyone else seemed to realize this. A sparse few adults stood before the statue, praying quietly for help and protection, promising eternal gratitude and devotion in return. The crowd grew, until some were drawing comforts from old religious books or praying instead to the murals of the Hero of Destiny, their supposed savior.

Lloyd, thinking of his namesake, sent his own.

They say you killed a thousand Guardians, Prince of Hyrule, he thought, staring up at a mural. A vague, featureless Hylian bounded across the ceiling, dressed in green with flowing blonde hair and a golden sword. He wore a crown, sparkling in the image of the sun. He imagined that it was the last Prince of Hyrule, the fabled child who tore through armies of Guardians with his magical sword to protect his kingdom. Please, please, kill this one. Please ensure its death. Please send your spirit to guard us and deliver us to safety. Don't let my parents die. Please protect us.

He doesn't know if anyone's listening. The Hero of Destiny has been dead for sixteen years, and legends told to him by his uncle make it clear that he's not coming back. But he can hope. He can pray. The First Master has to be on their side. He can't have abandoned them when his sword died and didn't return.

He's still there. He still cares. He's going to save them.

The sounds of the fight don't fade. Brad's hold on his hand tightens, pulling him out of his daze. Shit, he'd meant to be more aware.

"Do… do you think they're okay?" Brad whispers, staring at the door like the Guardian will come charging through at any second.

"…the Guardian is old," Lloyd says hesitantly, forcing confidence into his voice. "And immobile for at least a decade. My parents got this."

His friends glance at one another skeptically, but don't raise a word in protest. The Garmadons are the strongest people in the village — if they can't handle the Guardian, nobody can.

But already, despite desperate, near-hysterical prayers and well-wishes and what-ifs, hope begins to dwindle. No one has come to the temple in ages — anyone who is still out there is certainly dead.

His banishes the thought, trying to stay positive for Sally's aunt and Gene's dad. They're probably just hiding somewhere else.

He feels like a coward, sitting in here, but who else is going to guard the remaining villagers? Besides, he's got to believe that this is what the First Master wants — obviously, in all his eternal wisdom, he chose someone with the same name as his last Champion to protect the Hylians. He feels bolstered at the admittedly egotistical thought. Why else would the earth wrap around him and his friends? Why else would a shield of ice come out of nowhere to protect them? It's got to be the God of Time helping them.

So he waits and he prays silently, and he holds the hands of his best friends. They're going to be okay.

He suddenly perks up, ears swiveling. Brad stares at him, confused. He stares at the double doors, inscribed with serpent-like dragons and the Sword of Sanctuary, its blade the rift between the wood.

Lloyd's sensitive ears pick up what no one else can — a large object hurtling through the air straight for them. He launches to his feet, scrambling to grab the people nearest the doors.

"Everyone get away from the doors!" He screams, grabbing a stray kid and practically throwing him across the floor. The Hylians, already on edge, respond to his panicked voice immediately. They scream and rush from the double doors, tripping over one another in their haste.

Not a moment too soon. Lloyd shoves the last Hylian behind him just as the double doors implode under the force of a furnace crashing through. Screams fill the temple as Lloyd herds everyone away.

"Behind the statue, get behind the statue!" He yells, hopeless panic overtaking him. Despite how dour the situation is, he stands steadfast in front of the First Master's statue, stubbornly — or maybe stupidly — putting himself before the thirty-odd people huddled around the image of their god.

He glances at the statue, at the vague yet timelessly beautiful face of their god, betrayal glossing over his eyes. He thought the First Master was protecting them. How could he let the Guardian touch his temple?

I prayed to you, he thought mournfully. I thought you were helping me.

"Lloyd!" Brad yells, pointing out of the now empty doorway. "Your parents!"

Lloyd turns to find his parents rushing back and forth, locked in battle with the Guardian. His mother fires arrow after arrow, his father swinging his ginormous sword, his uncle deftly distracting and deflecting. They work as a clean, well-oiled machine.

But they're also covered in dirt, grime, and blood. They're slowing down. They're getting tired.

He starts forward, a hand out as if to help, but something stops him in his tracks. It's going to kill me, a tiny, scared voice whispers in the back of his head. It's more primal instinct than rational thought, the searing, terrifying certainty that if he engages this Guardian again, he will die. That scared little voice locks its cold fingers around his limbs, locking him in place. Run, it begs.

Lloyd is out of adrenaline. He's out of juice.

But louder than that tired voice is something that says he can still help. He doesn't know why his parents insist on holding their ground, why they don't call for a retreat and cut their losses, but if they're so intent on killing the Guardian, then Lloyd can help. The Guardian is after him. He can still lead it away from the others, lead it somewhere they can kill it. He can still help.

If the First Master and his hero won't protect them, then Lloyd will.

He starts forward, forcing himself to move, but finds his hand caught up. Sally, yet again, is the one to hold him back. She knows exactly what he's trying to do, and she's scared. "Lloyd," she whispers, shaking from fear once more now that they can see the Guardian — and its slowly losing opponents. "Don't leave us."

He stares into the pleading faces of the other Hylians. He can protect them, though. If he stops being a coward and gets his ass out there, he can save what little remains of his home.

He loves Domu, despite his desire to leave it behind. He couldn't stand it if everything was lost because he led a Guardian to their home.

"I'll be okay," he assures her, despite having no weapon, the barest bones of a plan, and so much unearned confidence it often makes him look stupid. The earth erupted to save his life today, so he's going to be cocky about this.

"You'll get yourself killed!" Gene snaps. "Don't be an idiot, Garmadon!"

He grins at Gene. "Hey, if I kill this thing, you owe me double."

"LLOYD-!"

He spins around, fully prepared to rush into battle with only his fists and natural ability to be a complete and utter nuisance. The first thing he sees, staring out of the desecrated temple doorway, is his uncle charging for the Guardian, spinning a battle staff.

Then he sees the Guardian's claw-arm snap out and snag the old man by his throat.

"Uncle!" Lloyd yells, alarmed. He doesn't have the time to run forward to save him. He doesn't have the time to think, or to breathe, or to even say his uncle's name one last time. The Guardian's clawed hand tightens, choking Wu, and unceremoniously snaps the man's neck.

His uncle's eyes immediately go wide, then glassy, then flat. All in a split second, the life leaves them. His body falls limp along with his head. A thin stream of blood dribbles from his lips.

Wait. No. That's not- no. What? No.

His heart is in his throat, his stomach is somewhere outside of his body, his lungs are empty and flat. There is no feeling in his body as it runs cold. His hands tremble, as if trying to shake the warmth back in. His mind buzzes blankly at the sight. He must be asleep. Or he has a concussion. That's the only explanation. His uncle- Uncle Wu, the man who tucked him in and read him bedtime stories and taught him all the old legends from Hyrule… he couldn't be dead. Uncle Wu was one of the strongest people he knew.

He can't be gone. It's unfathomable. Inconceivable. Impossible.

And yet he sees his Uncle Wu's limp body in the grasp of a monster, unmoving as blood coats his cheongsam, and thinks, it killed him. The Guardian killed my Uncle Wu.

"…Uncle?" He hears himself whisper in a voice so small he can hardly feel the word leave his lips. He hears someone gasp behind him, feels hands latch onto his wrist, trying to pull him back. They beg him to look away, to move, to hide with them. But nobody's ever been able to budge Lloyd when he didn't want to be moved, and they have no luck now.

He stares at the body of his uncle, fallen, limp and still in the dirt. His wide-brimmed rice hat lays beside him, edges frayed. That's not right. Uncle Wu never lets his clothes get dirty, why is he dirty?

He's distracted by screaming. His father charges the Guardian, an angry, vengeful, grief-stricken scream bursting from his throat like the voice of an enraged oni. He swings his ginormous broadsword, lunging for the Guardian's core.

The machine's Eye charges up with that awful whirring noise. A bright fuchsia laser shoots with perfect precision and nails Li Garmadon directly in the chest just a few feet away.

His father slows to a stop. His sword falls to the ground with a loud clatter. The man, larger than life, clutches at the gaping hole in his sternum. Blood and viscera drip from the wound, staining his once pristine black and gold gi. Li falls to his knees, gasping for breath.

Lloyd lunges forward, barely held back by grasping hands that beg him to turn away. He feels hot tears blur his vision, a scream ripped from his throat. His father attempts to turn his way, attempts to speak. Then he falls face-first in the dirt and doesn't move again.

His dad- his dad is-

A sob tears its way out of his throat. That tiny, shaky little voice comes back, begging and pleading to run run run. But he can't. His feet are frozen in place; fire is scorching his lungs and eyes. His father is dead. The world may as well have stopped spinning, for his father is dead.

His ears twitch. He turns, trying to force words out of his strained throat. His mother, the most level-headed person he knows, rams herself against the Guardian. She screams and rages, tears pouring from silver eyes, and beats her iron bow against its head.

The Guardian spins and throws out a clawed hand. She ducks under it and jams an arrow into its side, making sparks fly. The Guardian barely twitches. It grabs her by the forearm and throws her to the side. His mother flies through the air and lands against the broken side of a house. She falls to the ground in a pile of rubble, limp and unresponsive.

His chest rises and falls rapidly as his lungs struggle to take in air. The world blurs around him until the Guardian is the only thing in focus. Tears burn in his eyes like fire and brimstone, searing his cheeks. He can barely hear the people talking around him, crying and panicking.

"We need to go, we have to run!"

"The temple will protect us, right? The First Master won't let it hurt us!"

"He already has! Did you not see what just happened to the Garmadons?! We're next if we don't get out here!"

"Gene! He's right there!"

A hand on his shoulder. Brad turns his cheek, making him look up at him. "Lloyd?" He whispers, shaking.

His parents are dead. He led the Guardian here, it was looking for him, and now his parents are dead and his village is in shambles and he needs to run. But he doesn't want to run. He wants to fight. He wants revenge.

He snarls, whipping his head around to scowl at the Guardian. It's still looking for him, picking through the rubble of his desecrated home. It wants him? Fine.

"I. Don't. Run." He grabs the closest weapon he can find — the statue. The Sword of Sanctuary. He rips the stone sword from the statue's grasp with strength that rivals a Gerudo. The people around him shriek, stunned by the action. Gene realizes what he's about to do and lurches forward, yelling.

"Lloyd, don't! You can't fight this thing!"

He grasps at Lloyd's long braid and misses it by a scant inch. The Hylian races out of the church, screaming. The Guardian locks onto him immediately. He jumps over a scorching laser and rams into the Guardian. It stumbles back, driven into the fires of its own making.

The flames leap higher, as if angered. They spread across the dirt and grass, a raging inferno, and trap the Guardian in place. Its Eye flits around, trying to lock onto Lloyd. He growls, teeth sharp and ready to bite.

He leaps out of the cover of the flames, swinging the stone sword into the Guardian's side. The blade cuts deep lacerations into the machinery, sparks flying from the mechanical wound, and Lloyd rips into it. He tugs out wires and gears, sending the Guardian blaring. He kicks away from it and rolls to the side.

The Guardian advances on him, Eye flashing. He leaps into the air and comes down spinning. His sword, aided by momentum, cuts a deep wound into the machine's head. Its arm lunges out, grabbing him by his braid. He kicks out, screaming, as the Guardian's Eye fires up.

He can practically feel his teeth growing, his nails sharpening. His pupils shrink at the growing light from the corrupted Eye. He snarls. Not this time.

He swings his sword overhead and cuts through his braid. He falls to the ground and ducks beneath the Guardian's body. The Guardian, which clearly has no concept of object permanence judging by its confusion, holds his detached hair in a clawed hand. He takes advantage of the confusion and jams his stone sword into the underbelly of the beast. It exposes wires and gears, free for his claws to sink into and rip out.

The Guardian, screaming, stumbles back on shaky spider-legs. Lloyd doesn't let up, too enraged by its continued existence to think of backing off. Not after what it did. He's going to tear this thing apart piece by piece. He's going to make it unrecognizable. He's going to make it feel pain, one way or another, if he has to etch the concept of it into the Guardian's code himself.

He rushes forward, inhuman snarls torn from his throat, and sends a flurry of kicks and stabs into the Guardian. It stumbles back, thrown into the raging fire, swallowed whole by heat. Lloyd jumps into the same inferno, uncaring of the burning, acrid air. He jumps onto the Guardian, flames licking out of his lips and the corners of his eyes and raises the Sword of Sanctuary high above his head. The stony blade practically glows in his hand.

He stabs the blade directly into the Guardian's Eye. It stumbles away, sparking everywhere. He snarls and drives it in deeper. "I'm gonna kill you!" He screams, twisting the sword. He pulls it out and drives it in again. "I'll fucking kill you!"

From the perfectly clear night sky, lightning arcs down. White-hot bolts of electricity race around his form, striking the stone sword as if it were a lightning rod. Lloyd screams as burning electricity fills his veins, frying his nervous system. He screams as he buries the sword in the Guardian, screams as it shakes and sparks and falls apart at the seams. The lightning feeds off of his anger as more and more bolts strike down from the sky, searing the ground and scorching the air. The element grows so hot and bright it's impossible to see beyond the white-hot glow. The fires join it, the two elements growing together until they explode.

The shockwave ripples out, splitting buildings and toppling trees. Only the Time God's temple is untouched.

Lloyd heaves over the corpse of the Guardian. True to his promise, it's unrecognizable. The metal is in pieces, the Eye dead around his sword, the arms obliterated. It's nothing but a melted pile of old machinery.

He shakes from grief and rage, holding onto the sword's hilt for dear life. Burning tears drip from his chin like molten lava as he sobs over the corpse. The dust settles around him, leaving only the scorched earth.

"…Lloyd?"

He turns at the sound of Brad's voice. The Hylians slowly exit the temple, staring at him in fear and awe. Gene holds Sally back, a hand in front of her as if to protect her. She stares at Lloyd like she can't even recognize him.

She's scared of him.

Lloyd looks at Brad. The taller boy looks back, glancing between him and the Guardian and the destruction in their wake. He swallows, stepping back. "…what… are you?"

He brings himself to his feet, dragging the sword behind him. He stares down at himself. His clothes are ripped beyond recognition. He stares at the spiky, iridescent patterns etched into his arms. They flash once, as if to say hello. He looks back up at Brad.

I don't know, he's about to say, when a glow comes from the temple. He stares at it, past the broken doorway. The statue of the First Master, pristine aside from the stolen sword, stares back. A golden light creeps from under the brim of the statue's bamboo hat. It shines along the ground, growing until the beam of light shines directly on Lloyd's form, illuminating him in the darkness.

Then it dies down again. The patterns on his skin flash again before they disappear into his skin. Lloyd can only stare at the Hylians gathered.

He can't even bring himself to care. The First Master is- what? Proud? Acknowledging him? He could've used that acknowledgement when his parents were dying. He steps back. His heel hits the Guardian's corpse, sending a loud clatter through the still air.

He turns away and runs.

Brad yells after him, but he doesn't turn back. He finds himself sprinting in the direction his mother fell and leaps over the rubble. He kicks it away, tearing through the broken stone.

"Mom!" He yells, hoping against hope that she's okay. Still alive. He finds her still form broken over the stone, covered in blood and dirt. He sobs, stumbling down the crater to her side. He shakes her, trying to make her wake up.

"Mom," he says desperately, pulling her up. "Mom, wake up!"

Her eyes crack open. He cries in relief, hunched over her. "You're okay," he says, clutching at her. "You- you're going to be fine." She coughs roughly, blood dribbling from her mouth. Lloyd's eyes widen. He tugs her up, feet scrabbling at the broken ground. "You need a doctor. It's going to be fine, Mom, we'll find someone- help! Help us!"

Her hand comes up to cup his cheek. He stares at her, shaking. "Lloyd," she says. She looks at him, eyes flicking back and forth, and slumps on the ground. "No. Just… just listen, okay?"

"What? No, you're going to be fine." He tugs at her again, but his strength has been sapped from the fight. He can barely get his own legs under him. Koko just shakes her head.

"Stop. Lloyd, it's not- I'm not… just listen to me."

"No!" He stills when she coughs again. He sets her down gently. "Mom, come on. Just- just stay here, and I'll go get someone." He turns, ready to find somebody to help him, but she grabs his hand.

"Stop, Lloyd," she says. She pulls him back down. "Listen to me. I- we meant to tell you. When you turned seventeen and we went to Jamanakai Village, but… you'll have to make it on your own, now. Listen to me, what you just did? You're not human, Lloyd. You- you're-" She coughs again, blood lapping up and over her lips. Lloyd shakes his head, trying to rein his breath in.

"Mom, stop talking, you're making it worse. I- I can still-"

"No, you need to listen," she says firmly. She takes a deep, rattling breath, her hand grasping at his arm. "You're not human. When- when you were born, right after the Calamity, I- I knew. He picked you, Lloyd."

"Who?!" He groans, torn between not leaving her side and finding her help. "You have a concussion or something, you're not making sense. I'm going to get a doctor, there's got to be somebody-"

"You glowed," his mother gasps, forcing him to look at her. "It was the middle of the night, and I had a baby with the brightest green eyes and golden hair, and you glowed. You laughed instead of crying! It was him, the- the First Master. Don't you understand?" She heaved herself up on her forearm, grabbing his shoulder for support. "You're the Prince's reincarnation. It's why I named you after him! You- you controlled those elements out there! You've always been stronger, faster, more durable than any Hylian. Lloyd, you're the Hero of Destiny. You reincarnated to save us."

He stares at her, at a loss for words. "That's… that's not possible," he says. "You- Uncle said that- my parents aren't Twin Gods, Mom, I can't-"

"You did," she hisses. She slumps back into the rock, heaving. "You need to find Jamanakai Village. Find Lady Iron Dragon, the last Queen of Hyrule. She's there. She'll tell you what to do. Find her, okay?"

"Wait," he gasps, shaking her shoulder. "Wait, Mom, slow down! I- I'm not- stop it, just hang on-"

"I'm not going to survive," she says softly. Tears water in his eyes as he hunches over her, shaking. She pets his now shortened hair softly. "You will," she promises. "You're going to be so good, Lloyd. Just like your predecessors. Lady Iron Dragon will tell you what to do, and then you'll defeat the Great Calamity and deliver the Hylians home. That's your destiny."

"No," he sobs. "Not without you. Please, Mom, don't- don't do this. Stay."

Her eyes crease and droop. She presses a soft kiss to his head. "Your father… would be so proud," she whispers. She cups his cheek, wiping a tear out of his eye, and smiles. "I am so proud. And I'm sorry, for not telling you. I just… wanted you to be young for a little while."

"Mom, please," he begs.

"Go to Jamanakai," she commands, eyes fluttering. "Find the Queen. Don't- don't worry. You were… born… for this…-"

"Mom? Mom!"

Her eyes fall glassy and flat. Lloyd waits for her to speak again, but she doesn't. He slumps, tears freely falling. His parents are dead. He's the Prince of Hyrule's reincarnation, and they knew. They named him after a dead child. They kept it a secret. They trained him, not to protect himself, but to save Ninjago one day.

He led a Guardian home and killed them.

He sobs over his mother's corpse, blabbering apologies like they mean anything. Eventually, he has to wipe his eyes and move. He numbly grabs the stone sword and her iron bow and arrow quiver. He stumbles out of the crater, moving on autopilot. He walks over the scorched ground and fallen rubble and locates his father's body.

He presses two fingers to the man's neck and finds no pulse. Fresh tears well up in his eyes as he clumsily grasps at the clasps of his father's gi. He gently takes the black gi, lined in gold and a green obi around the waist, and slips it over his own shoulders. It dwarfs him, but he refuses to take it off. He steps over Li's body and moves on.

He finds his uncle, limp on the ground. He checks again for a pulse and finds none. He finds the rice hat, slightly shredded, and holds it to his chest. He stays there, in the dirt, and feels nothing. Tears drip from his eyes on reflex alone.

There's a hand on his shoulder. He numbly glances up to find Brad standing over him. The boy is covered in dirt, eyes permanently wide and scared, but he picks Lloyd up off the ground.

"You're okay," Brad says like a command. Lloyd nods along and follows him. He doesn't remember the walk to his house or being laid in bed. He clutches the items taken from his parents' bodies like a lifeline, and Brad doesn't attempt to take them. He forces Lloyd to lay in his bed and tells him to fall asleep. He does.

There's nothing left. Domu is destroyed because of him. His parents are dead because of him. He's a Hero of Destiny, and he's failed to protect the people he loves most.

He runs from the guilt and falls asleep.

The next morning, the sun shines over Domu. Lloyd stands at the edge of the valley, Pillow Mint's rein in hand. The horse had miraculously survived the Guardian's siege and returned to his side.

He's dressed in his father's gi, tightened around him to better fit. His uncle's rice hat hangs on his back by the string around his throat. His mother's bow is strapped to his body, her quiver full of arrows on his back. And the stone Sword of Sanctuary — his supposed holy weapon — is held in his other hand in a vice grip.

He didn't bother packing provisions or extra clothes. Seemed worthless. He can barely think past the grief of the last day, but he has his orders: find Jamanakai and Lady Iron Dragon. That's all that matters anymore.

He doesn't have a map, or any idea where Jamanakai is, but he can find it. Hyrule can't be that big. Besides, he has the First Master on his side, for all the good it did him.

He glowers at the stone sword. He hates how perfectly even the statue of it fits in his hand, like the two were meant to be together, forged in the same breath of fire. Just another sign that what his mother said was true — he's the reincarnated form of a dead Prince. Named after the kid and everything.

Legends say the old Prince fought a thousand Guardians. Lloyd could barely defeat one.

…doesn't matter. He has his mission, and he's going to see it through. That's all he can do.

"Lloyd?"

He turns. Gene, Brad, and Sally stand behind him. Lloyd glances away.

"…I have to leave," he says quietly.

"But why?" Sally asks. She grabs his hand. "Stay, please. You- you don't have to go."

He glances down at the hand held in hers. Her pink nails are chipped and half-broken, her dark skin covered in scrapes, red and raw. He can practically see the patterns from the night before on his own skin. He looks away and wrenches his hand out of her grasp.

"Yes, I do."

Sally's eyes water. "But why? Lloyd, we need you-"

"No, you don't," he snaps. "I did this. I brought the Guardian here. It's my fault Domu is in shambles." Her eyes widen. He tamps down the guilt bubbling up. She's better off without him at this point. He scowls at the ground. "I… I have to go. My mo-" His breath hitches on the word. He squeezes his eyes shut, fists trembling. "I was told to leave."

"B-but-" Sally protests, but Gene cuts her off. He glowers at Lloyd, torn somewhere between anger and worry.

"Didn't you see him?" Gene snaps. "He shot lightning out of his hands. It's obvious: Lloyd is a demigod."

Sally shakes her head. "Lloyd, that's not true, right? You're- you're a Hylian! Like us!"

He looks away. Sally gasps softly, covering her mouth. Gene scoffs, crossing his arms.

Brad tries to take hold of his hand. "Stay," he says. "Just- just for a few nights. Until you feel better."

Lloyd snatches his hand away. "No. I have to go."

Sally purses her lips. "…you're not coming back, are you? We're never going to see you again."

Lloyd shuts his eyes and turns away from her gaze. He has no plans to come back to Domu. He has no desire to ever see the village again. Not after what he did to it. It's his sacred duty to protect Hylians, and he failed miserably. He can never face these people again.

Sally clenches her jaw as a trail of tears drip down her chin. Her lip trembles uncontrollably. "I- I don't want to blame you," she manages, brushing her wet eyes roughly. "Because this wasn't your fault. But my Aunt Ming-" she cuts herself off, holding her arms like it's the only thing keeping her from splitting in half. Lloyd's face spasms at the information. He'd killed Miss Ming. Sally draws a deep breath. "I don't blame you," she says softly. "But I can't come with you. Not this time."

Lloyd forces down the sense of betrayal at her words. He doesn't want any of them to come, but part of him had hoped they at least try. That they would protest it a little more, especially Sally. She had never hesitated to follow him everywhere he went. But he doesn't deserve her loyalty, not anymore. He nods silently.

Sally takes his hand and presses something into his palm. "Don't forget us when you're some big-shot hero," she mutters. He opens his palm to find a tiny black and pink guitar pick. It's scratched up, but clearly well-loved. He looks up at her. She smiles sadly and throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "You're my best friend," she mumbles against his skin. "Please don't die."

He hugs her back just as tightly. This is the last time he's ever going to see her. "You're my best friend, too," he says. He draws away. "Bye, Sally."

She wipes her eyes. "Bye."

She turns and leaves. Lloyd watches her go until she disappears over the hill. He slips the guitar pick into his pocket.

Gene glowers at the ground, arms still tightly crossed. "That's it, then?" He snaps, blinking rapidly. "You're just leaving us?"

"I have to go," he repeats blandly. It's a shitty excuse, but it's the only one he's got. He has to do something. He has to get out of here. He knows he's just running, but at least he's been told to do it.

Gene makes a frustrated noise. "Fine. Fine, just pack up and leave. What do I care?" The taller boy grits his teeth. "When you're in trouble, don't… don't expect us to be there to pull you out of it," he snaps.

"Sorry," Lloyd says quietly. "For everything."

Gene rolls his eyes. "You're an asshole. Is- is this seriously the last time I'm ever going to see you?"

"If I can help it."

Gene's face contorts in anger. "You sound like you don't even want to see us again!"

Lloyd glances away. All he's done is put them in danger. That's all he's ever done. It was about time his luck caught up to him.

Gene huffs and turns his nose up. "Fine. Whatever. Bye, idiot."

Lloyd lurches forward, snagging Gene's hand before he can march out of reach. "Wait, Gene."

Gene doesn't turn to look at him. His face screws up. "What?"

"Just…" Lloyd swallows. "Take care of Sally, please."

Gene scoffs and snatches his hand back, offended. "Of course I will," he spits. "She's coming to live with me when my dad gets better. …he broke his leg."

His heart sinks. "…oh. I'm sorry."

Gene sighs. Annoyed, he digs into his dumb vest and pulls out a small brown coin pouch. He shoves it into Lloyd's hand. "Here," he scowls. "What I owe you."

Lloyd stares at the bag of rupees. "Gene, you don't…"

"Yes, I do," Gene snaps. He turns his back on Lloyd, fists clenched. Lloyd thinks he can see his eyes water. "…and that's the last thing I owe you. Bye, Lloyd."

He grits his teeth and shoves the bag into his pocket. Brad is the only one left, still standing there. He holds a large travel bag, like he knew Lloyd was leaving. Lloyd hates to admit it, but he might miss Brad the most. They'd known each other forever, before Gene or Sally, and Lloyd can't imagine a good fight without his favorite audience.

Of course, none of that matters now.

Lloyd turns his face. He knows Brad will probably try to talk him out of this, like he always does. "I'm leaving," he says softly. "And I'm not coming back."

"Okay."

Lloyd blinks, stunned, and stares at his friend. Brad, resolute, stares right back. He splutters, broken from his apathetic haze. "Wh-what?"

"Okay," Brad repeats and hefts the bag on his shoulder. "I'm coming too."

Lloyd gapes at him. "Wh- no you're not!"

"Yes, I am."

He crosses his arms. "No, you're not. It's too dangerous for you."

Brad leans in, for once taking advantage of their height difference. "Then it's a good thing I have a demigod protecting me," he says like the smug bastard he is.

"No," Lloyd snaps. "It's too dangerous for you. You need to stay here with Gene and Sally."

"Why should I?" Brad demands. He blinks rapidly, like he's staving off tears. "There isn't anything for me in Domu. There's no point in staying."

"Sally and Gene need you-"

"You need me!" Brad snaps. "They have each other, they can take care of each other. Who will you have? We both know you can't cook to save your life, Lloyd!"

He leans away from Brad, reflexively snarling. "You'll just get hurt-"

"You won't let me," Brad responds easily. From the look on his face, he means it. He's completely convinced that Lloyd won't let anything touch him. That confidence, which usually would have boosted his ego, just makes him want to punch something. How can Brad possibly be so assured that Lloyd is capable of protecting him?

"That's not- no, Brad!" Lloyd snaps. "I'm not letting you come with me. You have to stay here!"

"Make me," Brad demands. He gets all up in Lloyd's space, scowling. "Make me stay. Use your fancy elements and force me not to follow you."

Lloyd glares up at him. "I could knock you out," he snarls, "Or tie you to a tree and leave you there. We both know you can't track to save your life."

"Then do it," Brad says. Hot, defiant tears well up in his eyes. "I know you blame yourself, but I don't. And somebody needs to take care of you out there!" His shoulders slump, and he glances away. "Please, Lloyd. I… I can't stay here."

His lungs constrict. He grits his teeth, glaring at the ground. It's irresponsible to let Brad come with him… but Lloyd might go insane if he has to do this alone. He's made his choice to leave Domu, and he knows that he's not coming back anytime soon, if ever. But it would be nice to have somebody else do the cooking.

