#and yeah. shes a good person but she’s not a saint | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helioooss · 7 months ago

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midnight rain

synopsis: sana and y/n used to be the top celebrity couple in the entertainment industry. over a decade after a nasty break up, they meet again at a jimmy kimmel show

w/c: 5.2k

warnings: mentions of drug use and overdose, read at your own risk, angst with a happy ending

a/n: first story in ten years, creative brain’s a bit rough these days, haven’t been on tumblr since its golden days. also not proofread. hope ur all well and enjoy this one :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your heart was beating out of your chest, each thump pushing you further you into a downward spiral as your clammy palms tapped against your bouncing knee. Leaning against the chair, you refused to make eye contact with anyone — the worried look on your face was enough to push them away, anyway. In a situation like this, it would be strange to not feel anxious.

After all, it had been over ten years since you let the love of your life go and agreeing to see her on live television was a decision that you have been regretting since the day you said yes.

Two minutes, you blew a breath out as you stared up at the monitor in front of you.

"Welcome to the Tonight Show!" Jimmy trailed off with a smile, the audience in front of him clapping as they yelled in excitement. "Thank you for being here, tonight we have two very special guests —"

A staff member tapped your shoulder, pulling you out of your messy thoughts with his apologetic face. "Y/N, it's time."

Uncrossing your legs, you nodded your head with a shy smile. The fact that you could hear your own heartbeat amongst all the noise made you uneasy, so you stood there for a moment longer; wondering what Minatozaki Sana looked like in person.

You haven't been this nervous since the world found out about your relationship with her.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out with your heart in your throat. You bowed your head at Jimmy and waved your hand at the audience members, screaming can be heard from the other end; your name being chanted, their anticipation shining through from seeing you on television again after what seemed like an eternal hiatus.

It would be a lie to say it didn't feel good to relive what was once your life like, but you don't regret disappearing from the spotlight.

You were happier now, away from all the awards and glory, you think.

As if you were in a movie, time suddenly stopped as she emerged from the other side in the black Yves Saint Laurent dress you bought her all those years ago — brown hair flowing freely past her shoulders as she mirrored your gestures towards the crowd. Watching her fondly, you were reminded of the moonlight that illuminated the surface of the endless ocean; truly God's masterpiece in its purest form. You were frozen in your spot as you stared at her with the utmost adoration and respect.

Then, she finally settled on your eyes and suddenly you felt like a kid again.

"Hello stranger," she said with a sly smile, taking the seat next to yours with the crowd going wild at your first interaction. "Hi Jimmy, thank you for having me."

"Yeah, I'm gonna pretend that you didn't acknowledge Y/N first," he teased, making her and everyone else chuckle. "Anyway, wow, you look wonderful. And so do you, Y/N!”

You grinned, nodding as you try to remember the rough script on how the conversations would go in your head. "Thank you for having me back here, Jimmy, I appreciate it."

"It's the both of you this time," he raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Which is amazing, the world hasn't seen you together in twelve years. Am I right?"

"Yes," she looked at you, heaving out a breath as she laughed. "Sorry, it just feels so weird to see you again."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Suddenly, you were pulled back into past; during the last time you ever saw her in the alleyway behind Stanley's; your favourite getaway restaurant during midnights. Every now and then, you remembered it; the pain from losing her always came back like it just happened and you wonder if you've really moved on.

"We can't keep doing this," she said with tears welling in her eyes. "It's so hard, Y/N, and as much as I love you, our relationship is mentally breaking me."

You shook your head in desperation, cupping her cheeks with both of your hands. "That's what they want, you know that, our fans want us to break up. You don't have to do this, baby, I'm sure there's another way. We can talk to both of our managements —"

She sighed, pulling away from you. Both physically and emotionally. "I've spoken to mine and they respect my decision.

You paused, repeating the words in your head to make sure you heard her right. It felt like she just stabbed you in the back as you gawked at her with defeat in your eyes, shoulders slumping while piecing everything together. "The last time you spoke to them about our relationship was over a month ago, and you're only talking to me about this now? Is that how you've been feeling this whole time?"

Her tears rolled down her face, understanding the betrayal you felt. "It's not just the fans, Y/N, it's literally everything. I barely get to talk to you and see you. How can we both work it out when we can't even create time for each other?"

"I'll do anything for you, my love, just say the word and I will cancel everything - you know that! Every project, every interview, every shoot, literally anything —"

"No, I stand by my decision," she said firmly. "Perhaps, when you and I have achieved all our dreams...then we can work it out. This isn't the right time for us —"

"Four fucking years, Sana," you bellowed angrily, fists clenching. There was pain written on her face from hearing you call her by her name. "From the very beginning, we have been there for each other. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?"

"Let me go — we'll both be happier without each other."

"No," you shook your head, tugging her closer towards you. However, she resisted. "Please, please don't do this. Don't leave me like this. What happened to forever?"

Her tears rolled down her cheek at the sound of your defeated voice. As much as it hurt her, she had to make up a lie on the spot. "I don't love you anymore. I — there's someone else."

Just like that, all of your hopes and dreams for the future shattered. Without her, the life you built meant nothing.

She really wanted you out of her life and there was nothing you could do about it. Shoulders slumping, you looked down - the thunderous roar of the oncoming storm startled her whilst it had no effect on you. "Okay, I see what you're doing. It's going to start raining, you should go."

She doesn't know whether it was the coldness in your voice or the wind, nonetheless, she shivered. "Y/N -"

"Leave, that's what you wanted, right?" you looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't understand what I've done to you to justify what you're doing. I know I don't deserve any of this. If you're going to leave, leave now and never come back. And when I say never, I mean it, Minatozaki Sana."

She nodded her head, turning on her heel with a sob. Tiny specks of rain began to pour down on you, the rest of your world going down with it. You watched her walk away from you as if it were the easiest thing - did she ever really love you?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"I can't pinpoint whether that's a good thing or not, but considering I'm your ex, I'd say that's a bad thing," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully.

She laughed once more, shaking her head at you. You swear that sound never failed to put you on a pedestal. "It's just surreal, I haven't seen you in so long. You look younger than I can remember."

"You never reply to any of my messages," you put your hands up at her as Jimmy bursted into another set of laughter. You didn't know where the confidence was coming from, but you were relieved you were feeling something else other than being constantly nervous. "I'm joking, I don't have her number. I'm sure you don't mind giving it to me after the show, right?"

"God, get a room," Jimmy whined, turning you into a blushing mess. "Before you both propose to each other, Sana, let's talk about the dress you're wearing tonight. Somebody may or may have not told me that you're wearing something very special."

"We'll talk about my number after the show," Sana turned to you, winking; making the heat rise on your face. "Yes Jimmy, this dress is probably my favourite one out of everything - I don't wear it very often, obviously, but this beautiful Yves Saint Laurent piece was a gift from Y/N thirteen years ago."

You stared at her in awe, the way she spoke with so much grace never failed to impress you. The years had done her a favour - life always seemed easier on her than it was on you.

She left you behind, after all.

"Look, I'm just glad you kept it because this archival piece cost me a lot back then," you admitted with the biggest grin on your face as you looked at anyone but her. You couldn't place what it was about her that struck you so forcefully, but you simply couldn't take your eyes off her and you somewhat needed to feel in control of your emotions. "It was our first anniversary, I had just gotten a pretty decent check from Little Women and I wanted to give her something special."

"You got a big check in twenty-nineteen and the first thing you thought of was a dress for your girlfriend instead of a Lamborghini to flaunt on Instagram?" Jimmy scoffed as you and Sana giggled at him. "Get out of here!"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your anniversary was coming up and frankly, you wanted to give her the world. You were panicking inside; with the amount of things you've gotten her, none of them felt special. You hummed as you sat in Chou Tzuyu's kitchen, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge you.

"You know, if you weren't my friend, I'd have you sent out of my house already," she grumbled in a playful way. "Seriously, I'm telling you that she will love that Saint Laurent dress by Tom Ford."

You sighed, shaking your head. "It's our anniversary though, it's special. Do you think giving her a dress and taking her to Hawaii are good enough?"

"Jesus Y/N, that woman looks at you with stars in her eyes — she will love anything you get her. If you ask her to marry you right now, I believe she will say yes in less than a heartbeat."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The show was going very well, you felt relieved as time went by, and you were actually enjoying the things you found out about Sana after you had broken up.

She went on to become a successful solo artist and fashion model after Twice's disbandment, and you couldn't be any prouder. It had always been her dream and you always knew she was made to be a superstar - you prayed for her to achieve it, even if it meant she would be harder to reach.

You were able to open up about your past; the dark hole you fell into after the breakup — all the women, the legal troubles and the projects that failed because of your behaviour; it wasn't easy to talk about, but somehow, the way she intensely listened made all the fear go away. It would be an understatement to say you haven't felt this comfortable in years — just watching her talk about her passions put you in awe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You were barely conscious in a suite at The Ritz in Paris, an unlit cigarette resting on your mouth as you scrambled to find the lighter in your pocket. The only thing illuminating the room was that stupid lamp on the office table. And you hated it, you really did, because it was the same model she broke the last time you were here with her.

You felt so warm - breathing heaved and beads of sweat forming on your forehead. And you laughed to yourself because it was pathetic, really. You were all alone in the city of love because the love of your life decided she wanted to move on from you.

And suddenly, the door opened with Jongin appearing from behind it. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Kai..." you could barely mutter his name as the world spun around you. "You're here!"

He knelt in front of you, forcing you to sit up. He tapped both of your cheeks worriedly. "Look at me, open your fucking eyes!"

You cupped his face back with a chuckle, everything seemingly softer around the edges. "Eyes open."

"I need you to tell me how much of these pills you had and when," he dangled the two bags in front of you but all you could think of was her face; the way her eyes lit up whenever you told her you loved her and that smile of hers that never failed to put you in a spiral. "Momo, I need you to stop freaking out and call an ambulance right now."

You were lying against Jongin's chest, your vision blacking in and out.

"We're at the Windsor suite at The Ritz, we have called the hotel medic and they're coming," you heard someone frantically say. "Y/N looks really unwell. Please hurry, please!"

There was buzzing all around you, and you smiled to yourself before giving in and closing your eyes. "Happy 27th birthday to me."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"But how are you doing now?" Jimmy asked with a sympathetic look in his face.

"I..." you looked down, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I don't think I know who I am anymore after everything. I regret everything that I've done - all the fame and the money, I don't think it was worth losing myself over the superficial things. Then again, rehab and lots of therapy helped me a lot, you know, I always thought I wouldn't make it past 27...but here I am. All thanks to everyone who held me together."

Everyone began clapping in the audience, your cheeks reddening at all the attention. Despite being a nervous wreck, you managed to let out a small smile. You could feel her eyes on you, yet you refused to look again.

"Would you change what happened in the past?"

Deep down, you were aware of the answer to his question. It'll always be a yes. Everything that you have now wasn't worth more than her. As ridiculous as it sounded, you would've given it all up for her; without her in your life, it always felt like you achieved it for nothing.

It was supposed to be her and you against the world. As much as it sounded wrong, your love for her will always be greater than your dreams.

"Yes, I would've," you pursed your lips, looking down at your roughed up running sneakers. Compared to her look, yours was too casual. If you were younger, you would've been on the same level as her. You didn't belong to each other now, what else was different about her these days? "For most of you who didn't know, the world hated that her and I were together. Everyone criticised each move we did. We were young...really young, it felt suffocating to hear the same things from the public but god, I loved her so much. To this day, I'm firm on my decision that I would've given up on my dreams for her if it meant I could keep her."

You were truly not over what you had, but with everything that has happened after that, you don't think you could let her in again. Not now.

Not when you were still a mess.

She placed her hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it. "If I knew that letting the world find us would ruin what we had, I would've kept you a secret," she paused, looking at you with pure adoration plastered on her face. "For as long as I could have."

Jimmy nodded his head, satisfied with your answers. "Well, that's it for tonight's show everyone. Please give a huge round of applause to our dear Y/N and Sana!"

You stood up, stepping closer towards Jimmy as you wrapped his arms around him, whispering. "Thanks heaps for having us tonight, never thought we'd cross paths again."

He was smiling as if he understood how it felt. "Anytime, Y/N, my wife and I were big fans back in the day."

You didn't respond, eyes following her instead. There was a sudden sharp ache in your chest as you watched her walk away from you, not bothering to look back.

Jimmy noticed the change in your emotions, squeezing your arm in comfort. "Hey, she'll be backstage for another half an hour. Don't let this chance slip away."

You heaved out a sigh, a defeated look on your face. Perhaps, her actions were all for the show, but god, her face said it all — she missed you as much as you missed her. "I can't, Jimmy. I'm a mess. I think I'll always be a mess. Do you think I could leave without her seeing me or knowing about it?"

There was surprise written on his face at your question. "I thought you guys did great out there, don't you wanna rekindle it?"

"No," you frowned. "I still love her...but its been over a decade and a lot has changed. She rejected me the last time I saw her. She seems happier - I'm still working on myself. I can't risk it."

"I understand," he smiled at you with sympathy. "Come, I'll get one of my producers to show you out."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Sana is here with her rumoured girlfriend," Lisa rasped out, closing the door behind her as she leaned against it - eyes wide and all that. "How are we gonna hide her from Y/N? She's literally sitting outside."

Jennie had horror written all over her face as soon as her eyes landed on your messy face - wonton soup smeared all over your mouth. "Actually...Y/N is here."

Lisa gasped at the sight of you. "I thought you went to order more drinks at the bar!"

You shook your head, standing up. "No, I ordered it through a QR code like I said I would. Where is she?"

"Y/N," Jennie held your hand to stop you. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine, Nini," you smiled reassuringly, rubbing your thumb against her skin. "I just wanna see what she looks like now."

"It's been seven years, Y/N," Lisa deadpanned, arms crossed and still blocking the door out of the private dining area. "She has moved on and so have you."

"We all know that's a lie."

With a mask of disappointment in her eyes, she took a step ahead to get out of your way, her shoulders slumped as she shook her head disappointingly. "This is going to pull you back a hundred times worst."

And it did. You wished you had listened to Lisa because as soon as Sana's eyes landed on yours, her smile faltered and turned into a worried frown. "Not now, Y/N, talk to me when you're sober. And in private."

"I am sober, Sana," you whispered frozen in place, a pang of pain rushing through every nerve end in your body. “Can we talk, please?”

She wouldn’t even look at you. “If you have anything important to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

You felt sick, stomach twisting in more ways than one and a sudden onset of frustration washed over you. “How could you be so cruel?”

She was once the constellations you admired, now the moon weeps at how she dimmed the brightness within you.

“We’re in public!”

“Nobody fucking knows us here,” your frail attempt at choking up your anger was visibly failing. “You know what? Fuck this, whatever. Have a nice life.”

“Y/N, wait,” she seemed taken aback at your outburst, quickly standing up to trail behind you.

“Fuck you, Sana.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The days that followed after your first public appearance became a blur. You were all over the news again, this time, they were all positive things about you (according to your publicists). Many old friends from the industry have been trying to reach out, some wanted to meet up for their own good - however, most were just glad to see you alive and well.

Since your hiatus, you have been away from the public eye; all of your social media accounts remained stagnant. Even the sleaziest paparazzi companies couldn't figure out where you were.

After all, you were and still are one of the biggest names on the industry.

"Here goes nothing," you said as you tapped on the 'share' button. It was a selfie of you in your bedroom - your bookshelf and art collection on the background. The caption was a simple 'this is 34'.

You closed your eyes as you inhaled a deep breath; it was your first post in nearly three years and you feel absolutely terrified. They were definitely going to judge the way you've aged, the books you read and a lot more other things that you should be prepared for and be used to - but you weren't.

Not long after, your phone rang; interrupting (thankfully) you from your dilemma. It was your mum on the other end. "Hey ma," you greet with a grin.

"Your dad, siblings and I wish you the happiest birthday today, my darling. Will you come and see us this year?" she asked with hope in her voice.

"Ma, I was just there last week," you playfully rolled your eyes. "Besides, if I come now, they will figure out where our family home is. And eventually, the public will find out where I live too."

"I know, I know," she hummed. "But you've been celebrating your birthday alone for years now. Why can't you invite your old friends? I'm sure Jongin and Momo and Lisa and Jennie and Jisoo and Jimin and Jungkook and —"

"Okay, okay," you chuckled. "I'm sure they all miss me too but I don't think I'm ready to let people in again. They're all living very busy lives. I enjoy my solitude right now and —" the sound of ringing from your front door cut you off, startled, you moved the phone away from your ear to make sure you weren't hearing things (again). "Uh, there's someone at the front. Must be one of my book deliveries — well, I hope."

"Aren't you gonna open the door?"

"No, why would I? Then they'll find out I live here." However, the doorbell rang once more. "Oh god, what if I accidentally put my location on my Instagram? Ma, I'll call you back."

"Y/N, it's —"

"Bye, I love you!"

You quickly hung up and turned your phone off before padding across your camera room to see who the person on the other side of the door was.

Your breath hitches at the sight of your ex-girlfriend patiently standing outside with a birthday cake on her hand. After a month of not seeing her, your shoulders slumped into a more relaxed state as you take another deep breath; pressing the red button.

"Sana?" you said with hesitation through the speaker. "You have red hair?"

"Hi Y/N," she waved at the camera. Damn that smile. "Happy birthday, please let me in before anyone sees. And yes, I had to dye it for a shoot."

You cleared your throat. "Uh, I'm coming," you walked towards the front door with your lips tucked behind your upper teeth. You pull the wooden door open, revealing the fiery-haired beauty on the other side. Your heart hammers against your chest and your fingers visibly shake as you step away to let her in. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she smiled shyly, looking around your place. "This is a lovely home, Y/N."

"Come," you took the cake off her hands as you walk towards the open kitchen with a view of the forest surrounding your house. "Pretty bold of you to assume caramel is still my favourite."

She frowned. "Is it not?"

You laughed. "No, no, it still is." As soon as you set the cake on the counter, you looked up to meet her gaze. "How did you find me?"

"Your parents," she quickly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, awkwardly wrapping her arms around her loose cardigan. "I called to see how they were doing."

"And why's that?" you curiously raised an eyebrow, attempting to kill the assumption that she missed you in your head.

She took a step closer towards the counter — the only thing separating you away from her. "Because I wanted to find you," she paused, biting her lip. "After the interview, you disappeared. Just like that. No goodbye, no nothing. Why?"

"Why not?" your tone made her flinch, reminding her of the same coldness you showed her in that alleyway.

"We were doing so well...the interview, I thought you would maybe want to catch up —"

"I did, then I remembered how you broke my heart and then many other thoughts came along after that. Remember when you told me there was someone —"

"An obvious lie, Y/N, there was only you."

A sigh escaped your lips as you avoid her eyes. "For years, I made myself believe that it was true just so I could hate you. And not even a year later, Sana, not even a year, you began dating someone else. A fucking CEO out of all people — a guy who was probably busier than most of us combined; that was such a massive slap in the face considering you told me it wasn't working because of our schedules."

"It was —"

You raised a finger, stopping her. "No, I told you to leave and never come back. I told you that, do you remember?"

"I do," she tilted her head carefully, gaze holding that same familiar hurt all those years ago. "I do, and that's the sole reason I refused to knock on your door again for a decade - no matter how much I begged myself to. I couldn't bring myself to, anyway, not after I hurt you."

"So why are you here?" you asked, voice strained.

"Because I'm still deeply in love with you after all these years, because I believe you're the love of my life and I still want to grow old with you. And I want to love you again if you'll let me, Y/N, please. I love you, that's why I'm here.”

You looked up to find tears pooling in Sana's eyes, she turned away before wiping them away with her fingers. All you could hear was the drumming coming from your chest, your head all over the place once again.

You remembered it so vividly, the moment you wanted to marry her...the cherry red box that was sitting untouched in your safe after all these years. And it hurt.

"Say something, please," she sniffled, pleading you with her eyes as she placed her hand on top of yours - her cold skin against yours now lingering for a moment too long.

"Look at me, Sana," you exasperated, arms flinging wide open. "Look at the mess I am. I've been to rehab more than I can count my fingers. I ruined my own reputation and I hurt so many people along the way. There were days where I could barely breathe, days where I wanted it all to stop. And those days still come every now and then. I have pushed everyone away - even my own family. There's a barrier between me and all of the people I love, the gap will always remain because of the things I've done. And you say you want me?"

"I want you, chaos and all. I have loved you all these years...what's so different about now?"

"Do you know how long has it been since our break up?" you scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the tears from coming. "You are in love with the idea of me, not who I am."

"Then let me unravel you once more, Y/N, this is all I'm asking for. I know I walked away when you needed me the most and I'm so fucking sorry, I live with that guilty everyday - god, I was so worried. I didn't sleep for a year when we were 27 because I didn't want to wake up to find out you were dead like everyone else would say. I should've reached out then because I knew that I couldn't live this lifetime without you. I didn't want to, not if you weren't in it. I ask myself why I didn't, but I can never find the right answer. All I know is I'm here now, and I'm never gonna let you slip away ever again."

Your walls began to crumble at her intimate confession. This time, you took both of her hands under yours, unable to stop yourself now. "I was going to marry you but you didn't stick long enough for me to do that."

"W-what?" she stammered, her voice breaking. "You were?"

It felt as if there was a knot wrapping your heart and your chest together, squeezing in a way that it almost hurt to breathe. There were so many thoughts flying through your mind, a million of what would've, could've and should've beens.

She unexpectedly collided her body against yours, making you stumble in your feet. Your hands luckily gripped the edge of the counter, balancing her and you together. Her arms snaked around your waist, engulfing you in a tight embrace as she whispered a million apologies.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, pushing you away with her hands. "Oh my god, how did I fuck this up so bad? I love you so much, why?"

"We both were fuck ups, weren't we?" you chuckled through the tears flowing down your cheeks. "Too young to know how cruel the world was."

"Will you please let me in again, Y/N? Let me fix this. I want you and I want us again. I don't care what they all think.”

"I don't deserve you, Sana, I think I'll only end up hurting you. I've been alone for so long now that if you asked me what love was like, I would only be able to mutter your name and remember what ours was like."

"Like the way I hurt you?" she croaked out, intertwining her fingers with yours - thumb rubbing gentle circles against your cold skin. "We'll work through it, together. I know what I'm walking into, I'm not as naive as I used to be. It won't be easy, but I love you. And I can't let this go - I'll never love again if it's not you."

You braced your hands on her hips, pulling her again. You welcomed her in, arms wrapped around her body - never wanting to let go. You stayed like this for a while; the comfortable silence filling all the missing puzzle pieces in your life. "I'm scared."

"I know," she sighed, rubbing your back with her palms. "I'm here now."

For years, you were lost. But not anymore. She was here now and you were home. Again.

#twice x reader #sana #sana x reader #twice imagines #sana imagines #kpop x reader #twice #minatozaki sana

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realmsturkishdelight · 4 months ago

Text

summertime sadness.

pairings ; jj maybank x female reader

warnings ; angst , cursing , i don't know exact dates of his death so i made it up , mentions of using weed , dying.

[ 07/06/20 ]

"can you not press the camera to my face, please?" jj mumbled, a lazy smile on his face even though he was trying to be serious. you only chuckled, capturing his sweet, relaxed and handsome features in your retro camera.

"you're makin' me regret that i got you that, sweetheart." he added, but you only pushed his blonde hair away, smiling. "get up sleepyhead." you murmured.

"no." he turned his head away from the camera. you shaked your head at his antics, sitting on his back and recording his face from the other side. "jesus," he chuckled.

you laughed softly, laying on his back and turning the camera so that it can film both of you, your cheek pressed to jj's head. he looked like he was smashed under you, altough your weight bringed nothing but comfort to him.

"you're gonna be a pain in my ass with that thing, i get it." he joked.

[ 15/07/21 ]

"you guys see that stupid blonde over there? yeah, that's my man." you mumbled to camera with a grin, filming jj doing stupid stuff on his surfboard, laughing and being the annoying yet fun self he is.

your boyfriend had this effect where all of the pogues acted like they were annoyed by his antics, but couldn't live without him anyways. especially you, you were his favorite person, he annoyed you more than anyone, yet you wouldn't be able to live if he didn't do it one day.

"y/n!" he yelled, making the whole beach hear. you didn't mind, dating jj meant you slowly lose the feeling of being shy. you zoomed camera, watching his smiling face more close now, waving at you.

you waved back behind the camera. "this is for you!" he yelled, doing a backflip on the surfboard, getting in the water.

"yeah, that's mine." you whispered, giggling.

[ 01/08/21 ]

"not that again," he groaned softly, smiling as you pulled out the camera to record the sweet moment you both had.

it was a lazy august morning, where jj crashed over at your place because he couldn't stay away from you too long, and you both woke up together. he was all cuddled up on you, the fan in your room creating a small breeze so that you guys could at least get some air in the boring warmth.

"you got this cam for me to film us, j." you giggled, playing with his hair as you recorded both of you from up, showing your smile and his body layed on you.

"yeah but i didn't thought you'd do this often." he chuckled, looking at the camera and squinting his face in mock disgust. you pinched his cheek, smiling.

"well, you often make me wanna remember our moments forever." you murmured, and he melted.

[ 13/08/21 ]

"we're high as fuck," jj chuckled when you opened your camera to record you guys getting wasted in twinkie, just the two of you, in the quiet night.

"i can't even open my eyes properly," you laughed and he joined you, resting his head on your shoulder. "you managed to open the record, that's good." he said.

"hi guys," you murmured with a slight groggy voice like you just woke up, showing the joint in your hands that jj rolled skillfully. "another day, another weed, but this time it's kiara's stuff."

"she makes the best weed, i swear." jj mumbled, taking the joint from you after you got a drag, taking one himself. you giggled when he blowed to camera.

"you guys should get high with us." he joked.

"what if we show this to our kids?" you murmured, and it was just a thought you had with your high mind. yet, it warmed jj's heart.

"y'think our kids will be saints? all sober n' shit?" he said softly with a cheeky grin. "nah baby, that's not my gene."

[ 05/06/22 ]

it was a bonfire night at the chateau, everyone drinking, smoking and having fun. the star of the night was of course, your boyfriend jj.

you opened the camera and began recording him singing songs, with his whole heart, pointing you at the romantic lyrics.

"who even showed you taylor swift?" sarah laughed next to you, drinking her beer under john b's arm.

"you ask?" you giggled, and it made everyone laugh.

"what? i'll be a swiftie for my girl," jj grinned, blowing you, and the camera, a kiss.

[ 15/08/24 ]

"hello folks, this is jj recording to my amazing girlfriend's camera." jj grinned and waved, recording himself from a low angle, yet he still looked pretty.

he was in your room, in your bed while you worked in the shop today, probably helping kiara organize things. his elbows were on his knees, his signature hat on his head.

"there's been a lotta shit goin' on, so she couldn't record for a while." he explained. "we stayed in an island, john b and sarah lost their dads, i found out that my father wasn't my blood father, and i had kook origins." he raised his brows and laughed at the irony of it.

"and now, m'gonna search some gold with my biological dad, which is ironic, i guess." he grinned.

"but, i jus' wanted to record this for my lovely kids in the future, and for my sweet girl to watch if somethin' happens to me." he smiled, yet it was a weak one.

"baby," he murmured. "you live a life you don't deserve in sake of me, and m'sorry that lovin' me has brought you many problems, and we couldn't be a normal teenage couple." he scratched the bridge of his nose.

"n'that we fought with guys who had guns instead of goin' surfing and punching kooks." he chuckled. "but.. i wouldn't wanna do this with other people y'know? you're my favorite person in the world, and m'selfishly happy that we've been through a lot at least together."

"wow m'bein' too sentimental, and it would be really awkward for you to watch this if some dramatic shit didn't happened to me," he chuckled, clearing his throat.

he looked at the camera like he was looking at you, all puppy eyed, his baby blue's shining and his smile so wide and geniune. "m'about to head off to help groff, and i don't have much time to talk more about my undying feelings for you, but jus' know that you're the best thing happened to me. and even if we can't become a kook, i'll happily die as a pogue as long as i got you."

he kissed the camera, grinning. "love from papa j." he winked, closing the record.

[ 18.34 ]

your tears dropped to the screen, and your fingertips caressed his smiling face. you guys made it alive from morocco, expect the guy you loved more than anything.

it was like they took a part from you, his own fathers betrayal turning your life in a living hell in minutes. jj was the dead one, yet you didn't felt like you were living. in the end, which one was the hard one anyway? leaving, or staying?

you opened the camera for one last time, your puffy and red lips, red eyes from crying reflecting in the screen, showing how much of a mess you were.

it was the last time you'd use this, because you lost the one person that made you feel alive, and so happy that you wanted all of your memories to stay forever.

[ 20/08/24 ]

you sniffled, and your tears falled to screen, your voice being a weak whisper. "i love you jj."

༝༚༝༚

#im not okay #jj maybank #obx season 4 #obx #obx fanfiction #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine

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sugarlywhispers · 5 months ago

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Thinking about Pro Hero!Dynamight and Pro Hero!Lavagirl!Reader's children.

Both heroes are desperately hurrying their way towards a scene after receiving a call that their children, Bakugou Saori, their girl of 7 years old, and Bakugou Kei, their little boy of 5 years old, are being held hostage by a villain.

The scumbag recognized them on their school visit to an aquarium with their respective classes, and took the chance.

It was inevitable that people would recognize them. They are the children of two of the most powerful heroes of this generation.

The villain thought it would be easy to capture them and hold them until he got what he wanted from their parents; they are children, it's a piece of cake!

However, he didn't count on the possibility that these kids… these fucking kids already developed their Quirks!

The little girl turns out to be a pain in the villain's ass, as she keeps exploding lava rocks in her little hands and throws them at the villain's face, burning him. And well, the little boy isn't a saint either as he keeps spraying some kind of water from his little hands towards the villain, but with a little clap the fucking “water” turned into lava.

The villain feels in literal agony with these two troublesome kids. But it is until he manages a slap hard on the little girl's face that makes them both finally cooperate.

Saori, of course, resembles a lot of characteristics of her father. Her hair is blonde, almond-shaped eyes that give her a piercing kind of stare, like her dad –if she wasn't a toddler, that stare would make more than one person piss their pants. Little Kei, on the other hand, is all you. Big round and curious eyes that look excited at everything, and your same hair color.

But where Saori looks a lot like her dad, she has details that resemble her mother, you. While Saori's hair is blonde, it cascades down her small back smoothly and beautifully like her mother's. While her eyes are the same shape her father's are, they are not red. They are a beautiful mix of yours and Katsuki's. Where little Kei's hair is the same color as yours, it is an exact copy of his father's spiky style. And while his eyes are round and big as yours, they are as deep red as his dad's.

When it comes to personality, well… Saori is clearly Katsuki's child. Yet toned down a bit thanks to your influence as a mom. She is a good girl, a daddy's girl. And of course she plays –a bit roughly in your opinion– with her dad, involving Katsuki holding her upside down by one foot and her laughing her little lungs out, enjoying it. But when she gets very angry, it's clearly Katsuki's heated blood in there (you always send Katsuki to deal with the little demon when she gets like that). Little Kei, on the contrary, is all you. Kind, chill, mommy's boy, a saint-like little boy who loves to follow butterflies around holding your hand as you follow him too (and a shameless thief –because yes, he has stolen you from Katsuki at times).

It's Saori's personality that has her yelling at the villain, “My dad will kick your ass hard!!”, tears running down her cheeks, one of them clearly bright red from the slap, while hugging her little brother in protection.

And even though little Kei is crying too, he also yells, "Yeah!! And it's going to hurt!"

They warned the villain. And they were entirely right.

The moment Pro Hero Dynamight and Pro Hero Y/H/N arrived at the scene, it's chaos.

The only thing in this set of parents' minds is to get back their kids. No fucking matter how. To have them in their arms, safe and sound. Dynamight doesn't fucking care if his explosion goes a bit harder than it should. And Y/H/N doesn't fucking care if your lava burns the villain's skin alive, when you directed a whip towards him, circling his arm and pulling him back from trying to avoid Dynamight's fire.

It all happens strenuously fast.

You feel the air finally enter your lungs once you hold both of your kids in your arms. Both kids crying, “Mommy!!” while their little arms surround your neck.

“It's okay, my loves, you're okay,” you hold back your own cry, but your eyes are clearly filled with tears, “Mom and Dad are here.”

You immediately feel Katsuki's big arms surround you three in a hug from the other side. He kisses each kid over their heads, closing his eyes and breathing their scent deep. They are fine. They are finally safe. All of you are in his arms, safe.

The children turn around and also hug their dad crying. Katsuki doesn’t say anything, he simply holds them, knowing fully well they need to feel protected. He turns his face a bit and lovingly pecks Kei's chubby and wet from his tears cheek. But when he turns to do the same to Saori, she yelps at the contact and that's when he notices her little cheek red, turning purple-ish.

Bakugou Katsuki sees red.

He kisses the little girl's forehead, before grunting, “Take the kids away, Y/N.”

You know that tone in his voice. You don't wait a second before picking up both kids and sliding away with your lava. Away from the grotesque scene you know your husband is about to create thanks to the hard and bloody beating Katsuki is going to give to that villain.

You hope the signal you gave Izuku is enough to make him understand that they will need to hold Katsuki back. Because if they don't, he's soooo going to kill the villain.

a.n; a head is going to roll on the ground lol🤭

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cressidagrey · 4 days ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 12

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose. Also Discussion of toxic media/fandom/death threats.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando sat on the couch, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. Lizzie, curled up next to him with Mara at her feet, noticed his thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. She nudged him with her knee.

"Alright, what is it? Did Max send you another cursed meme?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. There was something going on. Something that he hadn't told her yet.

She had learned to read Lando well enough to pick up on these kinds of unsaid cues. The way he looked, the way he smiled, his eyes just so crinkling at the corners...she knew exactly the titl of his head, the way the right corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile when he read something funny on his phone...She knew.

And she treasured all these tiny details, hoarded them like a dragon did to it's gold.

Lando huffed a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Worse."

Lizzie's eyebrows furrowed, concern creasing her forehead. That wasn't good. "Worse? What's worse than Max Verstappen's questionable taste in humor?" she asked, trying to infuse some humour into the situation, but Lando didn't seem interested in that.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, you know how I sent that picture of Mara in her Ferrari bandana to Charles?"

Lizzie's face lit up as she nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes, how could I forget? The cutest picture I've ever seen."

Her dog was the most adorable dog to ever grace this earth, thank you very much. (She was very much certain that every dog owner had thought that at one moment in time, but she was correct!)

Lando chuckled and pulled her into his side. She breathed in the scent that was simply him, something fresh and warm and so utterly Lando...feeling his body warmth seep into her, through the thin shirt he was wearing. "Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that a thousand times," he teased. "But you’ll never guess what happened when Charles showed that picture to his girlfriend."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What, did she think it was so cute it gave her a heart attack?" she joked. Not that she could fault Charles' girlfriend if that was indeed the case.

"She recognized Mara," Lando said drily. That was not what Lizzie had expected. Actually that was the last thing she had expected. "Alexandra Saint Mleux," Lando said, watching her reaction carefully. "is apparently a Lizzie Treshton superfan."

Lizzie’s eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?" she asked, a mix of shock and amusement coloring her voice. Really? "A F1 WAG read my books?"

"Not just her," Lando said, shaking his head. "All of them. And they’ve decided they need to meet you. Effective immediately."

Lizzie stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"So what, they started plotting?" she teased.

"Plotting would be an understatement," Lando said, amused. "I have been forcefully added to the WAG council group chat, and they are demanding that I bring you to a race."

The mere idea of being in a group chat with the wives and girlfriends of Formula 1’s elite sounded like a scene straight out of a fanfiction, but apparently it was her real life now.

"There’s a WAG council?" She asked, shocked besides herself. That sounded...actually, she had no idea what that sounded like.

"Apparently."

"That’s amazing," Lizzie said, still giggling.

Lando made a face. "It’s terrifying."

Lizzie bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Demanding might be a strong word, though, right?"

"Oh, no," Lando corrected, his expression deadly serious. "There were threats, bribes, and full capital letters. Also, they all want signed copies of Seasons of Fate."

Lizzie let out a soft oh of understanding before shaking her head with a grin. "You know, I really didn’t think this was how our relationship was going to get outed," she said drily. Really. This was really not what she had had in mind.

"Neither did I," Lando admitted. "But the WAGs are apparently above no tactics when it comes to getting their hands on signed books."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity only growing. "So, what exactly did they say?"

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Well, for starters, Alex offered to ‘whore out her Ferrari golden boy boyfriend’ if it meant getting you to Silverstone."

Lizzie cackled. "She said that?"

"Verbatim," Lando confirmed, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. "And apparently, Charles will sign whateveryou want if he doesn’t want to be murdered in his sleep."

She burst out in laughter at that.

"Well, that sounds like... quite the deal," she said, trying desperately to stay serious. "I don’t know whether to be concerned or find it hilariously absurd."

Lando smirked, clearly amused by the situation. "It’s a lot of both," he assured her. "But they're not afraid to play dirty." He grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you before this all blows up. I know we haven’t exactly been hiding, but we also haven’t been, you know, public."

Lizzie sobered slightly, understanding what he was getting at. "You’re worried about what happens when people know."

He nodded. "It’s just… your life is already busy, and the last thing I want is for my world to make things harder for you. The fans, the media, the scrutiny—it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel pressured into dealing with that."

Her heart painfully constricted, her expression softened, because it was clear that Lando was worried about this. "I appreciate that," she said sincerely. "But, Lando… I’ve been dealing with fan and media attention for a while now. I thinkI can handle it."

Lando frowned slightly. "Yeah, but F1 media is different. It’s relentless. They’ll speculate about everything, dig through your old tweets, try to twist things. Hell, they’re probably going to turn Mara into some kind of meme."

Lizzie smirked. "I mean, she is an icon. It’s about time the world recognizes it."

Lando groaned. "Lizzie."

She laughed before squeezing his hand. "Look, I won’t pretend it won’t be overwhelming. But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending we’re just… nothing."

"You know that they’ll be hounding your every move?" he warned her, his voice tinged with concern. "The fans can be ruthless, the media is relentless, and the tabloids—well, they make up their own storylines."

She nodded. "I won’t lie, I know it’s going to be overwhelming. I mean, I have seen what happens when the internet latches onto F1 relationships. But I also know I don’t want to pretend we’re just… nothing. You make me happy, and I don’t want to hide that."

Lando was silent for a moment, his eyes meeting Lizzie's. His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of her hand as he seemed lost in thought.

“You make me happy too,” he told her, his voice soft. “But they’ll…they’re going to dissect every little thing. If you don’t come to a race, we’ll probably be at the brink of a break up. If you do come, they’ll write ridiculous headlines of you stealing the spotlights. They are going to speculate on how long we’ve been together, probably even come up with wild conspiracy theories..."

She could hear it in his voice, how much it stressed him...how uch even just the thought of people doing that to their relationship was hurting him.

"Hey," she said softly. "I’m a bestselling fantasy author, Lando. People come up with wild conspiracy theories about my books on a daily basis. I can handle it."

Lando chuckled at that. "Fair point," he admitted, conceding her argument. The tension in his shoulders eased some. "I just…I want you to be sure,” Lando said hesitantly. “The Formula One fandom is another level when it comes to speculating about relationships. And some fans are bloody mental. I have literally received death threats, and I am not the only one. And the media? They are going to be relentless. They’ll ask questions about you at every race, they’ll bring up your epilepsy, they’ll try to spin things."

Lizzie knew that. She was very much aware of that. But Lizzie had lived with her epilepsy for nearly all her life. She already had heard every single horrible thing somebody could say about that.

Now it would be more of the same. Simply on a bigger stage.

Was it scary? Yes.

Did she care? Not really.

So Lizzie simply squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. I’m not naive. And I won’t pretend it doesn’t scare me a little. But I also know I don’t want to let fear dictate my life. We’re in this together, right?"

"Of course, we are."

Lizzie leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "Then let’s do it."

Lando grinned, all traces of his earlier tension disappearing. "You’re braver than me," he said, pulling her closer so he could kiss her forehead. "Are you sure you’re ready for this circus?"

A mischievous glint flashed in Lizzie's eyes. "Honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing about a war between magical races, it’s that I can handle whatever comes my way."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at her audacity. "You’re something else, you know that?" he said warmly.

"Yes," she said, grinning. "So, you’ll take me to Silverstone?"

"I was supposed to be the one inviting you, you know," Lando muttered, feigning exasperation.

Lizzie just smirked. "Too slow, Norris. Let’s do it. If the WAGs want signed books, I might as well hand-deliver them."

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But the moment we walk into the paddock together, the internet is going to explode."

Lizzie leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "Then let’s give them a show, shall we?"

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b14augrana · 8 months ago

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Ad Astra Per Aspera

Nothing gold can stay

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 3 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. this chapter in specific discusses themes of abuse and alcoholism.

A/N: the long awaited part 2 to ‘ad astra per aspera’! this took a lot of thinking and scrapped passages to really get this on point, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

"You’re early today!”

You smiled halfheartedly at Magdalene and Dani’s teacher, nodding at her. “Yeah, uh, I’ve gotta get to work a bit earlier today so…”

“Not a problem, I’ll see you later,” the woman responded. You gave Magdalene and Dani one last hug before returning to your car, having hope that you’d finally be early to training for once and go the day without being berated by Alexia.

You didn’t want to relive the other night’s training, not in your mind, and definitely not in person. With you, Alexia was a completely different person to the patron saint of Barça that everyone painted her as. You wanted to change that and show her you weren’t as irresponsible and careless as she thought you out to be, but you couldn’t.

It was a relief to see the training pitch parking lot barely populated as it came into sight. There was maybe two cars, which meant you were on time. How incredible.

Before every training, a hopeful feeling swelled inside of you — one of happiness, because you saw football as a means of enjoyment and something to look forward to when all else came crashing down in your life. It was short lived of course, but like a phoenix, it always came back one way or another. Were you wrong for believing in your sport to help you?

"(Y/N), you're early.. for once."

You knew that voice all too well. There was a surprised tone that Alexia's voice held as she spoke, and you knew she expected you to show up late once again if not miss practice completely.

"Yeah, surprise," you replied dully, sitting down on the bench to put your boots on.

"Why are you early?" she asked, and it was a bit of a stupid question.

'Well, after you yelled at me in front of everybody the other day, I decided that if I have to drop all three of my siblings off to school, I might as well do it as early as possible so I don't have to worry about getting screamed at and humiliated at half past nine in the morning!'

"Dropped my siblings off earlier today," you mumbled instead, eyes fixated on the ground as you spoke. You were sure that eventually, your fear would be the one to corrupt your family completely, but you couldn't tell Alexia; it was equivalent to opening yourself up to her, being vulnerable even after trying so hard to maintain a tough front.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow just barely raised but her mouth idle. You cinched your laces tightly and sprung to your feet, very aware of her gaze fixed on you as you grabbed a ball from the bag and dribbled it over to the nearest wall, preparing for the training session ahead.

More of the team started to file through the pitch gates. You could hear their bags dropping to the ground as you passed against the wall, and as Mapi passed behind you she squeezed your shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, (Y/N),” she said, a smile on her face.

For once, as training started, you didn’t feel dreadful. You were excited and motivated by the good start to the morning, which showed in the newfound pep in your step and enthusiasm around the pitch.

After a long while, the sun began to set, which indicated the end of training. You sat down at the bench, unlacing your boots and trading them for sandals. Unexpectedly, Alexia sat down beside you, saying, “Good job today. You did well.”

“Graciés,” you responded, standing up while slinging your bag over your shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

She watched you leave through the gates, her eyes unwavering on your figure disappearing around the corner.

You lived next to a lovely elderly lady named Margalida. She was a sweet woman, always saying bon día and bona tarda to you and your siblings whenever she saw you. Sometimes, after you returned from training and picked up your siblings, she invited you four into her home to share pastries with her. You always accepted, of course, because it was much better than subjecting yourself to the olfactory assault that was your home, and she was also a widow that you figured needed some company from time to time.

When you weren't home, you couldn't monitor your mother's behaviour; praying that it would stay somewhat normal would have to suffice. You didn’t know whether Margalida knew about the true nature of your household or if she thought you were all naturally raucous.

You pulled into the driveway, parking the car as the doors opened and your siblings got out of the car. “(Y/N),” Magdalene said slowly, imploring you to look at her curiously. “Who are those people?” she pointed ahead, and that’s when you noticed Margalida at your doorstep, alongside two police officers and another woman. She looked like a regular office worker, but you weren’t an idiot; she was obviously a social worker, which could only mean one thing. A bad thing.

"You three stay in the car for a bit, okay? I'm gonna go talk to these people," you said to your siblings, motioning to the car as you turned around again and walked towards the people.

You felt nothing but dread in your gut as you approached them. One of the cops, who was talking to a distressed looking Margalida, looked at you and began to speak. "Miss (Y/L/N)?"

You nodded slowly, "Before we talk, can I just send my siblings inside?"

"That won't be possible," the officer said, making you raise an eyebrow, "...Because we're here regarding a call about a person inside, which we now know isn't you."

"I heard yelling from inside," Margalida added. "It was loud, and– and it sounded like there was crashing, from things being thrown around."

She took a deep breath, looking at you sympathetically. "I thought one of you was being hurt, so I called the police."

"I know your situation with the..." she paused, gesturing to the rubbish bin. You spun around, your eyes widening at the sight of it. Cans and bottles galore filled the bin to the brim, threatening to spill out. You could count at least ten, and that was only at the surface of the deep bin. You could recall the rubbish being collected just a few days ago, and now it was basically full.

She looked at you, her eyes pitiful. You hated it, so much; pity made you feel like a kid, and it angered you that the only time you got to relive any sort of childishness was when someone noticed you were suffering, not because you actually had the liberty to behave like one again. Where was the pity when you actually were a kid, having to wake up and stay afloat to support three other kids?

"Who else lives here, other than you and your — I'm assuming — siblings?" the other cop asked.

"My mother. My dad left a few years ago," you mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Is she home right now?" he asked, and you nodded. "Yeah. She's probably asleep, so if you did knock on the door, that's why nobody opened it."

"Asleep or blacked out?" his partner suddenly added. You looked at him, clenching your jaw as you shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I've been at work all day."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a footballer."

"For FC Barcelona?"

"Buy a ticket and maybe you'll find out."

You ended up sitting across from the two officers and the social worker in a dingy, dark room scarcely furnished with only a table, three chairs and a dirty window to accessorise it. This time, the woman did most of the talking while the cops just surveyed the conversation. Magdalene, Dani and Lorenzo were sitting in the waiting room of the station — you didn't want to drag them along, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your family history that might correspond with the things reported to us today?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"My dad left when I was, I think.. 13. Cheated on my mum and left us all for another woman. My mum, uh, got out of control. She didn't take it well," you replied, not looking up once as your gaze was fixed on the chestnut-stained, chipped table.

"I see. Well, from the contents of the rubbish bin, I presume her coping had something to do with alcohol," the woman said. As if her apathy hadn't been obvious from the start, it was dripping off her every word and showing her true intents; not to help you, but to get this over and done with and throw your siblings into foster care, then consider her job done and get paid for it.

You nodded at her claim nonetheless, picking at the paint of the table. "Yeah."

"Have you or your siblings ever been subject to abuse, from either of your parents?" she continued

"No no, absolutely not, they never hit–"

"I'm not just talking about physical abuse, (Y/N)," she interrupted. It was the first time of the entire questioning you had looked up as you met her gaze, your eyes saying more than your mouth ever could.

"It was just a few arguments,” you responded coldly.

“When we asked Margalida, your neighbour, about if there’s been any incidents like this, she said there has been. Yelling, screaming, and lots of it,” the woman told you. “How many arguments are you considering a few, (Y/N)?”

The table shook from the impact of your hand slamming it sharply as you shot to your feet. "If you consider a couple arguments to be verbal abuse, go ahead. My mum is hurt and angry, very angry about her husband leaving her, so yeah, she drinks and we argue about it!"

"Listen, please sit down. I understand that you and your siblings are troubled children but–"

"I hate being a– I hate that term, 'troubled kid', you know? We aren't troubled! If we were troubled, wouldn't we be dead? Wouldn't we be troubled by an inability to continue living in these conditions, these... ruins?"

Silence. You sat down once again, your head in your hands.

"Do you have another location you can stay at?" she asked you. You shook your head, the feeling of dread burying itself deeper in your gut.

"Unfortunately, we will have to place your siblings in foster care. The living conditions are unsafe and unstable for kids their age to be living in," the social worker finished.

You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to sob and sob and sob, harder than you ever have, but the tears wouldn't summon.

"There is another option," she spoke slowly, making you immediately look up from the darkness your palms shrouded you in.

"...we contact your father and see if he wants to look after them."

It sounded just as bad as placing them into foster care. Now, you wanted to scream in her face and call her utterly stupid for assuming that a man who abandoned his kids would want to take care of them years later to keep them out of the foster system. Why on God's green earth would he want to reap the consequences of his infidelity?

"Are you hard of hearing?" you scoffed. "Yeah, so, I said earlier that he left us years ago for another woman, you know, to make another family. He didn't want us."

"He's the only other option at the moment. Unless your mother can be moved to a rehabilitation center in sufficient enough time, and you become their legal guardians, they will end up with foster families. Possibly not even the same one."

The news weighed on you like bricks. It was all so much, you couldn't think straight and contemplate possible outcomes and solutions. You put your elbows on your table and held your head in your hands once again, taking a deep breath.

"Can I at least find someone myself who's willing to foster? Someone I know?" you asked, your tone being nothing short of desperate.

She took a moment to respond, and it was probably the most nerve-wracking few seconds of your life, until the ultimatum was spoken.

"I suppose, yes. That is basically the whole principle of fostering, so I see no issue. Until then, they will be placed in a temporary home before we start looking for a permanent family. A pair of officers have gone to detain your mother and we'll review the information from this questioning to determine whether she should be charged or put straight into a rehabilitation program."