Besides, he knows Brad. Just like Lloyd can't stay in Domu, Brad can't either. Too much happened last night. There's nothing really left for either of them. All Lloyd has is the mission given to him by his mother, and all Brad has is the hopeless directive of keeping Lloyd alive long enough to make it happen.

Goddammit.

He sighs and grabs Pillow Mint's bridle. "Fine," he mutters. "But don't expect me to slow down for you."

Brad grins. "When have you ever?" He hops up onto Lloyd's horse and leans back. "So, where to?"

"Jamanakai Village," Lloyd says.

"And… where is that?"

"No idea."

"…great."

Lloyd reaches over his back and pulls his uncle's hat up over his head. He tightens the string under his chin, then the green obi of his father's gi around his waist. He draws his mother's bow and nocks an arrow, prepared to shoot at the slightest disturbance. The stone sword goes on his hip.

He has no idea where he's going, what exactly he is, or how he's supposed to do as his mother told him. But he does know a few things: the First Master is supposedly on his side, the First Master did not save his parents, Lloyd is a Hero of Destiny explicitly named after his predecessor, and there's a problem on the Great Plateau. A big problem.

A problem he can fight.

Patterns run along his skin, shimmering for a split second before fading away. He bares his teeth, flexing his hands. He wants a fight. He wants a big one.

The Calamity is going to give it to him.

[ashtonisvibing]

okay, muffins have been consumed, let's fucking go-

so, i should preface this by saying that i haven't seen cats (2019) yet. so mayhaps i was the one mischaracterizing mr. mistoffelees, but judging on the clips i've seen, i think i've got a pretty solid idea on what they've done to him. and oh god it isn't good-

if you've never seen any stage production of the original musical... well, go watch it. right now. like straight up, here's a link to the 1998 filmed production. trust me, it is as weird as you think it is, but it's fucking amazing in how weird it is. it makes no sense and honestly that's why i personally love it.

now, if you still don't wanna watch it, fine then. might as well fill you in myself. mr. mistoffelees is one of the characters in the musical, obviously. he's described as "the magical cat". in the musical that's taken very literally, he performs magic tricks for the cast and audience, and (SPOILERS) is the one to summon old deuteronomy after he's kidnapped by macavity. i'm assuming he's supposed to represent the type of cat that causes things to happen without you figuring out how, almost like it was magic that caused it.

mistoffelees, from what i've seen, is extremely proud of his magical abilities. he's described as incredible and mystical, and he very much flaunts those titles. sure, it's not him singing his title song (that would be rum tum tugger), but there's never a moment where he seems to disagree or try to humble himself. he's the incredible and magical mr. mistoffelees and god does he fucking know it. for all my fellow jacksepticeye fans, he's just fanon marvin but as a literal tuxedo cat.

so, how did they mischaracterize him in the 2019 film? by stripping all of his confidence away. like i said, i haven't seen the movie so i'm just going off of clips i've seen from his song. but it seems that either laurie davidson (mistoffelees' actor) or some other force decided to make the magical cat this shy and under confident character. he talks about the things he can do like he's trying to prove to the cast that he can do magic. instead of just... confidently proclaiming "yeah, i can do magic!"

this may just be a me experience, but when it came to school talent shows (at least in media), there was always a joke about the one middle schooler who did a magic act. usually this magic act would be poorly done, just simple magic kit tricks. mr. mistoffelees in the 2019 film feels like that kid, but he's very much aware that he's the magic act. he knows he's just walked on stage in a goofy magician outfit with his magic kit and he's about to get laughed at. and that's not mr. mistoffelees. i don't think i need to repeat how mistoffelees is supposed to be, i've already said it multiple times.

i don't even really care that they had him sing his own song. sure, it takes away the entire point of the jellicle cats singing about each other (they're a community that loves and respects each other), but whatever. honestly, it makes a little sense that the cat that's so confident about himself sing... well, about himself. but you can't then completely reverse who he is as a character.

and this isn't the only mischaracterization we see. victoria is changed from some one off cat to the star of the show (and they by extension mischaracterized jemima by giving her relevance to victoria but that's probably a different post altogether). grizabella is shown to shy away from touch even though the whole point of her character was that she wanted to be touched by a jellicle cat, thus meaning she was accepted into the group again. bustopher jones is shown as a slob who eats out of the garbage even though he's supposed to be an aristocrat cat (an aristocat if you will) that's fed extremely well. and i can't put my finger on it but there's just something about jennyanydots in the film that just doesn't feel right.

all in all tom hooper, the director of this movie, just... did not understand anything about this production. he didn't understand the music (but if you've seen the movie adaptation of the musical adaptation of les misérables then you'd already know that), he doesn't understand the story. and he, quite probably, didn't understand the characters. cuz my god how did you fuck most of them up?

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 2: The Dead Ones

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker, @midnightprocrastinator, @lilyalone, @cloudserenity, @wizzerreblogs, @reallynotsoconfident, @deliajo, @bitternsweet, @astterrial, @jjggdfvvy

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You and Bruce were in his office, you let out a puff of smoke as you stood by the window. Taking in the view.

"You know, in Arkham, there wasn't any bars on the windows. More like, plastic glass, so blurry I couldn't even see the moon clearly." The cigarette shortened even more as you took a long drag from the cigarette.

Bruce watched you from his desk, an unreadable expression on his face. You look so. . . it's hard for him to see you as who you are right now. Deep down Bruce knew you'd change some way after Arkham. Which was his sorry excuse for not visiting you. Only reading three of your letters, and stopped, he felt shame when it came to you. For which one of you, he doesn't know.

There are times, he did feel shame of being your father. Horrible, he knows. He's the worst father alive. And that's when he feels shameful of himself.

You let out a small sigh before turning to Bruce, you see the complex expression he had.

". . . You know Daddy, I don't think I ever seen you smile."

You walked closer to his desk and took a seat on one of the chairs. Bruce just silently stared at you. You still call him Daddy. He wanted to feel happy at the fact one thing stayed the same with you. But the way you said it. You said it in such a mocking way. Like it was a joke. Him being your father was a joke to you. It hurt. He rather you call him Bruce in the most hateful way you could.

"Y/n, I'm sorry-" Bruce tries to apologize, but you cut him off with the wave of your hand.

"I'm not here to fish out any apology from you."

Silence fills the room. You sighed again, putting out the cigarette by dropping it into a glass of water. You stood up and approached the vinyl player, you start it up as Bruce raised his brow in confusion. You turn around to face him

"Come on daddy, let's dance." You approached the older man, grabbing his arm and tugged him to stand. Even with how random your request was, Bruce complied, and you two began to slow dance together, the feeling was foreign to both.

The slow music continued as you two danced. You let your head rest on your father's shoulder, staring blankly at nothing. Bruce squeezed your hand. You began to realize. You have never been this close to Bruce. Always 4 feet away.

"When I was a little girl, there was this daddy daughter dance at school. . . I always wanted to dance with you like this. But you were busy. I understood, but it still hurt" Your statement caused Bruce to hold you a little tighter. Before he could attempt to apologize. You spoke up to shut him down.

"Don't you dare apologize."

The two of you continue to slow dance. You closed your eyes as Bruce rests his chin on your head. Closing his eyes. The two of you swaying to the music.

This moment should be a peaceful, loving moment between a father and daughter. But it felt more like an ending to a story that was going nowhere.

"Daddy, I have a question for you."

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement, still holding you tight.

Your eyes slowly open. "Have you seen Mommy recently?" Your question caught your father off guard. Visibly frozen. You lift your head up and see his expression turn a little sour.

"Why?" He spoke, slightly offended. Your spending time with him, why not focus on him?

"She's been missing. For a month. Not even her own family knows where she is. . ."

"Well, I don't where she is. I haven't had contact with her for years."

You sighed and pulled away, turning your back to him. A sign to show you were upset with his answer. Bruce frowns a little at you pulling away, his arms stayed up, almost to reach back for you.

"She visited me, every week, for several years. So please, understand I need to find her." You really were hoping to see if Bruce knew anything. But of course, he disappoints you with nothing. Again.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

You got a text from Rex; your grandfather needed you back at the manor. You didn't have enough time to get your things from your old room, so you left Bruce in his office, walking to the front doors, where Alfred waited for you with your coat, along with Dick, Tim and.. . someone else you didn't recognize. But you focused on Alfred, and gently smile to the older man.

"Thank you for the food, Alfred, probably the one thing I missed the most while locked up." You spoke in a joking manner as you turned to let Alfred put your coat on for you. Alfred smiled a little.

"Thank you, miss."

You look up and give the three men a small nod "Dick, Tim . . . And?" You gave the third man a small look of confusion.

"I'm sorry I don't believe I got your name." You adjusted your coat as you stared up at the man and gave him your hand to shake. But the man just stared at you, Dick had to nudge him to snap him out of it.

The man snapped out of it and quickly took your hand and held it as gently as possible. You took notice of the scars on his calloused hand. He spoke in a nervous tone

"Jason, Jason Todd"

You instantly come to a pause.

"I- Uh, Jason Todd?" You know the name. Very well. But the name doesn't fit the face you remember.

But the look on everyone's face says it all, you know this family would not lie about this. You stepped closer to Jason, your hands hovering over his face, Jason could see your eyes glossed over with incoming tears that never fell.

" How. . .I thought you were dead. . ." You spoke in almost a whisper.

Jason lets out a weak chuckle.

"I thought you were dead too."

No words could express how much he missed you. When he came back from the dead, back into the family. No one dared to mention you. Even when he asked about you. They acted as if you were dead. But you were only a few miles away. Locked up. The thought alone angers him, he could have saved you sooner.

"Heh, I seem to get that a lot." You coil back and felt your phone buzz. Your ride was here.

"Do you have to leave Miss? It's late, why not stay for the night." Alfred tries to have you stay for at least a night.

"You just got here" - Dick

"The crime has gotten worse lately"- Tim

"Please. . .?"- Jason

You sighed as you opened the door,

"Sorry boys, no can do. Maybe another time." You gave them a small smile and turned to the car that was here to pick you up, but when you took a few steps down the staircase, you turn around where the entrance door was still open with Alfred and the boys stood.

"Oh, and Jason" Hearing you speak his name, Jason immediately perked up

"It was good seeing you. . . alive and all." You gave him a small toothy grin, before finally getting into the car.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Do you understand, how angry Jason was right now? After all this time thinking you were dead, his sweet little sister gone, you were alive, in a cage full of crazy's. He doesn't care if you took a few lives. You didn't mean too, it was an accident.

He was furious with Bruce for letting you get locked up for so long. Because you're staying with the Falcone's, a bunch of criminals that resort to anything if kept on the top.

"She was alive this whole time, and you knew."

Not only was it Bruce, but Dick knew to. Of all people to keep this away from him, Jason wouldn't think Dick of all people would lie.

"No one said she was dead Jay." Dick tried to calm Jason in some way.

"No one said she was alive!" Jason was quick to snap at Dick who just frowned at Jason's tone.

Your reappearance was indeed a shock to everyone and a lot of them are still trying to process it. As for the ones who never knew of your existence, they were trying to find out more about you. Your name has never been uttered, no pictures of you. Nothing. It was like you never really existed.

Thank Tim for that. Who had to remove you completely, so the Wayne name had less pressure on them. But now Tim is trying to gather what kind of rehabilitation you were in. He felt suspicious of your return. The way your eyes would bare into everyone in a sort of creepy way. As if analyzing them, Tim knew if he brought it up to either Bruce or Dick they would not listen to him. Especially by the way they reacted to your return.

So he was lucky Cassandra and Duke came to him first.

"The way she stared at me, I don't know man it gave me the creeps." Duke wasn't saying this out of meanness. You were genuinely making him uneasy every time you glanced at him, even more nervous when you gave him a smile.

Cassandra felt threatened by you. No one but her noticed how you stared at her the most.

"Something isn't right with her." Was all Cassandra said. Something was indeed wrong with you.

". . . Well, she just got out of Arkham, maybe she's a little. . . ?" Duke trailed off. Not wanting to say the word crazy just yet.

Tim silently listened to Duke and Cassandra's concern about you.

"Haven't you known her longer Tim?" Duke questioned.

Tim sat back in his chair as he let out a small sigh. You might have not noticed much, but he was always watching you. From the moment Bruce took him under his wing. You were small. Quiet, and simple. Not like that was a bad thing. At that time Tim wanted excitement, thrill. And you were none of those things, due to the fact you were practically a toddler.

But now, your different. Of course. It's a no-brainer Arkham would change you, he saw it coming. But your change was, unsettling. He hoped you would stay for him to find out more. But it seems your occupied with the Falcone's at the moment. Whatever it is, he's going to find out.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎?"

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ The JJ Issue

when Spencer has to work late on a case with JJ, you find yourself spiralling with jealousy. And now, you're determined to make him remember exactly what he's been missing.

cw: 18+ Spencer reid x jealous!fem!reader. NSFW content. Mildly insecure reader, explicit language, alcohol use, mentions of masturbation, heavy making out, slightly toxic relationship and emotional manipulation if you really really look a/n: so this was a request, but I'm technologically inept and deleted it when trying to copy it to my word doc. ANYWAY, I feel like I veered slightly off topic, but I present my take on jealous!reader and some dumb bitch-ish Spencer™ for you mwah mwah please feel free to send in more requests i am happy to take whatever!!! wc: 3k

The clock flicks to 11:00 PM.

You watch the numbers change with quiet contempt, the harsh glow of the display slicing through the darkness. The sheets beside you remain cold and untouched. Empty. Too still and too silent.

Still no Spencer.

It’s the third night this week. The third night of cold pillows and even colder silence. The third night of laying in a bed made for two and wondering if your boyfriend was going to crawl in before the sun came up – or if he’d even bother returning home at all. 

He’d been busier at work in the past month, his absence only being amplified by the newest case.

You’d tried to follow along when he explained it. Something about Montclair, Virginia. Weird geographical patterns, overlapping jurisdictions, unusual victims. Apparently, it was the kind of bureaucratic mess that kept the BAU tangled in an endless supply of paperwork.

But all you’d really heard – what had stuck and started looping in your head – was JJ.

JJ.

JJ and Spencer. Working late nights in close quarters.

Beautiful, capable JJ. With her glossy hair and understanding eyes. Who could read a room in seconds and had helped Spencer through numerous cases. JJ, who had history with him. Real, lived-in history. She probably understood the way his brain worked in ways you hadn’t even discovered yet.

JJ. Who had the privilege of seeing him more often than you did lately, while you were stuck eating leftovers and watching the clock tick toward midnight.

You tried not to be the jealous girlfriend.

Tried so hard.

But it’s easier said than done when you’re alone in a dark apartment, with your texts left on read since 12:23 PM.

You can picture it too clearly – Spencer and JJ tucked away in some dim conference room, heads bowed over maps and files, shoulders brushing. JJ laughing softly. Spencer glancing up from his notes with that boyish smile that he reserves for only his favorite people. A room of shared trauma and comfort, of inside jokes and a history you can’t compete with.

You hate how vivid the image is. 

You hate how much it turns your stomach even more.

Your fingers curl around your phone, thumb hovering for a beat before you start to type:

Any idea when you’ll be home? x

You stare. Waiting.

The dot-dot-dot appears almost instantly. He’s always fast, when he can be.

No, this case is a mess. JJ and I are still trying to determine the geographical patterning. I’ll be home when I can.

That’s it.

That’s it?

No “I miss you.” No “Sorry for the late night.” No acknowledgement that its eleven-fucking-o’clock and you’re still alone, curled up in his shirt, half-hoping for the sound of him returning to break you out of this fog. Just plain, clipped Spencer-speak. Cold. Factual. Like he’s updating Hotch, not the person who shares his bed.

“JJ and I.”

Of course.

Your jaw tenses and you type again:

Should I leave the door unlocked, or is your work wife walking you home tonight?

No response. Probably back to his files. Or worse – laughing with her about something brilliant he said. You picture her touching his arm. Picture him not pulling away.

Two minutes pass, and you try again:

Let me know if she likes it when you quote Voltaire.

Maybe she even moans when you pull out statistics too.

Still nothing.

You throw your phone to the end of the bed with a dull thud, resisting the urge to follow it with your wine glass. You’re not drunk – not quite – but your veins are warm and the wine bottle is getting low. Almost as low as your patience.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

It’s not that your insecure.

But it’s been a long week. And you’re tired. And lonely. And a little more than marginally horny.

And all that serves to make a deadly combination.

You glance at the wine bottle on your nightstand, dragged in here from when the living room started to feel too big. Half-empty now, or maybe half-full, but you don't feel like looking on the bright side today. Your fingers wrap around the stem of the glass like a lifeline, and you take a slow sip.

The taste of sour grapefruit and poor decisions.

It doesn’t take long for you to start wondering things you shouldn’t be wondering.

Like if JJ’s ever seen Spencer shirtless, skin flushed from an adrenaline-fueled takedown. Like if she notices the way his lashes flutter when he gets focused, and the subtle tick in his jaw when he’s trying to hold back a dirty comment. Like if she’s ever heard the quiet, shaky sound he makes when you touch him just right – a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like forever.

You huff, irritated with yourself.

This is not the kind of spiral you want to be in.

But how are you supposed to feel okay when the man you love has spent more nights with someone else this week than with you?

Someone brilliant and bright and right beside him.

Your mind drifts – dangerously, again – to what he might be doing if he was here. What you wish he was doing. Your hand plays absently with the hem of his shirt, sliding a little higher up your thigh, feeling the fabric brush over bare skin. Skin and air and silence.

You wonder if he’d even notice you were awake if he walked in right now.

Or if he’d still be thinking about JJ and her smiles.

Your stomach twists again.

You set the wine glass down, staring into the dark, heat curling beneath your skin like a storm on the verge of breaking.

You’re not proud of the jealousy. Or the spite. But tonight?

You’re not sure you care.

It’s 1:00 AM when you hear the door open.

You’ve migrated back to the couch now. Curled up like a forgotten thing in the quiet throb of the living room. A blanket is pulled tight around your shoulders, forging a cocoon of spite and cheap Sauvignon Blanc. The bottle on the coffee table is empty. There’s half a glass still in your hand, warmed by your palm. Your fingers are molded around the stem like its something keeping you grounded.

The door shuts gently.

Spencer enters the apartment the way he always does when he knows it’s late. Softly. Cautiously. The guilt doesn’t show on is face right away, but seeps in to the little things. The way he trades his leather shoes for worn slippers like they might squeak loud enough to wake you up. The careful way he sets his keys down, not with the usual absentminded clatter, but softly, like he might disturb you.

You hear the rustle of his cardigan being shrugged off and flung over the back of a chair. He moves through the apartment with the measured care of someone navigating a crime scene. Almost like a ghost; present, but not where you need him to be.

The bedroom door creaks. A pause. Then a soft, confused hum, like he’s surprised the bed is cold and vacant. 

You don’t move.

His footsteps return, still soft and hesitant, and then the living room light clicks on. It’s not bright, just enough to paint his face in a warm gold shadow. When he sees you, wrapped up and still, his features settle somewhere between relief and worry.

‘There you are,’ he says gently. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up.’

His voice is warm. Too warm. Like he’s dealing with a wounded animal, already prepared for a potential fallout.

You don’t answer right away. Just lift the glass and sip what’s left of the wine. It brought warmth before, but now just feels thin and useless as it settles in your stomach. A comfort that has already faded.

Spencer looks like he always does after a long day – exhausted. Shirt untucked and wrinkled at the collar. His hair is tousled like he’s raked his hands through it a dozen times. His lips are parted, already searching for the right apology.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ you say. The words land flat and cold. Sharper than you intended, but not enough to make you regret it.

His brow furrows as he takes a tentative step forward. ‘Oh no. Are you okay?’

‘Oh, just peachy.’ You flash him a malicious smile and tilt your head. ‘How’s JJ?’

‘JJ?’ he repeats. ‘She’s… fine?’

‘I bet.’

You see it in him. The subtle shift. His brain starts ticking, trying to process the change in tone, piece together context clues. His hands twitch slightly at his sides. You’ve seen it before, when he’s dealt with a particularly messy profile. It’s how he acts when trying to decode erratic behavior.

But this time, you’re the chaos.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, slower this time. Careful.

You finally meet his eyes, steady and level. ‘You’ve spent more time with her this week than you have with me.’

He exhales and crosses his arms. Not intentionally defensive, but it comes across that way. Just the subtle shift of someone bracin against a growing storm.

‘Me and JJ? We’re working the same case,’ he offers. Not patronising, just explaining. ‘That’s how assignments work.’

A rational answer. Reasonable. Sensible. And completely useless to the part of you that’s been sitting in silence every night, nursing bitterness like it’s a glass of wine.

‘That’s not what I said,’ you reply.

You toss off the blanket and stand, wanting to be level with him.

His gaze drops, almost instinctively, to your bare thighs peeking out from beneath his shirt. Snaps it back to your face instantly. Like he caught himself doing something inappropriate, even if it wasn’t.

‘She get’s your attention,’ you say softly. ‘Your thoughts. Your little facts. Your laughter. Your time.’

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

You keep going. Getting closer enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

‘And I get cold sheets and texts left on delivered.’

‘I didn’t mean to ignore you–’

‘She gets to share your space. Share your mind. Is that what gets you off now? Criminal profiling and shared trauma? Is that your kink, Doctor?’

His cheeks go red immediately.

‘She’s married,’ he points out, like that’ll resolve the tension.

‘Married women flirt too, Spencer.’

He’s still red, sputtering slightly now. ‘I don’t—I don’t think of JJ like that. I never have.’

‘Do you think of me like that?’ you challenge. ‘Or have I been bumped down your priority list below paperwork and tactical briefings? Do I need to start talking about blood spatter patterns during foreplay? Or maybe I need to join the FBI just so you’ll remember me.’

He swallows visibly, jaw tightening. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘No,’ you snap. ‘What’s not fair is me touching myself alone in our bed to the sound of your voice in some old Quantico press briefing because it’s the only version of you I could get this week.’

His eyes widen slightly. His breath catches. 

‘I think about you constantly,’ he says, almost desperate. 

You scoff. ‘Sure. Right after filing case summaries.’

‘No,’ he says, firmer now. ‘I do think about you. I just—I hyperfocus. And when I hyperfocus, my brain sort of queues everything else. It’s not about priority or importance. It’s about sequence. You’re just… waiting in line.’

‘Great,’ you say flatly. ‘I’m a fucking deli number.’

He winces. ‘That came out wrong.’

You look at him, taking a breath. Run a hand through your hair.

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I think you’re angry and hurt. And I think you’re trying to make me angry and hurt too. Like earlier, your messages were mean. That’s why I ignored them... Now, you’re just sort of scaring me.’

That stops you. Not because you’re insulted, but because he looks genuinely lost. Innocent.

‘I’m not trying to scare you,’ you say quietly. You deflate slightly, some of the heat leaving your voice. ‘I’m just… trying to remind you that I’m still here. Wanting you. Waiting for you.’

There’s a silence.

Then–

‘I didn’t realise it was this bad. I thought you just wanted some space.'

You nod. Not spitefully, just confirming the truth.

‘Do you even remember what it was like?’ you ask. ‘When you used to come home and fuck me like you were starving. Like you couldn’t stand being apart from me. Like the space between us physically hurt you.’

He doesn’t answer. But you see the recognition in the way his jaw ticks, the way his hands clench at his sides. 

‘I miss that,’ you say. ‘I miss you.’

That look returns to his face, unsure if this is a test. If you’re being serious. If you’re going to snap at him for misreading your cues.

So you lean in – slow – until your lips are just inches from his. ‘You say you think about me constantly… prove it.’

He hesitates. Blinks. ‘You mean like—right now?’

‘Preferably in a way that makes me forget I’m mad.’

He pauses. ‘...Sexually?’

‘That would be ideal.’

He clears his throat. ‘I just want to make sure. Because sometimes when you’re upset, you use sarcasm to—’

You lift your hand, cutting him off. ‘No sarcasm now, Doctor.’

He shifts his weight, brows still drawn a little.

‘Right, okay.’ Another pause. ‘So, just to clarify – you’re asking me to have sex with you. Now. Because you want to stop being angry. Or is the sex part of the anger expression?’

You stare at him.

He continues. 

‘Because if you’re just using me to release emotional frustrations, that’s fine, I want to have sex with you, but I’d just like to know in advance so I can—’

You step in and kiss him. 

Not sweetly or softly. 

It’s the kind of kiss used to shut him up. Open mouthed and hard, tongue sweeping across his lower lip before he’s even realised your lips are touching his. For a moment, he’s caught between instinct and hesitation. Trying to figure out if this is you just getting back at him.

Then you feel him give in. His hands grip your waist, grounding himself, allowing his mouth to move with yours in a way that’s messy and uncoordinated – like he’s catching up with weeks of missed makeout sessions.

When you finally pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his lips flushed and slightly parted.

‘I’m not asking you to give me a therapeutic exercise,’ you state. ‘I’m asking you to stop thinking and touch me.’

He nods, too quickly. ‘Right. Touching… now?’

‘No. In another three days,’ you say sarcastically, grabbing his hand and sliding it beneath the hem of your shirt – his shirt – until his fingers are splayed across your ribs. 

His palm is warm. Touch a little tentative.

‘Do you even remember what touching me feels like?’ you ask, breath brushing against his cheek.

Spencer exhales sharply, the memory hitting him and punching the breath from his lungs.

‘I think about it all the time,’ he whispers.

‘Then why are you still just standing there like this is a goddamn team-building exercise?’

He snaps into focus. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just—when you’re mad, and basically half-naked, it’s hard to follow all the emotional subtext and my working memory has lost it’s buffer—’

You roll your eyes, pushing him backward until his knees hit the couch. He drops onto the cushions with a surprised noise. Part yelp, part breathless laugh.

His hands instinctively settle on your thighs as you straddle him. He stares up at you like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he doesn’t deserve for it to be happening.

You place your palm on his shoulder, playing with the soft cotton of his shirt.

‘Spencer.’

‘Yes?’

‘Please stop thinking.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

You lean down and kiss him again. Slower, this time. Deeper. He responds instantly now, hands sliding to your waist, then up your back, holding you close to him. His mouth moves with less hesitation, more purpose.

‘I missed you,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘Missed you so much. I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to say without it sounding like I was making excuses before.’

You shift your hips against him, just enough to feel him getting harder beneath you. 

‘I don’t want an apology,’ you say.

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’ You grind down again, a little harder. ‘I want you to make it up to me.’

He moans softly, head tipping back against the couch cushions. He nods in understanding, taking a moment to catch his breath before pressing his lips to your jaw, trailing them down to your throat, feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue.

‘You’re so…’ he pauses for another kiss to your skin. ‘I mean, you always look good, but—God, you’re so, so pretty. I missed you.’

His fingers dig into your hips, and then his mouth is back on yours, rougher now. He’s kissing to make up for all the nights you went to bed alone, all the hours he spent at work while you touched yourself to a crackly echo of his voice. 

His hands slide up beneath your shirt again. Tracing your skin. He gets to your breasts, and gasps softly, like he’s surprised.

‘You’re not wearing anything under this.’

You roll your eyes at his astute observation.

‘You want to keep narrating?’ you ask, a little breathless. ‘Or do you want to do something about it?’

‘Doing something. Yes.’

He lifts the shirt off your body. Slow and tentative, like you’re something delicate. It’s a sight he’s seen numerous times before, bit his eyes still go wide as he takes you in. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

‘Jesus, Spence,’ you say, nudging his shoulder, getting impatient.

‘Sorry. You’re just gorgeous. And naked. And still angry. And you—’ he pauses, runs his hand up your ribs again. ‘—feel like something I shouldn’t be able to touch.’

‘Well I’m letting you touch me.’

You grab his wrist, guiding your hand to press between your legs. He sucks in a breath, still looking up at your face.

‘This is how mad I was,’ you whisper.

His brain seems to short-circuit again. ‘I have… no response to that.’

You push your hips down against his hands. 

‘Then shut up, and make me come.’

a/n: i ummed and ahhed about putting an aftermath scene but decided not to because I lowkey like 'em toxic >:) We also do NOT hate JJ in this house, she was just convienient. I also (can you tell I like to yap?) don't know what era of Spencer Reid I pictured for this. Somewhere in the earlier seasons, maybe? But idk. You choose. I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. I've decided not to put tags on my 18+ fics, just as I don't want any minor interactions with them Also, to the person who requested this: if it did not align with your request I'm so sorry and I can do if you really really want xxxx

[ramp-it-up]

Captain. My Captain.

Mood

Summary: Steve has a kink. And you have the key.

Word count: 3.3 K

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

A/N: This is a fic related to Call Me Captain When I... and comes right after Mood. It is also for @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Sir/Daddy Kink This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “just the tip I promise" *holds me down and fucks me full of cum.*” I'm deep in love with Steve and Libby. Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! This Steve curses, and he is also grumpy. Steve is weak for you but a bit of a control freak. Dominate Steve, Semi-public sex act, fingering, lots of dirty talk and verbal edging, literal edging, orgasm denial, Captain and Sir kink, size kink, praise oral (m receiving), raw p in v, creampie, aftercare, soft Steve after he cums. 😜

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

It started at the briefing.