"Thank you," you almost cried, your body relaxing from the little bit of relief and reassurance you had just received. There was still a possibility that you could get your siblings back.

The problem standing in your way now was, you didn't know anyone willing to foster. You had no idea who you'd turn to, and it actually made you realise that you were pretty alone in this whole ordeal, and life in general. You really did have nobody but yourself, and clearly there came a time where that wouldn't be enough.

"Magda, Dani, Enzo, come on. We're going now," you said as the door of the interrogation room swung open. You beckoned at the kids, who stood up and ran to you, following you out of the door.

You didn't want to go home yet, just in case the officers were still there and you'd arrive to the horrible scene of your drunkard mother getting dragged of her own house by the authorities, so you drove to the training pitch. You were in search of one person in particular, and hoping to avoid another one.

Parking the car in the same spot you had parked in the same morning, you quickly got out of the car and ushered the kids onto the pitch to play for a little bit while you went into the gym.

As soon as you walked through the automatic glass doors, the person you were searching for was stretching on a yoga mat, her resistance bands discarded above her head.

She sat up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion and concern, probably achieved from your sorrowful expression.

"Vicky, I need your help. Now."

#fc barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #fcb femení #woso #woso community #woso angst #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona x reader #futfem #ad astra per aspera

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aashi-heartfilia · 1 year ago

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What MaoMao feels for Jinshi...

(Vol 5 epilogue discussion)

Love, duh. She wouldn't let just anyone choke her to death. Isn't it obvious? She just doesn't realise it yet because of her repressed emotions. I've seen a lot of bad takes and people hating on the Vol 5 epilogue, saying it's one heck of a disaster but honestly, it's not. Here's why:

I think it does a very good job of humanizing Jinshi, the imperial brother. Before this point, we were always given a picture perfect image of Jinshi, in his most angelic form...but after seeing this, it looks like he's very much capable of murder, lol. No seriously!

Previously, Jinshi was always all sunshine and roses and this is the first time we see a pinnacle of his anger and frustration taking a form.

Honestly, anyone would be angry. Jinshi has done so much for MaoMao and almost everyone close to him knows that he has eyes on her and only her from pretty early on in the series and only MaoMao is the one person who seems to be in the dark. Or more precisely pretending to be in the dark.

She is literally running away from her own feelings and that's what made Jinshi so frustrated.

It was the same thing in the 'Frogging chapter' (yeah, that's what we're calling it). She was "playing the role of an ignorant maid who's in the dark as to what her supiriors are upto". Jinshi was trying to tell MaoMao that he is the imperial brother and he does in fact like her but that never happened because MaoMao kept pretending that it was a frog.

Same here, even if he didn't say it outright, he was dropping so many hints! Who else could have gifted MaoMao a Moon hairpin? Who would have given her beautiful dresses to wear in the banquet?

Jinshi is called the Moon Prince for a reason and that hairpin had a moon and opium poppy. even other people recognised that it was given by him to MaoMao like Rishu's half sister, so a smartass person like Mao should be able to guess that this was all from Jinshi.

The same person who's busy day and night made preparations for her, only to see some unknown random person dancing with her and kissing her hand.

He was jealous and it's only human.

In fact, I'm glad that he's not a complete saint.

He was mad at MaoMao for pretending to be in the dark when he has gone to great lengths to take care of her, and he was hurt that the same person would even suggest him to marry someone else, i.e. consort Rishu.

He was trying to tell her how he feels, and she wasn't even willing to acknowledge anything that is between them.

Adding to the fact, she knew the thing between Basen and Rishu and yet she chose to turn a blind eye, to the love that could blossom between them and suggested her name to Jinshi. It was wrong on so many levels because MaoMao knew everything and yet chose to give the most political suggestion she could think of.

Maybe because of her repressed emotions, she herself has become heartless while making decisions but just like a double edged sword, it has consequences.

So it was a mixture of anger, hurt and jealousy for Jinshi.

And he wanted MaoMao to feel the same.

The same amount of frustration he has felt as MaoMao keeps running away, just because it would be a little troublesome.

Yeah, he's shitty just like that, and so is she.

(and we love them for it ❤️)

Does it justify what he did? No. But it seems like MaoMao herself doesn't even mind it that much. She looked like well within her comfort zone. Otherwise, we know how capable she is of defending herself. But she was there, pretty much sitting with Jinshi until she dominated him completely and made her escape.

Guess they're both far from the vanilla couple that are usually expected in these kinds of series and I absolutely love it.

She was just mad he didn't poison her instead, like he promised her, to which he replied he would NEVER let her poison herself (because he also loves her a lot too, duh)

This entire scene looks more like a battle for sexual dominance, which MaoMao won.

She always has, since the very first day he saw the real her ❤️

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thedensworld · 2 months ago

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Fortune Teller Confession | C.HS

Pairing: BandMemberHansol! x reader (ft. Best friend Soonyoung)

Genre: fluff, angst, friend to lover au!

Summary: No confession—no gig success. His logic-driven mind convinces him that it’s a harmless choice to make a confession over a fortune teller words, not realizing the emotional weight it carries.

Hansol watched as you walked out of the classroom, a little too quickly for his liking. You didn’t glance back, didn’t slow down, and didn’t even pause when Soonyoung called your name with a hopeful grin. Next to him, Soonyoung's face twisted into a pout.

“Again?” Soonyoung muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “She didn’t even look at me.” He sighed like it was a personal betrayal.

Hansol frowned, his gaze lingering on the door you’d just left through. It wasn’t like you to avoid them — at least, not for this long. He tried to think back to the last time he’d had a proper conversation with you.

Five days ago?

A week?

It felt longer. Your schedule had been packed lately, full of classes, projects, and other commitments. But even when you were busy, you'd at least send a nod or a small wave. Lately, though, it felt like you were actively avoiding them.

Soonyoung tilted his head toward Hansol as they started walking down the corridor toward the campus cafeteria. “Tell me honestly,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did you do something to her?”

Hansol shot him a confused look. “Why do you think it was me?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Soonyoung shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because it’s definitely not me. I would never make her mad.”

“Oh, right, because you’re a saint,” Hansol muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Not a saint, but I know how to keep my friends happy,” Soonyoung quipped, tapping his temple like he had it all figured out. “You, on the other hand, are... well…” He paused for dramatic effect, giving Hansol a once-over. “...an obnoxious person. So you wouldn’t even realize if you hurt somebody’s feelings.”

Hansol stopped walking. “That’s way too much to say to a friend,” he said, his brows pulling together in disbelief.

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” Soonyoung raised his hands in surrender, clearly not looking for a fight. He patted Hansol on the back. “But, you know, I’m just saying — think about it.”

Hansol didn’t respond, but the words lingered like an itch in the back of his mind. Had he done something? If he had, wouldn’t you have told him?

They reached the cafeteria and got in line to order food. As they waited, the familiar noise of clattering trays, snippets of conversations, and the faint hum of a pop song filled the air.

Soonyoung glanced at Hansol while tapping his fingers against the counter. “How’s the gig prep going?” he asked. “You nervous?”

Hansol glanced up at him. “of course,” he admitted. “I feel like if I’m nervous, it means I’m doing something right.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Soonyoung said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Sometimes, being a little nervous is good. Like when I apologized to my sister.”

Hansol raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “You actually apologized to her? You?” he asked, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Soonyoung said, waving him off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He grabbed his food tray from the counter. “It was tough, but I’m glad I did it.”

Hansol tilted his head, still grinning. “Did something change between you two?”

Soonyoung nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of rice before answering. “Yeah, things are better now. I stopped getting ‘the glare’ every time I walked past her room.” He swallowed, then leaned in slightly, as if letting Hansol in on a secret. “I’m telling you, it’s because I listened to the fortune teller.”

Two weeks ago, Soonyoung had dragged Hansol to the hottest fortune teller near the campus gate. It wasn’t entirely random — their friend Jun had given the place a glowing five-star review, swearing that he got a girlfriend after following every bit of advice the fortune teller had given him.

“Bro, five stars,” Jun had said, eyes wide with conviction. “I did exactly what she said, and boom — I’m dating Yejin now.”

That was all the motivation Soonyoung needed. As the self-proclaimed “saddest single person in the world,” he decided it was finally time to seek help from the mystical forces of fate. Whether it was for entertainment or genuine desperation, Hansol wasn’t sure. But somehow, Soonyoung managed to drag him along.

The fortune teller’s place was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of incense. Strings of beads framed the doorway, and the glow of warm, golden light made everything feel surreal. The fortune teller, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a silk scarf tied around her head, welcomed them like she had been expecting them all day.

Soonyoung, full of energy, sat forward like a student ready to ace an exam. Hansol, on the other hand, leaned back, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with mild amusement.

After a short reading, the fortune teller told Soonyoung, “Your relationship with your sister is the mirror of your relationship with women.”

That got Soonyoung’s attention. He sat up straighter, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

“You must mend that relationship,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “If you do, the reflection will change, and so will your luck.”

She handed him three steps to repair the bond with his sister, each one oddly specific. Hansol didn’t remember all of them, but one was definitely “buy her something without expecting anything in return.”

Now, two weeks later, Soonyoung was beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“As you know,” Soonyoung said, eyes glinting with excitement as he jabbed his chopsticks toward Hansol, “Mina from the Broadcasting major actually replied to my DM. No one ever does that.”

Hansol glanced up from his tray, raising a brow in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes way!” Soonyoung grinned, pointing at himself. “I’m telling you, man, the fortune teller knows her stuff.”

Hansol couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head as a small chuckle slipped out. “That’s actually amazing, bro. I’m happy for you.”

“Right? Right?” Soonyoung beamed, clearly riding the high of his "success." But then his eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on Hansol. “Wait. What about you?”

Hansol blinked, confused. “What about me?”

“You,” Soonyoung said, eyes sharp with suspicion. “Have you done that yet?”

Right after Soonyoung’s session ended, the fortune teller had stopped them just as they were about to leave. Her gaze had locked on Hansol like she could see straight through him.

“Wait,” she had said, tilting her head as if something invisible had just come into focus. “You have something unresolved too.”

Hansol had paused mid-step, frowning as he glanced at her. “Me?”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “There’s a blockage in your energy,” she said, her voice calm but certain. “It’s tied to your music career.”

That had caught his attention.

“Soon, you will stand in front of a large crowd of people,” she continued, her hands hovering over her cards. “But something will go wrong — a technical malfunction, perhaps.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “If you want to avoid it, you must remove the blockage.”

Hansol raised an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

The fortune teller’s lips curled into a small smile. “Confess,” she said simply. “You must confess your feelings to the person you like.”

Soonyoung’s gasp was so loud it could have shattered glass. His head whipped toward Hansol, eyes wide with unfiltered shock and excitement. “YOU LIKE SOMEONE?!” he whisper-shouted, like it was the biggest secret in the world.

Hansol shot him a glare, his face twisting in disbelief. “I don’t.”

“Then why is she telling you to confess?” Soonyoung said, practically bouncing in place. He squinted at Hansol, leaning in with all the intensity of a detective interrogating a suspect. “Who is it? Who do you like?”

Hansol waved him off, already walking toward the door. “I don’t like anyone,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “She’s just making stuff up.”

“Pffft,” Soonyoung scoffed, trotting after him. “Fortune tellers don’t just ‘make stuff up.'" He jabbed at Hansol’s side with his elbow. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve been holding out on me this whole time, huh? I told you everything, Hansol. My crushes, my heartbreaks, the time I accidentally liked my crush’s old selfie from 2018 at 3 a.m. — I shared it all.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to forget that story,” Hansol shot back, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Don’t deflect,” Soonyoung said, eyes narrowing in fake seriousness. “If you like someone, you have to tell me. That’s the bro code.”

“I. Don’t. Like. Anyone,” Hansol said, emphasizing every word with a jab of his finger. “The fortune teller’s wrong.”

“Mm-hmm,” Soonyoung hummed, still unconvinced. He tilted his head, giving Hansol a knowing look. “You’re being awfully defensive for someone with nothing to hide.”

Hansol clicked his tongue, exasperated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial.” Soonyoung smirked, stuffing a spoonful of rice into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Hansol.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clatter of trays and the murmur of students around them. Hansol chewed slowly, gaze fixed on the table. His mind wandered back to the fortune teller’s words.

"Confess if you want to open the blockage."

It was silly. Ridiculous, even. He didn’t like anyone. There was no one in his life that made his heart race or made him feel unsteady. No one.

“But she did say your performance would be affected,” Soonyoung pointed out, his voice serious for once.

Hansol let out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers drumming against the table. His logical mind told him the fortune teller’s words were nonsense — just vague predictions designed to mess with people’s heads. But somewhere, tucked in a quiet corner of his mind, a small voice whispered that maybe he shouldn’t ignore it. Not when the band had poured weeks of effort into preparing for the gig.

“Do you really think my energy is that important to the band?” Hansol muttered, tilting his head back against the chair. “There’s five of us. It’s not like I’m carrying the whole thing on my back.”

Soonyoung squinted, deep in thought. “That’s an interesting point,” he admitted. “But you’re the leader.” He stabbed his spoon into his rice like it emphasized his point. “That’s probably why.”

Hansol groaned, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want the performance to be disappointing,” he muttered, his fingers gripping at the strands like he could pull the stress right out of his head.

“Then just do what she said,” Soonyoung said with a shrug, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I told you, I don’t like anyone,” Hansol shot back, voice firm but tinged with doubt.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a slow, knowing pout. He leaned forward, squinting at Hansol like he was inspecting him under a microscope. “You’re getting way too worked up for someone who doesn’t like anyone,” he said, pointing at Hansol with his chopsticks.

“I don’t,” Hansol repeated, but the way his eyes darted away made Soonyoung's grin grow wider.

“Uh-huh.” Soonyoung dragged out the sound, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hansol rubbed his temples, clearly done with the conversation. He’d argue, but he knew Soonyoung had a way of turning everything into a game he couldn’t win.

“Then just confess to anyone,” Soonyoung suggested, half-joking. “Boom, problem solved. No blockage, no bad energy, just vibes.” He snorted at his own ridiculous idea. “Actually, wait, that’s a terrible idea. Don’t do that.”

But Hansol froze. His eyes widened, and his hands slowly lowered from his hair. He stared at Soonyoung like he’d just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“That’s…” Hansol said, eyes narrowing as his face shifted from confusion to excitement. He pointed both hands at Soonyoung, grinning like a kid who just figured out how to cheat a board game. “That’s actually a fantastic idea!”

Soonyoung’s whole face scrunched in horror. “No, it’s not, bro!” He shoved his tray to the side, waving his hands like he could physically erase the idea from existence. “Take it back! Forget I said it!”

But it was too late. Hansol's mind was already racing, the gears turning at lightning speed. “All I have to do is confess to someone,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table with renewed energy. “It doesn’t matter who, right? I just have to confess and the performance will go smoothly.” His eyes gleamed with confidence. “That’s it. Easy.”

Soonyoung's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. “No, no, no! I shouldn’t have said that.” He shook his head, panic growing in his voice. “You’re taking it too literally, man.”

But Hansol wasn’t listening anymore. He was already planning. His foot tapped against the floor, and he rubbed his hands together like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Okay, okay. Casual confession,” he muttered to himself, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “No pressure, no drama, just simple and clean. I can do that.”

Soonyoung watched in pure disbelief, his jaw hanging open. “This… this is not how logic works, Hansol.” He pointed both hands at him, eyes wide with warning. “This is going to backfire so badly, I can feel it.”

“Doubt me all you want,” Hansol said, grinning like a man on a mission. “But when that gig goes off without a hitch, you’ll be thanking me.”

Soonyoung dropped his head into his hands with a groan, his voice muffled by his palms. “I can already hear the disaster coming.”

“Hey, can we talk tomorrow?”

Hansol sat on one of the benches, his gaze fixed on his phone, scrolling mindlessly as he waited. The faint rustle of leaves above him was the only sound until he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

Lifting his head, he spotted you walking toward him, a smile already tugging at your lips despite the obvious weight of the stack of books in your arms. His eyes softened at the sight of you.

He stood up quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket, and walked over to meet you halfway. Without a word, he reached for the books, carefully taking the stack from your arms. His fingers brushed against yours for a second, a brief, unspoken connection neither of you acknowledged aloud.

"Where are you heading with all these books?” he asked, glancing down at the pile in his hands. “Planning to build a personal library or something?”

You sighed, stretching your now-free arms. “Just finished a group project, and somehow I got stuck being the one to return all the books. Alone.”

Hansol snorted, a low, amused sound as he glanced at you. “Classic group project logic,” he said, shifting the books in his grip to hold them more comfortably. “Here, I’ll help you return these, and then we can talk.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You sure? I can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, already walking ahead. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a casual grin. “I’m not about to let you haul a whole library on your own.”

You followed him, your pace matching his, and together you made your way toward the campus library. The sun filtered through the trees, casting patches of golden light onto the path. The air was warm but breezy, carrying with it the distant hum of student chatter.

At the entrance of the library, Hansol paused, holding the door open for you with his shoulder as he balanced the books. You slipped past him with a quiet "thanks" before he followed you inside. The familiar scent of old paper and clean air-conditioning greeted you both.

Hansol stayed by your side as you approached the return desk, placing the stack of books on the counter with a relieved sigh, as if he’d carried them across continents. He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes following you as you handled the administration process.

“So,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “what did you want to talk about?”

His posture straightened, his fingers tapping idly against the countertop. “I’ll tell you once we’re done here,” he said, offering you a small, unreadable smile.

But his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

He knew he had to do it soon.

The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind, as stupid as they were. “There’s a blockage in your energy. To clear it, you must confess to the one you like.” He could still hear Soonyoung’s gasp of betrayal beside him. “You like someone?” he'd whispered like it was the juiciest secret of the year.

Hansol shook his head, shoving the memory aside. He didn’t like anyone, but he did care about his band. If there was even a 1% chance that this superstition had some truth to it, he couldn’t risk it. They’d been working too hard for this gig to flop.

You returned from the counter, brushing off your hands. “All done.”

Hansol nodded, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. The two of you walked out of the library, sunlight filtering in through the tall glass windows of the campus hallway. Students passed by, some in pairs, others in groups, all caught up in their own conversations.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

It’s just Y/n.

No big deal.

He knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t make this complicated. You wouldn’t take it seriously. You were too practical for that.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady but a little quieter.

You glanced up at him. “Hm?”

He stopped walking. You took two steps ahead before noticing, turning to face him with a curious look.

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, fingers fidgeting with loose threads. His heart wasn’t racing, but his mind was unusually loud. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But still, he felt his throat go dry.

“I like you,” he said.

It came out fast. Too fast. Not smooth at all. His eyes flicked up to you, watching for your reaction.

Your face froze. Wide eyes. Lips parted slightly, like you’d misheard him.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hansol cleared his throat, shifting his weight to one leg. “I like you,” he said again, slower, more controlled this time.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled in. You didn’t speak, and that silence was heavier than anything he’d prepared for. Why aren’t you saying anything?

“Okay,” he said quickly, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “So, before you freak out, it’s not, like… real.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing to the side. “It’s for the performance.”

Your eyes stayed on him, unblinking.

He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to explain. “Soonyoung and I went to see this fortune teller a couple weeks ago. She told me there’s this… ‘blockage’ or something that’ll mess up our gig unless I confess to the person I like.” He raised his eyebrows like it should be obvious. “But I don’t like anyone. So, I figured—” He tilted his head toward you, lips curling into a grin. “—I’ll just confess to you.”

You didn’t move.

“You’re my friend,” he added with a casual shrug, trying to sound as natural as possible. “I knew you’d get it. It’s not a big deal. Just, like, a technicality.”

More silence.

Hansol felt something twist in his chest, like the air pressure had shifted around him. He didn’t know why it felt weird, but it did. He’d expected a laugh from you, maybe a playful shove or a snarky comment. Something normal.

“Okay,” you said, your voice quieter than he’d ever heard it.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded once, eyes flicking to the side like you didn’t want to look at him. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over him so fast it almost felt dizzying. His grin returned, this time more genuine. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

He glanced at his phone, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got practice soon.” He took a step back, his mind already shifting to his next priority. “Thanks for this, Y/n. You’re a real one.”

He raised a hand in a wave as he turned to leave. “See you later!”

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t think to.

Why would he?

It had gone exactly as he’d expected — smooth, simple, and free of any awkwardness. You’d understood. You always understood him. It’s why he’d picked you in the first place.

As he walked, he felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His band would be fine. The gig would be a success. The "blockage" was gone, whatever that meant.

The sound of students chatting around him faded into background noise. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the upcoming setlist, the soundchecks, and which songs they should open with.

Should they start with something upbeat or something more atmospheric?

He scratched the side of his head, lips curling into a grin at the thought. They’d kill it. He knew they would.

But as he reached the next hallway, something tugged at him. Not physically, but like a small, sharp pull on his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see nothing at all.

But his eyes lingered on the empty hallway behind him.

You weren’t there.

You’d probably gone in the opposite direction, maybe heading to class or meeting up with friends. That was normal. Totally normal.

He turned forward again, walking faster this time.

So why did it feel like he’d forgotten something?

Why did it feel like he’d missed something important?

Hansol shook his head, hands stuffed back into his hoodie pocket. You’re overthinking it.

But his fingers fidgeted with the loose thread again, and his mind couldn’t seem to settle.

"Hey, you’re daydreaming."

Joshua’s voice snapped you back to reality, a light jab landing on your side. Your eyes flickered to him, your closest friend in the photography club, and then to the rest of the room. Everyone was staring at you.

Oh no.

The club leader tilted her head, clearly waiting for a response. "I asked if you’d be willing to report on The Gigs next week."

Heat rushed to your face. You nodded quickly, forcing a polite smile. "Ah, yeah, sure. I can do it."

Her eyes lingered on you for a second longer before she moved on, resuming the discussion. You sank lower in your chair, feeling Joshua stifle a laugh beside you. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes said it all.

When the meeting finally wrapped up, you were already halfway out the door when Joshua caught up to you. He grinned, pulling a small candy from his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing you his favorite coffee-flavored treat.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unwrapping it immediately and popping it into your mouth.

“You good?” he asked as you both stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting your face. "You were totally out of it back there."

You glanced at him, shrugging. "Just… had a lot on my mind."

Joshua nodded knowingly. "Don’t tell me it’s about that draft. Mine’s still stuck, too."

The two of you wandered down the pathway toward the nearby campus cafe. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, his breath forming little clouds of fog in the air.

The draft. Right.

The club had tasked every member with coming up with a new program idea to boost engagement and attract more students to join. Your idea was Cupid Pic — a playful service where students could request anonymous photos of their crushes, which would then be posted on the Student Daily Web. The twist? If two people happened to request photos of each other without knowing, they'd be notified of the "cupid match." It was fun, cheeky, and surprisingly wholesome.

You'd been so excited about it at first. So much so that you'd shared the idea with Soonyoung and Hansol one evening at Soonyoung’s apartment studio. The three of you had spent hours brainstorming catchy slogans and working out the logistics of how to involve the Broadcasting students for video teasers. You remembered how Hansol had thrown out ridiculous ideas like, “Make them wear angel wings while taking the photos,” which Soonyoung fully supported for the chaos alone.

Soonyoung had tapped out early, collapsing on the couch after too many shots of soju, muttering something about "the stars aligning." But you and Hansol had stayed up. Just the two of you. The warmth of the room, the faint hum of music, and the quiet conversation felt… different. Intimate, even.

Maybe that’s why it all spilled out of you.

You didn’t mean to dump your worries on him. But with Soonyoung snoring in the background and the soft glow of the desk lamp hitting Hansol’s face just right, you felt something unspoken loosen in your chest.

“I feel like I’m barely holding everything together,” you’d admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “Class, part-time shifts, the club, this stupid project… and now one of my friends reported me to the professor for missing too many classes. I mean, yeah, I missed a few, but I had valid reasons. She didn’t even ask me. She just… reported me.”

Your throat had felt tight saying it all out loud. You didn’t expect Hansol to say anything — maybe a simple, “That sucks, Y/n.” But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes soft with a kind of patience you’d never really seen from him before. Hansol, the logical one. Hansol, the sharp-tongued realist. But that night, he was… gentle.

“Sounds like you’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, steady, like every word was placed carefully so it wouldn’t crack you open any further.

Your eyes stung a little, and you hated it. You hated how one kind sentence had more impact than all the self-reassurances you’d told yourself in the mirror.

“You’re doing fine,” he added. “Actually, you’re doing more than fine. You're managing all this at once — that's impressive. People don't get how hard that is.”

It wasn’t much. Just a few words. But in that moment, it felt like he’d seen you — really seen you — in a way no one else had.

He didn’t tell you to “just work harder” or “push through.” He didn’t tell you that you were overreacting. He just listened.

Somewhere between his words and the soft glow of that lamp, you felt something shift.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long.

Maybe it was the warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

Or maybe it was just you, feeling too vulnerable, too raw, too desperate for someone to tell you it was okay to slow down.

But you knew it, clear as day.

That was the moment you realized — I think I like him.

It wasn’t immediate, like some storybook cliché where your heart suddenly skips and angels start singing. No, it was quiet, slow, like the weight of realization settling over your shoulders. Your chest felt heavier, and your head felt lighter, like you’d been dropped into unfamiliar territory.

You'd stayed up with him a little longer, letting the conversation drift to other things, but that moment stayed with you. Even when you went home that night, it replayed in your head over and over. His voice. His gaze. His words.

By the next day, you realized it was easier to avoid him than to face what you’d discovered.

If you didn’t see him, you wouldn’t have to deal with the way your heart sped up around him.

If you didn’t talk to him, you wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to be seen so clearly.

If you didn’t stand too close, you wouldn’t have to hear the echo of his voice telling you that you were doing fine.

So, you avoided him. Not in any obvious way. Just small things. Picking a seat on the opposite side of the room. Leaving class a little earlier. Responding later to group chats. It was stupid. Childish, even. But it was safer.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he likes me anyway.

But then, yesterday happened.

“I like you,” he’d said, just like that.

His words echoed in your mind like an annoying replay button that wouldn't turn off.

“I like you.”

At first, you’d frozen, your brain struggling to process it. And then, like a fool, you’d let yourself hope. Your heart had done that stupid leap it always did when you thought maybe, just maybe…

But it only lasted a second.

“But it’s not real. It’s for the band.”

He’d smiled, so casual, so unbothered, as if it was all part of some inside joke.

“You’re my friend. I knew you’d get it.”

You had nodded. Of course you nodded. What else were you supposed to do?

He’d walked away smiling. Light. Unburdened.

You stood there, your chest still heavy, like you'd swallowed all the words you wanted to say.

Stupid.

Idiot.

Asshole.

“Y/n?”

Joshua's voice cut through the spiral, and you blinked, realizing you’d been chewing on the coffee candy too hard. The bitterness had turned sharp in your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, his brow raised in concern.

You uncurled your fingers from the crumpled candy wrapper in your pocket, feeling the imprint of it against your palm. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just thinking too much.”

Joshua gave you a long look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you. But in the end, he shrugged it off. "Alright. Just don't overdo it. We still have drafts to finish, yeah?"

“Yeah,” you said, stuffing the wrapper into your pocket. "I’ll finish it.”

But as you walked with him toward the cafe, the taste of coffee lingered on your tongue, sharp and bitter.

Just like the feeling you’d been trying to forget.

The smell of grilled meat wafted through the apartment as Soonyoung shouted from the kitchen, "Open the door for me!" His voice was strained, probably from the concentration it took to flip the meat perfectly.

You had just finished changing into the borrowed sweater and sweatpants Soonyoung had tossed your way. It was one of his newer pieces — oversized, soft, and surprisingly comfortable. After folding your work clothes neatly on the chair, you headed to the front door, tugging the sleeves over your fingers.

When you pulled the door open, your heart did a sudden flip. Hansol stood there, framed by the dim hallway light. Black T-shirt snug on his frame, denim jacket casually draped over his shoulders, and those stupid cargo pants with "chill guy" printed boldly on the thigh. You'd teased him about them before.

His eyes scanned you briefly before his lips curled into a familiar, lopsided grin. "That sweater looks better on you than it does on him." His gaze lingered for a beat longer, and you recognized it — the sweater he'd given Soonyoung for his birthday this year.

"Everything looks good on me lately," you shot back, flipping your hair with mock confidence as you stepped aside to let him in.

Hansol let out a quiet snort, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Alright, superstar," he muttered, carrying in the bags of groceries Soonyoung had texted him to bring.

You followed him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Soonyoung waved his tongs in your direction. "Look who decided to show up after three weeks of radio silence!" He held up three fingers in front of your face like it was a major scandal.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm to move him aside. "I've been working, Soonyoung. Not everyone can live a life of leisure like you."

"Leisure?" He scoffed, flipping the meat with unnecessary force. "You act like I’m not hosting this Michelin-star-level barbecue for you guys. You should be grateful, Y/n."

You snorted but didn’t respond, letting the familiar warmth of their banter settle over you. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Hansol was sorting through the bags, pulling out soda cans and snacks like it was just another casual night. Soonyoung was fussing over his grill with too much enthusiasm, and the smell of searing meat filled the air.

But that “three weeks” comment echoed louder than you wanted it to. Three weeks since you’d hung out properly. Three weeks since Soonyoung had badgered you into late-night ramen runs. Three weeks since you’d willingly stayed in a room with Hansol for longer than ten minutes.

The realization must have hit him too because Hansol glanced at you from over his shoulder, eyes flickering with something like curiosity. His hands slowed as he set down a bottle of soda. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter this time. “We haven’t hung out in a while, huh?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Guess not.”

Soonyoung glanced between the two of you like he was watching the first act of a drama. He wiggled his eyebrows, lips pursed in exaggerated interest. "Oooh, tension."

"Shut up," you and Hansol said at the same time.

"Okay, okay, geez." Soonyoung threw his hands up, grinning like a troublemaker who just set off a firecracker. "I’m just saying, tonight is reunion night for our little trio. So no work talk, no avoidance, no mysterious disappearances. We’re all staying until dawn."

"Bold of you to assume I’m not sneaking out at 2 a.m.," you muttered, grabbing a soda from the pile Hansol had unpacked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes at you. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

Soonyoung wasn't exactly the sharpest in the group, but he had an annoying knack for reading the room. That was why you’d been trying so hard to act normal around Hansol tonight. Every glance Soonyoung threw your way felt like a spotlight, and you hated it. You shouldn’t have come. Stupid decision.

But after an hour, the unease started to wear off. The alcohol certainly helped with that. You’d had more drinks than usual — more than even Soonyoung, the self-proclaimed "party endurance king." At one point, he actually tried to stop you, waving his hands in front of your face like you were about to push a red button.

“Hey, hey, easy there, Y/n. That’s your third drink in, like, ten minutes,” he said, eyes squinting in concern. "Bad day or something?"

You only hummed in response, lifting the cup to your lips again.

“Desperation. I get it,” Soonyoung sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you. He tilted his head back dramatically. “We’ve all been there. Even Hansol and I went to a fortune teller.”

Hansol, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t lump me in with you like I went there on purpose.”

“Okay, but you got a reading too, didn’t you?” Soonyoung shot back, jabbing his thumb in Hansol's direction. His grin was all teeth, clearly proud of his "gotcha" moment.

Hansol rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Soonyoung wasn’t done, though. He turned his attention to you, gesturing wildly like he was narrating a grand tale. “Yes, so we went to a fortune teller,” he repeated, leaning toward you like he was about to reveal a state secret.

“I know,” you muttered, taking another sip.

Soonyoung blinked, his head tilting to the side. “Huh? I never told you that. How do you know?”

Your eyes flickered toward Hansol, who had suddenly gone very still. You pointed at him, arm a little wobbly from the drinks. “He told me.”

The room went quiet for half a beat.

Soonyoung’s eyes darted between the two of you like he was watching a live plot twist unfold. His mouth parted in shock. “You guys… talked? Without me?”

He sounded more offended than curious, like you’d committed some great betrayal.

Hansol groaned, his head falling into his hands. "Oh my God, Soonyoung, it’s not that deep."

“It is that deep!” Soonyoung gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “How could you, Y/n? I thought I was the main character of your friendship arc!”

"You're the comic relief, Soonyoung," you deadpanned, reaching for the half-empty drink in front of you.

"Comic relief?!" He clutched his heart again, this time with more flair, like he'd been hit with a spear. "I am the glue that holds this trio together."

You snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and for a moment, it actually felt normal again. Except for the weight pressing down on your chest every time Hansol glanced your way.

"Want to hear something funny?" Soonyoung grinned mischievously. "This guy has to make a confession if he wants his gig to succeed, and he says he doesn’t like anyone!"

He burst into laughter, clearly enjoying Hansol’s discomfort. Hansol groaned, slouching in his chair. "Go ahead, laugh. My life is a comedy," he retorted sarcastically.

"So, Romeo," Soonyoung teased, raising his eyebrows, "your gig is in three days. Have you done it yet?"

Hansol stayed silent, his eyes wandering to you. You were busy pouring yourself another shot of soju, trying to drown out the chaos around you. The weight in your chest was growing heavier with every passing minute, but you tried to focus on anything other than the situation at hand.

"So, Y/n," Soonyoung continued, turning his attention to you, "what do you think? Should he just confess to anyone to make his performance successful, or should he ignore the fortune teller's advice?"

The question hit you like a brick, and a lump immediately formed in your throat. You didn’t know how to answer.

"But I think he won’t do it," Soonyoung added with a sly smile. "Why? Because this guy is all logic. He’s a T," Soonyoung said, referencing Hansol’s MBTI type — Thinking, not Feeling.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the mounting frustration in your chest, but you found yourself muttering under your breath, "Confession is not a game. You shouldn’t play with it."

Soonyoung, to his credit, nodded in agreement. "Yes, exactly. Here here!"

You continued, your voice quieter now, a little heavier. "You think it’s easy to just confess to someone for the sake of success? That’s selfish." You could feel the anger simmering beneath your words. "But I guess, people can be like that. They don’t think about others' feelings."

The moment your words left your mouth, you glanced up at Hansol, only to find his gaze fixed on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain tension in the air now, thick and uncomfortable. For the first time, you realized he was actually paying attention to what you were saying.

In that moment, everything felt overwhelming. You had spent the evening carefully balancing your emotions, trying not to let the bitterness and disappointment leak out, but it was becoming impossible. Soonyoung's teasing and Hansol's casual confession — the one that had hurt more than you wanted to admit — were circling in your mind, making it harder to breathe.

Soonyoung froze mid-action, his hand suspended in the air with the shot glass still waiting to meet his lips. The atmosphere shifted, and he squinted at you, his tone playful but with a hint of confusion. "What's up with you tonight? You're a bit... deep?"

You sighed, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You quickly gathered your things, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I think I should go. I’ll pick up my clothes tomorrow morning, is that okay?" you asked Soonyoung, your voice quieter than usual as you stood up from your seat.

Soonyoung blinked, looking at you with a mix of surprise and concern. "What? What's wrong with you?"

But you didn’t answer. You had already made up your mind to leave. The weight of the evening, mixed with the alcohol, had created a fog in your thoughts, and you just wanted to escape. You needed space to sort through your feelings, to put some distance between you and Hansol, who had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart even though you tried so hard to keep it at bay. The fact that he still had this effect on you, that you were still torn between anger and something softer, was suffocating.

You could feel your emotions stirring as you moved toward the door, the anger bubbling under the surface. How could he say all those things and then act like it didn’t matter? How could he confess without meaning it and expect everything to be fine? You had convinced yourself that leaving was the only way to avoid losing control of your feelings, to protect yourself from further hurt.

You closed the door. But then Hansol's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks. His grip was gentle, but firm. His touch, so simple and yet so familiar, sent a jolt of something through you. You weren’t sure if it was anger or longing, or a dangerous mix of both. You wanted to pull away, to push him out of your thoughts for good, but somehow, standing there with him felt like an emotional standoff. You could feel your heart racing, unsure of whether you should let the tears you were holding back spill or just walk away from it all.

"What do you mean?" Hansol asked, confusion and frustration lacing his voice.

"Let me go, I'm tired," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to pull away.

But Hansol wasn't having it. He turned your body to face him, his grip firm yet gentle. "Not until you explain. Were you referring to me?"

You stared at him, exasperated, as the words tumbled out, "What do you want to hear? That I wasn't?"

Hansol's gaze softened, but his frustration was palpable. "Yes, I was referring to you because I think Soonyoung's right. If you're as logical as you say you are, you shouldn't be doing whatever the fortune teller told you."

You scoffed, your voice bitter, "And you really think that confessing to your friend is going to fix everything?"

Hansol ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "Y/n, I was desperate. You heard him — the fortune teller said my performance would flop if I didn't confess. I had no choice!"

"By confessing to your friend?" You spat, the hurt in your voice evident.

Hansol's eyes widened, his voice rising as the emotion spilled over. "Because you're my friend! I thought you'd understand! You always have!"

There was a tense silence between you both, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping under the burden of it all.

"So, it was easier for you to confess to your friend? To use them for your own benefit?" you asked, your tone sharp and cutting.

Hansol closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to turn out like this. I thought you'd understand, Y/n. You're my friend."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Because I'm your friend, you thought it would be easier to confess to me? Don't you think about the consequences, Hansol? Or is it all about your performance?"

His face twisted with frustration as he stepped closer. "It’s important to me, Y/n!"

You took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. "I never said your performance wasn’t important, but have you ever thought about the consequences? When you decided to confess to me, did you even consider my feelings?"

Before Hansol could respond, Soonyoung’s voice interrupted the charged silence. "You confessed to Y/n?" He stood in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and disbelief at the revelation.

The tension in the room hung thick, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. This was not how you imagined things would play out.

When Soonyoung heard you sob, his heart sank. He knew it then—he knew both he and Hansol had messed up. Without a word, he let you go, his hand stopping Hansol from following.

"Let her go," Soonyoung said, his voice unusually calm, but there was an underlying firmness. "She needs time."

"But—" Hansol protested, his voice full of urgency.

"No buts, man. You hurt her. Don’t you get it?" Soonyoung’s voice, surprisingly soft for someone who had just witnessed a betrayal, cut through the air. It was like the weight of everything had finally hit him—Hansol had confessed to you because of some ridiculous fortune teller's prediction, without considering the consequences.

Both of them sat in silence, the remnants of the food and drinks ignored, their minds consumed by your face—the betrayal in your eyes, the way your mouth gaped for breath, and the tears that welled up in your eyes.

Soonyoung broke the silence first. "You did it, huh?" His tone was more of a statement than a question. Hansol shook his head, clearly not ready to confront the reality of what he had done.

"You're the most oblivious guy I've ever known," Soonyoung continued, his frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? She likes you, Hansol."

Hansol turned his head toward Soonyoung, still confused. "What are you talking about?"

Soonyoung sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "See? You don't even understand." He stood up, his movements mechanical as he began cleaning his apartment, as if the action would help him clear his mind.

"I'm going to sleep. Feel free to stay," he said quietly, before turning off the light and retreating to his room.

Hansol remained on the couch, the weight of Soonyoung's words sinking in, but his mind still swirling with disbelief. He had made a mistake—one that could cost him everything.

Hansol sat motionless on the couch, his eyes staring blankly at the empty room around him. Soonyoung's words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain—She likes you. The weight of it crushed him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sharp, raw vulnerability that he wasn’t used to.

He had always seen you as someone amazing—smart, driven, with a kindness that radiated in everything you did. You were the kind of person who had everything going for her, someone who seemed untouchable, like she existed in a world beyond his reach. He had always admired you from afar, but he never allowed himself to consider that you could have feelings for him.

You were... too good for him.

He had been convinced that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. He was logical, maybe a little too blunt, a little too wrapped up in his own world. He couldn’t imagine you, with your warmth and grace, ever wanting to be with someone like him. So, he built up this wall in his mind, telling himself that he was better off staying in his lane, quietly admiring you from the sidelines. He didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by thinking he could ever be more than a friend to you.

But now, in the aftermath of his reckless confession, Hansol couldn't help but wonder—did you actually like him?

His chest tightened at the thought. The way you had reacted earlier—the way you had looked at him—did it mean something? Had you been feeling something for him this whole time? Or had he just completely misread everything, making a mess of it all with his desperate attempt to follow the fortune teller's advice?

He felt like an idiot. An utter fool. He had used you. He had confessed to you without considering your feelings, without thinking about the consequences. All because he was scared of failing in front of his band, of letting everyone down. But now, all he could think about was how much he had hurt you. How much he had probably ruined any chance of you ever seeing him as more than just a friend.

It was painful, this realization. He had always thought you were out of his league, that you would never be interested in someone like him, but now that the possibility had opened up, it felt like he had taken it and crushed it under his own foolishness.

He wanted to fix it, to undo everything he had done. But he wasn’t sure where to start. The damage felt irreparable. He had hurt you, and no matter how much he regretted it now, it didn’t change the fact that he had crossed a line.

"We can take a rest," Seungkwan, the vocalist, suggested, noticing Hansol had been staring at the wall for a little too long.

Hansol nodded absently, "Yeah. Sure..." He realized he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind since last night. His thoughts kept circling back to you, replaying the conversation, the hurt in your eyes, the words that had escaped his lips in a moment of desperation. How could he have been so careless? He had to stop thinking about it, but it was impossible.

"The broadcasting students called—they wanted an interview tomorrow. Is that okay?" Mingyu, the bassist, asked as he walked over after picking up a phone call.

Hansol blinked, momentarily distracted. "Why didn’t they call me?" he muttered, then it hit him. He had been offline all day, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't reach you since this morning," Jihoon, the drummer, added. "You're usually glued to your phone."

Not since last night.

"Are you saying he’s addicted?" Jeonghan, the keyboardist, teased, throwing a playful jab at Jihoon. The drummer shot back with a grin, threatening to throw his stick at him, but Hansol wasn’t paying attention.

All he could hear was the ringing silence in his head, and all he could see was your face—hurt, confused, disappointed.

Everything felt distant, like he was trapped inside his own mind, while the world continued on around him. They were talking, joking, but Hansol couldn’t focus on anything except the ache in his chest, the question that loomed over him—How had things gotten so messed up?

"Hi, I'm Joshua," a photographer introduced himself before the interview began. He snapped photos of the group throughout the session, the pictures set to be featured on the university’s social media and in the monthly magazine.

Once the interview wrapped up, Joshua approached Hansol with a small smile.

"Hansol, right? Y/n's friend," he said, casually mentioning you.

Hansol raised an eyebrow. "Y/n’s friend?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, we’re in the same club. She was supposed to be the one in charge today, but she’s sick."

Hansol's concern deepened. "She’s sick?"

Joshua gave a shrug. "She mentioned something about going out in the rain, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’m just filling in for her."

Hansol’s mind raced as he processed the information. He headed straight to your apartment. When he arrived, your older brother, Seungcheol, answered the door.

"Seungcheol hyung, I heard Y/n is sick, so I brought porridge," Hansol said, holding up the warm container. Seungcheol stepped aside to let him in.

"She’s sick? She hasn’t come out of her room all day," Seungcheol said with a frown. "I need to head out for work. Can you make sure she’s alright while I’m gone?"

"Of course," Hansol replied, his tone filled with concern.

Seungcheol gave a small nod and left, trusting Hansol with the responsibility. Hansol walked down the hallway toward your room and gently knocked on the door. "Y/n?" he called softly, his heart beating faster than usual.

He turned the doorknob gently as he heard you humming softly from inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d stepped into your room, but something about being here now, knowing you might have feelings for him, made his heart race and his stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

"It’s me... I heard you’re sick," he said quietly, stepping inside. He watched as you tossed and turned on your bed, your face scrunched in discomfort.

"My head hurts," you muttered, sounding exhausted.

"You drank too much last night," Hansol remarked softly, his voice full of concern.

You let out a soft sigh before slowly sitting up on your bed. You blinked up at him, clearly still groggy. "What are you doing here?"

Hansol hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the coolness in your voice. Wasn’t this the same person he had been trying to make things right with?

"Did I do something stupid last night?" you continued, your voice tinged with confusion. "I don’t remember anything. I was too drunk."

What? Hansol’s heart sank. You didn’t remember? He could feel his stomach twist in unease. The whole night had been real for him. But you didn’t even recall it?

His words caught in his throat, his mind racing. He had to find a way to explain everything, but for now, all he could do was stand there, speechless.

You pushed him toward the door, your hands firm against his chest. It was too much — too much to be in the same room with him after everything that happened last night. Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a painful reminder of the weight of it all.

"Y/n, wait—" Hansol tried, his voice laced with confusion, but you shook your head firmly.

"Just go, Hansol," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

Damn your lying. There was no way you could forget what had happened last night. The alcohol might have given you the courage to say everything that had been festering in your heart, but it didn’t steal your memory. No, you remembered every single detail — from the heat of your words to the stunned look on his face.

You remembered it all. The sharp ache in your chest. The way your voice trembled as you laid it all bare. The way he stood there, silent, unable to say a word in return.

And now, you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Stupid for drinking too much. Stupid for letting it all out. Stupid for hoping, even for a second, that he’d understand.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You leaned your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Stupid,” you muttered under your breath, wiping at your face harshly. “So, so stupid.”

But no matter how many times you cursed yourself, it didn’t stop the hurt from settling deeper into your chest.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of your room just a few minutes later. You clenched your jaw, already feeling the annoyance bubble up in your chest.

Hansol, seriously?

You stomped toward the door, ready to tell him off. Your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary, and you yanked it open with a glare.

"I told you to le—"

But it wasn’t Hansol.

It was Soonyoung. His eyes widened for a second, clearly taken aback by your sharp tone. He tilted his head, a lopsided grin slowly forming on his face.

"Wow, rough welcome," he teased, holding up a plastic bag in one hand. "This how you treat visitors now?"

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat. Guilt prickled at the back of your mind as you stepped aside to let him in. "Sorry... I thought you were someone else."

"Clearly," he muttered, walking in like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the room before settling on you. "Your brother told me you were sick when I called to check in. Figured I’d drop by and see if you’re still alive."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "I'm fine. Just a little headache."

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow as he set the bag on your desk, pulling out a small container of soup and a bottle of sports drink. "Doesn't sound 'fine' to me. And you look worse than you sound."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you grumbled, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Hey, honesty is love," he said with a wink, cracking open the soup container. "Eat this before you start spiraling about whatever it is you're thinking too hard about."

Your eyes flicked to him, your walls momentarily crumbling under his casual warmth. He knows. Soonyoung wasn’t the most perceptive person, but when it came to his friends, he could read you like an open book.

"Not thinking about anything," you muttered, picking at the hem of your sweater.

He shot you a look as he handed you the soup. "You don't fool me, Y/n. You forget, I know you too well."

You hesitated for a second, your fingers curling around the warm container. The scent of the soup was comforting, but the knot in your chest was too tight to untangle just yet.

"You wanna tell me what happened, or should I guess?" he asked, leaning against your desk, arms crossed and eyes watching you with quiet patience.

Your fingers tightened around the container, the warmth seeping into your skin. Tell him? You could. You should. But the words felt heavy, and your throat burned from all the words you’d swallowed the night before.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened when you didn’t respond. "I heard about Hansol."

Your eyes snapped up to him. He didn’t look smug or teasing. He just... knew.

"Seungcheol hyung told me he was here earlier," he continued, eyes steady on you. "I figured something went down."

"Something always goes down," you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice cracked at the end. You sucked in a sharp breath, looking away. Not now. Don't fall apart now.

Soonyoung let out a quiet sigh and crouched in front of you, resting his hands on his knees. "Y/n."

The weight of his gaze pulled you in.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

And just like that, the dam broke. Your face crumpled, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Tears you thought you’d buried came spilling out, and you hated it — hated how easy it was for Soonyoung to crack you open.

"I hate him," you choked out, shoulders trembling. "I hate how he made me feel. I hate that he doesn't even know."

Soonyoung sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms draped lazily over his knees as he watched you wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence stretch long enough for your breathing to even out. You hated how vulnerable you felt, but with Soonyoung, it somehow felt okay.

"You know," he started, his voice light but steady, "Hansol’s always been like that. Head up in the clouds, heart locked up in a safe somewhere only he can find."

You sniffled, eyes still downcast, but you listened.

"He’s not a bad guy," Soonyoung continued, resting his chin on his hand, "but he’s stupid sometimes. No, scratch that. He’s logical to a fault — one of those people who overthinks everything and somehow ends up making the dumbest decision possible."

You glanced up at him, eyes red-rimmed but curious. "Sounds like you’re defending him."

"I’m not," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I’m just telling it how it is." He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Hansol's the type to approach life like a math problem — one solution, one outcome, no room for feelings. He’s good with logic, terrible with emotions. If it doesn’t fit his formula, he just ignores it."

"Sounds pretty annoying," you muttered, folding your arms over your knees.

Soonyoung let out a short laugh. "Oh, you have no idea. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him 'debate' with Mingyu about how ‘romantic gestures are pointless unless they serve a purpose’?" He shook his head like it physically pained him to remember it. "Like, bro, sometimes you just give people flowers because it’s nice! Not everything needs a reason."

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile. You could picture it perfectly — Hansol arguing with that deadpan logic of his, Mingyu gesturing wildly, both of them convinced they were right.

"But," Soonyoung leaned forward, his tone softening, "he’s not heartless, Y/n. He’s just... slow. The type of guy who doesn’t notice his own feelings until they’re too loud to ignore. He doesn’t realize he’s hurt someone until it’s staring him in the face. And honestly, I think last night was the first time he really saw it."

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flickering toward the window. "It’s not like I needed him to see it. I just... I just wanted him to think of me. Not as some safe option, not as a convenience, but as someone who—"

You stopped yourself, lips pressing into a thin line. Your eyes burned again, and you hated it. Soonyoung watched you for a moment before he spoke.

"He does think of you, Y/n," he said firmly. "But like I said, he’s stupid. He’s probably been thinking of you this whole time and didn’t even realize it. You know how he is."

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of waiting for him to figure it out," you muttered, fingers tugging at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I'm not a puzzle to be solved."