Steve sat at the head of the table, full Captain mode. The stealth suit fit him like a second skin and you’d had to will your eyes forward more than once. His jaw was set, his focus sharp. Everyone else, Sam and a few others, listened while he laid out the plan to hunt the organization behind the ambush on your training op.

The bastards who hit you were already “neutralized,” though you had yet to learn what Steve meant by that. This mission was about the ones who’d sent them. 

The ones who thought they could touch you.

It was the first time you’d worked directly with him in the field.

You were paying attention. To the plan. To him. To the way his fingers curled tight around the table’s edge. The sharp crease between his brows. The way he looked at everyone else like their Captain, and looked at you like a man who’d memorized the sound you made when you broke.

Steve’s reactions to you had always been inconvenient, but they were especially volatile now, on a mission, in uniform, with your professionalism at risk. Hundreds of people called him Captain and Sir every day, but when you said them, it short-circuited something primal inside him.

You weren’t supposed to be under his command outside of the bedroom. But this time, you were. And he was doing everything in his power to keep his shit together.

That meant no time alone. No slipping. No touching. No relief. He even insisted that you get yourself off every night to counter the maddening effects of no contact between you, but you defied him.

“Respectfully, Sir, I don’t want to.”

He’d nearly broken then, but understood. Nothing felt better than you two together. He’d decided the same. Two weeks of self-control would be hell. But he’d endured worse.

You weren’t so sure you would last.

When he asked the room, “Any questions before we move?” his gaze locked on you, unflinching.

You tilted your head innocently.

“No, Sir.”

His breath hitched. Just enough that you noticed.

Sam started talking, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too busy watching Steve’s knuckles strain, his jaw tick, and the storm brewing behind his ice-blue eyes.

He was daring you to say it again.

You straightened, hands folded neatly, waiting for him to look away.

He didn’t.

After the briefing, you didn’t even make it three steps down the hall before his hand circled your arm, pulling you into the breakroom. Not rough, but firm enough that your heart stuttered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sweetness.

“What was what?”

“You know damn well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir.” You leaned in, breath warm against his ear. 

“Didn’t mean to distract you, Captain.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was the sound of a man fraying at the seams.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the nearest tactical table.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

His hand drifted, barely brushing the curve of your ass and it was subtle, calculated, and electric enough to buckle your knees.

“You’re walking the line, Lieutenant.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting for control you didn’t want. 

“Apologies…”

He nodded, sharp and curt. Turned to go and you watched America’s Ass. You waited just long enough, then let the last word fall like a stone in water.

“…Captain.”

He froze. Just for a second. Shook his head and walked away.

But it didn’t end there.

On the jet, the tension only sharpened. You sat across from him, knees brushing, the hum of the engines a thin veil over the silence between you. The rest of the team prepped and chatted, oblivious.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched you watch him. Your eyes dropped to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the suit. You licked your lips deliberately, remembering the weight and stretch of him.

You leaned forward, passing him a file, fingers brushing his on purpose.

“Here you go, Sir.”

Your voice was husky and he knew you were wet, and probably desperate for any contact with him. So he didn’t take the file from you.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at you, like he was one slip away from throwing you over his knee in front of God, country, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice dark and tight.

You smiled, all sugar. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as he turned to Sam, locking the need away with brutal discipline. You swallowed, steadying yourself. The mission came first.

It always did.

The mission’s success only sharpened the edge. By the time the gala rolled around, neither of you had cooled off, not even close. You’d basically begged him before the event. Your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips bruising his, your body pressed tight against his in the darkened corner of your quarters.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just the tip.”

Steve laughed against your mouth, but he’d pulled back, steady even with his pulse racing wild beneath your fingers. His hands cupped your face, thumbs sweeping over your swollen lips.

“We both know that just the tip would end up with me holding you down and fucking you full of cum, Libby.”

Your eyes rolled. “Please…”

Your wanton moan had him a hair’s breath from giving in. But you both still had a job to do.

“I want to take my time with you.” His voice was all gravel, thick with promise. “You’ll get all of me. But not now. Not like this.”

So you dressed for the gala, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder that Captain Rogers was still calling the shots. And you let him think he’d won right up until the Senator asked that question.

The man had the nerve to sidle up to you, drink in hand, charm dripping off him like oil, and ask what it was like to serve under Captain Rogers.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I always follow orders,” you said, slow and sweet. “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

You saw it, the way Steve’s glass froze halfway to his lips, the flicker of fire in his eyes, the sharp clench of his jaw as he forced down a cough to cover the sound of his own restraint breaking.

Five minutes later, he excused himself. You followed.

The hallway was empty. His hand caught your wrist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him, pressing your back to the wall. You were so wet.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

His breath ghosted your lips. 

“You think it’s funny? Teasing me like that. In front of him.”

You smiled angelically. 

“I think it’s hot. Watching you try to keep control when all you want to do is take me apart.”

His hands tightened against the wall.

“You know what happens when I lose control, Libby.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling tight around your wrist as he dragged you into the nearest supply closet. The door clicked shut, the air was charged, and you could barely breathe.

“You wanted this,” he growled pinning you back against the shelves. His hands roamed, hiking your dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed bare skin. 

“You’ve been begging for it since the damn briefing.”

Your breath hitched, but your voice stayed steady. 

“Still am.”

The second the word Captain left your mouth, his control shattered and he was on you.

His hand covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, the other sliding between your thighs, fingers slipping deep, parting your folds roughly, desperate to feel you. He swallowed every broken noise you couldn’t hold back, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, your breast. His teeth grazing, his tongue soothing, and his lips branding you.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking open at the edges.

You moaned, helpless against the waves of pleasure.

His fingers pumped harder, faster. His control slipping with every stroke. His fingers worked you harder, faster, until your legs trembled and your world seemed to bend around you.

Then, right before you came, he stopped.

“You wanna play games, Sweetheart?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You better be ready for the consequences.”

When he pulled back, he held you steady, smoothing your dress back down with those same hands that had almost wrecked you. His lips ghosted over your temple, while what he did still vibrated through both of you.

“You okay?” 

You swallowed. You couldn’t even be mad at him because you knew how much you’d teased him.

“Yeah, I….you. That was…” your voice trailed off. “...Are you?”

His smirk was pure sin. “Nope.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. 

“You know it would help if you didn’t look so damn smug.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you haven’t seen smug yet. Wait until I give you at least three orgasms.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“So you keep telling me.”

—----

The second the gala ended, you’d expected him to break. To drag you into the nearest car, or corner you in some dark hallway before the flashbulbs had even cooled.

But no.

Steve kept his distance.  

All night, you’d felt his eyes track you across the room, the heat of it searing through the silk of your dress, the weight of his control stretched so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped.

But he never touched you again. Never slipped. Not once.

He even sent you home in a separate car. Your heart couldn’t take it, but you knew there was more to come. And it was long past midnight when the knock came. You opened your door, heart already pounding, and there he stood.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, the tie hanging loose around his neck, his jacket nowhere to be seen. His restraint had finally cracked, written all over his face. But his voice stayed low, even.

“Pack your bag,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to. You just obeyed.

Ten minutes later, you were in his car, the city lights blurring past the windows, your thighs pressed tightly together. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, hands flexing on the wheel like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

By the time the car stopped,  a quiet, private safehouse on the edge of the city, your skin was flushed, your pulse wild.

The door had barely shut behind you when you felt it.

His hands.

One gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, the other on your waist.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he murmured, voice like gravel, “and I’ll just sit back and let it slide?”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t teasing, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted. not a smile, more like a warning.

“You don’t get to play innocent. Not after two weeks of ‘Yes, Sir’ and that sweet little tilt of your head. You’ve been testing me since the briefing.” 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You felt the heat pool low in your belly, your legs weak beneath the weight of his words, the sharpness of his stare.

“On your knees.”

The order sent a shiver through you and you dropped without hesitation, hands resting on your thighs, head tilted back to look at him, waiting.

Wanting.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, chest rising slowly.

“Look at you,” he muttered, shaking his head, more to himself than to you. 

“So damn pretty when you’re obedient.”

When he undid his belt, his fly, and freed his cock, you swallowed hard. The size of him, the sheer weight and length, was always a shock to your system no matter how many times you’d seen him.

You glanced up through your lashes, the shape of a question lingering in your throat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You’ve been begging for this with every word you’ve said for the last two weeks. Work for it.”

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat, the heft, the impossible stretch of him. Your lips parted, and when you took him in, his breath hissed through his teeth, one hand threading to your scalp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, the barest encouragement as you started to bob on his cock, lips stretched wide and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you. Captain’s perfect little mouth.”

You worked him slow at first, savoring the low growl of his approval, the way his hips flexed, controlled even now. But when you hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, wide-eyed, his control cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand tightened on your head, hips pressing forward until you took him deeper, until tears dropped from your eyes. But you didn’t pull back. You wanted this, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

When he finally eased out of your mouth, his thumb wiped your lips, tracing the slick curve.

“Up,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, rising to your feet. His hands were on you the second you stood, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest wall, his large body caging you in completely.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his hard length grinding against your ass through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“You like knowing no one else gets to see me like this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked and ready.

“Of course you do. You’ve been dripping for me all damn night.” 

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, voice dark and ragged. 

“And I’ve been thinking about bending you over every flat surface I could find. About splitting you open on my cock until you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, desperate.

“You wanted me to break, sweetheart?” 

His hand gripped your hip, his other one sliding between your legs again, fingers skating through your slick. 

“You’ve got me. But you’re going to pay for every second you spent torturing me.”

He didn’t take you to bed. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you, like you weighed nothing at all,  and carried you to the couch, settling you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did, your gaze locking with his as he guided you down onto him, slowly, filling you inch by impossible inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groaned, holding you still once you’d taken all of him. 

“You feel so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect around me.”

You clung to him, barely able to breathe, stretched to the limit. It hurt so good.

“You wanted your Captain,” he whispered against your lips. “Now you’ve got him.”

And then he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts that pushed you to the edge of madness, his mouth capturing every moan, every broken plea you couldn’t hold back. And you knew, right then, there’d be no walking straight tomorrow.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—---

You lost track of how many times he made you cum. His mouth, his hands, the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every part of him wrecked you with single-minded precision.

But it wasn’t until long after your voice was hoarse from moaning his name, long after your body trembled from overstimulation, that Steve softened.

He shifted beneath you, easing out of your body with care, murmuring something low and tender against your skin. You couldn’t make out the words because your brain was a fog of pleasure and endorphins. But the gentle tone was enough to settle you.

Strong arms gathered you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you to the bed like you were precious. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin, the faintest scent of sweat and his cologne.

He laid you down carefully and climbed in beside you. His big hands smoothed over your hips, your thighs, his thumbs catching on the marks he’d left behind.

You didn’t mind them. You liked that you’d wear the shape of him tomorrow. On your skin. Between your legs. In the slight limp no one would question, but he would know.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, still dazed, sated and warm. “Yes, Sir.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled the blanket up over both of you.  

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he murmured, brushing your curls back from your forehead. 

“Just… you get under my skin, Libby. Make me forget how to think.”

“You didn’t forget how to think,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bicep, the hard line of his chest. “You planned that.”

His answering grin pressed against your shoulder. 

“Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, “And you knew what you were doing at the gala.”

You smirked against his throat. 

“You liked it.”

Steve groaned and pulled you tighter. 

“Liked it too much. Nearly lost it when you said Sir like that in front of the Senator.”

You laughed softly. 

“You like it when I say it in private more?”

His hand slid to the base of your spine. His grip was warm. 

“I like it when you say it when you're wrecked. When you’re trying not to come and you whisper it like a prayer. That’s when it ruins me.”

The silence that followed was full of heat, but not urgency. The hunger had been sated. What remained was the closeness. The wanting still there, but quiet now. Like embers under ash.

You moved and winced, the soreness sparking up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just that you’re huge,” the words tumbled out unfiltered.

Steve stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No. Not even close. Just… I’m still adjusting. In my soul.”

He laughed then, head falling back, the sound full and rich and happy. It shook the bed, and you smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look at you. 

“Who knew you were this much of a brat?”

You gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“Only for you, Captain. My Captain.”

His expression softened completely. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a second, there was something deeper than heat in the space between you.

Something like devotion.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Every time. Before, during, after. I love you Libby.”

You leaned into the touch. 

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Steve. I love you too.”

And with that, he kissed you, slow and lingering, nothing like the bruising hunger from earlier. This was patient. Tender. The kind of kiss that promised more.

Not just in bed, but in the quiet spaces between missions and chaos. In the in-between moments where your heartbeat slowed and the world finally held still.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled against him, your leg thrown over his thigh, his hand resting on the curve of your hip.

And even in sleep, you felt it, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Steady. Unshakable. Yours.

Captain. Sir. Steve.

All of him.

——

Read Payback

[qmrzi]

JEALOUSY ; LEE JIHOON.

PAIRING; lee jihoon x gn!reader.

GENRE; fluff, angst?? Idk lol.

WARNS; none.

ABOUT; jihoon hardly gets jealous, but this time?? Nobody knows what got into him.

WORD COUNT; 550

A/N; man i should be active more

Why is Jihoon feeling jealous now? You are only helping Mingyu with dinner— it's hard to prepare food for 14 people, including himself, on his own, right?

But the thing is, since the two of you arrived at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place, all you have done was help Mingyu with chores around the house, talk with Chan and Soonyoung, gossip with Seungkwan— basically everything but recognize your boyfriend.

Sure, he's happy at how close you're with his friends. When y'all first dated—he was about to lose his shit when he realized you might not get along, and that's his worst fear—

But please!! He's craving your attention!! Notice him!! Good thing he's great with hiding his expression yet horrible at controlling his hand when he's feeling jealous or clingy.

First, he never left your hand under the table, leading you to eat with the hand you don't eat with— you're tired of asking him to leave your hand to eat and him holding it again after one bite.

Second, when you're standing near him, he's always slightly grabbing the hem of your clothes, hoping you'll stop talking to the person in front of you and give him your attention.

And lastly, the third, also the most important point, he's pouting hard.

You both entered your shared apartment after spending the whole day at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s apartment. It was dead silence all the way to your room.

You dropped your things on the bedside table, turning your head to face Jihoon, who's now crossing his arms, leaning against the door frame, and pouting.

“ji, what's wrong?" You asked curiously, he's always the first one to get home and change his outside clothes quickly to more comfortable clothes. But why is he standing there staring at your soul?

“Do you have a boyfriend?" You're dumbfounded by his question.

"Yes..? What are you saying?" You can't read the look on his face; why is he acting so weird all of a sudden?

“Really?" he scoffed. “But I don't remember you giving him any attention earlier, even though he was standing right next to you all the time, desperate for your attention.”

You finally understood his weird behavior, he is jealous.

“Ji, are you jealous?" You smirked. You got closer to his figure— that is still leaning against the door—

“Yes, I am jealous. So what?” He confessed. His cheeks became red from his embarrassment by admitting it without any hesitation, but still, he stood his ground.

Your smirk got wider, almost becoming a genuine smile. You did nothing and said nothing, you only opened your arms.

‘come here’ your action said.

He tried so hard to act nonchalant, trying to look like he was seriously mad, but looking at you smiling, arms wide open for him, he couldn't resist anymore.

jihoon inserted himself between your arms, wrapping his arms tightly around you like you'd leave him.

“I'm sorry for not giving you any attention,” you apologized, kissing his temple. "Let's wash up and I'll give you all of my attention.”

You won't be lying when you say you've never seen him sprinting this fast around his room to get his clothes and head to the bathroom

You rarely see him jealous— but when you do, you swear he's the cutest thing ever.

Belongs to @qmrzi , DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND CREDIT.

[mullermilkshake]

Meet the family

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

It's that important time, you're nervous and Jinwoo can't wait to share the news.

At 14 weeks, the twins are around the size of lemons.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags- Pregnant reader, slight manipulation, arguing.

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I drew this baby bootie divider and I think IT'S CUTE AS FUCK, I'm no artist but I'm pretty proud.

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

At fourteen weeks, you agreed to try again and visit Jinwoo’s mom and sister.

Anxiously standing there, you fiddled with your sweater and tried your best to keep your baby bump hidden before the public announcement. Jinwoo had managed to convince the Chairman to hold off on it until he could inform those close to him.

He wanted to tell his mom and Jinah immediately when he found out you were pregnant, but you were able to change his mind and wait just a little while longer.

Your oversized sweater was more of a tool than a fashion statement when leaving the apartment, just until the public announcement. Many people who recognised you and Jinwoo were none the wiser. Some made eyes at your radical clothing change, their gaze shifting down to your stomach with nothing more than a suspicious gaze.

There was only so much time before others would notice you carrying twins and not attending gate raids anymore. Time was running out. Jinwoo was growing impatient. Your moods were all over the place.

Organised chaos.

“Don’t worry.”

“Hm?” You met his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I said, don’t worry. They’ll love you, especially my mom. And Jinah will be great, I practically raised her while my mom was unwell.”

“It’s not that, I just… you’re taking me to meet her with the add on of ‘oh, by the way, the girl I’m seeing is also pregnant with twins’. It doesn’t make for a good impression, Jinwoo...”

You saw yourself as the girl he was seeing? Talk about making progress. Jinwoo wanted to smile, to kiss you right there on the doorstep.

But you sunk down with a slouch, clearly with more things on your mind. "You're closer with your sister then if you cared for her like that... We never really talked much about our families- What if she doesn't like me? That can happen- they could both take one look at me and decide not to like me."

God, you were adorable.

“To be honest, I think my mom will be really pleased. I’m twenty five and my sister’s always harping on at me about bringing a girl home so, it’ll go better than you think.”

It should have settled you, yet Jinwoo saw the way the distance between your eyebrows closed ever so slightly. You did this cute little thing with your face when you were conflicted, a worried stare that Jinwoo saw as adorable.

“Just stay close, okay?” Jinwoo took your hand and laced his fingers in between yours, a happy smile playing in his face as he knocked the door. “I’ll always be here.”

The door opened quicker than Jinwoo expected, like his mom was waiting for his visit.

“Jinwoo, I’m so glad you’re here- and this must be your girlfriend.” She smiled softly and placed a hand to her cheek. “Aren’t you pretty. Oh, Jinwoo, come on in and settle down, Jinah will be home soon.”

He took you through to the living area whilst his mom hurried through to the kitchen.

“Girlfriend?” You whispered, it shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

Jinwoo shrugged reluctantly and played it off as best as he could. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what to tell her.” 

He wanted you as his girlfriend, more than a girlfriend. You were to be the mother of his children and the only way to make everything right in the world was calling you his wife. Eventually, he’d ask you and you’d say yes when you were most vulnerable and understood that you could only rely on him.

Probably after the twins were born.

“So, tell me all about how you two met.” Jinwoo’s mom tiptoed in with a tray of tea, carefully placing it down on the table with one extra cup for Jinah.

It was surprising just how easily a lie dipped from Jinwoo’s lips, explaining some random story to him mom about how you and he met. It had nothing to do with the Hunter’s association. 

And then came the kicker.

“So… about us, mom.” He took your hand again. “There’s something else that I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Hey, I’m home!” It was Jinwoo’s sister.

“In here, Jinah! Jinwoo’s here with his girlfriend!” It sounded pretty nice to hear his mom say your name.

I guess now’s a better time than any. 

Jinah came into the living area beaming, grinning right at you. “Hey! So my brother finally brought a girl home, huh? Hey, I recognise you from the television, you’re a hunter too- you’re so pretty-“

“Woah, Jinah.” He practically pushed her away, taking note of how well you were enduring the overwhelming presence of his baby sister. “Give her some space, there’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other. There’s something important we wanted to talk to you both about before it’s made public, so would you listen?”

“Sorry! I can get carried away sometimes.”

Jinwoo’s mom smiled and put her hand on his knee. “Go ahead. Tell us all about what you want to say. We’re listening.”

“Uh…” The colour drained from your face, looking to Jinwoo for an answer.

“Mom, Jinah…” He looked at you with such adoration when he said your name. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh my god…”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful news!” The reactions Jinwoo expected, but they were expecting one baby. Not two.

“That’s not all.” He said, pulling up your sweater to show your little baby bump. “We’re having twins.”

That’s when the shock really sank in. “Twins?”

“You’re going to have two of you running around, Jinwoo?” Jinah was ever the one to put it eloquently.

“Yeah.”

“Jinwoo, is that apartment big enough for two babies? Do you need me to come and help when they’re born?”

“Well…” You cut in, looking everywhere except the three people in the room. “The Chairman has offered support from the hunter’s association to help us, there’s a facility that has resources to help us… so…”

Your voice trailed off when you saw Jinwoo’s involuntary expression. He didn’t mean to look at you the way he did, but it sounded a lot like you were thinking of giving his babies away to the association’s facility.

Swallowing hard, you smiled at his mom and sister. “But we haven’t decided on the later stuff just yet…”

Jinwoo halted himself in the silent room, trying to stop is hands from shaking. “Mom, I think we better go now, I promise we’ll come over soon.” He stood abruptly and made his way straight to the door without you, knowing you'd follow.

“Now? You’ve only just got here.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day. I just remembered that I forgot to do something… y’know, errands.”

Like hell you were going to give the babies to the care of the association. He wanted to get to the bottom of this and quickly, his compulsion to protect his children stung heavier than ever right in his gut to ensure their safety. He just never thought that he’d be protecting them from you.

The next ten minutes were a blur, he said goodbye and sat in the car with you for longer before he had the courage to speak with you and not say something he’d deeply regret.

You just needed to see that having a family with Jinwoo was the best thing for you, and for his babies. You still had time before they arrived to see that the only place they belonged was in your and Jinwoo’s arms.

“Jinwoo, will you say something?” You were close to crying by the time he pulled over in a random street away from Headquarters.

“Why do you want to give our babies away?”

“N-no, not give them away. Don’t make me sound so cruel. You're taking words out of my mouth. But we’ll need some sort of support when they get here… I’m terrified, Jinwoo.” He listened for the clicking of your seatbelt as you turned. “What can we give them that can ensure they’re raised right- we can’t do that our own.”

What were you even saying? Jinwoo was the strongest hunter to come out of modern times, he fought Beru for goodness sake, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.

“Yes we can. We can give them everything- please don’t do this.”

“How? How can we give them everything- Jinwoo, we aren’t ready to take care of one regular baby, and we have two with S-Rank mana, one tantrum and whatever abilities they might have, they could destroy half the city. How are we equipped to deal with that? What if both of them inherit something from us and it gets out of control? People could want to exploit that and we can’t be there all the time.”

“We’ll find a way to suppress it until they’re old enough, we can do something. We can stop it somehow, but we can’t give up on them and let them fall into the Chairman’s hands. You of all people should understand that-“

“I do understand it! That's the issue!” You were crying now, wiping your eyes as you talked faster, louder. More desperate. “I know we can't trust the association with them, but what other choice do we have? I can’t think of any viable options- I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want to do any of this and now I’m pregnant with twins and it all changes for me, you get that, right?!”

He did, he really did. Even so, he would not have you raising any children on your own, it was his duty as the father to help raise his children. He’d be there like his dad should have been through his teen years, helping you and loving you to raise two beautiful children.

Still, he let you finish. “You get that the world keeps on turning for you, for Jong-in. But it stops for me, and for Hae-in. She’s being sent to this facility on her own so Jong-in can get someone else pregnant- they wanted me to go in her place. You can come and go as you please and I… I won’t be able to go on raids again- I still want to be a hunter, I can’t do it if I’m all on my own.”

Jinwoo shook his head vigorously, hoping the action alone would seek it to you. “You won’t be on your own. I’m here, I’m not leaving… Please don’t let the Chairman get his hands on our babies.”

“Jinwoo, you’re not getting my point-“

“I do get it.”

Should I tell her? Was it too soon to tell you how much he adored you, loved you and wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?

“I care about you, deeply. More than you know, and I want us all to be a family.”

You sat and watched him with wide eyes. He took the opportunity to continue. “I know you didn’t ask for this, and in another life, I would have asked you out and taken things slowly if you said yes. But we’re here, and we should make the most of this… we have the chance to have two healthy and beautiful babies that will no doubt look like you.” He chucked, taking your hand you gave him with no issue. “They’ll have your temperament, the cute thing you do with your nose when you smile and I’m sure they’ll have your taste in music too.”

You rubbed your belly, watching him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Total and utter fear. “Jinwoo… how are we going to take care of two babies, work and keep ourselves afloat all the time? The Chairman will want us to have more children if these two come out as strong as he thinks they will. He’s clearly taken an interest and I don’t think he’ll just move on to the next baby that has a mana reading like this.”

If you felt that way, why did you want to hand them over to the association? Jinwoo put it down to your changing hormones, lack of sleep and just wanting the best for your children. Your maternal side was late in showing, and even then it was inconsistent. In fact, your baby bump showed faster than your capability to adapt to motherhood.

Despite that, it was showing, little by little each day. When the babies were born, Jinwoo knew that from the moment you saw them wrapped up in their little blankets and woolly hats, you’d fall in love with them. Just as he would at the sight of the two little bundles in your arms after giving your all and making two wonderful little people.

On that thought, his frustrations melted away. “The Chairman won’t be a problem… I promise you.”

Jinwoo took both of your hands and held them tight, close. “He won’t demand us, not anymore. And money isn’t an issue, just let me worry about that. I’ll never leave you, you won’t ever be on your own. Ever.” 

“Promise?”

“Yes. I promise. I swear on my life.”

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[johnnycadesmuse]

₊ ˚. ✩ this was all for you

— dallas winston x runaway!reader

song 𝄞 nettles by ethel cain

warnings: language, mentions of sex, smoking + alcohol

365 days, 12 months, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, and 31,560,000 seconds. that's how long you had been gone.

when you first went missing, everyone thought that you had been kidnapped. maybe you were on a walk and some creepy old man snatched you away, or maybe you said 'no' to the wrong guy and got unlucky— but Dallas knew the truth, because he got the truth gifted to him, straight from you. the note that you left on his bed told it all, and it revealed to him that he was the one who got unlucky.

dear my dearest dally,

by the time you find this letter, i will be gone. there is no point in trying to catch up to me as i haven't told anyone where i'm going and i am long gone by now, hopefully. i want to be honest and clear. bel i didn't leave because of you, if it were, i would tell you. i left because i couldn't take it anymore. i couldn't take the constant fighting of sides, the rumbles, the constant fearing for my well being when i'm out on a walk in town. i felt trapped in that town, and no one could hear me scream, except for you. i can't you were the only one who truly understood what i was going through. you were the only one who ever truly knew me. i don't want you to track me down, i want you to stay away live out your life the way you deserve to live it. i was a burden, and you had your own burdens to deal with. i was dragging you down with me and even if you don't want to admit it, it's the truth. i'm sorry, dallas. i love you more than you will ever know. everything that i did was for you.

when Dally read the letter, he wanted to rip it to shreds, set the scraps on fire and watch them burn.. but he didn't. instead, he cried softly into the paper, smearing the ink and smudging the words. Dallas Winston didn't cry, not for anything or anyone, not even for Johnny.

his throat felt clogged and his mouth began to salivate, as if he were about to throw up. it didn't feel real to him at first, he thought that maybe this was some big joke and that you would walk through the door a few seconds later to hug him and tell him that you were sorry, that you didn't mean to hurt him. but the door stayed closed, and you stayed gone.

after Dally gathered himself, he did exactly what you told him not to do, go looking for you. but you knew that he wouldn't listen to your words, so you took extra care in covering your tracks.

when he went to your apartment to look for clues, the furniture was all covered in white sheets like an old abandoned home in those scary movies the both of you used to watch together. he opened every drawer, scanned every nook and cranny, and even the tiny cracks in the walls that had been there since you first invited him over before you two even began dating. nothing. everything was spotless, not even dust remained for him to find. the only thing left was the scent of you, still somewhat lingering in the air.

after doing a million more checks of the same spots, Dally was convinced that you truly were gone. before he left, he walked over to the window sill you two would share a cigarette at after sex or a long night of talking. he ran his fingers over the engraved initials on the wooden window sill, ones that he carved out of his switchblade and you scolded him for, complaining that he would have to fix it later, but of course, he never did.

after that day, he tried to forget about you. whenever someone would bring you up, you'd shrug and pretend to not know you. whenever he had sex with other girls, he would try to not moan out your name or think about your lips kissing that sweet spot on his neck that no one else knew about. whenever he would walk by a bush of gardenias, he would hold his breath as they smelt exactly like your perfume. though he did all of these things, you still lingered. like a character haunting the narrative of his story.

he stuffed the letter under his mattress as to preserve it whilst also keeping it out of sight and out of mind. he would occasionally think about flipping it up and pulling the paper out, but he held back, for he knew the pain he would feel by just seeing your handwriting was too much.

why? why didn't she take me with her? it would've been safer, better he always thought to himself, the inner turmoil overtaking his mind.

slowly, he began to somewhat accept it. he no longer wanted to forget you, but embrace the fact that you came and left. he began to pick petals off of the gardenia bush every time he walked past it and stuff them in his pockets. and every time someone mentioned your name, he would no longer tense up, but instead acknowledge it and move on. still, you lingered, and he could never get rid of the pang in his heart when he thought of the way you would hold him close at night, the way you would brush your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp in the way he liked it. sometimes, when he was having a drink at Bucks, he would think about the way you would always have little sips of your alcohol, saying that any bigger was too much.

tonight was no different. as he sat at the bar, staring into his whiskey, he couldn't help but think of you. "hey Dal? you still with us?" Two-Bit asked, snapping him out of his trance.