Soonyoung smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. "Good. You shouldn't be." He sighed, glancing at the ceiling like he was remembering something. "But if I know Hansol, he’s probably kicking himself right now. You know how he gets when he messes up — goes all quiet, stops talking to anyone, starts staring at walls like the answers will magically appear."

You blinked, remembering how distant he seemed when he visited earlier. His awkwardness hadn’t been new, but it felt... different. Guilt, maybe?

"Do you think he regrets it?" you asked quietly.

Soonyoung tilted his head, his eyes kind but sharp. "I think he’s finally realizing that you’re not as 'out of reach' as he made himself believe."

Your head snapped toward him, heart stuttering. "Out of reach? What does that mean?"

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "You really don't see it, huh? This whole time, he’s been looking at you like you’re untouchable. Like you’re this smart, ambitious, 'got-everything-together' kind of person that’s too good for some guy like him."

You frowned, disbelief creeping into your voice. "That's ridiculous. Hansol's not like that."

"Yeah, well, people get real stupid when they like someone." Soonyoung stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. "You think you’re the only one overthinking? Hansol’s been overthinking since the day he met you." He glanced down at you, eyes twinkling with something playful but sincere. "But like I said, he’s slow. And if you’re tired of waiting, I get it. Just don’t pretend you don’t care when we both know you do."

Your throat felt tight, and you stayed quiet as Soonyoung headed for the door.

"Rest up, alright? I’ll check in on you later," he said, tossing you a grin before stepping out. "And if Hansol shows up again, try not to kick him out too fast. He might actually say something smart for once."

The door clicked shut, and silence filled the room.

You stared at your hands, the weight of Soonyoung's words settling deep in your chest.

Out of reach.

You never thought of yourself that way. But... was that really how Hansol saw you? All this time, did he think he never had a chance?

Your heart ached, and for the first time, it wasn’t from anger.

The door suddenly opened again, and Soonyoung peeked his head back in. His face was serious this time, his brows drawn together like he was thinking carefully about what to say.

"Hey, Y/n," he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't get too caught up in him, alright? I mean it." His eyes were steady as he spoke. "Focus on yourself for a while. You’re allowed to do that, you know. Let him figure himself out while you do the same."

You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Focus on yourself. When was the last time you did that? When was the last time you prioritized your own peace instead of waiting for Hansol to notice something?

"Yeah," you murmured, your gaze turning thoughtful. "Yeah, I’ll do that."

Soonyoung grinned. "Good. You deserve it."

This time, when the door clicked shut, it didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like a quiet kind of relief.

The band had just wrapped up their third song, the crowd’s energy growing wilder with every beat. Anticipation hung in the air as Seungkwan stepped up to the mic, his grin sharp and infectious.

"And now, for our last song — an original!" he announced, voice booming over the crowd's cheers. "This one’s for everyone who denies something because they’ve never felt complete."

A ripple of excitement passed through the audience, a sea of nodding heads and raised phones ready to capture every second. Hansol’s fingers hovered over the strings of his guitar, heart pounding in time with the thumping bass.

This was it. Their first original song. The song they’d poured their hearts into.

Hansol could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, but it wasn’t suffocating — it was exhilarating. The fortune teller's words from before felt laughable now. What a load of crap. He’d been so caught up in her prediction, but here he was, on stage, living proof that none of it mattered.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and then he spotted you. Right in front, camera in hand, snapping pictures with that same focus you always had. You weren’t just an onlooker — you were part of it. You bopped to the beat, your grin wide as you caught every moment on film.

He couldn’t look away. Not when you gave him that playful high-five before he went on stage. Not when you danced along like you’d been cheering him on from the start. And definitely not when you smiled like that — so bright, so natural, as if none of the things between you two had ever happened.

How are you acting so normal?

He strummed the opening chord, pulling himself back into focus. Jihoon’s sharp drumming set the pace, and the song began. Everything fell into place, the rhythm steady, the notes clean.

Then, during the second verse, something went wrong.

The speakers cracked. The bass fizzled. The sudden static made a few people in the crowd wince, and then — silence.

Everything stopped.

The instruments, the vocals, the energy. All of it.

Mingyu shot a glance at Hansol, his eyes sharp with confusion. What’s going on? his look asked. Hansol didn’t know. He glanced back at Woozi, who had put down his sticks, his face a rare mask of concern. Seungkwan was already at the side of the stage, talking to a frantic staff member waving their hands in panic.

The whole venue was too quiet, the only sound the low murmur of confused voices from the crowd.

Hansol felt his chest tighten. His pulse quickened, not with the thrill of the stage, but with panic. His fingers hovered uselessly over the guitar strings.

Not like this. Not now.

He scanned the crowd again, and then he saw you. You were mouthing something at him, your eyebrows raised in concern.

"What's wrong?"

Hansol swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced back at his bandmates, at the staff, at the broken audio equipment. Everything around him felt like a blur.

But you weren’t a blur.

You were right there, your eyes on him, steady and sure.

He crouched at the edge of the stage, motioning for you to come closer. Without hesitation, you moved through the crowd to stand right in front of him.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the low hum of the venue.

Hansol didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked at you like he’d been holding something in for too long. His eyes darted to the crowd behind you, the sea of strangers with phones pointed at him, waiting for something to happen. The weight of all of it pressed on him again, but this time it didn’t feel like too much.

It felt like a push.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted,

“I like you!”

Your eyes went wide. The whole crowd gasped in unison, but Hansol didn’t care.

“What?” You blinked up at him, too stunned to move.

“I like you!” he shouted again, louder this time. “I really like you! Since… I don’t even know when!”

His voice rang out, clear and sharp, like it had been waiting to be said for too long.

“What are you talking about?” you said, taking a small step back, but your eyes never left his.

“I like you, Y/n!” he yelled, his voice cracking, but it didn’t matter. “Let’s go on a date after this!”

A split second later, the audio kicked back on.

The speakers popped, and suddenly, the music came blaring back with Woozi’s drumbeat leading the charge. The bass reverberated through the venue, and Seungkwan’s voice returned right on cue.

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, whistles, and shouts of surprise roared through the space. Phones pointed at Hansol, recording every second of his impromptu confession.

Mingyu’s jaw hung open, his eyes darting between Hansol and you like he’d just witnessed something unbelievable. Woozi’s drumming faltered for just a second before he locked back into rhythm. Seungkwan stumbled on his words, glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes before grinning like a man who knew he’d be talking about this for weeks.

But Hansol didn’t care about any of that.

His eyes stayed on you.

You looked at him like you couldn’t believe it. Your fingers hovered over your camera, your body tense as if you were about to bolt. But then, slowly, you lowered your camera to your side.

Your lips parted, and he thought you were about to say something, but you didn’t.

Instead, you smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a confused, nervous smile.

A real smile.

Hansol let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. His heart was still pounding, but this time, it wasn’t from panic.

He pushed himself up to his feet, letting the weight fall off his back. He threw his guitar strap back over his shoulder, fingers gripping the neck of his guitar as he glanced at you one last time.

See you after the show, he mouthed with a grin.

Your face flushed, and you covered your mouth with your hand, eyes squinting with a mix of disbelief and something else. Something soft.

With that, Hansol turned around and rejoined the band.

His heart was still racing, and his hands were still shaking, but none of that mattered anymore.

He’d been so sure he’d ruined things with you two days ago. He thought he’d wrecked something that couldn’t be fixed. But now, under the blinding lights of the stage, with the crowd still screaming, he finally felt something shift.

For the first time in a long time, Hansol felt complete.

The cozy hum of the café blended with the quiet chatter of other patrons. The smell of fresh coffee beans and sweet pastries filled the air, but none of that could drown out the sound of Soonyoung’s obnoxious laughter. He sat across from you, phone in hand, replaying that moment for the fifth time.

"Here it comes, here it comes," he said with the excitement of someone watching a blockbuster plot twist. His grin stretched wide as Hansol's voice blared from the tiny phone speaker.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

The crowd's eruption played out again, and Soonyoung slapped the table, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. His shoulders shook with every cackle.

“Can you stop already?” you muttered, fingers tapping away at your laptop as you edited the batch of photos from last night’s gig. Your latte sat next to you, half-finished, its warmth barely noticeable anymore. "I heard it live, Soonyoung. I don’t need a replay."

"But I do," Soonyoung grinned, wiping at the corner of his eye. "This is gold, Y/n. Absolute, once-in-a-lifetime gold. Do you realize how many people would pay for a confession like that? In front of a whole crowd? On stage? With working audio as the grand finale?" He pressed play again.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

Your face burned as you ducked behind your laptop, ears heating with the memory of the moment. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“I like you, Y/n!” Soonyoung mimicked, his voice high-pitched and theatrical, throwing his head back as if he were the one on stage. “Let's go on a date after this!”

You shot him a glare. “Keep it up, Soonyoung. See what happens.”

“Oooh, scary,” he teased, grinning even wider. "Don't be shy, Y/n. You looked like you were about to cry." He sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Oh, Hansol, I’ve been waiting for you to say it all my life—"

“Do you have a death wish, Kwon Soonyoung?” you deadpanned, voice dangerously calm.

Hansol, sitting right next to you, snickered behind his hand. He leaned back in his chair, hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you with the laziest grin imaginable. He hadn't said much since you sat down, but the look on his face said he was thoroughly entertained.

"You're both impossible," you muttered, eyes flicking back to your laptop. You clicked through your photos, adjusting brightness and contrast, but the warmth in your chest refused to fade. Your lips twitched despite yourself. "This was supposed to be our first date, you know," you muttered into your latte, barely loud enough for them to hear.

But of course, they heard.

“Ohhh?” Soonyoung's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. "Is that regret I hear, Y/n? Did you want something more romantic?”

“Romantic?” you scoffed, glancing at him briefly. “Yeah, I definitely dreamed of being confessed to in front of 200 strangers while the sound system crashed.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in your voice.

Hansol leaned in, his elbow resting on the table, his gaze steady on you. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost fond.

"Would you have preferred something more low-key?" he asked, voice low but curious. He tilted his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. "I can do it again if you want."

Your heart skipped once, just once, and you had to look back at your screen before your face gave you away. "Don't be ridiculous, Hansol."

"Noted," he said simply, still grinning.

“Don’t let her fool you, man,” Soonyoung butted in, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching his favorite TV drama. “She loved every second of it. I saw that little smile. Oh, wait, should I replay it for reference?” His finger hovered over the screen.

You snatched a napkin off the table and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Shut up, Kwon Soonyoung.”

He howled with laughter, catching the napkin and tossing it back at you. “You’ll thank me later! I’m basically the biggest investor in your relationship!” he declared, puffing out his chest like he deserved a trophy. “Without me, none of this would have happened.”

“Investor?” you shot back, eyebrows raised. “Investor in what? Chaos?”

“Love,” he corrected, tapping his chest with mock sincerity. “I invest in love.”

Hansol laughed quietly at that, his shoulders shaking just a little. His eyes stayed on you, warm and steady, like he'd finally stopped second-guessing everything.

And for a moment, you forgot about Soonyoung's antics, the video, the embarrassment of it all. You only noticed Hansol, his gaze on you like it had been for weeks — no, maybe longer.

I like you, Y/n. Let's go on a date after this.

You didn’t need a replay for that.

It was already stuck in your head.

Late at night, the faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the background as Soonyoung paced back and forth outside his apartment building, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was casual, but his words carried a hint of mischief.

“Hey… yeah, it’s me — The Reckyz’s manager,” he said with a grin, glancing around as if someone might overhear him. “Mm-hm, that’s right. I wanted to talk about our performance tomorrow. Got a minute?”

He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing with focus as he listened to the response on the other end. His grin widened. “Perfect. Here’s the thing — I was wondering if you could help us out a bit during the gig tomorrow.” He leaned his back against the wall, his fingers drumming against his thigh like he was cooking up a master plan.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing too crazy,” he reassured. “I was thinking… maybe some technical issues on stage during the last song. Not a full shutdown, just enough to get people on edge for a second. It’s for promotional purposes, you know?” He laughed lightly, the kind that only comes from someone far too pleased with their own scheme.

“Don’t worry, the members will be aware of it,” he added, his voice smooth as if he’d done this a hundred times. “They’ll play along. Trust me, it'll be unforgettable.”

His eyes flickered with satisfaction as the person on the other end agreed.

"Perfect. I'll owe you one," he said, his grin sharp now, like a cat who’d just caught a mouse. "Just make sure it happens right before the second verse. Timing is everything."

He hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket, eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

"Operation Unforgettable Moment is a go," he muttered to himself, pushing off the wall and strolling down the street, hands in his pockets, a spring in his step. “Biggest investor in love, huh? Yeah, that’s me.”

293 notes · View notes

bluemerakis · 2 months ago

Text

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ i'm not going anywhere ❞

part ii/iii

read part i here

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem!supe!reader — how they met

warnings .ᐟ cussing, mild angst, mild harassment of reader via side character, described violence (nothing intense), reader being a baddie (as she should), fluff, spanking, pet names. lmk if I forgot any! :))

synopsis ─ as you make all the preparations for tonight’s plan to flee the russian compound, you run into trouble that forces you to confront your supe nature. the boys arrive shortly after to help you free ben, where you discover that he has a new, deadly power. unresolved tension forces yourself and ben to split from the rest of the group and find your own way out.

word count ~ 15.9k (i'm SO sorry)

──────────────────────

From the sidelines of the testing room, you watched with wistful eyes as the heavily armed guards streamed inside and fanned around Ben’s entrapped figure. He put on a display for them, writhing between the chains and hurling out all manner of insults to convey his disdain of the Russians. You knew the emotions were true, only more dramatised for the sake of make-belief; it was any other day, not the last.

Through the planned commotion, Ben slipped you a discreet glance, and you caught the slightest dip of his chin before his head was forcibly pressed against the table by one of the guards. Your heart ached at the sight of his fully-pinned figure, more guards streaming in through the door and swarming about him like an exploded hornet’s nest on the prowl for its next victim. One of the braver men came up to press an arm across your boyfriend’s neck and slapped an oxygen mask over his flaring nose and mouth, then with a single flick of the mechanism, Novichok gas streamed into the chamber.

As the nerve agent buffeted Ben’s unwilling airways, the guards had to fix his head in place with great effort as the Supe attempted to dislodge the mask with grunts of protest. His lungs were desperate to reject the debilitating gas with strong fits of coughing, but his effort was to no avail.

You watched as the Supe’s frantic movements began to dwindle, the anger framing his eyes softening with his wilting glare. He blinked many times to try and fight off the haze, but it consumed him entirely— finally stilling him into a docile puppet. His eyes lolled to the back of his head, his lids clamping shut to preserve his dignity while the clatter of chains against the steel table settled at last.

And just like that, the super-abled, invincible brute that was Soldier Boy had been subdued.

The guards held their formation for a few seconds longer, the mask suffocating half of Ben’s face emitting the last of its gas for good measure. Once they were certain that he was asleep, they slowly began to release their hold on him, the oxygen mask removed from his face. The last guard to go was the one still holding Ben’s limp head, and when he was given the go ahead, he released it without a care, causing it to topple to the side to face you.

You grimaced at the lack of respect they showed his comatose form—yeah, he was extremely short of a saint, but he was still a person, one who’d been subjected to years of torture and experiments that should have killed him at any point. If there was anything that could’ve warranted some ounce of respect, you’d have settled for that fact alone. But you couldn’t have much of a say in the matter when he was only supposed to be your experiment.

Besides, in your line of work, you’d be speaking from the place of a fucking hypocrite—what’s a little rough handling compared to repeatedly stabbing poisoned needles into his arm, just hoping it doesn’t kill him?

Taking in a deep breath, you lifted your chin slightly with a great effort to appear unfazed by the entire ordeal. You couldn’t help drinking in Ben’s expressionless features, though, noting that for the first time since you’d known him, he looked almost peaceful. You hoped that he was—that he’d been swept into some or other dream to help him pass the time of this dull, inhumane routine. You recalled the dream he’d told you about only an hour earlier, the one where’d you’d both been an entangled mess within his bed.

Despite the crude way he’d painted the picture, it had been a rather fond milestone in your relationship. It was the first time Ben had found it in himself to man up—as ironic as that sounded—and admit with his own two lips that he loved you.

You walled off your thoughts as the head guard appeared at your side, your attention shifting to where they brought in a rolling table and lined it up beside the operating table. You watched as the guards slowly began to undo the chains wreathed around Ben’s sleeping figure.

“Did everything go smoothly?” The head guard asked, his voice muffled beneath his all black ensemble. His shoulder lined up beside yours as he turned to watch Ben’s unloading beside you.

You heaved a subtle sigh through your nose, head fixed forward as you watched them shovel your boyfriend’s body onto the rolling table with a spiteful lack of care. Not having the energy to speak, you offered a mere nod.

Thankfully, your response was satisfactory enough, the guard returning your nod before he left your side to bring up the rear of the patrol rolling Ben toward the exit. The Supe’s arm was dangled over the side of the table, and your eyes latched onto the plaster you’d placed before he was moved through the doorway and the sight was ripped from view.

But the image lingered in your mind. Never again would you have to place another plaster—or needle—in his arm. Come tonight, there’d be no need to because you’d both be free of this rotten hellhole.

The testing room became eerily quiet as you were left alone to bathe in your emotional haze. There were a few routinely things you’d have to do before tonight’s escape. You glanced over your shoulder at the case you’d left on table, the one that had born the experimental compound you’d injected into Ben. It was standard procedure to return the case to the experimental lab following each session, along with completing a written log about the process—vitals, patient response, any hiccups in the administration.

You were tempted to forsake it all out of spite. A harsh scolding and beating for failure to comply would matter little if you weren’t here to receive the punishment. But you knew you couldn’t risk the extra attention of getting caught in misconduct—couldn’t let your emotions get the best of you when there was so much riding on your role in tonight’s plan. So you held your breath, not without scorn, and marched over to collect the case before leaving the room without so much as a last glance back.

There was no detail worth remembering about that place—if anything, you hoped its image would fade within short time.

The day was still young. With far too much time to kill, you’d fulfilled your duties by returning all the equipment to its due place. You’d been in and out of almost every room of the compound, where you’d made a point to start discreetly packing a branded corporate backpack you’d nicked from the clothing and gear room. You’d begun loading it with necessary supplies—a first aid kit, medication, clothing, even managing to procure a set of burner phones for yourself and Ben.

Throughout it all, you’d kept your pace brisk to minimise interactions with the far too chatty employees of the establishment. The last thing you needed was to get caught in conversation with a loaded and somewhat illegal backpack in clutch.

To wrap up your tedious responsibilities of the day, you were bent over one of the tables in the compound’s common room, logging all the details of your session into the designated book. The bitter aroma of filter coffee hung in the air, which you breathed in with eager appreciation. As much as this place sucked, the coffee had always been good—great, even. There’d been a pot brewing before you entered the room, and you only hoped that the person who’d put it on wouldn’t return while you were still around.

The backpack was laid between your feet as you scribbled away busily, keeping the details of your time with Ben as subtle and concise as possible. Your hand dragged along the paper to terminate the log with your signature, and just as you set the pen down with a tired sigh, a heavyset pair of boots pounded into the room.

Your heart seized on the spot with a heartfelt fuck.

“Hey, you,” an all too familiar voice greeted.

You glanced over your shoulder to confirm the worst of your suspicions, where you were faced with the guard that’d gotten into a spat with Ben. He had the beginning of light bruising all around his nose that had bloomed up the route of his sinuses, light purple crescents propping up both his eyes. You had to fashion great restraint to avoid grimacing at the sight. You were surprised he’d walk around with such a visual admittance of defeat in the first place, as opposed to signing off early and hiding out at home until the bruising wore off.

“Oh—hey,” you pushed out tensely, turning your body to fully face him before leaning your backside against the table. You crossed your one leg in front of the other and used your furthermost heel to try and slide your backpack beneath the table, bidding internal prayers that his attention wouldn’t stray to your restless movements. “Finishing off your shift?” You asked, eager to hold his attention.

The guard must’ve noticed your gaze lingering on his bruises for a few seconds too long because he dragged a hasty palm over his face before cradling the back of his neck out of hot embarrassment.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insisted. “I’ve always been a big bleeder and bruiser—my mother used to tease me about it when I was a little boy, always falling and scraping my knees. I used to look like I’d come back from a war,” he laughed behind an almost expectant stare, so you forced a chuckle to entertain his babbling.

He took a step toward you, and there was far too little space between your bodies for your liking. “Anyways. . . would you, uh, maybe like to have a coffee with me? There’s enough in the pot for two, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. It should be done soon.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the brewing pot in the corner of the room, then turned back to him with a polite smile. “I appreciate that, but not tonight. It’s been a long day, to say the least. I really just need to get home and crawl into bed.”

With another smile, you leaned your hands against the table, fingers beginning to tap at the wood impatiently. Get the fuck out of here already, you groaned internally, ankle feeling at the fabric of your backpack.

During work hours in the compound, no employee was allowed to carry around baggage. It was a safety precaution to ensure no items would be stolen. All baggage had to be checked in and out at the front desks, where the guards—guards like him—would do a thorough search to ensure nobody had nicked anything time-worthy. And then the baggage would be checked into a personal locker for the entire day until closing time.

Nothing coming in, nothing going out.

The only exception is the branded backpack you currently carried, which was often used to transport equipment between rooms of the compound. But they were typically reserved for the technician assistants—as is their job to lug around equipment for the more important personnel. And you had no business carrying one around at this hour of the day, anyway—most of the employees would’ve already signed off and headed home with no further work to pursue.

It made you suspicious, to say the least. Getting caught with supplies like medication and burner phones would warrant you a one-way ticket to a good beating. There would be no passable excuse you could pluck from the depths of your ass to cover yourself against that.

You needed to get out of here. Now.

The guard looked briefly offended by your rejection, but was quick to blink away the expression before lifting a hand to wipe his nose incredulously.

“Okay—yeah, of course,” he sniffed, briefly glancing off to the side. When he turned to look at you again, he crossed his arms as he did a sweep over your figure. “Well, shouldn’t you be off, then? You seem pretty comfortable, unless you’re not in a rush to get home to a boyfriend?”

You could have scoffed at his transparency, but with a man like him, you doubted that he’d take it well, and you had no idea whether anyone would be around to hear you scream. Not that you had real reason to be afraid—you were a Supe well within her abilities to protect herself. Only, very few in the establishment still knew that. You’d been around for far too long, watching as other employees came and went with the years while you remained tethered by emotional obligation. A done deal. Love.

Besides, you liked to keep your business on the down-low, it was safer that way. Most of the employees here were as anti-Supe as most of the world—and why wouldn’t they be? This entire operation was quite literally founded on experimenting on the super-abled. There was no remorse, or love for Supes to be found here.

You tried to pass a nonchalant shrug. “I guess I’m not in a rush,” you admitted tensely, extra hyperaware of the backpack you’d now managed to successfully push beneath the table.

The guard took another step closer, now directly towering over you. “Then you could stay for that coffee, yeah?” He prompted, his voice low and dripping with distasteful intent. “No boyfriend to get back to, right?” He added more softly, teeth flashing with a lewd grin. You caught his eyes flickering down to your lips.

No way in fucking hell. Standing a little taller, you returned his gaze firmly. “No, thanks,” you reiterated, holding your ground as he glared you down. You refused to be intimidated by him; he’d have to know that, too.

The guard looked eerily thoughtful. “All right,” he relented, but his cornering position didn’t falter. “Just one last thing, though. . .” He trailed off with a smugness that tugged at your patience. You knew he was playing some sort of twisted game, and he wanted you to take your turn.

“What’s that?” You pushed out disinterestedly. You expected that he’d try and find some other angle to knead that would get you to relent to his harassment. But what he said next was far from expected, your body seizing on the spot as your heart plummeted to the depths of your chest.

“You think I didn’t notice that little bag you’ve been sneaking around the entire day?”

Your breathing became shallow, and you couldn’t do anything but watch as the guard bent his head to creep his lips close to your ear.

“I’ve been watching you all day.” His breath was hot against your chilled skin, setting off your instinct to flee. “Now, I could be asking you what you need all of those things for. . .” His hands came to trap your body on either side of the table. “Or, we could come to a little agreement, and I’ll let your little rule-breaker slip, hm?”

You craned your head away from his lips, turning to face him with a scorching frown. “Get the fuck off of me,” you spat lowly.

The guard looked mildly amused. “Or what?” He challenged.

Without replying, you lifted your hand from the table, palm facing skywards as your fingers began to curl with malicious intent. The guard’s attention flickered down to witness your gesture with clear confusion etched across his battered face—but the confusion was quickly turned to panic as your fingers began to draw into a slow first, and the Supe that you’d buried deep within you all those years ago began to resurface.

At the will of your fist, you watched the vessels of his eyes begin to thicken—gutters of red paving way through his pearly sclera until it struck his dark pupils, causing them to dilate uncontrollably with each passing second. His throat began to strain, the air in his passages thinning into non-existence until he could do nothing but splutter and gag on his empty lungs. The warm colour in his lips began to drain into a lifeless shade of blue, matching the veins that rose along his neck and face like prominent ant trails.

And then his strength began to falter.

The guard staggered backwards and fell to his knees, hands flying to grapple at his throat in desperation, as though he could grab ahold of the oxygen currently fleeing every cell of his body and hold it hostage for his exploitation—to continue fuelling his pathetic, abominable existence.

You pushed yourself from the table with your remaining hand, bending over briefly to snatch up your backpack before stringing it over your shoulder. Your other hand was drawn into a fist so tight that your skin began to whiten, almost rivalling the shade of pale that the guard currently wore. And you didn’t relent as you closed in on him, not even when you felt the first trail of blood flee your nostrils, and tasted the acrid, iron tang along the walls of your throat.

The guard glanced up at your approaching figure through bloodshot eyes, his expression a primal fear that only a situation of life or death could coax from you. The veins tracing his entire body became so prominent that they could’ve exploded with a single flick of your finger—and you were tempted.

You came to a stop directly before his pathetic form, not bothering to stoop to his level as you spoke. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” You taunted. “Hypoxia—the very oxygen in your body slipping away until all your systems begin to shut down—slowly, in agonising sequence.”

You began to prowl a circle around his dwindling stature for dramatic effect as you pressed on.

“First, your brain’s cells will die, and you’ll become all confused and disoriented until you’re as dumb as a fucking vegetable. Your heart is the next to go, taking everything down with it. And then, your lungs will start to fail, forcing you to breath deeper and deeper with the desperation to latch onto a single breath. . . but no matter how hard you try, I just won’t allow the air back in. It’s excruciating—” you paused as you watched his body begin to rock with violent convulsions, “—but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

You circled back to the front of his body, drinking in his frail effort to stay upright through the spasms—desperate to preserve what pitiful sense of pride he still possessed. You tilted your head mockingly, the first trail of blood fleeing your nose to splatter onto your shirt.

“And do you know what the best part is?” You continued scathingly. “There’s not a damn thing you can do about it—not when it comes to me. All you can do is watch. . . and die.”

Foam began to spill at the corners of the guard’s mouth, his eyes so comically red that it felt like an enactment of the rage he currently bore you—and the sentiment pulled through in his furrowed brows and twisted snarl. You could see the disgust in his expression—a look that practically screamed fucking filthy Supe. Rather a Supe than a rabid fucking animal—and he’d been rabid way before this attack.

“Word of advice,” you pushed on—not that he’d live to follow it. “Maybe don’t fuck with the hand that controls the very air you breathe.”

With a single, thorough jerk of your first, you heard the distinct pop of flesh as you tore through the walls of his organs, the tissues deflating into his sure death. Suddenly, all his movements halted, and there was a single, detestable glint in his eyes before they glazed over with a lifeless stare. His hands toppled to his sides, acting as a domino effect that sent his soulless body to the floor with a hard thud.

You glared at his corpse for a few seconds, the fist you’d held onto finally releasing to reveal leaking, red crescents carved into your palm’s flesh. Trails of blood streamed from your nose and into the hard line your lips had pressed into. You swept your tongue along the flesh to clear it away, swallowing back the thick clotting in your throat. You lifted your aching fist to wipe away the blood trickling from your nose, your lips falling loose to exhale softly.

It’d been years since you’d channelled your abilities, and to such an extreme extent, no less. You felt the way your body trembled, your own breath falling slightly short with the beginning of fatigue, but exhilaration kept your jittery legs firmly rooted. It felt good to tear through that wretched man—and you knew that it shouldn’t have, but it did. It felt. . . powerful.

In all the years you’d been trapped here, you’d had anything but power. Every aspect of your life had been controlled by the Russians, and you’d had no choice other than to be swept along with their will. Your gaze dragged back to the guard’s corpse.

But not anymore, you affirmed silently. Not anymore.

With a single, disdainful sniff, you stepped over the guard’s lifeless body, leaving his shredded flesh to drown within the puddle he’d bled.

You made for the room’s exit, and behind you, the pot of brewed coffee let out a shrill whistle.

ミ☬彡

In the holding room, you were leaned against the tank that currently hosted Ben’s sleeping form. The steel was warm against your back as it whirred with all the mechanisms trapping him in a steady sleep, and you had to shift a couple of times to prevent the burning of your skin. The heat soothed your goosebumps, but did little to settle the nagging anxiety within.

An hour had passed. More like twenty rough minutes—but it had felt like ages since you’d left that guard’s body in the common room and made a hasty beeline for this hold. It was already moon-high—most of the employees would have long since called it a day and gone home. So the chances of the guard’s body being discovered at this time were low—you knew this. Yet you kept waiting for that door to come toppling down, armed forces streaming in to beat you onto your knees and make you a live experiment alongside Ben. If you’d survive their outrage to begin with.

Besides you, the only other souls currently roaming the property were all banished to the outskirts, doing perimeter checks and walking tedious lines to ensure nobody would be getting in—or out of this compound. No employee had the reason or desire to stay in the building past closing time, so there was no need for the guards to do a last sweep within before setting up the nighttime perimeter.

Fatal flaw, in your humble, biased opinion.

But your eyes had been glued to that entrance for so long that you could still see the door carved into the darkness behind your lids every time you blinked. Your arms were crossed against your chest as you waited, as if to cradle your unsteady heartbeat, while your index finger ticked away busily at your bicep.

Shortly after arriving here, you’d taken a second to tend to and bandage the hand you’d unintentionally bled raw during your fit. Your palm still ached with the memory of your furious grip, but you tightened your hold on your arm in the desperate attempt to numb the area into painless submission. It didn’t budge.

Eventually, you found it in yourself to tear your gaze away from the door, your head buckling to take in the view of the floor. You caught a glimpse of the blood stain in your shirt. Almost as if that had reminded your body to pay you the repercussions for overexerting your abilities, you felt a light trial of blood trickle from your nose. Your bandaged hand flew up to catch the red droplets, and you held your fist against your nostrils for a few seconds to absorb the rest of the clot.

You gave a hard exhale through your lips, your patience wearing thin with both your weakened body and the anticipative wait. You dropped your hand back to your side, still feeling the faint, sticky glaze of blood within your nostrils. But you ignored it, almost hoping your body would grow bored with punishing you and ease off for a while—just until The Boys broke you and Ben out of here.

You had no idea when they would arrive. The initial phone call that had started this entire ordeal hadn’t exactly been detailed—it was more of a quick in and out—instructions first, questions later call. And oh, the ambiguity of the plan drove you insane.

On the other side of the room, you heard the scrabble of Jamie’s nails against his glass enclosure. That wretched hamster had seen better days. You figured he was the sort of pet Ben could get along with—if their shared trauma of being experimented on was reason enough to bond.

Suddenly, a heavy clank sounded against the door of the main entrance, which instantly plucked you from your thoughts and had you drawn into a defensive position before you could process the entire situation. Another loud clunk rattled the steel, then another. It sounded like the adrenaline currently pumping your heart to an all time high.

Whoever was behind that door didn’t sound passive. Your paranoia got the best of you as you imagined Russians guards waiting to storm the room. Had somebody found the guard’s murdered body and alerted the nighttime patrol? You knew you should have done a last sweep of the compound before hightailing it toward the hold—perhaps you’d missed an employee, and now you’d have to pay for leaving a loose end uncut.

The door finally relented with one last thud, and it gave a low, trembling creak as it slowly descended to the floor—the scene so cinematically dramatic. It landed with a deafening clunk, a dust cloud exploding to conceal the doorway. You waited tensely, expecting to see the Russians stream through with defences ablaze at any second.

So, this is it, you ridiculed silently. This is how I go out. A bitter smile spread your lips. What had all these years—all the suffering been for, if not to pave way for a happy ending? Did you and Ben not deserve it, after everything?

Tsk. Fate, thou art a heartless bitch.

But the first man to step through the haze was tall and heavyset with dark, messy hair and a thick beard—but most importantly, lacking a guard’s uniform entirely. The sight laid your internal monologue to rest. You wouldn’t be dying today.

The newcomer narrowed his eyes and did a scan of the room. When they landed on you, a devilish smirk hitched up the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he called out in a thick, English accent—the same one that had driven you crazy through the digital line. He took a dramatic step past the collapsed door, his shoulders rocking side to side before stilling to face you. “‘Ello there, Love. Fancy finally meetin’ yer in the flesh.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you spat out, all the breath you’d been hoarding in anticipation channeled into that single sentence. “Ever heard of a fucking knock?” Your tone was hostile, but your hands fell to your side with relief, your heart rate beginning to settle into a steadier rhythm.

The dark-haired man glanced around him with calculation—likely scanning for any hidden traps or accomplices, then popped a glance to where the door laid needlessly discarded onto the floor. He turned back to you with a done deal grin, hands spreading in an innocent gesture.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’, Love,” he chuckled, that charming smirk becoming far too comfortable on his rough features. “But it do make for one diabolical entrance, done it? And The Boys don’t deserve nuffin’ less.”

As if that did the trick in summoning the rest of the group, more figures slunk through the door to take up formation behind the Brit—a dark-skinned man with distrust woven into his features as he glared you down, a tall, scrawny, kid that looked as jittery as a hostage, an Asian girl that glanced about the room with interest, and a fair-skinned man with what looked like a mullet in bad taste.

The Brit tossed a nod in your direction. “We haven’t formally met. Name’s Butcher,” he said, strolling further into the room to make better acquaintance.

You trailed closer to meet him halfway, coming to stand perfectly in front of Ben’s sleeping tank—as if to shield his helpless form from any potential danger. You were met with the Brit’s outstretched hand, and you glanced down at it with a brief narrowing of your eyes before your attention flickered back up to him.

“It don’t bite, Love—promise,” he jabbed.

You flashed him a wry smile, but you were still hesitant as you slipped your bandaged palm into his. He held you firmly to deliver a polite shake, and you were ready to slink away from his hold when he trapped you in his grasp with a curious study of your palm.

“Blimey, did yer give a knife a good ol’ wank?” He huffed.

With a light scoff, you curbed his prying nose and offered him your name, to which the Brit grinned in a manner that felt forced.

“Lovely name yer’ve got there.” He released your hand and pivoted on his heels to address the rest of the group. “Right, you lot, we don’t got a lotta time. Them red cunts out there know we’re in ‘ere, and they’re gonna come lookin’ for us with ten rounds o’ fuck yer stuck up them fuckin’ guns. So keep yer wits about yer, and keep off each other’s throats, all righ’?”

Your attention drifted to where the Asian girl turned to Butcher, her hands lifting to portray a series of symbols that you could recognise as sign language, but the words were lost on your uneducated eyes. The fair-skinned man beside her turned to face her.

“Don’t worry, Mon Coeur, we can handle them,” he reassured her—a distinct, smooth slur to his words.

French, you noted with a hint of surprise. What an interesting group of people.

“Uh, guys,” the scrawny boy spoke up. You caught a hint of alarm on his features before he turned away to face the door. “I think more guards are on their way.” You strained your ears and heard the faint commotion of Russian phrases and thudding boots in the distance.

“Great,” the dark-skinned man commented sarcastically, head swinging over to face the French. “Ya just had to go and say that, didn’t ya, Frenchie? Should’ve touched wood, man—now we’ve got the whole fuckin’ armed guard about to come down on our asses.”

Who the fuck came up with the name Frenchie? You thought with a scoff. If it was a given nickname within the group, there was a severe lack of creativity amongst their ranks.

Frenchie looked confronted at the man’s attack. “I didn’t do anything! Blame Butcher for frying le whole fucking grid and sending his fist directly into the guard’s face!”

“Oi!” Butcher interjected, taking a step toward the bickering men. “I didn’t see yer lift yer bloody finger to help, now, did’cha? And it don’t matter now. So lay off the fuckin’ tiff, boaf o’ ya, and brave yer bollocks f’a righ’ burnin’.”

You couldn’t help but smirk lightly at the group’s dynamic. One thing was certain—with them, there was never a dull moment.

You could hardly acknowledge that thought for a second longer before armed guards were rallied at the door, causing The Boys to pivot toward the entrance in alarm. Gun were pointed into the room before bullets began flying in scattered chaos.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell! Take cover!” Butcher yelled, and The Boys all scattered to various ends of the room to avoid the rapid fire.

You attempted to do the same, when time seemed to slow at the prospect of a bullet heading directly for you. Your breath roared in your ears, muffling all the sounds around you into a single, shrill ring as you lifted your hand into the air out of instinct. With a single twist of your fingers, the bullet making a direct line for your face curved through the air, and it deviated from its path to strike glass some ways behind you.

You let slip a relieved, breathless chuckle, but didn’t waste another second as an easy target out in the open as you scampered to hide behind Ben’s sleeping tank. You pressed your back against the tank, your head collapsing against the metal with a wide grin.

You hadn’t pulled off that trick for quite some time—and it was bold to assume that it would’ve worked when your body was severely out of practice. Guess the Supe in you never leaves, does it? You remarked with silent appreciation.

But still, you cursed your unpreparedness. For all the things you’d remembered to pack, a gun had somehow slipped your mind entirely. Having powers was good and all, but the ability to withstand gunfire was beyond your biological pay grade, and without your long lost Supe uniform, you were as vulnerable as any other human in this room.

Something small levitated into the air ahead of you, drawing your attention into a bewildered stare. Jamie, the hamster, gravitated through the air, whisking directly past you and into the chaotic storm of bullets. You had a good guess of where the bullet you’d redirected had gone.

“It fucking flies?” You scoffed in amazement.

You heard a guttural scream followed by a string of Russian pleas, and you guessed that the hamster had his own personal vendetta to fulfil. That makes two of us.

You heard The Boys calling to one another as they came to terms with their depleted bullets, but the Russians were still keenly at it, the shots bounding off the walls of the room until it sounded like a drawn out melody of war and sure death. You risked a glance past the tank, outstretching your hand to drain the lungs of one of the Russians raining hell on where Butcher and the scrawny kid took cover.

The Russian seized on the spot, hand flying to clutch his chest before he collapsed to the ground and didn’t stir again. Butcher caught that stunt with an impressed glint to his eye, his chin dipping in the slightest gesture of approval. You returned it with a smug grin, but what came next whisked the amusement clean from your lips.

The Brit discarded his emptied gun, stepping into the clearing with a loud-ringing “evenin’, cunts,” and then you witnessed his eyes ignite with a red, bustling flame. He strolled into the open fire, the bullets bounding off his skin like they’d never stood a chance in the first place. And then you saw it—beams of molten lava searing through the air to decapitate any and all bodies caught in its destructive path.

The Brit’s head panned around the room to exterminate the Russians one by one, until nothing but silence filled the room, and the unpleasant scent of scorched flesh bombarded your nose. You slowly rose to full height, stepping out into the clearing just in time to witness Butcher’s red eyes simmer into their normal dark shade. He glanced about his companions in waiting—for what, you had no concrete idea, but you could guess that the rest of the Boys were as shocked as you.

You glanced around at the rest of their faces to gauge the group’s reaction. The scrawny boy appeared behind Butcher with a look of amazement and admiration bright on his features—stupid fool would likely get himself killed gawking after that reckless Brit. You glanced over at the dark-skinned man, who looked furious as he glared down the leader of The Boys. Frenchie, and the Asian girl attached at his hip, exchanged puzzled glances that quickly turned curious once they glanced between Butcher and the dark-skinned man.

There was definitely some unspoken tension lingering between those two men—some ongoing war for leadership. But before either of them had a chance to speak, the scrawny boy let out a yell.

“M.M.—behind you!”

The dark-skinned man spun around, and your attention flitted to where a Russian guard had snuck up onto him with his gun armed and ready for attack.

He’s not going to make it, you thought with a jolt. Instinctually, your hand whisked into the air, and a second later, the guard staggered in place to paw at his chest—some pathetic attempt to remove his gear and undo his gradual smothering. But before you could sign off on the murder, the scrawny boy appeared behind the Russian with his fist impaled through the guard’s chest.

You had to blink twice to solidify that scene—the boy was naked, and he’d been on the other end of the room, fully clothed, only a second ago.

“What in the fuck is going on?” You muttered, hand falling back to your side. The Russian guard, now void of a heart, mimicked the gesture as he planted onto the floor, his gun clattering to the ground beside him. You squinted at the naked boy—first Butcher, and now him. Just what crackhead group of Supes had you gotten tied up with?

The scrawny boy glanced down at his bloodied hand in a fit of ragged breaths, his expression a mixture of confusion and amazement, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. You wondered whether his reaction was toward his power, or the murder—though he didn’t seem like the type that went around killing often, or at all, and he sure as hell didn’t look like somebody who enjoyed it.

“Jesus!” The man—M.M.—breathed out, hand lifting to cradle his head in denial, acceptance, and then defeat. “I can’t—I just can’t,” he muttered, turning away from the scene to take a heated second for himself.

You left the tank’s side to approach Butcher, and the Brit spun to face you with a smirk—always that damn smirk.

“Well, tha’s a nifty li’l power yer’ve got there, innit?” He praised in something akin to admiration.

You couldn’t return the sentiment. “You’re a Supe?” You exclaimed. “You didn’t think to mention that when we first spoke?”

The Brit beamed with some emotion beyond you. “Tha’s the best part, Love,” he said, head tilting in exhilaration. “I ain’t no bleedin’ Supe. I’ve had me a good hit of Temp V, is all—it gives me the wankin’ wonders o’ Supe powers without all the stinkin’ cameras and promos stuck up me arse.”

“Yeah,” M.M. spoke up in a tone lacking amusement, turning to face the group once he’d blown off enough steam—but honestly, he only looked more peeved. “And it’s only killing you, ya stupid motherfucker.”

Butcher flashed him an unfazed glance. “Well, we’re all slowly dying, ain’t we, M.M.?”

The dark-skinned man crossed his arms in what looked like disappointment. “Yeah, but you just had to go and take the fuckin’ crown on that one, didn’t ya? Goddammnit, Butcher, I can’t with you.”

“Then don’t, mate, ain’t yer concern,” the Brit replied simply, then turned his attention to the scrawny boy with a proud grin. “Nice one, Hughie—laid one on tha’ wanker in a heartbeat.” His head lowered to where the guard’s heart lay on the ground, and he beamed a little too hard at his pun.

Hughie seemed flustered at the compliment, but cleared his throat self-consciously when M.M. flashed him a glare.

“Put some damn clothes on,” the dark-skinned man scoffed. “I don’t needa see any more ass today.”

Frenchie crept up behind Hughie holding the outfit the boy had discarded in the wake of his teleportation. “Here, Petit Hughie,” he said through an amused grin.

“Ah, thanks, Frenchie,” he chuckled awkwardly before accepting the uniform and turning away to become decent.

Turning to face you, Butcher gave a nod. “Right, then, why don’tcha show us the way, Love? We’ll get yer nuclear heartthrob outta this place in no time.”

You harboured an eye roll before beckoning curtly over your shoulder. “He’s in there.” You stepped aside to give the Brit a full view of the sleeping tank.

Butcher’s expression turned solemn as he brushed past you to inspect the container. “What the fuck,” he drawled. “They’ve got ‘im wrapped up tighter than a priest’s chaste cock.” Your brows furrowed at his acquired taste for humour—but in that way, he and Ben were quite alike. “How do we open this fuckin’ thing?” He asked distractedly, moving around the frame to inspect the reinforced locks.

“Good question,” you told him, watching him from the same position as you crossed your arms in frustration. “If I had any idea, you wouldn’t be here. They’ve got that tank reinforced like hell—I’ve tried everything to get it open. It’s useless.”

The Brit tossed you an incoherent glance over his shoulder, then tuned his focus back to the tank. “Well, let us have a go, then.”

You cocked your head in smug doubt, watching as the Brit wrapped his large palms around the rim of the tank’s door. Who does he think he is? You scorned silently. He released a loud growl, the muscles of his upper body flexing with strained effort. He kept up the exertion for a good few seconds, and you left out a light huff through your nostrils to confirm what you’d known all along—there was no way that he was getting that door open with his two bare hands.

Almost as though Butcher could heed your thoughts, he amped up his efforts with a growing yell, and to your amazement, the door began to budge with a heavy creak. You watched with subtle awe as the Brit managed to successfully detach the door, his study frame collapsing back slightly as he hovered the metal in his grasp. It was insane to think that his abilities were all thanks to that Temp V substance, but you could only imaging the tolling effects that it had on his body. Hell, you’d been receiving V since you were born, and even you had moments where your body became worn by your abilities.

Butcher turned with the door, scanning an area to discard it toward before he settled for a corner that was far too close to the Asian girl’s loitering figure. When the door landed with a dull thud, the Brit turned to face the tank—you all did.

You took a few steps closer, coming to stand beside Butcher as you watched smoke pour out the hold and cascade around your feet. The Brit outstretched his hand to keep you back, which made you glance at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise.

“He’s not dangerous,” you told him, but you were quick to catch yourself with a frown when you remembered all the instances Ben had woken up in a confused state—and the time he’d hurt you because of it.

“Yeah? Well, tell that to yer face,” Butcher answered gruffly, wholly unconvinced by your faltering advocation.

You bit on your tongue and nudged the Brit’s hand away, but nonetheless, you didn’t move any closer. Butcher flashed you a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything further. You noted how Frenchie and the girl had inched their way nearer to where you stood, just as eager to witness the man that had been an expired legend up until now.

When the smoke started to clear, you could make out the outline of Ben’s figure, stood upright and strapped to a contraption that would hold him in place during his coma. His eyes were still closed, an oxygen mask strapped around his face. Your heart ached at the sight—it was demeaning, him tied down against his will, completely bare and stashed away in some dusty basement to be forgotten until he was needed again.

Never again.

Just then, Ben began to stir, his eyes opening slowly as he drifted back into the waiting world. The arms at his sides flexed with what strength he could muster, and it was still enough to tear through the fabricated restraints around his wrists. His eyes blinked many times as he stared ahead into the newfound opening, but not at anything, or anyone, in particular. He lifted a jittery hand to pry the mask from his face, his hand lowering to his side and dropping it into the smoky oblivion below.

Beside you, you heard a disbelieved murmur leave Butcher’s lips. “Soldier Boy. . .” He breathed.

As if that was all the beckon he needed, Ben’s hands gripped at the rim of his tank, nose scrunched and teeth gritted as he tried to haul together the effort to pull himself from his personal prison.

You instantly dove forward to help him, but Butcher’s arm found yours in restraint once more, pushing you a step back as he turned to face you.

“Stay back, Love. He’s got a fuck-sight o’ that nasty gas pumpin’ through ‘is veins. I mean, have a shufti o’ tha’ cunt—he don’t even know where the ‘ell he is. Yer don’t wanna piss about a timebomb like tha’, trust me.”

“He’s not a bomb,” you answered in frustration. “He’s just confused. You’d be the exact same if somebody fucked with your brain the way these comas fuck with his.”

“I ain’t baggin’ on yer boy, Love, just tryna prevent unnecessary casualties. Don’t need yer blood on me hands.”

Before you could reply, Ben’s frail voice called out your name.

Your heart lurched at the sound, your head swivelling to neglect Butcher and the anger he was starting to evoke. Your boyfriend was leaned halfway out of the tank now, his brows still kneaded together with disorientation as he battled to keep his attention pinpointed on you. You pushed past Butcher’s arm and rushed to catch Ben as he staggered out of the tank, his one hand finding your shoulder for support while his other reached back to steady himself against the metal.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, hands coming up to gently frame his bearded jaw as your lips spread with a smile of relief. He remembered you—no temporary amnesia this time, no forgotten memories, no further pain to endure. “I’m right here, Ben.”

The Supe blinked rapidly, his chin lifting a fraction as his red and teary eyes did a hasty sweep of the surrounding members of The Boys. You called his attention back to you, stroking a thumb along his cheek.

“Hey, don’t worry about them. It’s the group we talked about. . . The Boys. They got you out of that tank, and we’re about to get the hell out of this place,” you comforted him softly.

Ben’s eyes found yours again, but they were glossed over and narrowed, as though your words were incomprehensible to him. His attention dropped to the bloodstain on your shirt, then shifted to the bloodied bandage wrapped around the palm that cradled his cheek.

The hand he’d placed against the tank moved to cover your bandaged palm, and you felt the way he trembled against you. “You’re. . . bleeding,” he pushed out between staggered breaths.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine,” you assured him. “Trust me, you look worse than me, so worry about yourself, first.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then his eyes screwed shut and his teeth grit around a muffled grunt, the hands he’d placed on you flying to clutch at his chest.

You held his buckling head firmly between your hands, craning yourself in an attempt to get a view of his face. “Ben?” You called to him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

There was no reply, only pained grunting as he continued to claw at his chest. When your eyes lowered to his torso, you were horrified to find that his flesh had begun to illuminate from within. Slowly, an orange light began to bloom at the centre, painting every organ, vein and artery in clear, dark definition against his translucent skin. You felt a surge of heat begin to radiate from him, enough to burn your arms into releasing his face and assault your eyes into a tight squint.

“Ben, what the hell is going on?” You called in panic, arm coming up to shield your teary eyes.

The Supe grunted in pain, his palm moving clumsily to shove you back at the chest. You staggered back a step, nearly losing your footing until you felt a large hand steady you at the back.