"uh yeah" he said, attempting to play it off, but everyone knew that he was thinking about you. since you left, he hasn't been the same, and his friends would see it every time they looked at him. "so uh we still going to the rodeo on friday?"

"you bet" Soda chuckled, patting him on the back before returning to their previous conversation. Dally was looking forward to that rodeo as it would get you off of his mind as you weren't a rodeo gal, always complaining that it was too violent and upsetting to see people get hurt and animals taken advantage of, despite him always telling you that they were well maintained and fed. there was nothing of you that was left behind in that stadium.

once friday rolled around, the gang all got ready and headed to the rodeo, adrenaline pumping in excitement to see cowboys be kicked on their asses. they would whoop and holler on their way to the entrance from the parking lot, swinging their bandanas above their head like a lasso.

as they took their seats and waited for the show to start, Dally scanned the crowd, the house full.

suddenly, his heart stopped. he swore- no? it couldn't be you, could it? you left. you were gone and you weren't coming back. and you didn't like rodeos, you hated them. you would always refuse to go them and would instead suggest a movie or dinner somewhere.

as the crowd roared for the first person who was about to mount their bull, the person got up and began to head toward the exit where the food was. he didn't even wait a second before he followed suit, heading toward your side of the venue.

as he got closer and his vision cleared, that's when he saw it. you. it really was... you.

he stormed toward you, rage building up within him, ready to shout at you and berate you in anger about you leaving. but once he saw you smile in gratitude at the cashier, thanking you for the meal that would "be out shortly", all of that went away. instead, he wanted to run to you and hold you, tell you that he was sorry for driving you away despite the fact that in your letter you said otherwise.

he stood there, waiting for you to notice him, until you did. he visibly saw your breath hitch, your body tensing up. he watched as your nails dug into your palms, a nervous tic that you had— sometimes it was so intense, you would make your palms bleed and he would have to clean them up and kiss them better.

"hey." he said, his voice blank yet full of emotion.. full of words that he wanted to say.

"hi." you responded, your voice shakey. you didn't even hear your number for your food being called as you were too focused on him. you wanted so desperately to run to him, kiss him all over and tell him that you were sorry, because it was true. you were sorry. you were sorry that you left so suddenly, that you didn't say goodbye and instead left a stupid note. you regretted it all, as soon as you saw that "thank you visiting Tulsa sign" you wanted to turn back. but it was too late, the damage had been done, and you believed that he had probably moved on with his life, so you tried to do the same. but everything reminded you of him. "still like the rodeos, huh?"

"you do now too I guess?"

"no.. not really. I was dragged here by- a friend" you hesitated on the end of the sentence as the idea of having friends that weren't his friends was a foreign thing for you both. you always shared friend groups and were always around one another no matter what. Dally didn't say anything, only humming in response.

the air was thick, so thick you felt as though you were suffocating. you felt tears begin to prick your eyes the longer you stared at him. he didn't look well, at least, not as well as he used to. his eye bags were more visible and his lips were more chapped from you not kissing them.

"is it a guy?" Dally asked hesitantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, a nervous tic you knew he had.

"no" you chuckled lightly, "I haven't been with anyone since.."

"not even slept with?" he asked softly, stepping closer, your bodies only a few inches away from one another. you cleared your throat, not out of discomfort, but out of feeling guilty, because the answer to the question was yes.

"they didn't mean anything if that's what you were wondering."

"mine didn't either" he admitted, biting the inside of his cheek, making you bite back a small smile that threatened to form on your lips. you looked up to see him slightly smiling as well, and that's when you couldn't take it anymore, you couldn't hold it in. you began to sob, holding your face in your hands.

you began to turn on your heels to walk away as you were embarrassed to be so weak in front of him, but before you could even take a step, he swung you around and held you, pulling you into his chest. without hesitating, you wrapped your arms around him, instantly feeling relieved.

"i'm so- sorry" you sobbed into his jacket, your voice muffled. "I wanted to turn back. I regret it so bad Dally, I r-really do"

"I know baby, I know." he whispered, kissing the top of your head over and over, attempting to not allow his voice to crack or stutter as he tried to hold back his own tears.

"can you.. forgive me?" you pleaded, pulling away when you only heard heavy breathing. you looked up to look at him, only to have your face pulled into his, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss. you cupped his face, his hands now on your waist.

"does that answer your question?" he told you after you both pulled away, making you laugh as he wipes your tears away with his thumb. your laugh instantly healed him, it sounding like a song he missed hearing. "don't leave me.. please" he whispered to you, staring deeply into your eyes.

"I won't.. ever." you replied, staring back, his brown eyes, no longer looking blue.

[stxrvel]

remorse (5)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, flashback, a lot of remorse, fights, stubborn people, lack of communication, angst. a/n. its finally here. i haven't re read this chapter bc im almost falling asleep and i have to work tomorrow, but i'll give this one another look in the weekend. a friend of mine helped me with the traduction bc i'm really really burnt out rn. also, chapters names changed!! i hope you guys like this one! see you on the next one🫶🏻

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“Oppa…”

Yoongi raised his head, his body leaning toward the piano acknowledging your presence in the room, and you could tell how he was physically struggling to move away from the instrument. Under his watchful gaze, you walked in his direction shuffling your feet, with a pitiful expression and every intention of openly complaining to one of the elders in your group of friends. But you relaxed your expression when you were a few steps away, recognizing his notebook on the piano lid and the trail of ink between his fingers at a safe distance from the keys.

His laughter confused you, and when you looked up, his lips were curved into a pretty smile. It was annoying. He was only two years older than you.

“What happened now?”

You remembered that you had come with a purpose, but your mind, as evasive and suggestible as ever, found more interest in what your eyes had caught.

“The usual,” you barely commented, moving to sit on your legs in front of Yoongi. “Were you writing?”

Yoongi glanced over to find his notebook, his shoulders shaking in a sigh because he knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation now that you had discovered him.

“Something like that…”

“Can I see it?”

“It's nothing decent. I don't think it's prudent.”

You pressed your lips together at his response, letting your shoulders droop, disappointed. But it was what you had expected; after all, Yoongi was quite secretive about his notebook, and it was rare for him to let you get this close and know so much about him. Even though you had probably known each other since you learned to swim and multiply, and surely knew more skeletons in his closet than he would like to admit, Yoongi still had a reluctance to show you or anyonw his writings. You had to catch him at a very relaxed moment.

So you set aside your emotions, not allowing Yoongi to respond as you pouted, and crossed your arms while turning your head away.

“Taehyung and Jungkook got so competitive on the court that they kicked us all out,” you frowned, remembering how the two had rushed past you and stolen the ball in the blink of an eye, moving so quickly and with cheeky laughter that you barely understood what was happening until you saw them tussling with the ball in front of the scoring area.

They were already in extracurricular hours, and although everyone had subjects to study and delve into, they decided to take a moment to take advantage of the fact that the school court would be empty and play for a while. Jin and Namjoon had left the game after two quarters because they simply couldn't keep up, and since one was in your group with Jimin and the other with the two kings of competition that day, they decided to kick them out and leave them as referees along with Hobi, who was the initial one.

Surprisingly, Yoongi also didn’t attend the game or his extracurricular class, choosing to get lost in the music room, taking advantage of the fact that it was empty that day because classes ended early.

“I don’t understand why they have to ruin everyone’s fun.”

Your little thirteen-year-old self, ignorant of many aspects of life, could only cross her arms and complain. Yoongi smiled, his two extra years of age giving him an understanding that perhaps you didn’t have access to, because it was inconceivable to you that such a sacrilege could be considered funny. Basketball hours were sacred!

“They're just messing around.”

“Oppa, you should've seen how they were pushing each other,” you shook your head, refusing to believe that Yoongi really wanted to defend them. “If you had been there, you could've stopped them.”

“And Jin?”

“He was laughing with them.”

“Ah,” Yoongi turned his head. “So the second best option was me?”

You shrugged. “Well, I thought I could convince you to go to the court, but…”

“But…?” Yoongi rested a hand on the bench, leaning in to see you on the floor.

“Maybe it’s more fun to listen to you play the piano.”

You smiled brightly, intertwining your fingers while Yoongi wore a half-smile. Without responding, he straightened up again, adopting the posture he had when you saw him through the glass of the door, before you interrupted his concentration. His fingers danced in the air for a few seconds, touching the notes in his head, recalling sound after sound, until the pressure on them gave way to a melody unknown to you.

It had to be a new piece, a new composition in his notebook. Yoongi played, calm and serene, focused and absorbed, letting the sound flow as if it came directly from nature.

Seeing Yoongi like this was… a strange event. Later, as time passed, you would think it was unbearable to have to see him everywhere, to hear his name around every corner, but at that moment you were lost in him, absorbing the sounds of his mind that his fingers materialized on the piano, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tide of his emotions, the way he conveyed so many words with his touches. The fast and slow notes, the change of tempo, all so meticulously created and organized to send a message, to describe an emotion, to paint a scene.

Yoongi was scared. Perhaps nervous, even. When he finished his piece, you could only look at him in awe, his shoulders moving a little faster due to the intensity with which he finished, keeping his head down, as if processing what he had just done. His fear was palpable, his hopelessness and unease.

“Oppa?”

“I don’t know…” he paused, dropping the lid over the keys and taking a calmer posture. “I don’t know if I’ll do the right thing when I graduate.”

“Why?” your brow furrowed, and you leaned forward in concern. “You’ve always talked about it. And you have a lot of talent, oppa, I know you’ll make it.”

Yoongi gave a nearly pained smile, as if he understood something you had no idea about.

“Jin is going to medical school.”

“I know. But it’s what he’s passionate about,” you moved closer to your friend, trying to give him some of the support he always gave you. “Isn’t music what you’re passionate about?”

The black-haired boy frowned. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he played the piano until he was breathless, but the gestures of his doubts were there too: when his fingers trembled with anxiety, his eyes gaining more shine as the seconds passed.

“Oppa,” you called, trying to break the silence, trying to prevent his thoughts from eating him alive. “If it’s what you love, you’ll succeed. I’m sure of that.”

You saw how the haze in his eyes disappeared, his features relaxing at least a little.

“I probably only have your support. I’ll have to rely on that.”

His small smile constricted your heart. In that moment, you didn’t know what you could do to show him that it was enough, but you were also unaware of the reality that his words held. It was probably due to your age, the age difference with Yoongi, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would never be completely satisfied with that. You wondered if it was about you, just for a second, recalling the way he smiled when some of the other boys gave him words of encouragement.

Maybe he was just more vulnerable with you than with the others, but a thirteen-year-old's reasoning didn't go that far.

With your foolish conclusion, you came home that day with a heavy heart.

-

Speaking of loose ends and unresolved issues, there were some specific people who deserved to take home the award and the crown for the most intrigue of the century. Because when you entered Choi Dohyun's office, with Seojun and Yuna on either side, even knowing that there were things still pending answers and others you could barely understand, the last thing you expected was for those you weren’t even aware of to suddenly materialize, like a kick to the stomach.

But keeping your head high and your composure was something you had lacked the last time, and thus, against all odds, your face showed no emotion when you caught a glimpse of Min Yoongi storming out of the office looking angry, not even when his eyes moved towards your figure and his wires crossed for a millisecond, betraying his movements. The sound of his shoes against the floor didn’t even distract you, keeping your gaze fixed on the man who appeared behind the door, with a huge smile on his face and eyes that screamed that signing this contract might take more from you than it would give.

Min Yoongi flanked you, a nearly imperceptible gasp of surprise escaping him as you passed by his side, not even giving him a glance of acknowledgment over your shoulder, as if he were less than a mere insignificant dust particle, and he collected himself as best he could to keep walking, ignoring the astonished looks your companions shot him.

You flashed the biggest smile, a feeling of anger settling deep in your stomach, and you shook hands with Choi Dohyun, who was cheerfully introducing himself with a voice an octave higher than usual.

You didn’t miss the way he shot a glance down the hallway, where Min Yoongi should have been disappearing, and the bitter sensation in your throat intensified.

“Well, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m very happy because we finally have this,” Yuna beamed, raising the envelope with the contract as if it were her most cherished possession, just as they exited the large publishing house and the cool afternoon air greeted them, “but did we just see the damn Min Yoongi leave that office?”

You simply sighed, feeling the tension radiate from your brother’s body, who hadn’t separated from you since the moment you were ushered away by Choi Dohyun's secretary.

“That was… wow. I don’t even have words.”

Seojun rolled his eyes, and you had to suppress the urge to pinch his side when Yuna turned to look at you with the envelope in her hands while you all waited to see your father’s blue car navigate the avenue.

“Do you think… this means we’ll have more opportunities to meet the seven gods of Olympus than most people?”

Her smile made you feel nauseous, but out of her ignorance, you could do nothing but try to mimic it. Seojun, on the other hand, was making nothing but irritated faces.

“Maybe, if you work harder.”

Yuna let out another squeal of excitement, and you took a deep breath when she turned around to look at the cars again. Seojun wrapped his arm around yours, glaring at anyone who came too close, even by accident.

Your friend kept murmuring in disbelief, and all you could think was that she was probably holding in her hands the worst decision you had ever made.

-

Whatever the reason for your encounter with Min Yoongi, you had deduced that your bad luck came down to being out of the house. Putting a foot outside the holy altar of your home was proving lethal for your emotional stability, so you spent the rest of the day locked up, managing your social media and overseeing deliveries.

Dohyun had agreed that the publishing house would handle the entire printing, packaging, and shipping process of the books, as purchases were only growing with each passing day. His real offer was to leave you with nothing to do but continue planning your stories, because at that moment, you were a goldmine for him.

“Unbelievable! Jung Hoseok revealed the truth behind the distancing of the Korean entertainment dynasty.”

The voice coming from Yuna’s phone caught your attention. You lifted your head from the blank document on your computer screen, glancing sideways at your friend, who was comfortably sprawled on your bed with a furrowed brow and a conflicted expression, as intrigued as she was worried about what she had just heard.

“These past few days have been tough for the kings of entertainment, as the last public sighting of them was over a week ago when Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jeon Jungkook left the businessman’s building and enthusiastically greeted all their fans. As good followers, we know it’s too strange not to see them often, and the last time this happened was when Jung Hoseok had the accident that prevented him from continuing to play professional tennis.”

Yuna looked intensely focused, biting her nail and awaiting the climax of the video. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny you were a bit curious about what news they would share, knowing that the boys weren’t ones to openly discuss their private matters.

“With their reputations at stake and rumors flying back and forth [how exaggerated], Jung Hoseok had to come out to clarify the situation. His official statement, which was informally published on the famous app Whotalks, said: ‘We’re all fine. Please be patient with us.’ Whether his statement implies misunderstandings among friends that are in the process of being resolved or if we should wait for an official statement from their leader, we’re not sure. But it’s concerning the—”

“Why would they make such a big deal about this if they aren’t even sure what that post implies?”

Yuna paused the video, giving you a confused look, surely thinking you were immersed in whatever you were doing on the computer (nothing), too busy to pay attention to these “insignificances,” as you used to say.

“Y/N, you really have no idea of the magnitude of power these men hold over the entertainment industry. With a snap of their fingers, they could shake everything.”

“And why did they get so much power?”

“They earned it. Through their hard work.”

You couldn’t help the huff that escaped you. You didn’t find what Yuna had said funny because it was true; they had worked incredibly hard to achieve what they had at that moment. At least you knew that their beginnings had been humble. But it annoyed you, inevitably, because you couldn’t control the resentment shaking in your chest. Healing my ass, you hadn’t forgotten anything from the last few years, no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself otherwise. So much effort to force them out of your life, only for them to find a way to disrupt it again in a week as if they had some right.

What a bunch of audacious—

“Oh. A message came in.”

Your friend sat up on the bed, and you sent her a confused look.

“Messages come in every second, Yuna.”

“It’s from a verified account.”

Without lifting her gaze in your direction, you froze in your chair.

“Oh—”

Oh no.

“No fucking way—” Yuna stood up in the bed, exclaiming loudly: “Kim Taehyung is in your DM's!”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“¿¿Huh??”

The words slipped out before you could think twice. From the tense way the words left your mouth, you could tell Yuna was torn between asking more or simply contradicting you. Her eyes moved from the screen to your face, her fingers moving almost imperceptibly over the device.

“You know, every time you make it harder to understand what’s going on with these people.”

Finally, she locked her phone and dropped it on one of your pillows. You had never been a fan; your friend understood that. She had never questioned you about it… except for that random afternoon in this same room when she asked too many questions, but after the encounter with Yoongi that afternoon, you wondered what moment or what would need to happen for her to stop believing that it was just a matter of taste differences and for you to have to tell her the truth.

Before everything that happened a week ago, you had never considered it necessary to talk about it because so much time had passed, and you believed you were at a point where things related to them really didn’t affect you anymore, nor would you ever have to interact with them again to warrant giving your friend a statement. But of course, things were different now, and emotions would continue to clash with one another, and you hated to think that their attitudes meant they were trying to return to your life, or at least get involved to some extent, which would imply, strongly, that you would have to tell Yuna what had happened.

“Have you ever thought that you might have run into him if you had gone to the convention?”

“Yeah...” you sighed in defeat. It was impossible not to consider that alternative, how things might have turned out. If you would still have this overwhelming resentment in your chest or if they would have carved their way back into your heart once more.

The foolish you at eighteen would be thrilled right now.

“And even with that doubt... don’t you have even a little curiosity about what he says?”

You preferred not to, to be honest. You would rather just rip out every memory from your head with tweezers to be able to return to a semi-normal life, where your biggest worry should be saving enough for a trip and not when those damn lunatics were going to leave you alone.

But you found yourself stretching out your arm to take the phone when Yuna handed it to you, a grimace of insecurity settling on your face.

“I’m not going to ask,” Yuna spoke, and you sent her a glance just as she turned on the bed and took her own phone to continue watching her celebrity gossip. “I’m not going to pressure you.”

You didn’t respond. You lowered your gaze to the device in your hands, feeling a mix of relief and bitterness. Well, at least she had given you the opportunity to worry about that later.

The screen lit up, and there it was. A new message from Kim Taehyung.

thv Hi. It’s Jimin.

Huh?

You ?

The read notification arrived almost instantly after you replied. With your brow furrowed, you watched the bubble appear from his side of the chat.

thv I’m sorry for writing from Tae’s account, but you blocked me

Ah. Ah. Right.

After receiving the notification that Jungkook had followed you a few days ago, and especially because he had shown up at your work out of nowhere short after that, you had blocked everyone else with an Instagram account, just to be safe.

A small detail.

You Oh, yeah

That Jimin was trying to contact you, considering the context of the whole situation, wasn’t too outrageous. When you studied together, apart from being the first to start teasing others and fostering friendly banter, he was also the first to try to fix things because he couldn’t stand hostile and tense environments. It’s not that you thought he had a chance to fix anything now, but maybe you were a little interested in what he had to say. After several days, it was inevitable not to feel curious, right?

After the bubble appeared and disappeared several times, the message finally arrived.

thv Do you think we could talk in person?

You No.

thv I promise it'll just be me

You No.

thv It can be anywhere you choose

You I said no If you have something to say, write it If you don’t have anything interesting to say, then I’m going to block this account too

thv No Wait Okay.

The sound of Yuna’s phone had faded into the background of your mind. You kept your eyes on the typing bubble, fearing that maybe Jimin would change his mind and decide not to respond to the questions swirling in your head. Now that he was being so persistent, you were more eager to know. I mean, it was the least you deserved, right? Some kind of answer, some kind of reason, a why. Something to explain everything, because the root of that growing resentment in your chest was due to their lack of communication, to their ease in discarding you like a worthless piece of paper, not even caring if the air swept you away or the rain destroyed you.

They owed you something, and you had the right to an answer. You could have moved on, yes; you thought you had, yes; living with resentment in your heart affected a person’s life, yes... but God would be the only living being on earth and in the universe who wouldn’t feel even a pinch of pain for everything that had happened. For the inexplicable disappearance, for the disconnection, for the destruction of an incredible blind trust that was woven with that friendship you believed to be unconditional but ended up being one-sided. Who could really blame you for being cautious of them?

If when you cultivated that friendship, that friendly love, the fruits they returned to you were rotten, how could you simply trust? Who could?

thv I’m sorry for what happened. I know this was very abrupt, and it must have been strange for you

Strange, for lack of a better word. Strange was a euphemism.

thv I apologize on behalf of everyone.

You I’m not interested

thv If we could meet in person, I could explain better

You I’m not interested. That wouldn’t change anything.

thv I know this goes beyond what happened this week, but I don’t want you to have a bad impression

You You’re a damn audacious one, Jimin Do you think it’s only the latest thing that would make me see you all negatively? Is that the only thing you’ve done? Or well, what you haven’t done either

thv Okay, I expressed myself very poorly I know we were already on bad terms before; I meant that I didn’t want it to get worse

You Well, honestly, I didn’t think it could get worse until now.

thv I’m making it worse

You Wow, apparently you do have awareness and common sense For many years, I thought you lacked that

You blocked the phone, letting it drop onto the table, your heart racing because of the audacity that man had to refer to what had happened as if it were just a silly childhood memory, as if it had simply been a stupid basketball game where you weren’t allowed to play. That only reinforced your thinking, the only plausible reason you had given life to over the past few years, the only explanation you had for their disappearance: that they never cared about you as much as you did about them; that you were never truly fundamental in their lives. Because, come on, they had built a friendship and shared memories before you appeared on the scene; they knew each other beforehand with a depth you could never reach, long before your name reached their ears. They had a connection; you were never ignorant of that; there was something in them that kept them united, something that made them understand each other almost on a spiritual level, and naively, you believed they had made you a part of it; that you had managed to be part of that connection.

But no, it was never like that. It was always one-sided. Whether you were a game, a case of charity, or someone they simply couldn’t say no to, you had no idea, but none of those options felt too foreign to reality. Especially considering the way Jimin referred to the past as if it had been a child's game and nothing more. There was never more for them. You should've known that.

thv I’m really sorry, y/n I truly wish I could talk to you in person I promise I can explain many things

His messages shone on the lock screen, and more than feeling curious again, you felt rage. So now they could talk. Now they could fucking communicate. Where was that willingness ten years ago? Five years ago, even? You never thought you would see any of them so willing to offer you what you had longed for, maybe at least to finally bring closure to the whole situation.

But you didn’t want to give them the right to become the victims in this situation. They had time to do something, yes, now you knew, and they simply chose not to; it was high time you really let it go. Let them go. What would an explanation fix now? When, if there was still something of the friendship you built, it should've crumbled to dust. Their willingness now meant nothing. If you ever saw any of them again, you would rather rip their hair out in a fit of rage.

You Fuck you Fuck all of you

And you blocked Taehyung’s account.

Anticipating any possibility, you also blocked Jungkook and hoped that would be the end of it.

Finally, you would try to seek true healing, because it was about damn time.

-

You y/n, I'm so sorry y/n? y/n????????????????

Oh no. Taehyung's going to kill me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Speaking of the king of Rome.

Park Jimin flinched, tightening his fingers around the phone he was holding, which clearly wasn’t his, literally caught red-handed. He swallowed hard when his friend’s footsteps drew closer, circling around to face what he feared most.

“Jimin...” Taehyung began, his confused expression turning into caution, quickly shifting his gaze between the phone and the wide-eyed blonde. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Jimin shrank even more, pursing his lips, realizing there was no escape. In his defense, he had fervently believed for a moment that he would succeed. Taehyung hadn’t agreed from the start, especially given how angry Yoongi had been that afternoon when he arrived at the penthouse and how he had locked himself in Namjoon’s office, and the tone of their voices hadn’t diminished for even a second, especially not when Jin arrived an hour later.

Taehyung and Jimin weren’t sure what had happened, but considering the recent events, they could make an educated guess.

It all led back to you.

They were surely paying for what they did.

“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Taehyung strode closer and snatched the phone from Jimin’s tightly clenched hands. Jimin let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the couch as Taehyung began to scroll through the messages, growls escaping his throat.

“I didn’t think she’d be so...”

Jimin hesitated, and when he turned to look at his friend, his furrowed brow silently asked, “are you serious?”

Another defeated sigh escaped him.

“You’re not fixing anything. If Namjoon finds out about this...”

Taehyung didn’t finish his sentence, but Jimin understood. But could any of them really blame him? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! No one was a saint in that place when it came to you. At least he had the decency to try to explain things when the others just charged in as if nothing had ever happened (for now, Taehyung and Jungkook, simply because he still had no idea what had happened with Yoongi).

The problem, of course, was that Jimin was better at comforting someone in person than through messages.

“There's no going back from this.” Taehyung murmured, still focused on the screen. The shine in his eyes gave Jimin an idea of what was going through his mind, and he remained silent until Taehyung looked up. “We really messed up.”

“Did you need this reality check?”

“Did you?” Taehyung frowned. “I don’t know why you expected a different response.”

“Well, what did you expect to happen doing what you did?”

Jimin watched his friend click his tongue.

“What did you expect me to do? I didn’t think it would snowball like this.” Taehyung shook his head, and Jimin barely recalled with a shudder how the atmosphere had felt in the penthouse after Tae had posted that story about your books on his Instagram. “I just wanted...”

Once again, Taehyung chose to remain silent, but in his absence of words, Jimin understood.

To make up for it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to say anything,” Taehyung added, shooting a sideways glance at his blonde friend. “After whatever happened with Yoongi, I don’t even want to imagine how Namjoon would react if he finds out about this.”

“If he finds out what?”

Jimin and Taehyung froze on the couch, watching through the reflection of the TV as the person appeared behind them before they could recognize the friendly yet concerned tone.

Jung Hoseok circled the couch, clearly troubled by what he had just heard. It was evident he had just returned from practice because his hair was wet and he looked somewhat flustered, his cheeks flushed despite the chilly weather that night. He dropped his training bag on one of the armchairs, and Jimin averted his gaze when he caught his friend's eyes. It wasn't that they usually kept secrets and tiptoed around the others, but ever since Jungkook had pulled that stunt of searching for you at work when Namjoon had expressly forbidden it, the waters between them had been a bit tense, and any topic involving you could explode any healthy and cooperative conversation in seconds.

Hoseok crossed his arms, allowing his cheerful expression at finally arriving at the penthouse to fade completely, hardening his features as he shot a stern look at the two young men.

Taehyung also averted his gaze. The moment he heard Hoseok's voice, he tucked the phone between his legs and probably looked tenser than he should have. He, just like Jimin, didn’t dare meet Hoseok’s eyes at that moment. Because Hobi had stopped at the door, and with whom they had in front of them, they couldn't hesitate. They both knew it, they both understood.

And Hoseok knew very well. He was aware of all the tricks the two shared and could sense from their silence that they were up to something. Besides, of course, their conversation had been overly revealing. They had to be thankful it was him who arrived in the midst of their confessions, and of course, he would demand to have a conversation of such gravity with such freedom.

But no, in that house, secrets were not kept.

“If he finds out what?” Hoseok emphasized the words, urging the stubborn young men to keep their mouths shut.

Hoseok then exhaled through his nose in a sigh.

“Is it about y/n?”

Jimin and Taehyung lifted their gazes, a bit tempted but diverting their eyes as if pretending to be uninterested. While the atmosphere had been very tense lately, Hoseok and Jin had kept themselves somewhat distanced from all that unease, mainly because their demanding jobs kept them away from the penthouse most of the time. Namjoon, for his part, couldn’t escape the topic as easily since he had an office at home, initially to monitor them in a healthy way, and now because he felt the need to keep an eye on each of them to prevent them from doing something stupid.

Yoongi... well, maybe he had tried to stay on the sidelines, but he had clearly failed miserably if he had ended up arguing with Namjoon and Jin.

“What did you guys do now?”

Hoseok's severe tone was chilling. Jimin remembered the times he had decided to participate in his dance classes, the few that he taught personally each month, and how he had felt Hoseok’s sharp gaze and his blunt comments about his steps in front of all the students. It was as if he became another person. Although it was terrifying, the two young men admitted it was refreshing to see him like that in the academy, because he had lost a bit of his spark since his accident. Before, he only looked that serene and committed when he was at his tennis practice.