Butcher appeared over your shoulder. “Blimey, tha’ cunt’s ‘bout to blow,” he remarked roughly.

“What?” You replied with a quiver in your voice. You dropped your arm and blinked rapidly to focus your burning eyes back onto Ben. You spotted him struggling away from the tank—away from you—travelling a blind line that drew all the way to a wide-eyed Frenchie.

The French stood backed into a corner, gun slowly raising to act as a pitiful means of defence against the Supe’s disconcerting approach.

“Easy now,” Frenchie attempted to calm Ben, opting to lay off the threatening gun as his hands lifted in surrender. “We are all friends, no?” He laughed nervously, eyes flickering past the Supe to fix you with a pleading expression.

You returned Frenchie’s look with helpless panic. Quite frankly, you had no idea what was going through Ben’s mind as of now, or just what on earth was brewing inside his chest, but you had a gnawing feeling that somebody in this room might not live to find out.

You made the move to approach your boyfriend, eager to stop Ben and disprove that nagging voice in your head, but Butcher found your wrist in a tight, relentless grasp this time around—and it only continued to tighten as a show that he didn’t intend to let you go this time.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said before you had a chance to protest. “If yer boy over there pulls the plug on ‘is night lamp of a chest, boaf you and Frenchie will get yerselves killed. If Soldier Boy lives to see another miserable day, I’ll be needing yer to help us figure out just what the hell them Russian cunts put in ‘im.”

You gave Butcher a long stare, your chest nagged by some feeling that seemed to resonate with the Brit’s words. You knew exactly what had been pumped into Ben. And with that knowledge, you might be able to figure out this new power of his and help The Boys keep him under control. But was the Brit really willing to let Frenchie die for the sake of it?

Turning back to the scene, you watched as Ben’s head buckled again, pained shouts leaving his lips as he fought to control the ever-growing light within. At some point, he began to beam so bright that you couldn’t stare at him any longer without feeling as though your vision would terminate on the spot, so you turned your head away.

And then you heard it—Frenchie letting out a yell, and a loud explosion that sent something flying into a wall. Hesitantly, your eyes drifted open, where you witnessed Butcher’s hands pressed against his ears with a twisted expression. Behind him, Hughie and M.M. did the same, their faces mortified.

Your breathing came out ragged—loud and harsh in your ears as they adjusted to the normal air after what sounded like a deafening, sonic boom. Turning your head slowly, you saw Ben hunched in on himself, his body returned to its normal colour—void of all deathly glow. You wanted to feel a surge of relief, knowing that he was okay, but then your eyes drifted ahead of him to where a figure lay motionless upon the ground.

The Asian girl was sprawled across the floor, blood seeping from wounds along her torso, so dire that you could make out the cuts even from where you stood. The stone wall just behind her was cracked with what must’ve been the impact of her hurled body, and the sight brewed fresh dread in your heart.

No, you breathed silently, your eyes growing hot with horror. Suddenly, the words you’d told Butcher only moments ago came around again, a voice that taunted you into guilt. He’s not a bomb. He’s not a bomb.

And yet he’d just blown up and injured—possibly killed—one of the group members—people who had risked quite a lot to save the both of you. Your hand came up to cover your mouth in a state of shock and remorse, and for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but stand in a fit of paralysis.

Frenchie scrambled up from the other end of the floor and sped over to collapse at the girl’s body, hands frantically searching her neck for a pulse. He settled on a point and hovered his fingers there for many seconds, and you held your breath in anticipation as you waited for him to confirm her life, or death.

To your relief, he let out a jittery sigh. “She lives!” He declared into the room. “Mon Coeur,” he called more softly, a hand moving to turn her face toward his, but her lids remained heavily clamped, and even her lower lip dropped open in her unconscious state.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Butcher breathed from behind you, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

You hurried over to where Ben still stood, crouched over and consumed in a haze of overwhelming emotions that you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. You slowed a little ways before him, your hand cautious as you reached to gently cup his back. You were unsure at this point of what potential triggers may set him off.

When you made with the skin of his back, he gave a slight flinch, but he turned his head a fraction to drink in who’d touched him. When he saw it was you, his face briefly softened with a quiet regret that made your heart ache—an almost unspoken apology for the mess he’d made. You took up a firmer grip on his back, urging him to move toward the wall for better support against his weakness.

“Come on, just take a moment,” you urged, and he relaxed into your gentle guidance as you moved the both of you toward the wall. You tried your best not to glance at the girl’s unconscious body, but Ben wasn’t so merciful in sparing himself the guilt as he risked a glance toward her body, and held her motionless body in his view all the way until you’d reached the wall.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” you told him in an almost whisper. Because it’s my fault. I gave you those powers when I gave you your last dose. You wanted to tell him that, but you choked up on the guilt, and it would do little to comfort what had already happened. So instead, you settled for, “you had no control over it. The important thing is that the girl’s alive, okay? You didn’t kill her.”

You didn’t know that for certain. So much could happen between now and the trip to the hospital. Ben spared you a dark glance that reflected your thoughts. You reached to cup his cheek, but he turned away from you to face the wall, his hands coming up to steady himself against the stone. Your hand fell back to your side as you let out a soft exhale.

“I’m going to figure out what’s going on with you,” you told him. “But just stay here for now, I need to talk to Butcher and the others, okay?” You weren’t entirely sure that you had Ben’s ear, but he was too stunned to go anywhere for the time-being, so you felt confident enough to leave him alone to talk to the others.

“Not a bomb, eh?” The Brit scoffed once you reached him. “Well, Love, it don’t sound like yer know yer man as well as yer think ya do, d’ya?”

“Give me a break,” you retorted, coming to a complete stop in front of the dark-haired man. “This. . . power of his isn’t anything I’ve seen before. If I knew he could do that, I would’ve told you, and we could’ve found a way to keep the lid on and prevent anybody from getting hurt.”

“What, like he wasn’t already a murderer before this very instance?” M.M. spoke up from where he stood, idling beside a bewildered Hughie.

You flashed the dark-skinned man a glare. “He didn’t mean to do it,” you said more firmly.

M.M. had this biting fire to his eyes, his upper lip twitching with a barely perceptible emotion. “Didn’t mean to do what, exactly?” He drilled. “Kill all those innocent people back in the day, or almost killing an innocent girl right now?”

“M.M.,” Butcher called to his friend, a light undertone of warning. “Don’t, mate.”

M.M.’s head swivelled toward the Brit. “Don’t you give me that fuckin’ ‘mate’ shit, Butcher. I wanna hear it from her—I wanna know if she’s really okay with all the shit that that motherfucker has done!” He turned to glare at you, causing your heart to lurch. Clearly, he had some hefty history behind his anger.

“We don’t got time for this,” Butcher attempted to interject, but M.M. stopped acknowledging the Brit, his tense shoulders rising and falling around some greater restraint on his part as he glared between you and Ben.

Your lips were hellbent on a clueless silence. You didn’t know what personal wrongs Ben had dealt M.M., but you knew that your boyfriend had a stained past. Truth is, you had no way to ever justify what Ben had done back in the day. And judging by how deep M.M.’s dislike and distrust for him ran, you figured that the Supe must’ve done something unforgivable.

Ben was far from perfect, you knew that. He had questionable morales, some that you’d never learnt to swallow even after all these years you’d been together. But you’d been trying to help him abandon those problematic viewpoints, and he’d been getting there slowly before Vought and the rest of Payback had gotten him kidnapped and rehomed into a tank.

“Nothin’ to say, huh?” M.M. mocked lowly, his lips twitching with disgust. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Cause ya just can’t justify a prick like that.”

“Hey, guys. . .” the naked boy—Hughie—spoke up, his anxious stare shifting between M.M., Butcher and you. “I hate to interrupt. . . whatever this is, but we’ve got to get out of here. What if more guards show up?” It was beyond you how somebody as scrawny and young-looking as him had met the criteria of such a raggedy tag group of misfits lead by the world’s number one British asshole, but he was right to be worried.

In the distance, you heard the thin, angry shouts. You didn’t want to stick around long enough to hear what they were saying.

You glanced over your shoulder to where Frenchie still hovered over the injured girl, her body half scorched and basted in the blood trickling from her abdomen. Your heart ached at the sight, and then your gaze slipped over to where Ben braced himself against the wall in a heaving mess of disorientation.

Oh, things were so fucked.

“She needs a hospital,” the French slurred, hands frantically whisking across the girl’s body. His eyes were a desperate plea as they fixated Butcher, then his head collapsed to where he took the girl’s unconscious head into his hands. “Hang in there, Mon Coeur, we will not let you die, you hear me?”

You turned back to Butcher. He was the head of this entire operation, so you waited tensely for him to hurl out some sort of command, a plan of action—anything. The commotion surrounding the room grew louder, which made the Brit glance at the entrance they’d barged through.

“We gotta get the fuck outta ‘ere,” Butcher grumbled. He jerked his chin at the Hughie. “Hughie, help Frenchie with Kimiko, we ain’t stayin’ ‘round ‘ere any longer than we got to. I don’t much fancy playin’ a round o’ Russian Roulette with those trigger-happy red cunts—and right now, they got a ragin’ boner for the lot o’ us.”

Hughie scampered past to heed Butcher’s orders, but not without risking you an uneasy glance. He disappeared from your view as he slipped past you to conspire with Frenchie in getting Kimiko to the car.

“You two, back o’ the van,” the Brit told you, calling your attention back to him. The furrow of his frown ran deep as he took a step closer to glare you down. “And yer best keep America’s Ancient Arsehole from gettin’ all hot and bothered in me ride, or we’re all as good as fucked, ‘ear that?”

Before you had the chance to return Butcher’s scorn, you were interrupted by a protest that sounded most displeased.

“Uh uh,” M.M.’s voice rang out clearly, causing both yourself and Butcher to turn to him. He loomed tensely, eyes darkened and features modelling a look of heartfelt disgust as he glanced between you and Ben. “No way in hell—I ain’t climbin’ into the same car as that motherfucker,” he declared with an accusing index figure in Ben’s direction, his hard stare further isolating your boyfriend before he turned his attention back to Butcher. “They gotta find their own way—meet us somewhere we can recoup and plan out this fuckin’ stinkin’ pile of shit you got us into, Butcher.”

“M.M.,” Butcher groused, taking a step toward his companion. “We don’t got time for this, mate. We came ‘ere to do a job, and we gotta do it quick. Yer don’t gotta hold ‘ands wif the cunt, yer just gotta brave face until we get clear o’ this shitshow, all righ’?”

But M.M. looked unconvinced, the distrust in his stare not once relenting as he did another sweep of you and Ben. His chin lifted slowly—a bold notion of defiance as he glared Butcher down.

“Nah,” he said lowly, arms brought forward to cross over his chest. “Not happenin’, Butcher.”

“Oh, f’fuck’s sakes,” the Brit grumbled, hand brought up to his jaw to stroke across his beard with exasperation as he attempted to negotiate with his companion.

Just by observing the dynamic between the two of them, you could tell that they bickered like this far too often. Two alpha males, constantly clashing horns as they fought to uphold their own glaring sense of right and wrong. But there was no time to stand back and bathe in the ricocheting argument, so you intercepted their bickering with a hint of impatience.

“It’s all right,” you steadied with outstretched hands, which made both Butcher and M.M turned to look at you. “I’ll find Ben and I another way out. I know a route, and I know where to get a ride. You just focus on getting the girl to the hospital, and we’ll lay low somewhere until you tell us the next move.”

Without waiting for input from the two of them, you turned and scampered off to the bag you’d left at the foot of Ben’s tank. You passed a glance at Ben, who still stood leant against the wall, head hanging low in oblivion. You doubted he’d caught a fraction of the ongoing conversation.

“Like ‘ell yer are,” Butcher called to you. “I’d be a daft wanker to let the two o’ ya off me fuckin’ leash, now, wouldn’t I?”

“Seems right on par with the asshole of the year award you’ve made runner up for,” you mumbled under your breath before reaching the bag and bending down to unzip it. “Listen, it’s not like we’ve got many options when your friend over there has made his feelings about us clear. I’m just trying to get Ben and I out of here in one piece,” you added more loudly.

“All right,” the Brit reasoned. “Say I let the two o’ ya slip away, hand in hand, how do yer s’pose we find yer again? Trackin’ yer down to this fortified safe already cost us some hefty shite—and it’ll be a li’l difficult keepin’ a lead on yer this time ‘round when yer’ve only disappeared into the whole o’ bleedin’ Russia!”

“Hold that thought,” you called back, hand rummaging through your loaded supply bag. Your fingers clattered against the burner phones you’d packed in case you and Ben got separated, and you pulled one of them out. You weren’t so eager to hand off the only thing serving as a backup should the two of you run into trouble, but you had very little luxury of choice right now.

Turning back to Butcher, you made you way back over to the ruffled Brit, hand outstretched to offer him the phone. “Call the number saved on there, I’ve got another in the bag. Once we’re all in the clear, we’ll meet you wherever it is you need us to be.” The Brit fixed you with a distrustful stare before snatching it from your presented palm.

You’re fucking welcome, you thought irritably. You pivoted on your heels in an attempt to retrieve your backpack and get both yourself and Ben the hell out of here, but Butcher’s hand found your arm in a firm grip before you could manage to slip away.

“Oi!” You were forcibly spun around to face the towering Brit, who torqued his chin at you with far too much attitude for your liking. “How do I know tha’ you and Chernobyl’s li’l arsehole ain’t gonna do a runner into the fuckin’ sunset for good now that we’ve freed the boaf o’ ya? I can’t trust cha.”

Your scowled at his lack of charm, yanking your hand free of his throttling grasp to take a step back. “We may be strangers—and you may be the finest pick of the asshole litter, but we made a deal, and I always honour my word. You can count on that, or you can suckle on paranoia’s tit while we wait for the backup guards to gun us down. Your choice.”

Butcher seemed briefly surprised by your mouth, if his hitched brows was any indication. But he was quick to morph back into his signature frown, lips parting with what could’ve been an attempt to further pick at the scab of distrust. Thankfully, M.M.’s voice interrupted on cue.

“Butcher, we gotta go!” He called, back turning on you both as he raised his gun to assault a Russian guard that had slipped into the doorframe.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, these cunts are relentless,” Butcher muttered in exasperation as he took in the new company. He faced you with a displeased expression, dispelling a defeated sigh before he cocked his head in the slightest gesture that bid your official release.

You gave him a small, curt nod, and without wasting another second, you slipped away to grab your bag and hurried over to where Ben’s figure remained propped against the wall, bare back presented to you in a heaving, sweaty mess. You reached to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, which caused him to flinch away and spin around in full-blown defence mode, but he quickly relaxed as he drank you in.

“Hey, we’ve got to go,” you cooed gently, reaffirming your hold on his arm as you encouraged him to drape it along your neck. Ben succumbed to your guidance and partially leaned himself onto the side of your frame, and you tried your best to accommodate his large stature by securing your other arm around his waist.

“I got you,” you murmured against his jaw, but you could tell that it was lost to the hurricane of disorientation that currently circled his head and rendered his responses naught. As of now, he was surviving off of nothing but the familiarity of your presence.

Behind you, wind buffeted the back of your neck as Hughie glided past, and then there was the distinct, sharp whisk through the air that indicated he’d teleported to some other corner of the room—judging by the guttural scream that followed shortly after, likely directly into the chest of one of the guards. But you had no time to glance back to confirm that thought, not that you’d much like to see Hughie’s naked form again, anyway.

Together, you and Ben began to hobble through one of the back entrance’s. You entered into the winding corridor, whose overhead lights flickered menacingly. It created an eerie atmosphere that matched the theme of this entire compound, and it fed into the flight instinct that kept your feet moving.

When you’d first made contact with The Boys—about a week ago—you’d begun mapping out the best route possible for the group to infiltrate the facility. As a contingency plan, you’d also noted the route yourself and Ben currently ploughed through, just in case there’d been a kink in the plan. For once, you were thankful for your tendency to overthink.

After what felt like an endless straight line, you turned the corner of the corridor, Ben’s steps faltering with the change in direction. Your balance dipped the slightest bit as you scrambled to steady him in your hold.

“All good?” You checked in.

“Fine,” Ben pushed out with a grunt, his head still lolled over as he tried to focus his attention on the ground. “Keep on movin’.”

You breathed a light okay and kept on the prowl. Up ahead, you spotted a janitorial closet tucked into the corner bordering the designated exit you’d mapped out. You hastily steered him toward the door.

“In there,” you instructed, releasing the hand he had draped along your shoulders to twist the doorknob and push the door open. It gave way with an animated creak, and you hurried the both of you inside, guiding the Supe deeper into the dim, narrow space.

He slipped his hand from your shoulders to grab one of the cluttered shelves for support, and once you were certain he was steady enough to support his faltering frame, you turned to close the door behind you. You stole a quick glance out the small, dusty window centred in the janitorial door, feeling a slither of relief when no armed soldiers seemed to round the corner in pursuit of you.

“What’s. . . the plan?” Ben breathed out from behind you, his voice rough and thin as he fought off the sleepy haze. Usually, he had time to adjust coming out of the coma, but this time around, he’d been woken in such a flurry state of things that he’d barely been given the time to adapt. And it certainly didn’t help that he had a newfound power of blowing up unprovoked. It had taken a lot out of his sleepy state.

You turned to face your boyfriend, whose nude figure was on full display now as he stood facing you, a little taller, bolder—almost the man you knew him to be. You could have marvelled at the chiselled isles of his abs, and the moisture that furnished his skin and accentuated every curve of his muscles with the light’s faint glare, but this was hardly the time or place to indulge your desires.

With great difficulty, you averted your gaze from his figure as your hand moved to glide the backpack’s strap from your shoulder. “First, let’s get you dressed.”

You plopped it onto the floor at the nose of your boots, then bent down to dig into the crowded space in search of the clothes you’d packed for him. You pulled out a pair of grey sweats and an oversized t-shirt that you’d stolen from one of the guard’s lockers. You hadn’t had much luck in finding underwear, and you weren’t about to go around rummaging through lockers and sniffing pairs to deduce whether or not they were clean.

You straightened up and handed Ben the clothing, whose eyes flickered down to the items with a growing alertness—and unveiled judgement.

“The fuck is this?” He asked, hand gesturing to the sweatpants crowning the folded fabric stash. You knew he was making a point to ridicule what passed as fashion in this day and age. It was pretty much his brand to criticise everything and anything that didn’t fit his very limited ideologies, but there was no time to entertain that now.

“It’s the best I could do, is what,” you retorted, palm diving forward with impatience as you urged him to take the clothes. “Talk shit about it later—in fact, have an entire rant, but right now, you’ve got to put these on so that we can get out of here, unless you’d like to keep on running around naked and flashing the whole of Russia.”

Ben’s eyes lowered down his body as you spoke, then lifted back to your face with an entertained air, his eyebrow lifted smugly. “What, you don’t like the view?” He jested. “Cause I gotta say, it’s the real panty-dropper. The ladies—they just can’t get enough o’ all o’ this.”

When you didn’t entertain what he passed as humour with a response, your expression blank save the impatience, he cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously before hesitantly taking the clothes from your grasp.

Pointing his free finger in your direction, he said, “you’re a doll,” and began slipping the clothes onto his body. You lowered yourself back to the bag to retrieve the socks and sneakers you’d also managed to nick before placing it at his feet.

While you waited for him to get modest—physically, at least, you zipped up the bag and strung it back over your shoulder before rising and turning to peer out the window again. There was a gnawing unease still buzzing at your fingertips and teasing at the steady pace of your heartbeat as you stared off into the corridor, just waiting for any sign of movement. While you stood, you couldn’t help but wonder whether The Boys were managing to hold their own back where you’d left them.

Your thoughts flitted to the injured girl—Kimiko; you hoped that they’d managed to escape and get her to the hospital, and there, you desperately wished that she’d live to see another day. Ben’s outburst was something you’d never seen before, even after all the years the Russian’s had trialed him to see what new powers your modified treatments had brought forward.

You knew that the explosion wasn’t personal, that it was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’d seen the look in M.M.‘s eyes—in all of their eyes. There was so much hatred and fear lingering in their stares, and it told you that The boys had come on this job with a preconceived notion about who you and Ben were. So it wouldn’t matter how much convincing you’d have done to try and plead in both your favours; they’d never trust you.

You didn’t much trust them either, that feeling was mutual, you only hoped that it wouldn’t interfere with the conditions that this plan had been tied to. There was still a job to be done before you and Ben could be free—properly free.

Ben’s finger’s curled around your waist, which jerked you from the whirlwind of thoughts you’d gotten sucked into. You turned to face him, fully clothed this time around, and you had to admit that he looked rather attractive in the casual attire.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. He looked alert in the eyes, his movements stronger and more controlled compared to his earlier erraticism.

“I feel fine, no need to fuss over me like I’m some goddamn spineless pussy,” he brushed off dismissively.

You scoffed lightly. “Forgive me for giving a shit,” you muttered, turning away from him to reach for the door handle. “Come on, we’ve gotta go. We’ve already taken longer than I would’ve liked.” You turned the knob and managed to pull the door slightly ajar. “For all we know, they’ve already got more guards set around the per—”

Before you could finish that mildly frantic sentence, Ben’s hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked it from the doorknob. You’d barely managed a protest before he whirled you around to face him and pulled you against his body, his hand only releasing yours to take up firm grip at your jaw. Instinctively, you shrugged the bag from your shoulder and heard it thump to the ground before your own hands came to rest against his broad chest.

With both hands now bracketing your face, he dove down to press a desperate and warm kiss to your lips. At first, the chafe of his overgrown beard felt foreign, but the way his lips eagerly entangled with yours was all the familiarity you needed to melt into his consumption entirely. His large hands stroked down your neck in perfect rhythm, caressing the slopes of your shoulders all the way down your back, and finally, they settled for a firm hold at your hips.

His thumbs hooked over the front of your pelvis as he pushed you against the door you’d been so eager to slip out of only moments ago, and it clicked into it’s place within the frame with an abrupt thud. You release a stifled moan as he pressed you into the wood, and he greedily swallowed it whole, claiming every aspect of your being with this gluttonous kiss.

Your hands dragged up his chest to frame his neck, where you pushed him away to break off the kiss. His lips were plucked from yours with a palpable click, and his features morphed with a disappointed frown as he leaned back to give you air.

Moving his hand to drag two dramatic fingers over his lips, he gazed at you through those charming eyes of his. “I was just gettin’ started with you, sweetheart,” he said lowly.

Chest slightly heaving, your hands lowered to his waist as you gazed up at him. “As much as I’d love to take this further, we can’t stick around here much longer. This part of the facility isn’t used much, but it’s somewhere they’ll come looking once all the other sectors are cleared.”

“You really did have it all planned out, huh?” He murmured sweetly, eyes flickering back down to your lips in a manner that told you he craved another taste of you. But thankfully, he was quite capable of self-restraint when the stakes were too high. He brought his focus back to your eyes with a cheeky wink before he withdrew from your proximity. “I always did admire that ‘bout you,” he stated before leaning over and swinging his arm forward to scoop up your backpack and lug it over his shoulder. Then, with a nod, he gestured to the door.

“Let’s get a move on, ain’t got all fuckin’ day, right? Besides, I made you a promise back in that lab, and the sooner we can get the fuck outta this ass-fuck of a dungeon, the sooner I can do good on my word.”

You grinned amusedly. “Because you’re old school like that, huh?” You poked.

“Damn right,” he said, hand wrapping around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward his lowering head. He placed a long kiss against the crown of your head, inhaling your scent in the process.

Your bandaged hand reached up to wrap around the arm that held you against Ben’s adoration, your eyes fluttering close as your body released the tension that had been drawing your every muscle rigid for countless decades.

During all these years at the lab, you were forced to be strong for both yourself and Ben. But you’d never been made to be a warrior—not in any way other than physically, at least. You wanted to be protected, held, cherished like a fragile item that could fracture with the slightest push. In that way, you supposed you were a little old school, too.

Ben had never hesitated to take on that role. To him, it was a dutiful honour—he wanted nothing more than to protect you.

Being trapped in this compound had you stuck in a loop of stress and anxiety, but for the first time, in a very long time, you knew you could breathe a little deeper to relieve that tightness in your chest. You knew you could risk that blink—that shuteye you’d been denying out of fear for your life. Because now that Ben was back, you knew that you were safe.

Gently pulling your head away from his kiss, your hand lingered on his arm as you whispered, “let’s go.”

His lips quirked in the softest smile of agreement, his hand hesitantly falling away from your neck only to take your banadaged hand into a firm, but careful grasp. “Just can’t get enough o’ you,” he chuckled deeply, but you caught the more solemn implications behind those words.

He’d been robbed of your touch for far too long, as much as you’d been of his. Only, he’d had to endure it much harder than you—having constant dreams about all the ways he could devour you during his induced comas. It had been an endless taunt with no assurance that it would ever happen, and now that he was stood here with you in the flesh, he was overcome with the urge to hold onto you, as though he could be ripped of your presence in a blink.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, your fingers tightening in his.

Ben glanced down at your intertwined hands, strands of his hair scattering across his forehead with the motion. It concealed any look that might’ve come across his eyes, but you didn’t miss the soft breath of relief that parted his lips.