At that moment, however, Jimin and Taehyung appeared more reluctant despite his severe attitude, because they didn’t know if he would spill the beans to Namjoon afterward.

“And what happened with Yoongi?”

The slight softness in his tone made Jimin lift his head. Still with his arms crossed over his chest, Hoseok sat across from them at the table in the center of the room.

Jimin sighed, and Taehyung shot him an alarmed look. Are we really going to give in this quickly?!

“We don’t know what happened with Yoongi. He just arrived in the afternoon, locked himself in the office with Namjoon, and they wouldn’t stop arguing. Then Jin came in, but that didn’t make them stop.”

Hoseok looked up, scanning the hallway. Now the house was silent, perhaps more grave and tense than usual. Hoseok didn’t know how it had come to this and hadn’t sensed that atmosphere immediately.

“Is Jin here?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Taehyung replied, shifting on the couch. “He stormed out of the office a while ago.”

Hoseok grimaced at the mere thought, causing a shiver.

“Then it is about y/n.”

Jimin and Taehyung once again averted their gazes.

“Oh, come on.” Hoseok uncrossed his arms, more frustrated than angry at that moment for not being able to fully understand what was causing so many arguments among his friends. “I’m not going to go talk to Namjoon later, regardless of what you tell me. I just want to understand.”

The two young men exchanged a glance, Hoseok believed, communicating mentally. It was always strange but interesting how those two could understand each other at such a level that often they didn’t even need a look. They could support each other's ideas without overthinking it, just like they were doing at that moment in front of him, and Hoseok couldn’t help but think that this topic could cause them more harm than they realized. That these two were even hesitant to share something with him now, fearing to do so, considering whom they could trust or not, spoke volumes about how this issue was being handled and it was not healthy at all.

Hoseok didn’t know that Namjoon had been arguing. The only time he had talked about that topic with the others was when Jungkook’s incident happened, because by crossing such a clear and blatant line, Namjoon saw the need to have a group meeting to set some ground rules. But whatever had continued to happen that he was unaware of was creating cracks in the trust of all the members, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I wrote to her on Taehyung’s Instagram,” Jimin began, looking down with his hands intertwined on his legs. “And I might have made things a lot worse...”

“Might have?” Taehyung turned to look at the blonde, who barely raised his head to meet his gaze before Hoseok interrupted.

“And what did you say to her?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. “I asked if we could meet in person, and when she said no, I just tried to apologize for everything.”

“Don’t forget that you proceeded to carry out a rather undisguised gaslighting.” Taehyung added.

“I didn’t manipulate her!”

“You spoke to her as if everything that happened didn’t matter at all!”

“That’s not how it was! I just expressed myself very poorly,” Jimin exclaimed, facing Taehyung’s accusations, who remained with his arms crossed and chin raised, clearly in disagreement with him. “You, more than anyone, know that I don’t communicate well through text.”

“Because you overthink everything. You didn’t even need to text her in the first place. I told you it was a terrible idea. Now she hates us even more!”

“Did she say that?” Hoseok intervened.

Taehyung gave him a disbelieving look.

“And I quote: fuck all of you.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Taehyung looked angry, and Jimin appeared offended that Taehyung was so upset about what he had done, in addition to misrepresenting his words, if Hoseok understood correctly. But the brown-haired guy had a point: it had indeed been a terrible idea, and Namjoon would lose all his hair if he found out. He understood Jimin’s motivation for trying to reach out, but Hoseok felt Jimin had lost some tact in the process by approaching you just to find a quick solution. Clearly, the atmosphere in the penthouse was affecting everyone, and not in a good way. He couldn’t judge or blame Jimin for trying to lighten the situation for both parties, even if he could have approached it differently.

So Hoseok sighed, understanding the magnitude of the problem they had, and turned to the two young men who were now looking at him attentively, after recently avoiding his gaze as if their lives depended on it.

“How did you think you were going to meet her with the level of fame you have?”

Hoseok knew Jimin had acted on impulse, and perhaps addressing the underlying reasoning would make him think better next time, if there was one.

Jimin opened his lips slightly, confused.

“I... I don’t know, but I would've found a way.”

Taehyung scoffed. That would have been impossible because, surely, only after Jungkook, Jimin was one of the most recognizable faces in the industry and, therefore, couldn’t walk freely down the streets without having a horde of fans behind him within seconds. If, for some divine reason, you had agreed to meet with Jimin, then he would have exposed you too much to the public eye and you would have had more problems before getting any answers.

“There’s no way, Jimin.” Hoseok spoke, as the blonde shot a fierce look at his brown-haired companion. “We’re no longer in a small town.”

The two young men turned to the elder, putting their silly squabbles aside. A feeling of nostalgia and longing filled the air, embracing them and bringing to the surface poorly buried memories in the gardens of their minds; the gusts of Hoseok’s words uncovered them easily.

“We can’t afford that luxury now. We lost the opportunity a long time ago.” Hoseok reminded them, with a hint of discord in his voice.

Taehyung hated remembering those times. Having had his hands tied, sealing his mouth voluntarily, believing he had no other option... it completely sickened him. For a long time, regret had physically drained him.

“I won’t talk to Namjoon, don’t worry.” Hoseok assured them, and although the two young men should've breathed with relief, the truth was that they already felt too shaken. “But be more careful about where you talk about these things.”

“What things?”

“Fuck!”

Taehyung jumped off the couch when the voice came from his right, being the closest to the source. The three friends turned to see Yoongi, walking down the hallway from his room to the main living area of the penthouse.

“Are you guys sharing secrets?”

Instead of being scared, Jimin and Taehyung fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted breath. Yoongi shot a confused look at Hoseok, who returned it with a more severe expression.

“Come here, Yoongi. We need to talk.”

-

i hope you guys enjoyed! and thanks to my friend for helping my unresponsive overworked ass.

[Friend: I don't know if the tags worked. I'm sorry!]

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @11thenightwemet11 @yoongznme @queenbloody @lynnettys-world @darlingz99 @dreamerwasfound @chaotickyrith @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthigs @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @kariningss @juju-227592 @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @jincapableoflove @notrustfratedjin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison @ismelllikechlorine247 @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife @thatgirliehan @yuuuumii @welcometomyworld13 @sugarbaby69x @whoa-jo @cerulean1riz @kawennote09 @angelfuzzy2 @themoonsblueside @damn-u-min-yoongi

[throatgoat4u]

breakfast

word count: 10k

summary: matt moves to la and ghosts you, breaking your heart, but when the opportunity arises, you decide to get your revenge

warnings: emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, exploitation of vulnerability, heavy emotional distress

a/n: guys this might be a long read...... also this is for @bernardsbendystraws song writing challenge thingy. i'm actually shocked i was able to even write this cause like i'm lazy and procrastinate a lot and the fact that the challenge had a deadline too?!?! i'm amazed. i worked pretty hard on this one and i think this just might be one of my favorite things i've written. ps and by the way, i will be calling the reader cherry in this so that's what people will call her and what she introduces herself as! also one last detail, this doesn't happen in the span of like a few weeks or like 1-2 months, this story takes place in the span of like almost a year. so yeah... enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now, his life a complete mess, there was nothing sweeter. and the best part? it was all because of you.

four years ago, the two of you were in high school. you and matt had this sort of relationship where you did practically everything like a couple—going on dates, giving gifts, whispering sweet nothings to each other, cuddling, kissing, the pda, fucking—but you were never actually official. matt didn’t do labels until he was sure. and you, like the naive girl you were, went right along with it, telling him you’d wait until he was ready.

he had promised you the world, swore up and down that you were the only one who truly understood him. it’s you and me against the world, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that? but they were all lies. lies, lies, lies. the only thing that high school failure was good at was lying—and making it sound so convincing. and you? you had been dumb enough to believe every word.

when you two graduated, he left for la to pursue youtube with his brothers, and naturally, he fed you more lies. baby, i’ll come visit you every few months. we’ll call and text every single day, i swear. i’d never leave you, you know that, right? i love you.

it still astonished you how easily those words had slipped from his lips, how effortlessly he could say them without meaning a damn thing. but the saddest part? you ate it all up like a starving man who hadn’t eaten in years. you believed every single word because—why wouldn’t you? he was the love of your life.

for a while after the move, you and matt stayed in touch, talking almost every second. ten-hour calls, facetime marathons, endless text messages—the works. but slowly, you noticed the shift. he started withdrawing, calling less, ending conversations quicker, taking longer to reply—or not replying at all. when he did, it was just to blow you off. i’m busy. shit, sorry, next time. and you bought it. of course you did. he had just moved to la, and being an influencer wasn’t easy. you gave him the benefit of the doubt.  that was—until he just stopped. he never replied. all calls and texts went unanswered. he had ghosted you.

you were left utterly broken. he had promised you so, so much. you two were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together. you were supposed to be endgame.

but the wallowing didn’t last long.

one day, you opened instagram to find a post—matt shamelessly making out with some girl at a party. a flood of emotions hit you all at once. sadness, confusion, hurt, betrayal. but most of all—anger.

how could you have been so blind? you gave him everything. your time, your trust, your heart. and he threw it all away like it was nothing.

you weren’t going to let it slide.

so you started planning.

now, four years later, you executed it perfectly. it wasn’t easy—oh no, it was tedious. every step had to work seamlessly for the next to fall into place. one wrong move and the entire plan would collapse.

and what plan exactly?

well, in theory, it was a very simple nine-phase plan. you didn’t even mean for the tenth phase to happen, but it did.

phase one: move to la

this was easy. you had finished college with a degree in fashion marketing, and job offers from la weren’t exactly uncommon. all you had to do was pick the highest-paying, most reputable one, and you were on your way.

you settled into the city faster than you expected. the air was thick with ambition, the streets buzzing with influencers and socialites desperate to be seen. it was a world fueled by image, where clout mattered more than character. and if you played your cards right, it was a world where you could thrive.

phase one: complete

phase two: befriend an influencer (preferably one with connections to matt, preferably tara yummy)

why tara yummy? simple. she threw some of the biggest parties in la, meaning tons of other influencers—some of whom could have connections to matt—would be there.

befriending tara? well, that was a process. you had to admit, you stooped to some pretty unethical and borderline pathetic measures to make it happen. and all for what? revenge on a boy. pathetic.

still, you stalked her obsessively, tracking where she would be and when. you knew her schedule for every day of the week—surprising, right? like, tara yummy having an actual schedule? technically, no. but she did go to the same coffee shop every day at exactly 12:43 p.m.

why 12:43? who the fuck cares? as long as you could follow her to her next location, you were fine with whatever time she picked for her little coffee rendezvous.

saturday, february 15, 12:42 p.m.

you were parked outside the coffee shop, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, the hum of the engine filling the silence. your eyes flickered to the time on your phone.

what if she decided to go somewhere else today? what if something came up? had you picked the wrong day?

then, at exactly 12:44, you spotted her—rushing inside, her oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, phone in one hand, car keys in the other.

you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding, watching as she ordered her iced oat milk shaken espresso with one pump white mocha, one pump caramel, light cinnamon powder, and vanilla sweet cream cold foam. (don’t ask.)

when she finally got her coffee and walked out, you turned on your car, keeping an eye on her as she made her way back to hers. now, all that was left was to follow her—hopefully to somewhere public where "accidentally" running into her wouldn’t be suspicious.

you waited a few moments before pulling out behind her, keeping a safe distance—close enough to track her, but not close enough to look like you were tailing her.

she drove for about ten minutes before pulling into target’s parking lot.

your eyes lit up almost instantly. perfect.

you parked a few spots away on the opposite side, ensuring a clear view of her. watching carefully, you waited until she stepped out of her car and started toward the entrance before making your move.

inside, you immediately noticed—no basket.

an idea formed in your head.

you trailed behind her, watching as she browsed the aisles, picking up items—a blanket, a book, some makeup, shampoo, conditioner—until her hands were completely full. she stumbled a bit, dropping things occasionally.

this was it. your chance.

you turned down an aisle, walking toward her while she unknowingly walked in your direction. just as you neared her, you looked down at your phone—pretending not to see her—before crashing right into her.

her things tumbled to the floor, and you let your phone slip from your hands for added effect.

"oh my god! i-i’m so sorry, are you okay?" you asked, putting on the best fake concerned voice you could.

she looked up at you and smiled. "yeah, no, i’m okay. how about you?"

"i-i’m fine, don’t worry about me. i’m so, so sorry again. i should’ve been paying attention."

"hey, no, don’t be sorry. it wasn’t really your fault. hell, it wasn’t really either of our faults," she said, laughing as she bent down to pick up her stuff. but you beat her to it.

"no, here, let me get that for you," you said, gathering her things. as you handed them back, you put on a puzzled expression. "wait, you don’t have a basket?"

she shook her head, and you tsked softly before placing each item into yours.

"what are you—" she began, but you cut her off.

"no, it’s okay. i didn’t really have anything in my basket anyway. it’d probably be more useful to you," you said, handing it to her.

she smiled, taking it from you. "stop, thank you so much, you’re so sweet."

"no, stop. it’s really nothing, i don’t mind," you replied, playing it off casually. then, after a brief pause, you added, "oh, and by the way, you’re like… really, really pretty."

"o.m.g. shut up. like, actually. you’re too sweet," she giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"no, i’m dead serious. you’re gorgeous."

"well, you too. like, oh god, you look like one of those really hot girls i see who just seem so unapproachable and intimidating," she mused, eyeing you up and down.

"why, thank you," you replied with the kindest smile you could muster. "sorry if this interaction is kinda awkward… i’m new to la and sort of looking to make friends." you lowered your voice a little, trying to sound just the right amount of shy.

her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly. "well, consider me your first friend. i’m tara."

"…cherry," you responded.

"nice to meet you, cherry. c’mon. you’ll be walking with me now," she smiled, grabbing your hand and dragging you along.

phase two: complete.

phase three: get invited to a tara event

over the next few weeks, you spent most of your time with tara, considering she was your only friend.

you went shopping together, got your nails done, hit the gym, had spa days, and she even showed you all the best clubs and bars in la. the two of you really hit it off, and it kinda made you feel bad that you were using her. kinda.

wednesday, march 5, 2:54 pm

you and tara were sitting on her bed, planning out her next big party. but this party wasn’t just any party—it was for you. she wanted to throw an event so you could branch out and meet new people because, being a loner in la? yeah, no, you weren’t going to let that happen. especially not with your plan in motion. if you stayed invisible, everything would be ruined. matt would win, and you'd lose once again.

"so, um… tara… how big is this party going to be, exactly?" you asked, carefully faking a nervous tone as you sat cross-legged on her bed, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you needed to convince her you were an introvert. playing that part would help you blend into the background and make it easier to focus on your real goal.

tara barely looked up from her phone, scrolling through pinterest, tapping on various pins as she pulled ideas for the event. “well, i’m inviting the usual crowd, so it won’t be too big,” she replied casually. “just enough to get the party vibes right.”

"right..." you sighed, casting a quick glance at the laptop screen, pretending to chew your lip nervously. your act was flawless, but the truth was, you weren’t anxious about being around people—you were just anxious about matt. you knew him all too well, and if he didn’t show up, everything would fall apart. matt was a big homebody, after all. if he didn’t come, you’d have a much harder time achieving your goal.

you needed to know exactly who matt would hang around at the party, and that meant focusing on his closest friends. it was a given that he'd stick close to his girlfriend, macy, but you had to make sure you pinpointed the others—the ones who would be your best shot at making things happen.

the two of you spent the rest of the day bouncing ideas around for the party. tara wanted to host it at her place, and you both decided on a theme—black, white, and a rich, dark red. it was bold, dramatic—something that would definitely make a statement.

tara had already invited a ton of people. for her, it was just another night to throw a party, another chance to be around her usual influencer crowd. but for you, this was more than just a party. this was the perfect opportunity to get closer to matt's friends and, eventually, get closer to matt himself—so you could finally tear him down.

“so, who all did you invite?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your mind was already mentally listing off everyone who might be there.

tara smirked, eyes flicking up from her phone as she responded, “oh, you know, the usual bunch. larray, quen, carrington, jake, johnnie… some of the other la influencers. then, of course, there’s the triplets—matt, chris, and nick.”

you nodded along, your expression neutral, though internally, you were bracing yourself. you already knew the triplets, of course. but this party wasn’t about them. it was about the other people who would be there.

“that’s a lot of people,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, but your mind was already working overtime. “what’s the vibe like with everyone? how do they all mix?”

tara shrugged nonchalantly as she tapped away at her phone, her attention already shifting back to the planning. “honestly, they’re all chill. some can be a little extra—like, really extra—but nothing you can’t handle. you’ll fit right in. just make sure you make an entrance, you know?”

you gave her a knowing smile, nodding along, though your mind was elsewhere. you weren’t here to fit in. you were here to observe, to learn who matt’s closest friends were, to subtly insert yourself into their world. and then, you’d take him down. piece by piece, without him even realizing it.

this party was just the beginning.

phase three: complete

phase four: figure out just who’s in matt’s inner circle

you looked in the mirror as you fixed your hair, making sure everything was just right. the tight black dress hugged your hips in all the right places, the slit riding high enough to leave barely anything to the imagination. your hair was perfectly blown out, sleek and cascading down your back like silk. but still, something was missing.

your eyes landed on the red lipstick sitting on the vanity. you grabbed it, uncapping it with a flick of your wrist before carefully applying it to your lips. the deep, sultry shade coated them perfectly, adding just the right amount of boldness to complete the look.

perfect.

you pressed your lips together, ensuring the color was flawless. now, you were ready.

tara walked into the room, and her jaw practically hit the floor. her eyes widened as she took you in, her gaze trailing from your perfectly blown-out hair to the curve-hugging black dress and the deep red lipstick that added just the right amount of danger.

“oh my god.” her voice was barely above a whisper before it quickly turned into an excited squeal. “cherry, you look stunning! you might’ve just been my lesbian awakening because what the fuck?!?” she said, walking toward you with wide eyes.

you giggled, rolling your eyes as you turned slightly to check yourself in the mirror one last time. “oh, shut up,” you mumbled, but the slight flush on your cheeks betrayed you.

“no, no, i’m being dead serious.” she placed her hands on her hips, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “like, i cannot believe you’ve been hiding this version of you. you look gorgeous.”

“thanks, t,” you murmured softly, your lips tugging into a small, satisfied smile. but before you could revel in the compliment for too long, tara’s expression shifted.

“but,” she said, her tone a little more serious now, “i actually came up here to tell you a lot of people are here now. i know you’re not the party type, but… it’s your party. you need to come down.”

you almost laughed out loud at that. not the party type? oh, if only she knew. at least you’d done a good enough job convincing her that you were shy and reserved. it was all part of the plan.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you mumbled, tugging your dress down ever so slightly, playing up the nervous act just a bit longer. “can… can you come with me? and maybe… stay with me? i don’t really want to be alone with so many people around.” your voice was soft, almost timid, as if the idea of walking into a crowded room made you anxious.

tara’s features softened instantly, her eyes filling with warmth as she gave you a reassuring smile. “of course i’ll stay with you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “i won’t leave you alone for a single moment tonight, ‘kay?”

you nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile as you took a deep breath.

perfect.

you followed tara as she began to walk out of the room, her arm loosely linked with yours as the two of you made your way downstairs. the muffled bass of the music grew louder with each step, the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the hallway.

as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you scanned the room quickly, your mind already working.

the party was in full swing. influencers, tiktokers, and la’s finest were scattered everywhere, drinks in hand and smiles plastered on their faces.

but you weren’t interested in any of them.

your eyes swept the crowd, zeroing in on the people who mattered most. matt’s friends.

they weren’t hard to spot. matt—whenever he did decide to show up at events like these—always stuck close to the people he felt most comfortable with. usually, that meant nick, chris, and a couple of his closest friends. and tonight was no different.

one person caught your eye almost immediately. larray.

he was laughing, completely immersed in whatever conversation he was having. matt had never looked happier in a group of people and it was sort of like a stab to your heart but you quickly shook the feeling off, refocusing on the small group that surrounded matt. nick, chris, larray… and macy.

macy. matt’s new girlfriend.

the girl who had everything you ever wanted.

she was perched right beside him, her hand casually resting on his arm like it belonged there. she looked so comfortable, so secure in her place next to him. it made your stomach turn.

but not with sadness.

with determination.

there they were—laughing, chatting, blissfully unaware that they were about to become pawns in your little game.

but timing was everything.

you weren’t about to make your move too soon. not when there was so much at stake. so, for now, you waited.

you stuck close to tara, mingling with other guests and keeping up appearances. you laughed at jokes, smiled at compliments, and made small talk with influencers you barely cared about. to anyone watching, you looked like you were just another girl trying to blend into la’s social scene.

but your focus never strayed too far.

your eyes flicked back to matt’s group every chance you got, tracking their every move without being obvious.

nick and chris were in their usual spots, close to matt but engaged in their own conversations. larray was his usual vibrant self, effortlessly making everyone around him laugh. and macy… well, she was glued to matt’s side, just as expected.

you kept waiting, biding your time as the night dragged on.

and then, finally, it happened.

matt, nick, and chris stepped away, heading toward the backyard—probably to get some air or escape the chaos for a moment.

perfect.

your heart pounded in your chest as you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“tara,” you murmured softly, leaning closer so only she could hear, “i’m gonna go grab another drink. be right back.”

“want me to come with?” she asked, her eyes flickering toward the crowded bar area.

“nah,” you smiled, shaking your head. “i’ll be fine.”

she nodded, giving you an encouraging smile before turning back to her conversation.

and with that, you made your move.

your eyes locked onto larray, who was still standing near the bar, chatting and laughing with a few other people.

game on.

you made your way to the bar, grabbing some random drink that had been left unattended, and started to move toward larray. you made sure to stumble a bit, really selling the whole oops, i’m tipsy act. when you were close enough, you “tripped,” falling forward and spilling your drink all over him.

“shit. my bad. i didn’t mean to do that. i’m so sorry. are you alright?” you asked frantically, eyes darting around for anything to help. you spotted a napkin nearby and quickly handed it to him.

“yeah, i’m okay. chill, girl, damn!” he said, laughing it off as he wiped the drink off his shirt, giving you a playful side-eye.

“gosh, i’m sorry. i might be a little more drunk than i thought. i usually don’t trip over my feet like this,” you mumbled, shifting nervously.

“bitch, it’s okay. i promise, it’s not that deep. my clothes will dry.”

“yeah, i know. but i still feel bad.”

“well, don’t.” he waved you off, flashing you that bright, easy smile. “anyways, i’ve never seen you ‘round. you new here or what?”

“uh, yeah. i moved to la about a month ago for my job.”

he hummed, grabbing his drink off the table and taking a sip. “what do you do?”

“i actually work in fashion marketing.”

his eyes widened instantly, his interest clearly piqued. “wait, so like… do you get all the tea on the brands? tell me everything.”

you giggled softly, shaking your head. “sadly, not yet. i just started. but, trust me, you’ll be the first to know when they let me in on all the juicy shit.”

“you better.” he gave you a pointed look, but his grin was playful.

“cross my heart.” you smirked, making a little x over your chest.

“mm, i like you already.” he gave you a wink before glancing around the room. “but, babe, why are you stuck talking to me when there’s a whole party happening?”

“honestly?” you shrugged, flashing him a sheepish smile. “you’re the most interesting person here.”

“aww, stop it, i’m blushing.” he fanned himself dramatically, making you laugh.

“seriously, though,” he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, “stick with me tonight, and i’ll make sure you have fun.”

perfect.

throughout the entire night, you stayed glued to larray’s side. he was the perfect guide to la’s influencer scene, introducing you to a lot of people—some of whom you already recognized from social media. but your focus wasn’t on them.

no, your interest was piqued when he introduced you to madison and quen.

it quickly became clear to you that they were probably the closest people to matt—along with larray.

you watched closely, noting the way they spoke about him, the way they laughed at inside jokes that only came from years of friendship. it was subtle, but the familiarity was there.

these were the people who mattered.

and they were exactly who you needed to get close to next.

you slipped seamlessly into conversation with them, playing up the charm and matching their energy effortlessly. it was easy, really—madison was sweet and warm, and quen? well, she was sharp, funny, and didn’t seem to take shit from anyone.

by the end of the night, you weren’t just some random girl who just moved to la. no, you were now on their radar.

the party came to a wrap and as you exchanged goodbyes and promises to hang out soon, you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself.

they had no idea what was coming.

phase four: complete.

phase five: get close to macy

you realized at the party that it wouldn’t have been a good idea to try and talk to macy because she didn’t leave matt’s side once, and matt would’ve immediately recognized you if he had seen you, which would’ve completely jeopardized the plan.

see, the thing is, macy is a model, and your agency just so happened to be looking for some new faces. after the party, you made sure to keep macy in the back of your mind because you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d be working with her in person. it wasn’t long before you got the chance—both of you were assigned to the same photoshoot for a big brand that the agency was promoting.

the first time you saw her in person, she was a lot quieter than you expected. maybe it was because she was surrounded by other models and people she worked with, but she didn’t seem nearly as outgoing as she came off on social media. you had no intention of just jumping in to get to know her right away, but you did make sure to get in a few casual hellos and comments about how excited you were to be working with her.

the shoot itself was long, and there were a lot of down moments while the crew set up shots or adjusted lighting, which gave you plenty of time to talk. you started by talking about the job itself—what it was like working with the agency, the constant hustle, and how draining it all could be. at first, macy wasn’t very open, giving you short answers, but you could tell she was warming up.

after a few hours of talking about everything from the industry to personal stuff, you noticed she seemed a little more relaxed around you. when the crew took a break, you casually offered to grab coffee with her, making sure it didn’t seem like you were trying too hard. macy agreed, and the two of you grabbed a quick coffee from a nearby shop.

over the next few weeks, you found more opportunities to work together, whether it was at another photoshoot or event. each time, you made sure to keep the conversation going, offering small, relatable advice about the industry and connecting on more personal levels. she started confiding in you more—about the pressure to maintain a certain image, the loneliness that came with constantly being on the go, and how hard it was to find genuine friends in a world full of fake ones.

you didn’t push her. you just listened, offering support when needed and being someone she could trust. eventually, she started to reach out to you first, asking for your opinion on various things, and you could tell she was beginning to see you as a friend, not just another coworker.

the real turning point came when the agency booked you both for a big event. during the event, things were relaxed enough that you had a chance to talk one-on-one. this was when you dropped the suggestion—about how your agency had been looking for fresh faces for future campaigns and how they were always interested in bringing in new talent. it was subtle, but effective. macy took the bait, and the next time you talked, she mentioned she’d been thinking about it and was considering taking the next step.

the seed had been planted. you’d gotten closer to her, built the trust, and now you had her in the perfect position. it wasn’t long before macy was fully onboard with the agency's next big campaign, and just like that, your plan was moving forward.

things were falling into place—slowly, but surely.

phase five: complete.

phase six: start spreading the rumors

now that you were getting closer to macy, madison, and quen, it was time to move to phase six of the plan: spreading rumors. subtle, harmless ones at first, ones that wouldn’t immediately seem like an attack, but that would eventually create tension in matt’s friend group. you knew matt’s friends well enough to know that they would start questioning his actions if the right things were said at the right time.

you decided to start with larray. after all, he was the easiest to get to. you’d spent a good amount of time with him, and he was an open book—always down to gossip and willing to listen. it didn’t take much for you to casually bring up the fact that you’d heard a little something about matt during one of your late-night conversations.

“so, like, i don’t know if i’m the only one who’s noticed, but…” you’d start, lowering your voice, like you were sharing some kind of secret. larray, always keen on gossip, would immediately lean in.

“what? spill it,” he’d say, raising an eyebrow.

you’d shake your head, pretending to hesitate. “it’s probably nothing, but i’ve been hearing stuff about matt… like, he’s been kinda distant lately. i don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but i heard he was kinda flaky at the last couple of events. like, not showing up or leaving early.”

larray’s expression would shift slightly, as though he was mulling it over, but he wouldn’t say much at first. you could tell he was processing the information. the next time he was hanging out with matt and the crew, he’d likely file that tidbit away in the back of his mind.

from there, you’d move on to madison. she was always more perceptive, more cautious about things, but you were good at working your way into people’s trust. one day, as you sat together, sipping your drinks, you’d casually bring up something you’d overheard.

“you know, i’ve noticed matt’s been kinda off lately. like, i don’t know if it’s just me, but he seems different. like, more withdrawn? you know, i’ve been hearing that he’s been talking behind people’s backs about his friends.”

madison would pause, taking a sip from her own drink, but her eyes would narrow just a little. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him,” she’d say. “who’s he been talking about?”

“i mean, i don’t know if it’s about any one person specifically, but i’ve heard him say stuff about the larray before. not, like, bad stuff, but, like, you know, a little judgmental. he’s always got something to say when he’s not around, which is kinda weird, right?”

madison would probably just shrug it off at first, but you'd know that this type of gossip would linger in the back of her mind, especially when she started noticing the little things that seemed off in matt’s behavior.

last but not least, you’d work on quen. she was sharp, observant, and you knew that getting her to trust you enough to believe what you were saying would be a challenge. but you were up for it. your approach would be a little more direct with her.

one afternoon, you’d be hanging out, and you’d make sure to mention something that would start getting her wheels turning.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but matt’s been acting really off lately. like, he’s not as, i don’t know, present? when he’s around the group, it’s like he’s just not… engaged. he’s distant. i heard him say some weird stuff about how he feels like he’s outgrown a lot of the people around him.”

quen would furrow her brows, not immediately responding. “outgrown? huh. that’s… odd. i mean, he’s always been the one trying to keep everyone together.”

“right? and now he’s just, like, pulling away. it’s strange. especially with how close he used to be with everyone.” you’d pause and look at her, as if genuinely concerned, adding, “maybe i’m reading too much into it, but it’s not just me noticing.”

quen would likely stay quiet for a moment, processing it, but deep down, she’d start to think about it. the next time she was with matt, she'd start paying more attention to the way he interacted with the group. the little things would start to show.

with each of them—larray, madison, and quen—you carefully planted just enough doubt to make them start second-guessing matt’s intentions, his loyalty, and his true feelings toward his friends. nothing too drastic at first, just small seeds of uncertainty. but soon enough, the tension would begin to rise. they’d start noticing what they hadn’t before.

and once they did, it would only be a matter of time before matt’s world began to shift.

you let the information sit with them for a while before starting to up the stakes—making the rumors a bit more… compromising.

“girl, don’t even get me started. i heard matt’s been real weird lately,” you say casually, swirling the straw in your drink as you sit next to larray. it’s subtle, but you know exactly what you’re doing.

“uh-uh, hold up.” larray’s eyes widen as he sets his drink down, giving you that signature side-eye. “what do you mean weird? like… weird weird or just matt-being-a-man weird? ‘cause you know these men don’t know how to act.”

you let out a small, dramatic sigh, playing it off like you don’t want to say too much. “i mean… i don’t know, it’s probably nothing. just heard he’s been kinda distant with macy lately. you didn’t notice?”

“not you trying to soft launch tea and then leaving me hanging,” larray gasps, placing a hand on his chest. “spill, bitch. don’t play with me like that.”

“nooo, it’s not that serious!” you laugh, shaking your head. “just… i saw him the other day and he barely acknowledged her. like, he was all up on his phone the whole time. it was just… weird.”

“not him treating macy like she’s on do not disturb,” larray snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically. “ugh, men are so exhausting. they can’t even pretend to care when they’re in public. disgusting.”

you shrug, acting nonchalant, but you know his perception of matt was changing.

onto madison

one night, when you and madison were grabbing drinks after work, you casually brought up matt’s name again, this time in a more pointed way.

“you know, i think i’ve been seeing something with matt,” you’d say, your voice almost too casual, too innocent. “well, not me personally, but macy has been telling me all these things about how matt’s being all secretive with her and stuff. like recently, that’s been our whole topic of conversation while we’re at work. she tells me he’s on his phone more often and how he’s always so dismissive of her questions when she asks him why he’s been distant lately. i don’t know ‘bout you, but it sounds like to me that he might be seeing someone on the sid

madison frowned, clearly uncomfortable. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him at all.”

you’d nod, looking concerned. “yeah, i don’t know, but it’s been bugging me. i mean, macy doesn’t deserve that. and maybe he isn’t cheating. but why is he still being weird towards her.”

“yeah no, that’s really fucked up.” madison says, feeling a little sad for macy

“i know i shouldn’t be telling macy’s business like that but it was gnawing at me. and what’s worse is that macy doesn’t even consider that he could possibly be cheating on her. like i don’t know. i just- do you promise not to tell anyone?” you ask, trying your best to sound like you’ve been overcome with guilt.

madison nods, giving you a soft smile. “baby, of course i won’t tell anyone. secrets safe with me. in the end, these could all be rumors and a shit ton of overthinking so i wouldn’t really jump to conclusions but i’d definitely keep it in the back of my mind.”

you nod, returning the smile. “thanks. you’re a really good friend.”

“anytime”

you’d pulled off larray and madison, now all you had left for this round of rumors was quen.

after one evening, when you and quen were hanging out after work, you casually said, “have you noticed something with matt?”

quen raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

“i don’t know, it’s just… i’ve noticed that matt is just… different. but like only with one person.”

her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as she tilted her head slightly. “who?”

“macy.” you said carefully, like her name was some sort of taboo subject. “it’s weird. he’s like a whole different person when she’s not around. like i feel like he’s more of himself when he’s away from her. when she comes around though, he gets all agitated and annoyed. i might be reading into shit but like… i don’t know.”

quen scoffed, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice. “that sounds like some weird shit, honestly.”

“yeah, i mean, it’s not like macy hasn’t caught on either,” you’d say. “she has! but she’s kinda brushing it off, choosing to ignore it. i just feel like she’s making excuses for him. god i just- i feel bad.”

“well who wouldn’t? like no one should treat their girlfriend like she’s trapping them.”

“yeah no, it’s bad. could you like… not mention this to her. she just- she gets all defensive and mad and she’ll probably realize i told you and i’m not trying to be messy i just needed to get this off my chest and stuff.”

“girl i gotchu. don’t worry.”

“thanks.” you mumble.

now it was time for the even bigger ones. the rumors that would really leave them questioning matt.

you sat beside larray, pretending to scroll through your phone as if what you were about to say was nothing. casual. just another piece of gossip in la.

“okay, so tell me why macy was saying matt’s been so busy with filming and working yesterday’s problem lately,” you murmured, keeping your tone light but just loud enough for larray to catch it.

larray raised an eyebrow, already intrigued. “mmm, okay… and?”

you sighed dramatically, like you didn’t want to be messy but just had to spill. “and… quen told me she saw him at a bar the other night.” you paused for effect, giving larray a pointed look. “like… not the filimg. not working on his project. a bar.”

larray’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly. “bitch, what?!” he blinked, processing the information before shaking his head. “oh no. not this man lying through his motherfucking teeth and playing her in her face.”

“right?” you scoffed, biting your lip to hide the satisfied smirk threatening to form. “i mean, maybe there’s a good explanation, but… doesn’t it seem kinda weird?”

larray leaned back, crossing his arms, and gave you a look. “girl, ain’t no way. if my man told me he was working but was out getting going to bars n shit? he’d be single faster than he could even say single.”

“i knowwww,” you drawled, shaking your head, “but macy doesn’t suspect a thing.”

larray sucked his teeth, already mentally adding this to his list of things to bring up later. “ugh, these men. always something. i swear.”

you nodded, pretending to be concerned, but deep down, you knew this was exactly what you needed.

a few days after your conversation with larray, you decided that you’d get madison again. you and madison found yourselves grabbing drinks again, just like before. but this time? you came prepared even more.

“so… remember what i told you about matt last time?” you started, swirling your straw around in your drink, eyes carefully avoiding madison’s as if you were hesitant to even bring it up.

madison’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly. “yeah… what about it?”

you bit your lip, leaning in a little closer like you were about to spill something big. “okay, so… i wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause i didn’t wanna let macy’s business out into the open again, but… i’ve got more shit on that situation.”

madison’s eyes widened slightly. “girl, what happened?”

you sighed, feigning reluctance, but you wanted this. “so, macy mentioned something again the other day. she said matt’s been going out more—late nights, no explanation, just saying it’s ‘work stuff.’ but like… get this. when she asked him about it, he got defensive. like, super weird.”

madison’s frown deepened, concern flickering across her face. “defensive? over what though?”

“exactly!” you leaned back, arms crossed as if you were just as confused. “like, why get all worked up if you’ve got nothing to hide? and… i don’t know, macy mentioned she checked his location once and he wasn’t even where he said he’d be. she brushed it off, but…” you trailed off, letting the weight of your words hang between you.

madison’s lips pressed into a thin line. “no… that’s shady as hell. if he’s lying about where he’s at?” she shook her head. “girl, that’s not a good sign.”

“right?” you gave her a look that said you get it. “i mean, maybe it’s nothing… but macy’s too trusting. she doesn’t wanna believe he’d do anything like that. but…” you paused, lowering your voice slightly, “what if he is?”

madison’s jaw tightened, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. “ugh, poor macy. i hate that she’s going through this.”

you nodded, your expression perfectly laced with fake concern. “same. that’s why i told you… i didn’t wanna keep it bottled up. but, you know, i just… i feel bad keeping it all to myself.”

“no, no,” madison said softly, shaking her head. “i’m glad you told me. i’ll… i’ll keep an eye on things.”

after that night, things started falling into place exactly how you wanted.  

a week or so later, you and quen were hanging out again, this time lounging at her apartment after a long day. casual vibes, just the two of you unwinding, but your mind? it was working overtime.  

you waited until the conversation lulled, until the timing felt just right before you spoke up, your tone light but laced with just enough concern to hook her.  

“so… remember what i told you about matt and macy the other day?” you said, fiddling absentmindedly with your phone like it wasn’t that big of a deal.  

quen glanced over, her interest piqued immediately. “uh, yeah. why? what’s up?”  

you sighed, leaning back against the couch like this was weighing heavy on you. “ugh… i wasn’t gonna say anything else, but i’ve been noticing it *a lot* more now. like, girl… it’s bad.”  

quen’s brows furrowed, her attention fully locked in now. “how bad are we talking?”  

“like… okay, so macy told me that matt’s been avoiding spending too much time with her lately,” you started, keeping your voice low and almost hesitant, like you were scared of even saying it. “she says he’s been making excuses. work, friends, whatever. but get this…” you paused for dramatic effect, watching quen lean in a little closer. “the other day? she said they were supposed to hang out, but matt bailed last minute, saying he had something with the boys. but… quen…” you bit your lip, looking conflicted.  

“what?” quen pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.  

“one of my friends saw him that night. and he wasn’t with nick or chris,” you said, lowering your voice. “he was *with another girl.*”  

quen’s jaw dropped, her expression flipping from curiosity to full-blown disbelief. “*bitch, what?!*”  

“i know,” you murmured, shaking your head like you hated even saying it. “i didn’t believe it at first either. but then i heard it from *two* people. like… what the fuck is going on?”  

quen sat up straighter, her lips pursed in frustration. “nah, that’s wild. and macy doesn’t know?”  

“nope,” you said softly, shaking your head. “and i don’t know if i should be the one to tell her. i mean, she’s already brushing off so much. she’d probably just think i’m stirring shit.”  

quen’s face hardened, her protective side flaring up. “that’s some *bullshit.* she deserves to know if matt’s acting shady like that.”  

“i know,” you sighed, looking down, feigning conflict. “but… i don’t wanna be the one to ruin things, you know? i just… i don’t know what to do.”  

quen shook her head, clearly irritated now. “girl, don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye on him. if he’s up to something shady, we’ll know.”  

you gave her a small, grateful smile, nodding. “thanks, quen. i just… i needed to tell someone. this whole thing’s been eating at me.”  

“don’t worry,” quen said firmly, her tone serious. “if that boy’s up to something, he won’t be able to hide it for long.”  

and just like that, the wheels were turning. quen was on high alert now, watching matt like a hawk. you didn’t even have to do anything more—she’d handle the rest.  

phase six: complete

phase seven: introduce macy to the matt treatment

phase seven was the hardest part.

everything up until now had been about laying the groundwork, planting little doubts in everyone’s minds. but this? this was about making macy feel something that wasn’t even real.

the thing is, matt was a great boyfriend. he wasn’t distant, he wasn’t sneaky, and he wasn’t out here treating macy the way he treated you. and that was the problem.

because if macy never felt the way you felt—if she never experienced the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing matt treatment—then she’d never leave him.

and that? that wasn’t part of the plan.

so, you had to get creative.

step one: distance. but not from matt—from macy’s side of things.

it started small.

“girl, why don’t you ever come out with us anymore?” quen had asked her one night after work, and you made sure you were just within earshot.

macy had laughed it off. “ugh, i know. matt and i have just been spending so much time together lately.”

“damn, glued to his hip, huh?” quen had joked, but the seed had been planted.

and you? you watered it.

“you know,” you said softly the next day, when it was just you and macy grabbing coffee, “it’s great that you and matt are so close, but… don’t you miss having time for yourself sometimes?”

macy frowned a little but shrugged. “not really. i like being with him.”

“of course,” you smiled, keeping your tone light. “but… i don’t know. sometimes too much time together can make things feel… suffocating, y’know? like, matt’s great, but maybe a little space wouldn’t hurt?”

she didn’t agree. not yet. but that’s the thing about seeds—they take time to grow.

step two: fake tension.

if matt wasn’t going to create the tension, you’d have to do it for him.

“ugh,” macy groaned one afternoon while scrolling through her phone. “matt’s been so stressed with everything lately.”

you leaned in, feigning concern. “what’s wrong?”

“just the usual… filming, editing, meetings… he’s been overwhelmed.”

you nodded, playing your part perfectly. “yeah… that’s a lot. has he been… different with you because of it?”

macy’s face scrunched up a bit, her mind already working through a scenario that didn’t exist.

“different how?”

“i don’t know,” you shrugged, keeping it vague on purpose. “sometimes guys get quiet when they’re stressed. pull away a little. they don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time.”

she didn’t say anything after that. but her silence? that was exactly what you wanted.

step three: paranoia.

this was where things got tricky. you had to be subtle, careful not to overplay your hand.

“hey, have you noticed matt texting more lately?” you asked casually one evening, like it was just a passing thought.

macy blinked, looking up from her drink. “huh?”

“oh, nothing,” you waved it off with a smile. “i just… i don’t know. when we were out the other night, i noticed he was on his phone a lot. but it’s probably nothing.”

but it was never nothing.

because now? macy’s mind was already spiraling.

and it worked.

little by little, macy started to feel the things you had felt.

the distance.

the doubt.

the sinking feeling in her gut that something wasn’t quite right, even though matt was still being the same perfect boyfriend he had always been.

but to macy? it wouldn’t feel that way anymore.

because now?

everything felt off.

phase seven: complete.

phase eight: start encouraging macy to break up with matt

phase eight was all about patience.

you knew macy wasn’t ready to let go just yet. she was still holding on, hoping things would get better with matt—even after all the doubts you’d planted.

but that was fine.

because this wasn’t a sprint. it was a marathon.

so you kept playing your part.

you spent more time with her, slowly becoming her confidant.

hangout one: thursday, july 17th, 12:14 pm

another brunch.

macy looked exhausted, her smile just a little less bright than usual.

“you okay?” you asked, keeping your tone light but concerned.

she gave a small shrug, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. “yeah… just tired, i guess.”

you let it go. didn’t push. just offered a soft smile and changed the subject to something easy.

hangout two: wednesday, july 30th, 11:37 pm

a late-night target run.

the conversation was effortless, jumping from one topic to another.

“ugh, i swear, i’m gonna end up living off frozen pizza and sour candy,” you joked, tossing a bag into the cart.

macy laughed, but her response was softer, almost distracted. “at least you know what you like.”

it was nothing. just a passing comment.

hangout three: friday, august 22nd, 10:43 pm

movie night at her place.

you both sat curled up on the couch, the glow of the tv flickering across the room.

“thanks for coming over,” macy murmured, almost too quietly to catch.

“of course,” you said softly, not making a big deal of it.

she didn’t say anything else.

but the way her shoulders relaxed just a little more as the night went on?

that wasn’t nothing.

but none of it stood out.

no lingering looks. no obvious smiles. no heavy silences.

just… a quiet comfort.

she started replying to your texts a little faster.

her invitations to hang out came a little more frequently.

and maybe—maybe—she seemed a little more at ease when it was just the two of you.

but it was subtle.

so subtle that even you didn’t catch it.

because phase eight wasn’t about that.

phase eight was about planting doubt.

and that?

that was working perfectly.

phase eight: complete

phase nine: watch as matt’s life falls apart completely

and this all brings us back to now.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now—his life a complete mess—there was nothing sweeter. and the best part?

it was all because of you.

his friends had all turned their backs on him. larray, madison, quen—they didn’t look at him the same anymore. the doubt you’d planted in their minds had festered, grown, and twisted everything they once believed about matt.

larray? couldn’t trust matt after the whole “bar incident.” he’d barely speak to him now. anytime matt tried to reach out, larray would leave him on read or reply with some dry-ass response that made it painfully obvious he wasn’t interested. and when he did talk to him?

“girl, i’m busy. find someone else to lie to.”

madison? she kept her distance. she hadn’t confronted matt directly, but you could tell she was piecing everything together. the seeds of doubt you’d planted had bloomed beautifully, and now she didn’t even look at matt the same.

quen? she was the most direct.

“nah, matt,” she had said the last time he tried talking to her. “i don’t fuck with that weird shit. you’re different.”

and then there was macy.

sweet, sweet macy.

she had been the hardest to break. her love for matt was deep—genuine. it took time to unravel that.

but you did it.

every rumor. every carefully crafted conversation. every doubt you whispered in her ear.

it all led to this moment.

she had finally broken up with him.

you weren’t there to see it, but you could imagine how it went down. the tears in her eyes, her voice breaking as she confronted him.

“i just… i can’t do this anymore, matt.”

and matt?

probably standing there, dumbfounded, begging her to believe that none of it was true.

but it was too late.

you had made sure of that.

now, matt was left standing in the wreckage of his own life.

his friends? gone. his relationship? over. his reputation? in shambles.

and he had no idea who was pulling the strings.

you stood on the sidelines, watching it all crumble, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips.

all that heartbreak? all that pain?

now, it was his turn to feel it.

and the best part?

he never even saw it coming.

but it wasn’t enough.

watching matt’s life fall apart had been… satisfying. no doubt. but it still didn’t give you the closure you needed. not yet.

because he still didn’t know.

and what fun would it be if he never found out?

no, matt needed to see you—face to face. he needed to look you in the eyes and realize who was behind it all. he needed to feel the weight of everything crashing down around him and know that it was your doing.

you needed that moment.

and as fate would have it, that moment was just around the corner.

macy had left something at matt’s place. she didn’t want to go back for it herself—too painful, too fresh—so, naturally, she asked you to grab it for her.

at first, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea. walking back into his space? after everything? but then, you realized…

this was your chance.

you’d have matt all to yourself. no macy. no friends. just you and him.

so, here you were. standing outside his apartment, heart pounding, pulse racing.

you knocked.

once.

twice.

the door swung open faster than you expected, and there he was.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

and he looked like shit.

dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, his expression was… tired. broken.

“cherry?” his voice was barely above a whisper, pure disbelief written all over his face.

you felt a sick sort of satisfaction bloom in your chest.

“matthew. it’s been a while. how’ve you been lately?” you asked, an almost sadistic smirk tugging at your lips.

he blinked, eyes wide, like he was seeing a ghost. “i-i… wha-what are you doing here?” his voice was barely above a whisper, shaky and unsure.

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “you really haven’t figured that out yet?” your hand rested on your hip, your tone dripping with impatience. all this hard work, months of planning, and the boy didn’t even have a damn clue. how rude.

but what was even more insulting? the way this idiot had the nerve to shake his head. “n-no.”

wow.

“ugh, you’re as stupid as ever,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “it was me, goddamn it. i did it. i’m the reason your sad, pathetic life is crumbling to pieces.”

the color drained from his face, eyes widening—not with confusion this time, but pure, unfiltered terror.

“why… why would you do something like that?” he asked, his voice barely holding together.

you rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh slipping out. “god, are you stupid?” your tone dripped with disdain. “you really don’t remember?”

his silence was answer enough.

“jesus christ, matt,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “four years. four fucking years, and you can’t even remember the shit you put me through?”

his lips parted, but no words came out.

“let me refresh your memory then.” you stepped closer, just enough to watch the panic build behind his eyes. “remember high school? how we did everything like a couple but you never wanted to put a label on it? all that ‘i’m not ready for a relationship yet’ bullshit? and me? i was so fucking stupid, i waited. i waited for you.”

matt’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“but it didn’t stop there, did it?” you went on, voice dripping with venom. “no, you kept feeding me lies. you’re the only one who gets me, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that?” you scoffed, eyes narrowing. “and like an idiot, i believed it. i believed you.”

his breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

“then you left,” you hissed, your tone colder now. “moved to la. promised we’d make it work, that we’d talk every day, visit whenever we could.” you let out a bitter laugh. “but those calls? they got shorter. the texts? less frequent. until, eventually…” you paused, your gaze hardening as you locked eyes with him.

“you ghosted me.”

his face paled even more, if that was even possible.

“left me wondering what the fuck i did wrong. wondering why i wasn’t enough for you,” your voice cracked, but you swallowed the emotion down, refusing to let him see you break. “and just when i finally started to accept that maybe you weren’t coming back…” you tilted your head, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i saw the pictures.”

matt’s breath caught in his throat.

“you. at that party. all over her.” the venom in your voice was impossible to miss. “while i was sitting at home, waiting for a text you were never going to send.”

matt opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“and that’s when i realized,” you said, leaning in just enough for your words to cut deeper. “i was never going to be enough for you. but that’s okay. because now?”

you smiled sweetly, though your eyes were anything but kind.

“you’re the one who’s left with nothing.”

you stood there, staring at him for a few seconds, letting the weight of your words sink in. you could see the way he was struggling to process it, the panic mixed with guilt. but it wasn’t your problem anymore. you had done what you came for, and that was all that mattered.

you let out a deep breath, shaking your head in disbelief.

“god, matt,” you muttered, the contempt thick in your voice. “you really are the worst.”

you turned your back on him, hearing him call your name weakly, but you didn’t stop.

"you're nothing but a liar and a coward," you threw over your shoulder. "so enjoy the mess you made. you deserve every bit of it."

without looking back, you walked towards your car, your heart pounding, but not from anger—no, from a strange kind of satisfaction. for the first time in years, it felt like everything was finally in place. like all the puzzle pieces had clicked together, and you had everything you needed.

you slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. you could still hear him shouting your name, but it didn’t matter anymore. his voice was nothing now.

you put the car in drive, the engine rumbling to life, and slowly pulled away from the curb.

as you made your way home, your mind wandered back to macy.

phase ten

you couldn��t help but smile, the anticipation building. it had been a slow burn, but now, things had shifted in ways you hadn’t even expected. what started as a plan to destroy matt had turned into something much more unexpected. you had gotten under his skin—and now, macy’s too.

the thought of macy, her soft lips against yours, the way she started leaning into you more and more, her touch lingering a little longer than it should’ve—none of it had been planned. but here you were, with a beautiful, broken mess of a boyfriend’s ex, and she was yours now.

you smiled to yourself as you sped down the road, your thoughts consuming you.

phase ten: ravish your new girlfriend's body completely.

and just like that, the plan was over. the game had changed. you didn’t need revenge anymore—you had her.

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

© throatgoat4u

[whoskimii]

GIVE Y𖹭U WHATEVER Y𖹭U WANT !

★ she fingers you ft. yuki ! ★

˖˚₊ warnings ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, pillow princess x stone top, brief mention of strap-on sex near the end, fingering (reader receiving), hair pulling.

˖˚₊ wc ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 1.1k

“i know, baby, i know,” yuki sighed distractedly, still focused on her book. she knew damn well she hadn't been giving enough attention to you — her pretty baby girl.

you had been all over her since the second she woke up. usually, she would've already been kissing your pretty face and cuddling you, but recently, she had found a book she was pretty interested in finishing.

of course, you weren't used to her not giving you the attention you craved. you had been quite grouchy about it, huffing like a dog to get her to focus on you. however, much to your disappointment, nothing worked. “baby, 'm almost finished, i swear.” she tried to reassure you many times.

a book ? seriously ? you were much more interesting than a damn book. you crawled on your girlfriend's lap for the sixth time in two minutes, this time finally deciding to make a move — you tugged the object off her hands. “hey...” a soft chuckle left the blonde's lips at your pouty expression. “pretty girl.”

“what's wrong, huh ?” yuki tilted her head, attempting to draw an answer from you — although she already knew what was wrong.

obviously.

without even thinking about it, your pretty pink lips parted, emitting a sound like a scoff. “y'know what's wrong,” yuki's eyes lazily settled on your manicured hands, which were slowly trailing up her strong arms, making their way up to her broad shoulders. "you're not payin' attention t'me..."

the quiet words that came from you were enough to make her coo at you. “aw, doll... 'm sorry, sweet girl, 'm jus' reading.” you shrugged at her response. “and ?”

your sassy reaction amused her. “oh, sassy, mhm ?” her hands slid to your meaty ass. “y'know how i get when 'm focused on something.” as soon as she noticed a soft frown appearing on your lovely features, she imitated you. “focus on me.” you repeated.

you were able to withdraw a sigh from your lover once you began grinding your hips into hers — subtly, teasingly. “y'know 'm so much more interesting than...” you paused, taking the time to glance at the book she had been reading. "this book."

she gave you a gentle nod, soon enough followed by a low hum. “you are.”

huh ?

if she knew you were way better than any book ever created, why wasn't she paying attention to you ? at the sight of your confused expression, she chuckled silently. “c'mere. gimme a kiss.” at the same time, her large hands slid to your small ones, intertwining your digits together.

your confusion only lasted a short span of time. with a happy smile, you leaned down and pressed your pink lips to hers. once your lips met, yuki instinctively sighed into the embrace. “i'm so sorry, sugar,” she whispered an apology against your lips. "mhm. 's okay, yuki." you murmured, slowly pulling away.

however, yuki didn't let you pull away much. her hand sneaked around the back of your neck, holding you close. “no, 's not.” she whispered firmly. “gotta apologize to my girl properly.”

once you understood the not-so-hidden meaning behind her words, your plush thighs squeezed together in a desperate search of friction.

“yuki...” her name left your lips in a sigh as she began pressing snug lil' kisses to the underside of your jaw. “yeah, 'm here, sweetheart... shh, don't worry your pretty lil' head 'bout nothing, 'kay ? jus' lemme take care of you, pretty thing.”

the tiny nod you gave her was instinctive. every time yuki touched you, you just shut your little brain off. she always handled everything on her own.

you tucked your head into the crook of her neck the moment you felt her long fingers ghosting against the thin fabric of your pink panties. a damp spot had already formed a long time ago. “already ?” your girlfriend couldn't help but speak with a condescending tone, only to soften again once you whined quietly — you didn't want to be teased, not after fighting for her attention for so long. “aw, i'm sorry, my love...”

a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “why don't you tell me 'bout your day, little one ? i wanna hear you.” with a hum, you began telling her about what you did — how you painted your nails, what color. “keep talking.” she whispered when she slid her hand into your panties, her thumb grazing your needy clit. “what color ? sorry, baby.”

“pink...” you breathed for the second time, tucking your lower lip between your pearly white teeth. “pink.” she hummed. “great choice, honey.” you shifted, trying to get comfy in your lover's arms. "mhm, thank— ngh..." you moaned when she gently pressed the pad of her middle finger against your entrance. “shh... take it, c'mon.”

at the sweet intrusion, your gummy walls tightened around the digit. “yeah... like that.” yuki slowly slid her finger back, only leaving the tip in. you mewled once she pushed it in again. “be quiet, flower.” she gently pushed your head in her neck, your teeth easily finding her skin. “bite. jus' be quiet.”

as she continued fingering you, you gently bit down on her neck when you wanted to moan. a tiny gasp escaped you when you felt a second finger sliding inside you. you tangled your hand in yuki's hair, giving it a slight tug — which earned a groan from her.

her eyes met yours. she could effortlessly recognize the look in your pretty eyes — the one you always gave her when you wanted her to fuck you.

such a vulgar thing for a dainty girl like you.

“can you handle a third finger ?” she preferred to ask, knowing you usually couldn't get past two of her digits inside you.

however, when you gave her a slow nod as a response, she bit her lip. “okay.” she felt you grip her shoulders to find a semblance of balance. “yuki...” you breathed. “i know.”

once she attempted to slide a third digit inside you, she felt you tense. “hey, 's just me, pretty girl.” she reassured you. with her free hand, she grabbed your hip to make you sit on her fingers. “slow 'n nice. just like that...”

having three fingers inside you — especially yuki's — felt new. “hn— fuck...” you murmured. "feel so full, yuki..." she laughed at you. “yeah ? bet you'd feel even fuller with my strap, mhm ?” the moment the blonde felt your tight cunnie clenching around her three fingers, she laughed. “oh ? someone's curious 'bout my strap, i guess.”

as yuki pulled away from you, leaving you feel empty — literally — you whined. “where you going...” you sighed. “stay here.” she ignored your question.

you perked up when yuki returned. “spread your legs.” you frowned. “huh ?” she laughed. “spread 'em.” you hesitantly obeyed, exposing yourself to her. yuki quickly reacted, sliding a harness on herself.

a soft gasp escaped you — and a pink blush came to decorate your full cheeks. “yuki !” she lifted her head, clueless. “huh ?”

you were in for a long night.

mommy yuki :33

[literaryavenger]

DOPPELGÄNGER

Summary: In a universe where Sebastian Stan not only exists but he's also your favorite actor, you swoon for him when you happen to meet him up and about New York one day, having no idea he's not who you think he is.

Pairing: sort of Sebastian Stan x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Misunderstandings. Kind of manipulative Bucky but he's still a sweetheart. Kind of naive and clueless Reader. No mentions of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 3.8K

Requested by: @myfavbuckyfics

A/N: I'd like to thank @myfavbuckyfics for this ask which I had so much fun writing and I'm sorry it came like almost a full year late 😭 Her beautiful idea was basically 100% done, I just wrote it out and the result is just amazing! Also, I promise I'm still working on requests and they're slowly coming. Also, my messages/ask box are always open and I'm always delighted to receive requests to challenge myself with. I'm gonna try harder to find time for writing because it really brings me so much joy, especially when I find people that read and appreciate my work. Thank you to all of you who do!

Masterlist

The first time it happened, Bucky didn’t think much of it.

He’d accepted to go out for a breath of fresh air with Steve for the first time since he joined the Avengers and moved into the Compound and he was a little overwhelmed when a group of girls came up to them, fangirling and asking for photos. 

But Bucky understood, it’s Captain America, he assumed they were just excited to see Steve and asked Bucky to join the photos because he was Captain America’s friend, just to include him. After all, it hadn’t been announced yet that he had joined the team and nobody had any idea that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was back.

Then it started happening when he was alone too. Girls coming up to him and asking for photos with him. But he figured, from what he understood of the internet, that it got around that he was Steve’s friend so people asked for photos with him because it was better than nothing.

But what really puzzled Bucky was when they would call him a name he didn’t recognize: Sebastian. 

That’s how Bucky found out that there was an actor that coincidentally lived in New York too, called Sebastian Stan. Sam and Scott made Bucky watch basically all the man’s movies and, as much as Bucky could agree he was a talented and versatile actor, he didn’t love the fact that they looked so similar. But what could he really do about that? 

So whenever Bucky got asked for photos he would try to politely say they had the wrong person or, if he was in a good mood, he’d just pose for the photos and move on.

You’re out and about in the streets of New York when you spot him: Sebastian Stan. Just standing outside of a coffee shop, like he’s waiting for someone. You didn’t expect him to have hair that long or a stubble like that, but you did read he’d been letting it all grow for the shooting of an upcoming role.

He’s your all time favorite actor since all the way back to 2010 when he starred in Hot Tub Time Machine, but you never thought you’d ever meet him, despite living in the same city. New York is pretty big after all and full of people you’ll never meet.

You debate whether to approach him or not, worried you’re gonna bother him, but then tell yourself you’ll just say hi and, if he feels like it, ask for a photo. 

“Excuse me…” Your soft voice instantly grabs Bucky’s attention, but he keeps looking at his phone just in case it’s not directed at him. “… Sebastian?”

The tentative question annoys Bucky a little, today he’s definitely not in the mood to deal with fangirls, not after he’s been waiting close to two hours for Sam because he’s late. He turns around fully intending to shut this down right now, but the moment his eyes land on you, he feels like his heart stops entirely.

She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you talk again. “Hi, I… I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, and I’m sure you get this all the time, but I’m a big fan and just wanted to say hi.”

God, he thinks it’s so cute how nervous you seem to be as you try to be polite. Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself and he’s talking faster than his brain can comprehend.

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” He gives you a charming smile that makes you giggle and Bucky’s heart flutters at the sound, making him feel like the care-free young man he used to be back in the 40s.

“Could I give you a hug?” You ask shyly, dying to know how it feels to hug him.

“Sure.” Bucky answers a little too eagerly.

What the hell am I doing? I don’t like people touching me.

But Bucky’s thoughts are quickly squashed when you hug him. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do, awkwardly hugging you back, but then it hits him all at once. It’s warm and comforting and it makes him feel something he hasn’t in decades… Peace.

Right there as you pull away he decides, I can’t let her get away.

“Anyway, if it’s not too much to ask, could we take a pi-”

“Do you wanna get some coffee?” Bucky interrupts you, surprising not only you but himself too.

Did Sebastian Stan just ask me to get a coffee with him?

Did I really just ask this girl that thinks I’m somebody else to get coffee with me?

Both of your minds are racing and for different reasons, just staring at each other until you say the one word that makes Bucky both incredibly happy but also incredibly nervous: “Yes.”

Bucky tells himself that it’s okay, it’s just coffee, he’ll tell you the truth after, but the more you talk the more his resolve weakens. 

Talking to you is easy, it makes him feel carefree like when he was a wide-eyed young adult, not fully tainted by the world’s cruelty yet. And it brought out a part of him he didn’t think existed anymore, the part that flirted shamelessly with you the entire time, the part that got a rush of satisfaction at every giggle he got out of you and a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach with every shade of red he managed to make your cheeks turn to. 

It also didn’t help that you gushed over him, recounting every movie and tv show you’ve seen him in and how important each and everyone was to you. Bucky’s knees almost buckled [Bucky buckled lol] at the look of pure adoration in your face, that sparkle in your eye as you looked at him as if he was a real life shooting star in human form.

So he, when the date ends, as the words ‘I’m not Sebastian Stan’ dance on his tongue, what comes out instead is “Can I have your number?”

“Really?” You ask a little incredulous but he’s already taking out his flip phone, weird choice for an actor but okay, and you put in your phone number.

“Uhm, do you… Do you live close?” Bucky asks as he puts his phone back in his pocket. 

“Fairly.” You say vaguely. It’s not like you think he’s a serial killer, but he’s also a man you just met. “I could… Walk you, if you’d like?” Bucky offers, feeling protective over you and wanting to ensure your safety, but also desperately trying to prolong your time together. He just doesn’t want to let go of you.

You hesitate before agreeing, thinking he is a high profiled celebrity after all so there’s no reason to doubt him, right?

You feel like you’ve fallen into a fanfiction [ironic, I know] as you not only met your celebrity crush but he’s flirting with you and asking you out.

And so starts what, for you, is a fairytale romance, while for Bucky is more like a mission, his objective clear: Not let you find out who he really is. At least not yet.

As you keep going on dates and getting to know each other, or more like he gets to know you, Bucky does his best to become the man you seem so enamoured with.

In good trained spy fashion, he does all the research necessary about this Sebastian guy, the first and only time he abused his power at SHIELD to get into someone's personal files, determined to do everything he needs to keep you.

Bucky does the most, going as far as cutting his hair when he sees the actor’s haircut is slightly shorter and carefully planning his missions for times when he knows Sebastian will be away on press tours or shooting or crap like that and, when he doesn’t have missions, he just pretends to be out of town while barricading himself in the Compound, not willing to chance you finding him up and about.

He even gets himself an iPhone, going through the painful process of letting Peter teach him how to use it because the kid is the only one Bucky knew would do so without asking too many questions.

Sometimes he feels bad about lying to you and he considers coming clean, but every time he sees his face he falls more in love with you and he keeps convincing he’ll tell you the truth soon. But that time never comes.

He knows you’re falling too and he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble, not when you look at him with those bright, beautiful eyes full of love that sparkle adorably every time he’s around. He'll be Sebastian Stan forever if it means he gets to see you and be in your life everyday.

Still, he feels too guilty being intimate with you while you’re not aware of who he really is, so he makes a point to never go too far past pecks on the lips, which you accept and reassure him profusely that you’ll go at his pace, waiting patiently like the angel he believes you are.

He’s also aware that if you saw his Vibranium arm you’d immediately know he’s not actually Sebastian Stan, and not only that but he’s scared you’ll be horrified and run for the hills when you see just how broken he is, so he always keeps it hidden. 

You take notice of him always wearing long sleeves and leather gloves, but you don’t say anything about it as you don’t want to embarrass him if it’s about something he feels self conscious about, telling yourself he’ll eventually address the fact himself.

For six months everything goes smoothly, Bucky even manages to impress you with his Romanian skills, which he is more than happy to know get you fairly hot and bothered, but he keeps his promise to himself not to go too far with you until he tells you the full truth, always finding a way to come to you so he can make excuses about work stuff to not stay overnight.

But, as all good things do in his life, it comes the day where it all blows up in his face.

You’re waiting for Sebastian in front of his favorite sushi restaurant where you’re having your date but when he gets there, he almost walks past you without a glance and, thinking he just didn’t notice as he was looking at his phone, you grab his attention.

“Seb.” You walk up to him before he reaches the restaurant’s door and hug him hello, kissing his cheek like always.

Except this time, instead of returning your affections, he almost leaps back away from you. “Excuse me??”

He looks almost panicked as he looks at you like you’re crazy. “Who are you??”

You frown before you realize he’s messing with you. “Oh, nice one, Seba.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Acting like you don’t know me.”

“I’m sorry, are you a… A fan or something?” Sebastian asks confused.

“Are you gonna play the celebrity card on me after six months? Really?” You chuckle.

“Six months? What are you talking about?”

“Come, Sebastian, it’s me.” You sigh and cross your arms, starting to get over his little joke. But you have to hand it to him, he’s a really good actor. “We’re supposed to be on a date here.”

“Look, I don’t know you.” He says in a firm voice that makes you freeze, never having heard it before, you watch him take a step back like he’s afraid of you.

“Seb…” You say weakly, your arms dropping as you’re not sure what’s happening.

“Stop calling me that.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen you before in my life and I certainly don’t have a date with you.” 

I can’t help but feel hurt by his borderline cold tone, feeling tears starting to burn behind your eyes. “I-”

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” He cuts you off. “but please stop this distasteful joke or whatever this is before I call the police.”

Just as you’re about to cry out of both hurt and embarrassment all the same, Sebastian turns around to see a man standing behind him with a sheepish look as he avoids your eyes. Bucky.

“Uh, I’m sorry man, that’s my girlfriend. She was waiting for me.” Bucky apologizes to a gaping Sebastan, the actor can’t help but be amazed as he looks up and down at a man that looks so much like him, down to his own haircut. It’s like looking in an all-black dressed mirror.

Bucky keeps his eyes on his more famous version, but it’s not because he’s impressed by the similarities. He’s determined to keep his eyes away from you, his stomach churning so much he’s convinced he might throw up any second.

He saw everything, rounding the corner just as you approached Sebastian Stan. He remained well-hidden, his feet feeling stuck to the concrete as he witnessed the encounter in borderline horror and seriously debated just turning around and running away, but when he saw you were about to cry his protective side got the better of him and he felt the need to step in and save you.

He still can’t look at you though, fearing he might have just lost you for good.

“Wow…” Sebastian pulls Bucky out of his thoughts. “This is… Bizarre.” “It is.” Bucky forces a chuckle. “You can see how she’d be confused. Have a good night.”

Bucky’s quick to dismiss Sebastian as he feels like the more he stands there the more time you have to stew in your confusion and probable anger, and Sebastian doesn’t seem to think much of a man that looks like him with the same name too. Weirder things have happened in New York.

“Yeah, sorry I yelled.” Sebastian apologizes as he opens the door to the restaurant. “Have a good date, guys.”

Once Sebastian is gone, Bucky gathers all his courage just to look at you, the shock on your face clear before you snap yourself out of it and your expression goes blank.

“Who are you?” Is all you say and Bucky almost winces at your low, cold tone.

“I–” He gapes at you, not sure where to even start as the two of you just stand on the sidewalk. He sighs and runs a gloved hand down his face. “Look, I-I know you’re angry, just… Please come inside? Give me a chance to explain?”

You scoff but he starts pleading before you even get a chance to go off on me. “Please, I just want you to hear me out. Just give me a chance to tell you the full truth. You don’t have to say anything and you can leave after, just let me get the words out. Please.”

You hesitate, wanting nothing more than to turn around and run away from what you know is a potentially dangerous situation, but you know deep down that you can never say no to Sebastian, or whoever this is that you’ve spent the last six months falling for.

As you sit down in the furthest, most secluded corner of the restaurant you cross your arms and Bucky, as he told you his name is, tells you everything. And I mean everything.

He decides to tell you his entire history from the start just to paint a full picture, displaying an honesty that he’s never had with anyone, not even his therapist or Steve. But after the way he deceived you for six months and how horrible you must’ve felt during the encounter with the real Sebastian, the least he can give you right now is full honesty.

“... And I know there’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but I was just so terrified, doll.” He sighs, his eyes lowered in shame. “Terrified you’d run, terrified you’d think I’m a monster… I know I went about it in the worst ways, but I started falling for you the moment I saw you and I was so scared of losing you that I tried to do everything I could to keep you around.” You remain stoic the entire time, listening to everything that happened to him hurts deep in your soul but you can’t bring yourself to be sympathetic right now.

The last six months, everything you went through, it was all a lie. You thought you knew who you were falling for, but you were sorely mistaken. Even the cute nickname he calls you that you teased him so much for but secretly loved how adorably old fashioned it is, now feels hollow and just wrong.

When he finishes talking, you let a moment of silence pass between the two of you before you grab your purse, jacket and leave the restaurant without a single word.

Bucky doesn’t even attempt to stop you, after all you held the end of your agreement and listened to everything he had to say. Now all he can do is watch you walk away, knowing he’s lost you for good, the one good thing he ever had, just because he’s an idiot that made all the wrong choices.

A month.

That’s how long you mull things over before you’re ready to talk to Sebas–Bucky again. You went to the Compound with surprising ease but you were met in the lobby by Captain America instead of Bucky, who informed you his best friend had spent the last month wallowing in his apartment in Brooklyn, which you wish you’d known before you drove to the once again surprisingly easy to locate home of superheroes in Upstate New York.

So here you are, knocking at the apartment Steve told you Bucky sometimes resides in when he needs to get away from superheroing.

You almost gasp when he opens the door, your eyes widening at his disheveled state. You thought Steve was exaggerating when he underlined the severity of Bucky’s current mental state, but he was absolutely not.

He has dark circles under his eyes, his beard is unkept, his hair sticking out in odd places and it looks dirty. He’s obviously spent the last month in bed, not bothering to shower or even eat by the looks of it, his eyes red and puffy giving away that he’s done nothing but cry.

“Oh my god, Bucky…” You frown, the entire speech you made in your head on the way flying out of your mind as your concern overrides your anger or logic.

“Doll…” Bucky says quietly, his voice raspy and hesitant as if he’s not even entirely sure you’re actually standing there in front of him.

You stand there for a moment before you sigh. As much as you want to discuss things rationally and maybe even yell at him, I know I can’t when he’s in this state. For better or worse, you did fall for him and you can’t bear to see him like this, so you take it upon yourself to take care of him.

You make your way into his apartment and his eyes follow your movements as you silently take his hand and close the door behind you. Without saying a word, you help him shower, change into clean clothes, order food because he doesn’t have much to cook with and help him organize his apartment as you wait for it to arrive, although he doesn’t actually have many possessions to make an actual mess so it’s mostly just sweeping, dusting and gathering his dirty clothes in the hamper.

You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, he doesn’t look away for more than five seconds at a time, and you can tell he wants to say something but you’re not sure if he even knows what.

The only moment he looks away is when you help him take his shirt off, not wanting to see the horror and disgust he’s certain will be in your face, but to your credit you don’t comment or even react to his metal arm at all or any of the scars on his body, not even the massive one on his shoulder, but what you felt was something more akin to pity.

After you’ve eaten, you take a deep breath and finally turn to him.

“Listen… I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and… What you did was… Beyond wrong.” You say bluntly. “But I also can’t deny that, despite all the lies, I didn’t fall for you because I thought you were Sebastian Stan. I fell for you for all the talks we had, the way you look at me like I’m everything to you, the way you’re so sweet and flirty and cute… And that’s still you.”

For the first time in a month, maybe in seven months, Bucky feels like he can actually breathe. Your words are like a balm to his soul, hearing you say that not only you indeed fell in love with him but you fell because of him, because of the glimpses of who he actually is and not who he was pretending to be, that’s all he needs to hope again, hope that you’re coming around.

“I… I really am so sorry for lying to you.” Bucky says quietly, his eyes wide and hopeful. “And… I know I have no right to ask this, but I need to know… Is there any chance you’d consider giving me a second chance?”

“It’ll take some time for me to forgive you.” You say after a pause. “And even longer because I trust you again… But I think I want to give you a second chance.” Bucky can’t help but beam at that, but you’re quick to give him a pointed look.

“Solely on the condition that from here on out you be honest with me. No more lies, no more secrets. Just complete honesty.” You say firmly and, to your surprise, Bucky agrees with no objections. “I promise, I will never lie or keep anything from you ever again.” He says honestly as he takes your hands in his, touching you with his Vibranium hand for the first time without gloves. “Complete honesty… I’ll always tell you everything. I never want to risk losing you ever again.”

You can’t help but melt at that and sit a little closer to him, leaning in and pecking his lips. “For the record… I don’t think you’re a monster or anything. I think you were a victim of very bad things and you’re incredibly strong for having survived that.”

Your soft words make Bucky’s eyes teary again, although this time it’s for a different reason. He can’t hold back anymore and hugs you tightly, relief flooding through him as you don’t push him away but instead hug him back.

There’s still a long way to go before your relationship is fixed, but, right now in his arms, you can feel it– Forgiving him is the right thing to do.

And what are the chances that, if you work out, you invite Sebastian Stan to the wedding, explaining he’s the reason it all happened and thanking him. And he shows up too.

[synity]

HELLO so I've read your white noise jihoon fic and I'M IN LOVEEE (i love angst LMAO) could you write another heavy angst jihoon 🥹🥹 i just happen to love heavy angst and jihoon at the same time 🥹🥹

DISAPPEARING ACTS

(Lee Jihoon x Fem Reader)

*heavy angsr, emotional, slice of life, drama, slow-burn, tension, emotional unraveling*

I used to think I understood people well. I study them for a living, after all criminology demands it. Profiling minds, decoding motives, understanding why people do the things they do... But somehow, with Jihoon, everything I’ve ever known felt completely inadequate.

He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t hiding anything sinister. He was just... a boy who slowly began to slip away without realizing it.

We met on a rainy night cliché, I know at a small café near the university. I was buried in notes about victimology while nursing a cold Americano, and he walked in, drenched from head to toe, looking like something that had just escaped a dream and got lost in the wrong reality. I didn’t recognize him at first not as the famous Woozi, producer of hits, member of SEVENTEEN. I just knew he had kind eyes, and that he asked the barista for two sugars and no cream, just like I did.

He sat across from me, headphones on, tapping away at his laptop. For the next few hours, we exchanged glances and shy smiles. When he left, he said, “Good luck with whatever you’re studying,” and I replied, “You too, with whatever you’re making.”

Fate or maybe something more mundane, like routine brought us back to that same café the next week, and the week after that.

Soon, he was watching me underline textbook passages, and I was watching him tweak vocal tracks. I didn’t know it then, but I was falling. Slowly, then all at once. And when he asked me out awkwardly, like it was a song he hadn’t finished writing I said yes, because I already knew that nothing had ever felt so right.

We became each other's safe place. On days when autopsy reports made me sick to my stomach, he held me until I could breathe again. On nights when a deadline kept him in the studio, I brought him dinner and reminded him to sleep. He'd say things like, "You're the only person I want to see after 16 hours of mixing," and I'd pretend I wasn’t already in too deep.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with missed texts.

At first, they were just delayed responses hours late, simple things like "Sorry, was recording," or "Didn't see this." I understood. His job demanded focus, long nights, chaos. Mine did too. I once spent 48 hours analyzing a serial offender's pattern for a term paper, so who was I to judge?

But then came the missed calls. The forgotten dates.

My birthday. Our anniversary.

He always apologized. Always looked genuinely sorry. Hugged me like he meant it and whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And I believed him. Every time. Because Jihoon wasn’t careless just consumed. I told myself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

He wasn’t fading because he stopped loving me. He was just... overwhelmed. Right?

But how do you explain the ache of eating dinner alone again? Or the way your heart sinks when you walk past the old café and realize it’s been months since you shared a moment there?

How do you hold on to someone who’s still there but no longer with you?

One night, I stayed up until 3 AM studying forensic pathology. My phone was silent. Jihoon had promised he’d call after practice, but I knew better now. I’d stopped holding onto promises like lifelines.

Still, when I heard the soft knock on my door, I ran.

He looked tired. Pale. Overworked.

“I missed you,” he said.

“You always say that,” I replied, voice colder than I intended.

He stepped inside, taking in the open books and messy desk. “You’re still studying?”

“I live in this apartment more than you live in yours, so yes.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. I wanted to take them back. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “You know I am.”

But trying isn’t enough when it’s one-sided.

I wanted to scream at him. Shake him. Beg him to just see me again.

But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at my palms red from gripping my pen too tightly. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying until Jihoon walked over and wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to miss your birthday. The studio-”

“The studio always needs you,” I cut in softly. “Everyone always needs you, Jihoon. Except me, I guess.”

He froze.

“You think I don’t need you?” he asked, disbelief washing over his face.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I think you don’t notice when I need you.”

That silence that followed was heavier than anything I’d studied in all my classes. He looked at me like he was seeing me through a fog like maybe, somewhere along the way, he’d gotten lost.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I know you do,” I whispered. “But love isn’t supposed to feel like I’m always waiting for you to come back.”

He sat beside me. Close, but not close enough. His hand hovered near mine, like he didn’t know if he had the right to hold it anymore.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he said. “I got so caught up in deadlines and concepts and schedules that I forgot I had something someone who doesn’t see me as work. Just as Jihoon.”

I blinked back fresh tears.

“I used to love how hard you worked,” I admitted. “It made me feel safe. Like I was dating someone who never gave up. But now... I just feel like I’m last on your list.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “You’ve never been.”

“But it feels like I am.”

He reached for my hand then, cautiously, like he thought I’d pull away. I didn’t.

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship while also being... me,” he said. “I’m scared I’ll never figure out the balance.”

I finally looked at him. Really looked.

“I’m not asking you to change, Jihoon. I’m just asking you to try. Really try. Because I’m scared, too. Scared that one day, I’ll stop waiting. That I’ll stop hoping you’ll choose me over another late night.”

He flinched.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll slow down. I’ll try harder. Please... don’t give up on me yet.”

And there it was the part that shattered me. Because despite everything, I still loved him more than anything else. But love, no matter how deep, couldn’t survive on apologies alone.

I didn’t answer right away. We sat there, hand in hand, hearts bruised but still beating in sync barely.

I knew the road ahead would be rough. I knew he wouldn’t magically become the perfect boyfriend overnight. But part of me still believed in him in us. Maybe that made me naïve. Or maybe it just made me human.

“I’m not giving up yet,” I whispered finally. “But Jihoon... don’t make me regret staying.”

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy. Then he pulled me into his chest, arms wrapping around me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my sorrow.

We stayed that way until the sun started to rise.

And even then, I didn’t know if we’d make it..

Things were different after that night.

Not better. Just... different.

Jihoon started trying in the small ways he left sticky notes on my desk that said, “Good luck on your midterm ♡,” or brought home my favorite takeout when I worked late on my thesis. He sent me voice notes when he couldn’t come home for dinner. He’d text me good morning and goodnight like clockwork, even if he couldn’t call.

But even with all that, there were still days I sat on the couch waiting for him to come home until the food got cold. Days when I’d pass out on the floor in front of my laptop, eyes blurry from analyzing crime scene data for hours, and he wouldn’t be there to help me into bed.

It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

He was trying. I could see it in how he reached for me more often, how he’d kiss my forehead before rushing out to the studio and whisper, “I’ll make it back early tonight, I promise.”

But early became 2 a.m.

Tonight became next week.

And promises?

They started to feel more like hopeful guesses.

One night, I was up grading mock forensic reports for my TA job. I’d brewed coffee three times already, and my neck felt like it was fused to my spine. I looked at the clock: 1:41 a.m.

Still no Jihoon.

I stared at my phone, my finger hovering over his contact.

But I didn’t call.

What was the point?

If I called, he’d answer, apologize, say he was on his way. Maybe he even meant it. But I was tired of hearing “I’m sorry.” I wanted to feel it.

Just as I closed my laptop and buried my face in my hands, the front door creaked open. Soft footsteps, the rustling of his coat, the quiet shuffle of someone trying not to wake the house.

Too late.

“Hey,” I said without looking up.

He froze. “You’re still awake.”

“I had work.”

He stepped into the kitchen awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I brought bread from that bakery you like…”

I didn’t respond.

He set the bag down slowly. “Did I forget something again?”

“No,” I said, standing. “You just forgot me again.”

“YN…”

“Don’t.” I finally looked at him, really looked. “You say you’re trying, and I believe you. But Jihoon, I’m exhausted. I’m drowning in assignments, exams, autopsy reports, case studies hell, I’ve barely slept. And the one person who’s supposed to be my calm in the storm is never here.”

“I’m here now,” he whispered.

“But for how long?” My voice cracked. “Until your phone rings? Until the next beat hits you and you forget I exist?”

“That’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is I keep giving and giving, and you keep... not showing up. Not in the way I need you to.”

He looked like I’d punched him. “So what now?”

I took a long, shaky breath.

“I don’t know.”

And that was the truth. I didn’t know.

Because I still loved him. But I also loved me. And I was starting to realize I couldn’t keep bleeding for someone who didn’t even realize I was cut.

He crossed the room then, slowly, like I might vanish. He took my hands.

“I know I’m failing you,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to. I’m scared. Scared that I don’t know how to be everything you deserve. That I’m too far gone in my own world to love you properly.”

I swallowed, eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t need perfect, Jihoon. I just need you to show up. Really. Not just physically emotionally. I need to know I’m still a part of your world.”

He nodded, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll prove it,” he whispered. “Not with words. I’ll prove it with actions. Please… give me time.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no either.

And for now, that was enough.

Three weeks later.

I hadn’t heard his voice in twenty-one days.

It wasn’t because we were angry. There were no screaming matches, no broken plates, no one storming out. That would’ve been easier, I think. Something to blame. Someone to point fingers at.

But we were just… tired.

He stayed at his studio the night I told him I needed space. Packed a duffel bag and left without protest. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight, but he didn’t try to stop me. Maybe that was the worst part how easily he let go.

I moved in with a friend near campus. Her place was smaller, a bit messier, the walls thin enough to hear her laugh when she FaceTimed her boyfriend. But it felt warmer, somehow. I could breathe again.

I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lost until I was no longer orbiting his world.

For once, my mornings weren’t rushed. I woke up with sunlight in my hair instead of bags under my eyes. I drank coffee that wasn’t cold. I read chapters without rereading the same line ten times. I went on solo walks, bought myself flowers, smiled at strangers, and cried a little when no one was looking.

I missed him.

Of course I did.

His hoodie still hung in my closet. His laugh still echoed in my head when something dumb happened. I still reached for my phone when I saw something I knew he’d love before remembering there was no message to send.

But I also missed me.

The version of me that dreamed of working on criminal cases, of writing policy reform, of standing in a courtroom defending justice. That girl had started dimming her light for someone who barely noticed she was fading.

That couldn’t happen again.

I wasn’t sure if I still believed in fate. In timing. In people “meant to be.” Because if Jihoon was really my person, why did love feel so damn lonely?

Then… a text.

[Jihoon] I hope you're okay. You don’t have to reply. Just wanted to say I’m thinking about you. And I’m sorry again. For all of it.

I stared at the message for five minutes.

Then ten.

And I didn’t respond.

Because the thing about time is when you finally give yourself some, you start to realize what you deserve. I deserved more than just love. I deserved effort. Attention. Consistency. And I was starting to believe I didn’t have to beg for it.

Jihoon’s POV Three Weeks Into the Separation

I still park outside her campus sometimes.

Not to stalk. Not to be weird. I just… like knowing she’s okay. Seeing her walk out of the lecture hall with her messy notes and oversized tote bag. Watching her tuck her hair behind her ears when she’s focused on her phone. I’ve even caught her laughing with her friend once, and for a moment, I let myself believe she was still mine.

She looked lighter.

I should be happy about that. But it crushes me.

Because I made her heavy.

I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t realize love could feel like a burden until I became one. It started with missed dinners. Ignored calls. Me saying “just five more minutes” and turning that into hours. Her cooking dinner for two and eating alone. Her dressing up for a date I forgot. Her eyes watering and me too tired to ask why.

I didn’t mean to be absent. I was just… stuck in a cycle of needing to make something of myself. Every song I worked on, every melody that slipped through my fingers, felt more important than rest, than sleep, than her not because she didn’t matter, but because I thought she'd always be there.

She was the one constant in my chaos.

And I took that for granted.

I keep her hoodie folded in my room the yellow one she always wore when painting. It still smells like her. Faint lavender and acrylic. I haven’t washed it. Can’t bring myself to. Sometimes I sleep with it under my pillow like some lovesick teenager.

The studio’s been quiet without her humming while she waited for me to finish up. No soft giggles. No late-night snacks. No hand on my back reminding me to eat, to stretch, to exist outside of my obsession with perfection.

I check my phone more than I should.

She didn’t reply to my message. I didn’t expect her to. I said she didn’t have to. But fuck, it still stung.

I wonder if she’s forgetting the little things. How I used to run her bath when she got cramps. How I’d sneak into her classes just to watch her present. How I carried her paint set in my backpack once because she forgot it and cried from stress.

She never asked for much. Just me. Just my attention.

And I couldn’t even give her that.

Now someone else might.

That thought haunts me.

I don’t want to stop her from healing. She deserves peace. But I can’t stop loving her either.

So here I am. Outside the campus library, sitting in my car like a ghost, wondering if maybe just maybe she misses me too.

YN’s POV

It was just a regular café.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I walked in, the bell above the door chiming softly like it always did. I had my headphones in, hoodie up, messy sketchbook tucked under my arm. I just needed to get out of my own apartment, away from the memories that clung to the walls like dust.

I wasn’t expecting to see him.

Jihoon.

He was at the corner table. Same old black hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, fingers wrapped around a chipped mug like it was holding him together. He looked thinner. Tired. His under-eyes were dark, his usually neat hair curling out at the sides like he hadn’t run his hands through it in days.

I froze mid-step. He didn’t see me yet.

My first instinct was to turn around. To pretend I never saw him. Because I wasn’t ready. Not to talk. Not to remember. Not to feel everything again.

But then he looked up.

And our eyes met.

His lips parted slightly. No words. Just that same unreadable, searching expression I’d seen the day I walked out.

The tension hit like a wave. My chest tightened. The air felt too thin. The playlist in my ears faded into nothing as my fingers slowly pulled the earbuds out. He stood up. Slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to scare me away.

I wanted to run. But I didn’t move.

“Hey…” he said softly.

One word. One stupid word. And everything inside me cracked open like glass under pressure.

“Hi,” I whispered.

There was a beat. A silence so loud it made my ears ring.

“You look good,” he said, voice rough. “Healthy. Painting again?”

I nodded. “Trying to.”

We stood there in the middle of the café, like the rest of the world had faded away. Like we were suspended in a memory neither of us could erase.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “God, YN, I’m so sorry. For not being there. For letting you go through it all alone.”

I bit my lip, hard. “I never wanted to be alone, Jihoon. I just… didn’t want to feel invisible.”

His eyes welled. And then so did mine.

“I was drowning in work,” he said, stepping closer. “But that’s no excuse. You were always the most important thing. I just forgot how to show it.”

“I used to wait by your door like a fool,” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “You were five feet away from me and still out of reach.”

“I know. I know.”

His hand reached up, trembling as he brushed a tear from my cheek. I leaned into it before I could stop myself, because damn it, I missed his touch like air.

“I still wear your hoodie,” he admitted with a broken laugh. “It still smells like you.”

That did it.

A sob ripped out of me and I collapsed forward not caring that we were in public, not caring who saw wrapping my arms around him tightly, desperately.

He caught me mid-fall, but he was shaking just as hard.

We ended up on our knees on the café floor, clinging to each other like the world would split in half if we let go.

“I missed you,” I choked out, burying my face in his chest. “I missed you so much it physically hurt.”

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered into my hair. “Not for a second.”

I didn’t know if we were ready to fix it. If this meant we’d be okay again. But in that moment, in that fragile embrace on the café floor, we were just two people who had hurt and missed each other too much to keep pretending we were fine.

And sometimes, that’s where healing begins.

[reidmoony-toast]

We Hug Now. ౨ৎ

"The world ended when it happened to me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer finally returns from prison, but he isn't the man he used to be

content: no use of y/n, angst (some) comfort cw: sad themes, metaphors of violence an: This is out way later than I thought it would be so I'm very sorry 😭 Anyways this is for the gorgeous @thegloryofliterature ilysm and I hope you enjoy lovely <3

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You paced the room anxiously, jittery hands pressed to your racing heart. The apartment hadn't changed one bit since Spencer had last been inside—you had the irrational fear that if you did, you would lose those little parts of him forever. The pile of books on his night stand stayed precarious as ever, a layer of dust covering his copy of War and Peace in its original Russian—one of his favourites.

His favourite mug sat ready on the counter, as if he would walk in at any moment and pour himself a cup. It would have too much sugar, and you’d tease him for it, before he’d lean across the cool stone and kiss you softly, sickly sweetness coating his lips.

A purple scarf hung on the coat rack by the door, faded with use. It was his favourite. Is his favourite. It was a gift from his mother almost half a decade ago, and he’d cherished it ever since. The stitching on one end had come apart, and you’d sewn it back together. The new thread wasn't the perfect colour match, but Spencer hadn’t minded one bit. He said it added character, and always reminded him of you each time he wore it. You couldn't help but notice the purple scarf adorning his outfits more after that.

You glanced at your phone again for the hundredth time, and found the same text from Penelope, sitting, opened and unresponded, on your screen.

He’s coming home. Today.

Not much else needed to be said. Those few words gave everything you needed to know—except when he would arrive. Thus, you had been wearing a patch into the rug beneath the coffee table with your excessive pacing ever since you received Pen’s text.

When would he be here? You were almost sick with worry. You peered at the text again, then abruptly threw your phone onto the plush couch. It was no use reading it once again. It wouldn't help.

These last few months had been absolute torture. Knowing Spencer was in such a horrible place, getting hurt, and there was nothing you could do about it? It had to be one of the worst feelings in the world. Like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife, and every time it was pulled out so slowly, you could feel each and every agonising groove.

Worst of all, Spencer had left you off his visitor’s list. That little fact cut the deepest. Spencer Reid, the man you loved most in the world, the one you had bared your soul to for the past three years, actively didn't want to see you. It was like one big inside joke you had been left out of.

No matter how beyond relieved you were that he was finally out of that hell hole, the pit in your stomach that got increasingly worse each time you thought about that little fact didn't abate, even now.

What were you going to say to him? After all these months without so much as a phone call shared between the two of you. All the information you received came second-hand from his team, and you didn't even get to correspond by letter.

Why had he done it, why? You had lain awake at night contemplating that question for weeks on end.

You understood Spencer, more than you understood yourself, even, but what you couldn't understand was why Spencer felt like he couldn't show all of himself to you, even the most horrible parts. Especially those parts.

With almost divine timing, the door handle turned slowly, and your head whipped to the door. You froze in place, staring with wide eyes as the door clicks, opening cautiously. There was no need for a key, you had unlocked it hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

The door opened fully, and Spencer eased himself into the entryway. You couldn’t breathe. His form was hunched, hair falling limply into his eyes, and you could spy facial hair covering his jaw in a dark shadow.

His gaze shot up, and the door slipped from his grasp, banging loudly into its frame. You both jumped slightly at the noise, but your eyes never left each other. You sucked in a sharp breath. He looked empty. Like every joy and light that once filled him so profoundly was completely extinguished. Snuffed out.

His eyes were gaunt, dark circles of unrest swept under his lower lash. Those eyes—once doe-eyed and hopeful—were haunted. Exhausted. Utterly wrecked and full of anguish.

You both stood there, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like an eternity. The harsh silence is broken with harsher words. “Why, Spencer.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a statement. It resembled more that of a plea. For what, you didn’t know.

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you let me see you? Why did you shut me out? Do you really think I’m that shallow?” A silent tear tracked it way down your cheek, pooling on your jaw before dropping onto the rug beneath your feet. You weren't even aware of crying in the first place. “Why.”

He just stared.

“Spencer.” Your voice cracked, and your limbs unlocked enough to take a small step forward. He just shook his head slowly, swallowing harshly as he regarded you with his broken eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down the contours of his face, perfectly mirroring your own. It caught in his five o'clock shadow and disappeared, leaving only a shining track of sorrow down his cheek.

Your lip trembled and your eyes softened at the scene before you, and you forgot any prior grievances—you forgot everything, even your name, as you focused your whole being on the broken and bruised man before you.

“Oh, my love, what did they do to you?” The words came out as an almost imperceptible whisper, cracked and crazed, like a window pane just before it shatters into a million lethal shards that bite into your hands and feet—stinging and deep.

It all happened so quickly after that. Spencer's face crumpled completely, a wracking sob crawling out through his throat. He stumbled forward at breakneck speed, straight towards you, like a compass pointing to its true north.

You didn’t remember how, but you were moving too—less fast, but no less determined, and you both ate up the distance, until there was no other option than to fall right into each other.

That was exactly what happened, and he barrelled into you so hard that all the air in your lungs was forced out against your will. Momentum sent you both crashing towards the kitchen, and Spencer cushioned your fall with one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the other flying out to catch himself on the countertop before he crushed you with his large frame.

A shattering sound punctured through your bubble of consciousness, but you paid it no mind. Everything else in the world was inconsequential compared to the man sobbing violently into your neck, arms holding onto you for dear life.

Your own limbs came up to rest—one around his shoulders, the other threading through the dull curls at the base of his neck. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering incoherent comforts into his ear. He continued to shudder, choking on his tears and tightening his grip to an almost crushing embrace.

Your heart ached for him, deep and painful. You hurt for everything he has suffered. You hurt for what he had to do to survive, for what was done to him. You hurt for the utter loneliness he must have felt with no comforts and no freedom, and all for a crime he didn't commit. You hurt for the relapse that was forced upon him, and for the reason he went to Mexico in the first place.

Spencer poured out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy, of shame and disgust. Every moment he felt scared, and every moment he felt anger so powerful, it made him afraid of his own mind.

But mostly, it was the feeling of helplessness that held him captive. You knew that feeling well, had become close acquaintances with it in the past months—though nothing to the extent of his, you were sure.

He clung to you like you were a lighthouse in a storm, and you let him. Told him to let it all out—every haunting and twisted minute of the past three months.

The longer you stood there, the more you understood why he pushed you away, even as it ripped the stitches open on that wound once again. He never let others see his pain, and to be so vulnerable and so raw, stripped of your self-identity like that, was a scary thing for him to allow others to see.

While it hurt, you knew Spencer, knew his vice. Knew that he thought he was doing the best by the both of you, not stopping to consider that maybe you wanted to be there for the bad. Wanted, because you wanted inside his soul, because you wanted—needed—to be his shining light home; for your souls were intertwined, and he would have to try a lot harder to push you away.

You stayed steady now, for if you broke, you wouldn't be the rock he needed. No, you had to stand strong. For Spencer.

Your neck was sticky with hot tears, and you sent a look at the floor to your left—by pure chance—and a flash of porcelain shine caught your eyes. Then, in stillness, you realised what it was.

Spencer’s mug. The one you laid out every morning. It rested there on the kitchen tile, broken. Smashed. In Spencer's flail to catch the both of you, he must have knocked it to the ground.

You stared. And stared.

And finally, after trying so hard to be the strong one, the calm one, the understanding and soothing one, the damn burst, and a tidal wave washed away the foundations of your resolve.

You cried. Loudly. Painfully. The sobs wracked your whole body, down to your cold feet on the freezing tile. You could feel those shards of glass now.

The pain you felt, so visceral and puncturing, was no longer a metaphor—the glass cut into your feet, legs, arms, stomach and chest, as your eviscerated body sluggishly poured hot and sticky blood onto the kitchen floor in perfect tandem with your cracking heart.

You registered Spencer whispering something over and over again into the smooth skin of your neck, now wet with tears. Your next sob was choked as you realised the words. “I’m sorry.” Over and over, again and again.

You listened to those two soul-crushing words as you stared, unblinking, at the mug on the floor. It was broken beyond repair, and it could never be fixed, not fully. No matter how intricately you glued it back into one piece, it would never be the same ever again.

The cracks would still be there, even if they weren't visible. It would never gain back its strength again, and it would easily chip, easily shatter once more.

As you held the man you love in your arms, letting him sag against you, use you as a lifeline, you realised the unfathomable truth. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @navs-bhat <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[romaniacs]

▌ㅤNATASHA ROMANOFF — I MISS YOU MORE THAN LIFE

( read more ) synopsis — natasha's harsh words are like a knife twisting inside your already mean brain as she's been dealing with an imminent breakdown due to work-related stress, and so she soothes you from the pain she causes herself. warnings — female reader x natasha romanoff, crying, a little bit of everything; fluff + angst… so hurt-comfort.

"y/n- you're still up?" natasha sounds tired just before her breath catches in her throat as she sees the mess she's caused, your teary eyes lifting to rest on her worried face. "baby, no, why are you crying? are you in pain? having cramps?" and your silence is brief yet loud. "is it something i said? did i… did i make you cry?"

her hands roam over your wet cheeks as she feels a wave of that nurturing energy she usually has taking over her again, as strongly as it could be after a long time of giving you nothing. when she said i don't think i wanna go out in a stressed-out tone, looking over the paperwork she had to finish yesterday, it felt a bit off to you. when she had the last bites of the food you had kept for yourself, you just sulked in a corner. woman had to eat, it was fine. when she stopped kissing you goodbye before leaving, you understood. but when you were on a call and she started cussing out as she dealt with a sudden work issue that popped up and sounded rude to you too, it was a bit too much for you.

i'll hang up, she said not long ago. i'm a bit too mad to talk right now and you're not helping. your headache will pass, just go to bed.

you feel the distance natasha's putting between you two solidifying with time, and things don't seem to be going well with your job either.

it's just been hard. in general.

and now that she finally got home and entered your bedroom, reality hit her like a truck.

"it's nothing" you bring her hands down, off your face, but don't want to be rude. it really is nothing much. you just want to be left alone, as she seems to have been trying to make happen. "it really isn't, don't mind me. just sleep. it's late."

"are you kidding me? you're crying, y/n" her voice is not as soft, strangely. "if i did anything wrong, you can just tell me."

"can't you see it yourself?"

her eyes are suddenly locked onto your face, even though it's dark. she's also finally coming down from the long-lasting stress she's been through. "well, yeah" she sounds weird. calmer. confused. way more aware of herself, and consequently her eyes water up in a second. "yeah. sorry. i think i've been a bit harsh lately. it's just…"

"work, i know" you pat her hand softly as you give her an understanding look. "it's fine. just rest, okay?"

natasha can't bring herself to say much anyway, so she takes the chance to take off her jacket and lay down beside you. after a while, she rests an arm around your waist, pushing some hair off your forehead.

"i'm really sorry, y/n" natasha mumbles on your back. "i don't love you any less. i just haven't been doing so right. it's hard keeping my cool, and i try not to be harsh, but…" her voice trails off. "i've been under a lot of pressure. and not managing it well. but i love you."

"you don't have to explain anything to me, i understand. just don't treat me differently if you can just not treat me in any way and avoid making me second-guess my own actions" you whisper. "i love you a lot, nat. i don't need calmness, i just need to be sure you still love me. so it's okay."

"mhm. just hate myself for making you cry, you don't deserve that" she places a gentle kiss on your skin, her body warmly placed behind yours. and things almost feel normal for a second, just as they used to be before the mission she's been on. "i won't stop loving you even when hell freezes over, detka. trust me."

and you do, you can finally fall asleep. you feel wanted again, even if things still hurt, even if work won't stop on the way of your relationship, but whatever it is that tries to bring you down is fortunately none of your heart's business; even when your heart is heavy, it's still hers.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

The Best Kind Of Medicine

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f! Reader

POV: Soldier Boy

Tropes: Established Relationship, Navigating New Relationship Jitters, FLUFF

Summary: When Ben hasn't heard from you in a few days, he drops by only to find you in a compromising position.

Warnings: Cursing, Soldier Boy being mean to Hughie (because apparently that's something I always do?), Mention of a strip club? Soldier Boy being a little sexist, Soldier Boy (because he's a warning and we all know it). Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC. It's mostly fluff y'all.

Word Count: 2.9K

Note: Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

A/N: This is for @winchesterwild78 💗 I know this is far from small, but I'm sorry that you're sick and I hope that you feel well soon sweetie 🥰

Rain misted through the air, swirling and floating in the yellowed light from the streetlights coating everything in shades of gray as Ben trudged down the dampened sidewalks in the direction of your home. It caught against his leather jacket and slid underneath to drip down his collar, but Ben didn’t feel the chill.

It had been three days since he’d last seen or heard from you, given his history with dangerous supes, Ben felt an odd feeling tighten in the pit of his stomach. 

The two of you had been together for three months, navigating through the awkward phase where Ben didn’t understand what it meant to be monogamous and through the awkward phase of what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t a supe. 

Ben was still adjusting to that, but he was getting better each day. 

He frowned for a moment and tried not to think about how fragile you were, or how someone could and would use that against him if they got the chance.

Ben was worried about you.

He’d been out of town on a mission and unable to pull away from Butcher’s watchful eye. And Ben didn’t like that you hadn’t at least tried to call him. 

When the two of you had started dating, Ben hadn’t understood why you kept calling him so much or texting him, the old him would have rolled his eyes and called you “clingy,” but now he craved it. He liked to hear your sleepy voice over the phone as you fought to stay awake late at night, liked to hear you bitch about something crazy that one of your co-workers had done, and Ben loved seeing random texts from you during his day that you sent just to tell him that you were thinking of him or that you missed him and texts making plans to see him at the end of your day.

He sweeps the outside of your apartment building with a critical eye, looking for some sign of forced entry, but finds nothing and instead types in the security code you gave him. 

Ben frowns slightly at the darkened hallway, the flickering light that the super never wanted to fix no matter how many times you asked, and the faded red carpet that leads to your apartment. 

Ben hated where you lived, but you loved it. It was within walking distance of your favorite coffee shop, your favorite bookstore, and your job- the same one that you often called to complain about and Ben lended an ear to hear you complain, getting just as outraged as you at your boss and the people you had to deal with everyday. He liked learning how your day was, it was the kind of normal that he wasn’t used to, and honestly, it made him feel more connected to your life. 

Ben didn’t realize how much he wanted the life he had with you until he’d gotten it, and like hell he was going to lose it now.

Ben briefly wonders if he’d done something to offend you. He’d done that more times than he could count and it usually took a cup of coffee the way you liked it 

He stops outside your door, eyes scanning the worn wood for signs of foul play, but he finds none. Ben knocks once and waits, but you don’t answer. The odd feeling in his chest tightens again, and just as he prepares to kick down the door he hears something stir inside. 

The soft shuffle of your feet within as you make your way to the front door is thunderous in his ears, but at the same time it brings a surge of relief. It meant that you were alive.

Ben opens his mouth to ask you why the hell you hadn’t called him as the door opens, but the thought fizzles to a stop when he looks at you. 

Your t-shirt is inside out and half-tucked into your sweatpants, as if you’d done it in a hurry, and you have the quilt from your bed up over your head, shielding your eyes from the light in the hallway. Ben’s eyes skate to your face, where your eyes are squinted and your cheeks and nose are flushed bright red with fever.

“Ben?” You croak, your voice hoarse and sticking on his name. “You’re back?”

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Ben steps towards you and you turn away to cough, raising the blanket to cover your face for a moment. Ben can hear the way your bones shake as you do and he feels his heart tighten in his chest like a vice. 

“I have a cold.” You clear your throat, but it only makes you sound worse. “I was going to call but-” Your body wobbles slightly, as if the effort of being upright is too much and Ben reaches forward to pull you into his arms.

He steps forward into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, but he doesn’t look away from your face. Ben can feel the feverish warmth of your skin through your thin clothes.

Shit. 

He didn’t know the first thing about how to deal with someone being sick. He’d never, never been sick, not since he’d gotten the injection to become a supe. He figured that was because his immune system got boosted just as much as the rest of him. Not to mention the only experience he had with someone being cared for when they were sick were the memories he had of his childhood with his mother.

He could remember the cool drag of the cloth over his forehead, the taste of the chicken soup on the tip of his tongue, and the way his mother rubbed his back as he drifted off to sleep. 

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Ben didn’t know how to do any of those things. Not to mention he figured that medicine had changed in the past hundred years and he wasn't sure what would help you.

You shiver, but turn away from Ben’s face. “No. Put me down.” You wheeze half-heartedly. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

Truthfully, you were a little bit embarrassed that Ben was seeing you like this. You wanted him to think of you as a beautiful sexy woman, not as a snot-filled, feverish mess that couldn’t take care of yourself. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“I don’t get sick Sweetheart.” Ben chuckles, dragging his finger down your warm cheeks to push the hair that sticks to your sweaty forehead out of your face.

He couldn’t believe that even when you were this sick you were still worried about him. Ben hadn’t met someone as soft and generous as you in a long time, someone who was willing to give him pieces of yourself and care for him in a way that no one ever had, not since his mother anyway.

“Please go I’m okay-” Your voice cracks and your body descends into a fit of coughing, covering your mouth the best you can. 

Ben can feel the spasm of your body in his arms. He waits until you can speak again before he answers you. “I’m not going to leave my girl, not when she's like this.”

“But-” 

“No buts. So stop telling me to fucking go.” Ben frowns at your flushed cheeks, before he turns back to the door preparing to walk you to the urgent care across the street.

“Where are we going?” You murmur into his shirt. It was still wet from the rain outside, but you didn’t care. You’d missed Ben over the past few days, and even though you were embarrassed that he was seeing you like this, you were happy that he was here. You hated when he went on missions, it made you worry even though you knew your boyfriend was a little more indestructible than everyone else.

“To see a doctor.”

It was the only thing that he could think to do, given that Ben had no idea how to make chicken soup nor would he try, given it would make him feel like a fucking pussy to step foot in your kitchen.

“I went today.” You curl into Ben’s chest, fingers loosely gripping the front of his shirt, voice still no more but a wisp of what it usually is. 

“And you didn’t fucking call me!?” Ben snaps, but he’s not angry, he’s frustrated. 

Ben hated seeing you like this, seeing the woman he cared about weak and fragile, it was like seeing a shell of the person you usually were. The woman who made him smile despite how much you annoyed him, the woman who made him feel differently than everyone else, and the woman who was changing everything for him.

And the thought that you spent the past three days like this without anyone to help you made his heart clench in his chest. 

“I’m fine-” You choke out. “Just have a cold.” 

To be honest you weren’t sure if this was really happening or if you were having a fever dream. You couldn’t breathe through your nose, your head was swimming, and you were cold, despite being in Ben’s arms. 

Ben sighs. He hated how stubborn you were, but he turned back from the door despite how much he wanted to take you back to a doctor and have them look at you. 

The quilted blanket drags along the ground as Ben steps lightly through your darkened apartment finding his way to your bedroom. He’d been there enough times to know his way around. The two of you spent more time together here than at his anyway. 

Your bedroom is just as dark as the rest of the apartment, but Ben can still see. There are balled up Kleenex strewn all over the floor, half-drunk bottles of gatorade and water on your bedside table, and an unsettling amount of empty Mucinex bottles on the dresser. 

Your laptop is sitting open on your bed, the dull glow of the screen sending a whitish-blue hue over the headboard.

“Why do you have that out now?” Ben asks as he places you in your bed.

“I was doing some work-” You say hoarsely. “Have a presentation-” You slur.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She’s been doing work like this, but she didn’t fucking call me? 

“Ben, I’m fine.” You shake your head to clear it as if that’ll make the congestion go away, but it doesn’t. “I just need some more nyquil.”

Ben stops your hand before you reach the bottle. “How much of that have you drank?”

Your bleary gaze turns on him, not quite focusing. “I’m not sure. One bottle? A bottle and a half?”

“A whole bottle!”

“I’m fine-” You sneeze loudly interrupting your train of thought and making your head rattle. You blink your eyes a few times, glancing up into Ben’s face looking confused. “Have you always had a beard?”

Fuck she’s delusional.

“Yeah baby I have.”

She wouldn’t be able to stop me if I took her back to a doctor. 

“Really?” You raise a hand to squish his cheeks, eyes narrowing suspiciously as if you don’t believe him. “Are you sure?”

“Mhmm.” He hums, taking your wrist and putting your hand back down under the blankets to warm you. Your skin was clammy and sweat beaded along your forehead.

He’s again frustrated that he doesn’t know what to do. He’d never felt this helpless before and never wanted to care for someone else. But, fuck, he wanted to take care of you and he was far from used to that feeling. Not when in the past he would have called that urge “feminine” and “fucking useless.” 

Ben wracks his brain thinking of something that he can do other than stand there like a fucking idiot, but he’s got nothing.

Absolutely nothing. 

“Ben please go, I don't want you to see me like this.” Your voice comes out nasally and you reach for the box of tissues on your bedside table, weaving your hand through the half empty bottles of gatorade to find it. The room fills with the obnoxious sound as you blow it. 

Ben watches you sink a little further into the bed with a soft moan, the blankets covering you doing little to stop the cold chill that raced down your spine. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben asks. 

“I-” Another cough shakes through your body. “We’ve only been together a few months and I didn’t want you to-” You sneeze again so loud that the bed shakes beneath you. “Get grossed out by me or something.”

When you’d told him that you were tired of just sleeping together and wanted to be more, he scoffed at the idea. He didn’t have relationships, hadn’t tried since Countess, and certainly wasn’t ecstatic about going through something like that again. He'd said no initially and walked away, but then he'd thought about it, agonized over it, sat in a strip club and felt absolutely nothing for any of the women in front of him, and woke you up in the middle of the night by banging on your front door and telling you that he wanted to try.

You were different. Ben knew that and he treated you differently than any other woman he’d ever known. You deserved that. 

“Is that why you didn’t call me?” He tried to fight the disappointment that pulled at his heart. He hated the idea that you were afraid to call to tell him that you were like this, that you worried it would drive him away if you showed a version of yourself that wasn’t perfect or together and you’d rather suffer all by yourself in this dark apartment.

Personally, Ben thought you looked just as beautiful now as you usually did whenever he came over. Sure your cheeks were still flushed with fever, your eyes were watery, and your hair was a tangled mess, but you were still you. 

And he’d missed you more than he realized.

Ben felt the warm feeling that he always did whenever he was around you begin to bubble up. It was the same one that made him want to cut and run sometimes, a feeling that he couldn’t ever put a name to and hadn’t felt with anyone else before.

You try to nod, but stop when it makes you dizzy. “I thought I’d be better by the time you got home.” Your voice wheezes slightly and you pull the blankets up under your chin to fight the shiver that courses through you. 

Ben sighs looking at where you sit bundled in the bed, curled slightly in on yourself. “Sweetheart-” He sits down. “I know that I’m not the easiest man to be around, but you’re not going to gross me out.” He gently pushes back more of the hair stuck to your sweaty forehead and you lean into Ben’s touch, sighing softly. “You can’t help that you’re sick.”

“But I look-”

“You look beautiful.” Ben mutters, before moving his hand down from your forehead to your back. “Now, no more talking. I want you to get some sleep.” 

“But-”

“Baby.” Ben says sternly, but it doesn’t hold the same weight, not when he’s trying his hardest not to fold you up into his chest and run you to the hospital himself. “You need to sleep.”

“I have to finish my presentation-”

“No.” He pushes away the laptop, shutting it with a loud slap and he hopes that he didn’t break it. "You need to sleep. It'll make you feel better."

Then again, maybe that’s better. Better I fucking break it than her do work like this. I’ll buy her a new one when she’s better.

You’re too tired to fight him, eyes blinking away sleep. “Okay.” Your voice slurs a little as you sink deeper into the blankets, and Ben’s hand continues to rub soft circles into your back. It’s the only thing that he can think of to do. 

You hum to yourself, hands curling in front of your face as you allow the warm touch of your boyfriend’s hand, soothe you. 

And just when he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep he hears you whisper:

“I love you Ben.”

Ben’s entire body tenses with the words, his hand slowing to a stop against your back. He waits for you to say something else, to laugh or giggle, say "just kidding," but all you do is slip deeper into sleep. It’s the first time that you’ve ever said it to Ben, and the first time that Ben has heard those words in over forty years. 

The warm feeling begins to creep back in again the longer he sits there with you.

He stares down at where you lie listening to your heartbeat begin to slow, watching your breath come in gentle gasps, watching the way you curve towards where he’s sitting subconsciously while you sleep as if you wish to be closer to him all the time, and noticing the way the end of your lips pull up in a smile. 

And there in the darkness of your bedroom, while you’re asleep, and no other living soul can hear him, Ben allows himself this one indulgence, to say the one little thing that he’d never admit he was afraid to do. 

“I love you too Sweetheart.” He murmurs, continuing to rub his hand in soft circles on your back. 

When he's sure that you're asleep, Ben shrugs off his jacket and pulls out his cellphone. There was only one person that he could think of to call at a time like this. As much as he didn't want to, Ben needed someone to tell him what to do.

“What the fuck do I do if someone has a cold?” Ben says as loudly as he dares into the phone.

“Ben?” Hughie answers mildly confused. Ben never called him, ever, but Ben believed that Hughie was just the kind of pussy to know how to deal with something like this. 

“Yeah fuck-face it’s me.”

“Um-”

“Tell me what the fuck to do if someone has a cold!” Ben repeats, but then lowers his voice just a little bit so as not to wake you up. His eyes flick down to where you’re lying, but you don’t stir. 

“Fine.” Hughie sighs on the other side of the line, used to the way Ben spoke to him. Hughie had given up trying to be friends with him months ago. “You should get a pen.”

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