He glanced back up at you with practiced composure, taking in a brave sniff as he faced you. “Ah, fuck all this teary-eyed shit. Let’s get the fuck outta here, get a banger meal and then lay one on a shitty motel mattress.”

You gave a small chuckle and released his hand to turn towards the door, where Ben shifted back to accommodate its opening. He held it open for you to slip through, and once you were in the hallway, he appeared behind you with the door clicking shut.

Glancing both ways, you were relieved to be in the clear, and even more relieved to hear that no warning alarms had been set off in the distance. You hoped that meant Butcher and the rest had managed to exterminate the rest of the guards before they had a chance to come down with their final iron fist.

Redirecting your attention to the exit, you beckoned for Ben to follow you through the double doors and out of the back of the compound. You stepped into the crisp night air, the doors swinging closed behind you as Ben appeared at your side, pressed into your arm as he sought out a fraction of your warmth.

“Son o’ a bitch,” he grumbled through chattering teeth, head swivelling about to get a glimpse of the unfamiliar environment.

“Yeah, you haven’t felt real cold in years,” you sympathised with a chuckle, hand slipping into his as you lead him through the empty lot dotted with crates and lorries.

“It’s a fuckin’ maze out here. Do you know where you’re goin’?” He asked doubtfully.

“Trust me, I know where we’re going.” You lead the way around a corner, where you came face to face with a yard of broken down, discarded vehicles that no longer served a purpose other than reusable parts. “Over there.”

You gestured to a modern, up-kept car nestled between various rusting metal on wheels. You’d stashed the getaway car here a few nights ago, and thankfully it had been one of the easier parts of the plan, given that not many employees wandered all the way out here.

You lead the way toward the vehicle, making a beeline for the driver’s seat. When you reached the car, you turned to Ben with a hand held in the air.

He slowed before you with a confused stare. “What?”

“The keys,” you told him, nodding your chin to the backpack on his shoulder. “They’re in the bag—the side pocket.”

He gave a slow nod of understanding and slipped the bag from his shoulder, plopping it down onto the floor as he bent over to undo the side pocket. A moment later, he pulled out the car keys, which wasn’t much but a remote and a dangling key chain. They clinked against each other loudly as he moved to pick up the bag in his other hand and rose to full height to face you, but he held off on handing you the keys.

“I’ll drive,” he said firmly.

You gave a light laugh. “I appreciate that, Ben, but you don’t know the first thing about the cars of today.”

The Supe looked insulted. “The fuck you on ‘bout? It’s a fuckin’ car. It’s got wheels, a throttle and a steerin’ wheel. How hard can it fuckin’ be?” He scoffed and lowered his head to the keys, pausing with a frown of panic before his gaze flitted back over to you. “It doesn’t fly, does it?”

You let out a loud laugh at that, which made Ben’s head loll to the side with a disappointed and slightly flustered stare.

“All right, all right,” he said—all hot and bothered as he glared you down. “So it doesn’t fuckin’ fly. Forgive a man for havin’ hope that the fuckin’ assholes back in our time did good on their promise of a future with flyin’ cars.”

He took a few steps toward the car, arm shooing you aside out of self-conscious spite. “I got this, all right, Princess?”

You faltered a step back as he barged past, your lips parted with the urge to rebound his argument, but you knew that a man like Ben needed to be shown, not told. “Fine,” you said, backing down to let him access the driver’s door uninterrupted. Your hands spread in a dramatic gesture. “Have at it.”

“I will,” he retorted arrogantly, clearing his throat as he lifted the keys to study it. His eyes flickered between the door handle and the keys a few times before flashing you a frustrated glare. “Quit starin’ at me like a braindead potato—I’m figurin’ it out!”

You had to fight to keep a grin from pulling at your lips, your hand coming up in a fist to conceal the lower half of your face. “Mhm,” you hummed into your hand, watching as Ben studied the remote for a few seconds.

The symbols that were supposed to mark which end of the singular button locked and unlocked the car had completely worn off with the years, so you couldn’t blame him for having a hard time with decoding the controls. It was at that point that you expected him to ask for some guidance, though, but the epitome of his masculine pride kept him silent. Eventually, he settled for pressing the bottom most corner, which made the car flash with the locking mechanism.

“Hah,” he breathed proudly, turning to flash you a smug wink. “See? Nothin’ to fuss over. Told ya I’d figure it out.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart one, Ben,” you indulged eagerly, hand falling from your face as you crossed your arms in waiting. “Go ahead, then.”

Ben reached for the handle, not without handing you a suspicious glance, and when he tugged on the door, he was overcome with impatience when he found it still locked.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be ticklin’ my fuckin’ ballsack!” He exclaimed irritably, hand falling away from the handle. You fixed him with a long, delighted stare that made him shake his head lightly before handing you the keys. “Wipe that grin off your fuckin’ mouth,” he warned.

You took the keys from him and clicked the unlock button. “Or what, Ben?” You asked pointedly, chin lifting to meet his stare boldly.

He chuckled all-knowingly. “You know what,” he husked darkly, eyes glinting with innuendo as he took a step toward you, chin tilted down as he sized you up. “Or I’ll have ya on your knees tonight, pretty lips all stuffed and achin’ ‘round my dick til you can’t even fathom havin’ this attitude of yours.”

Your lower lip fell limp at that, a soft exhale of disbelief leaving your lungs as your head tilted back to hold the weight of his scheming stare. “You’re threatening me with a good time, Soldier Boy?”

Ben’s smirk beamed through that overgrown beard of his at the use of his Supe name. You knew the title on your lips spurred him on in inconceivable ways. “Always a good time til you can’t breathe, isn’t it?” He hummed somewhat condescendingly. “Maybe it’s ‘bout time I give ya a taste of your own fuckin’ medicine.”

Before you had a chance to respond, he moved away to circle around you, then you felt his hand come down on your ass in a light spank. The sound echoed across the desolate, metal graveyard, and you were lurched forward an inch by the momentum.

“What was wrong with fuckin’ keys, anyways?” You heard Ben grumble as he made his way around the car and toward the passenger seat.

You gave an amused huff and shake of your head before opening the driver’s door and sliding inside. Once you were in the seat, you closed the door and were met with Ben not-so-gently tossing the backpack onto the backseat.

“Careful with that,” you told him, placing the keys into one of the compartments before moving to strap yourself in. “There’s a burner phone in there. I told Butcher to call us once they’re in the clear so that we know where to meet them.” You flashed him a quick glance. “Seatbelt,” you added.

Ben obliged and reached for his seatbelt before clicking it in place. “Butcher?” He echoed in confusion. “He the lead asshole of this entire operation?”

“Yeah, asshole and some,” you remarked with a tut.

You moved to press the car’s on button before grabbing ahold of the gear and shifting it into drive mode. Putting the hand break down, you carefully began to manoeuvre the car out of the scrapyard and through the quiet, empty lot.

You heard Ben’s stomach growl just as you neared the the fence-line, which made you glance over at him with sympathy. “We’ll get you something to eat soon,” you promised him.

“And I expect dessert, too,” he added with a sly smirk. You caught on pretty quickly with a smile and slight shake of your head before turning your attention back to the road. “Ain’t gonna lie, seein’ you take control and mannin’ the wheel like this is gettin’ me all hot and excited down there.”

You scoffed as you pulled up to the gates, void of any guards at this instant. They didn’t usually account for this part of the compound, but you were glad that that hadn’t changed within short time of tonight’s breach. You put your foot down on the break, slowing the car to a stop before you glanced at Ben.

“What, you gonna ask me to give you another quick job?”

Ben’s brow cocked expectantly. “You offerin’?”

You held his stare for a moment, if only for dramatic effect, before flicking your head at the gate. “Just get out and open the gate,” you ordered.

His eyes narrowed briefly, lips parting before he drawled a husky, “yes, ma’am.”

You watched as he unbuckled and opened the car door, making his way to the front of the car. He hovered in front of the gate for a few seconds, likely figuring out the latch, before he began rolling the gate back. In no time, he was back in the car and strapped in, and you gave the car some eager gas to push the both of you through and out the gates of hell.

You made a turn onto a long road, which paved way into a whole lot of unknown. You figured that anywhere would be better than this place, so you stepped on the acceleration and sent yourselves fleeing down the tar and toward the luminescent, rounded moon perched on the dark horizon. You couldn’t help but glance up at the rear view mirror, witnessing as the Russian compound gradually grew smaller and smaller with the hasty distance you sought to put between it and you.

“This is it,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, eyes turning back to the road before you. So much relief had been channeled into those very words, but your fingers still gripped the steering wheel with the fear that something would go wrong. It always did. The universe had a way of implying that neither you nor Ben were set up for a happy ending.

A warm hand slid over the hump of your thigh, fingers squeezing gently to offer a sense of comfort and support.

“Hey,” Ben called to you gently. You turned to glance at him, only long enough to catch the soft glint in his eyes before you turned back to the road. “Quit gnawin’ at your lip. We’re freed the fuck outta there. It’s just you and me now, yeah? We got this.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, making the conscious decision to ease off the tension in your grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah,” you murmured half-heartedly. There was not much that could convince you now, other than the events of the future itself. But for Ben, you would try your best to hope for only an upward trajectory from here on out.

The buzzing of a cellphone called your attention to the rear view mirror, where you zoned in on the backpack on the backseat. Ben’s head swivelled to glimpse the bag, his hand leaving your thigh to reach for it.

“Leave it,” you told him.

Ben paused and turned to face you with a puzzled glance. “Isn’t it Butcher?” He asked.

“It is,” you told him, eyes fixed on the road. “But that prick can wait. For now, I want you all to myself. We have lost time to make up for, and until we do, screw everybody else.”

You heard the Supe chuckle, the sound of the bag falling back against the seat gracing your ears soon after.

“I like this new you,” he commented, his hand moving to wrap around and rest against the headpiece of your seat. “God, it gets my balls up and runnin’. Wanna have a feel?”

You giggled at Ben’s forwardness, the sound almost foreign on your ears. You hadn’t realised just how much you missed these tiny, absurd moments between the two of you. You hadn’t had much to laugh about in a long time, or anybody to laugh with—life had been cold, dull and lonely. But now, as you drove into the horizon, with the man you so dearly loved at your side, you felt renewed within.

The Boys, the plan, everything. . . they could wait. Right now, nothing other than the two of you mattered.

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a/n ─ i have finally attempted gradient text and y’all are gonna be sick of me for it 😭 this wasn’t supposed to become such a long chapter, but i’ve had such a blast with this idea that i got a little carried away. i really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it. part 3 will be out soon to conclude their little story! sorry for the delayed release, it’s been a scramble over here with christmas preparations + i fell ill a few days ago and have been fighting for my life ever since 🥲 (im just a lil sickly thing).

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @babyfri3dric3 @cevansbaby-dove @artemys-ackles @nyx-the-alien @smutboba @mochminnie @kamisobsessed @littlewitchgirly @spxideyver @destinys-dreamer @star-yawnznn @weaponxgames

want to become part of the taglist for any future soldier boy works?

other works ─ the boys masterlist

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paperbackpanic · 3 months ago

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Good deeds the pastas do

A/n: inspired by @milkycarnations post :) most are a "living together" type of good deeds bc I assume they're kinda of hermits because of the nature of their "job"

🪷 Eyeless Jack homeschool the child pastas, the pastas that are in highschool and the ones who didn't conclude the basic education level on the "right time" (idk how to explain it better). He might be a bit rusty with English and history but other than that he's the perfect teacher. His patience is not usually that high but when he's teaching he turns into a saint.

🪷 Jane will clean people's clothes without them asking, she'll even patch them if there's holes. She also makes people new clothes when she gets her hands on fabric, usually they're practical and simple (something like gym clothes, easy to run with) but super well made

🪷 Hoodie will take pictures of whoever asks him, and he'll go above and beyond for them. Think throwing himself on the ground to get a good shot, huge lights, all that. Heck he'll even make a physical photo album with edited photos if it's a person that he's able to communicate more often than just a stranger asking him for a favor.

🪷 Toby will return shopping carts that he encounter scattered around parking lots, and if they see a person not returning them he'll put the cart behind their car so they'll have to keep getting out of the car to push it way. He'll do it until the person loses their patience and return it. He'll also make sure that the person doesn't see that it's him putting the cart behind the car so the person has no idea why it's happening

🪷 Laughing Jack will put people's favorite candy and snacks in their rooms if he notices that they're feeling under the weather, sick or anything like that. He'll deny it but he does it pretty often. Also makes an effort to know the top 5 snacks because he knows that someone's favorite can be hard to come by.

🪷 Masky will fix people cars if he notices that's something wrong with it. Scratches? No problem he knows how to fix, sometimes even if there's no paint. Bumps? Fixed. Need to change the oil? No you don't, he already took care of it last week. He also checked the antifreeze, the water and the gas. If he's with the energy he'll clean it too.

🪷 Cody will make sure that there's no cross contamination in the food you consume if you have any allergies, both inside and when you go out to eat. Someone is cooking shrimp and you're allergic to shellfish? He's making that person disinfect every corner of the kitchen. Going out to eat? He'll make sure the cooks make your food correctly, if you have Celiac disease or something like that that's "harder to see" he'll order the same food as you to make sure they were prepared differently (like he'll order the same burger as you to look if it's made with different bread). Also he always has at least 2 EpiPen in his pockets.

🪷 BEN will always play with you when you ask him. Even let you win if he knows you're feeling bad that day. Videogames? Deal. Board games/card games? He's making at least 2 other people play with you too to make it more interesting. Children games like house? Hell yeah. Just not ask him to run around that much, like when playing tag or something, he will do it but he also will complain a lot about it.

🪷 Jeff will always speak for you in public places if you can't do it yourself. He'll also complain for you. Need to order something in a restaurant? He got it. Your burger came with pickles when you ask for no pickles? Bet he's already on the counter asking to switch the order. Your AACC device is out of battery? Write down what you want to say and he'll do it no hesitation.

🪷 Nina will always do your makeup, hair and nails. Her room is basically a saloon for when y'all go out and is super fun! Loud music blasting, chatter, dancing all that! She'll even make an effort to learn other alt makeup (she already knows emo/scene) if you're in some alternative subculture. Gyaru? She's getting those huge press on nails and fake tan. Goth? She already has white foundation and black lipstick. She'll spend a good amount of time learning techniques that she knows you like to use just to guarantee that you're feeling 100% hot.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #slenderverse #nina the killer headcanons #laughing jack headcanons #jeff the killer headcanons #x virus headcanons #masky headcanons #hoodie headcanons #eyeless jack headcanon #jane the killer headcanons #ticci toby headcanons #ben drowned headcanons #good deeds

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edenesth · 7 months ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Try Again [2]

Pairing: assistant!Jongho x new maid!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Among the many staff members at General Park's estate, Jongho stood out for his dedication, leaving no room for personal indulgence. Convinced that love and marriage would detract from his commitment to serving the general, he had resigned himself to a life of solitude. But his conviction was challenged with the arrival of an annoyingly perfect Miss Kwon, a new maid whose kindness and efficiency began to make him rethink his life choices.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Ugh, he's such an idiot," Seonghwa mumbled, rubbing a frustrated hand against his temple as he entered the House of Lotus that night. His wife smirked from her position on the bed. "Yeah, reminds me of you. Men become utter fools when they develop feelings for someone."

He pouted, shedding the outer layer of his hanbok before carefully joining her on the bed, mindful of her round belly. "Am not," he argued, but she raised a challenging brow. "Are too." He huffed but pulled her close regardless. "Am not."

She glared up at him. "Are too, General Park. You're being one right now." He couldn't resist the grin creeping onto his face at how adorable she was, despite being about to become a mother. "Yes, my love. You're always right. I'm just messing with you, you know that." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "That's more like it," she said, melting into her husband's warm embrace.

"Let him be, Hwa. I know you're frustrated, but he's at a stage where nothing you say will get through. He'll learn on his own eventually." He nodded in defeat, sighing when she pressed her lips against his jaw.

"Now, let us sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

On the other side of the estate, you lay awake in bed, the events of the afternoon replaying in your mind like a broken record. You tried to reevaluate your priorities here, but one memory stood out starkly.

"Don't think, Miss Kwon. Just do your job and leave me alone. And it's Assistant Choi to you."

Those words pierced your heart more deeply than he would ever know. After all those moments and progress, were you a fool to believe you were finally on good terms? Was it naive to assume you were now… friends? A small, hopeful part of you even dared to wish for something more.

But now, you understand.

You had grown up a people pleaser all your life. And if leaving Jongho alone was what he truly wanted, you would grant him your absence. The last thing you ever wanted was to be a bother or annoyance to anyone. You had tried your best, but even a saint has their limits, and you had reached yours.

Feeling a profound sense of betrayal, you replayed his harsh words over and over in your mind. Each repetition cut deeper, shattering the fragile hope you had nurtured. You had seen glimpses of a softer side in the assistant, moments where his stern exterior seemed to crack. Those moments had given you hope—hope that there was more to your relationship than a mere formality. But now, it was clear that those glimpses were just that—brief and fleeting.

You had spent your life striving to make others happy, always going the extra mile to please those around you, to earn their approval and affection. It was in your nature to help, to support, to be there for others. But now, faced with his cold rejection, you were once again reminded that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it will never be enough. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and the sting of rejection was almost unbearable.

It was just like with my parents…

Determined to respect his wishes, you resolved to distance yourself from him. It wasn't easy. Every interaction, every shared moment, had left an indelible mark on your heart. But you had to protect yourself, to preserve whatever dignity you had left. You would focus on your duties, keeping your head down and your heart guarded.

As you moved through your days, you couldn't help but feel a profound sadness. You missed the camaraderie you thought you had built, the unspoken connection you felt. Yet, you reminded yourself that you deserved to be around people who appreciated you and valued your presence. If Jongho wanted distance, you would give it to him, even if it broke your heart in the process.

The assistant had initially been grateful that you had listened and left him alone. He remembered tensing up the first time he saw you after he had told you off so rudely the other day. He breathed a sigh of relief when you only nodded politely in acknowledgement before walking the other way. But as days passed, it became hard not to notice how you were beginning to avoid him like he had first done to you. Whenever he tried to speak to you regarding work, you would dismiss him and redirect him to someone else.

Today was another one of those days.

He straightened up, noticing you heading his way. He cleared his throat, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as he stepped in front of you, intentionally blocking your path.

"Miss Kwon, I'd hate to trouble you, but I'm going to need you to—"

You sighed, bowing. "Apologies, Assistant Choi, but I have more than enough on my plate as it is. If this does not concern maternity or relate to the mistress in any way, please seek assistance from someone else." Without waiting for his response, you walked away.

He blinked in surprise as he watched you go. The indifference in your voice and the quick dismissal stung more than he cared to admit. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and eagerness you had once shown him. His initial relief turned into an uncomfortable realisation that your absence, your avoidance, was affecting him more than he had anticipated.

Whatever, it's better this way.

Jongho tried to convince himself, but it was no use. This treatment affected him more than he liked to admit, yet his stubbornness prevented him from addressing it. Out of spite, he became even meaner to you, thinking that maintaining a cold front would help him regain control.

One day, as he passed by the House of Lotus, he saw you tidying up Lady Park's pavilion, now cluttered with various items. When you felt his gaze, you turned and found him staring. Flustered, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd be careful not to break anything if I were you. Every single item here is worth more than you ever will be." He cursed himself internally after uttering those words, wondering why he had to be so cruel. His fists clenched in regret when you let out a shaky breath and nodded obediently.

"I am aware, Assistant Choi. Please do not worry; I will treat them with the utmost care."

Why didn't you fight back? he wondered. The way you did when he had questioned you and your skills before? He hated that you were giving him minimal reactions, as if speaking to him would kill you. The realisation hit him hard—he was the hypocrite, condemning your distance when he had been the one to push you away.

Jongho's frustration mounted as he realised that your avoidance was cutting deeper than he had anticipated. Despite his best efforts to distance himself from you, each time you turned away, it stirred a pang of regret within him. At the thought, he found himself arranging the books in the general's study with more force than usual.

"Woah, any harder and you'll have to replace them all with new ones. I'm not sure your salary can cover that expense, Jongho. What's gotten your panties in a knot?" Seonghwa's sudden appearance beside him startled the assistant into a cough and a bow.

In truth, the younger man struggled to pinpoint the source of his frustration—whether it was directed at himself, you, or both. He knew he had no right to be angry with you; after all, you had only done exactly what he asked. It was a constant war between his mind and heart, and he was sick of it.

"Nothing, sir. Just a bit... overwhelmed with work," he lied, avoiding the general's knowing gaze.

Seonghwa sighed, crossing his arms. "You know, you're a terrible liar. This wouldn't have anything to do with Miss Kwon, would it?"

Jongho's silence spoke volumes. He continued to arrange the books, each movement more agitated than the last. "It's just... she's avoiding me," he finally admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Seonghwa asked, raising an eyebrow.

The younger man clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I thought it was. But now... I don't know."

"Maybe you should figure out what you really want before you destroy everything around you," General Park advised, his tone gentle but firm. "Including your own peace of mind."

He nodded slowly, the weight of his employer's words sinking in. He realised he needed to stop this war within himself. The constant push and pull were tearing him apart, and he couldn't bear it any longer.

That night, the general returned to his wife's side with a triumphant grin. "Things between those two will be fine now. Just you wait, my love." Lady Park shook her head. "Are you sure? I wouldn't be so optimistic if I were you."

And once again, her intuition proved correct.

Despite Jongho's desire to mend the rift between you, his pride and reluctance eventually held him back. Much to Seonghwa's disappointment, nothing changed. The silent war between Assistant Choi and the new maid persisted, casting a palpable tension over the household, noticed by nearly everyone.

Eunsook sighed heavily as she noticed the usually alert assistant zoning out for what felt like the thousandth time during their weekly inventory check. "What's bothering you, Jongho-yah? You know you can talk to me, right?" the elderly woman asked gently.

The general's aide finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes drifting away from the window where you had been standing moments ago, discussing herbs for the mistress' tonic with another maid.

"I…" He hesitated, tempted to confide in her. Eunsook had been like a mother to him throughout his employment here. But he shook his head, recognising how unprofessional discussing personal matters during work hours would be. More importantly, his pride stood in the way. Admitting his feelings would make them real and expose his vulnerability. He was Choi Jongho, after all. The last thing he needed was to be seen as a lovesick fool.

With a firm shake of his head, he forced a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Eunsook. Maybe just a bit tired, nothing a good night's sleep can't fix. I'll rest earlier tonight, don't worry."

She shook her head in disbelief as she watched the stubborn young man return to work, his usual mask of nonchalance firmly back in place. She could see the turmoil beneath his facade, but he was determined to keep it hidden, even from himself.

These kids are hopeless, I swear...

"Good job, everyone. Go and get some rest for the night." The assistant nodded approvingly at the completed tasks for the day and dismissed the group of estate staff assigned under him.

He watched as the servants dispersed, heading towards their respective quarters. Giving the tidy inventory one last look, he dusted off his hands in satisfaction and began walking towards his own room, ready to retire for the night. All he could think about was the comfort of his mattress. He couldn’t wait to lie down and forget about everything, especially you. Thoughts of you had been making him restless, and he truly loathed it. He chastised himself for being caught by Eunsook earlier. This was bad, and he couldn't keep letting you affect him this way.

As if the world were adamant about ruining his plans, your familiar petite frame appeared in his vision. You were hunched over a basin, scrubbing one of the mistress' hanboks clean. What in the world were you doing out here in the cold of the night? Everyone else was either heading to bed or already asleep. And here you were, performing a chore that could very well make you sick in this weather.

He took a hesitant step towards you, wanting to lecture you, but then stepped back, remembering how awkward things were between you now. Yet, he didn't have the heart to walk away. With a huff, he pushed himself to approach you.

"Miss Kwon, shouldn't this be a task done during the day? Just because you're out here late doesn't mean you're hardworking. If anything, it shows you can't finish your tasks on time during work hours." He mentally cursed himself for always letting such harsh words slip, as if showing that he cared was such a horrendous thing.

You halted your actions momentarily at the sound of his voice before continuing. "Good evening, Assistant Choi," you said, turning slightly to eye him from the corner of your eye, not granting him the pleasure of your full attention. "I understand what you mean, but I hope you also understand that a heavily pregnant woman like the mistress might not always have full control of her bladder like the rest of us and that unplanned mishaps can happen. Do you suppose I should leave the lady in her wet garments? Is it wrong that I am getting things done on my own time? Please do not let me stop you from getting your rest. I am fully capable of managing my own time. Thank you very much. Now, if you'll excuse me," you answered firmly, not paying him any more mind.

Jongho stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and regret. He hated the way he spoke to you, but he couldn't seem to help it. Watching you continue your task, he realised that your dedication and resilience only made him admire you more, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. "Fine."

If he thought that would be the last time he found you out late, he was sorely mistaken. Over the next few days, he noticed a troubling pattern: you were working harder than ever, often staying up late to complete various chores long after the mistress had gone to bed. As if that wasn't concerning enough, you were already up and working by the time he started his day, which was unusually early. He began to wonder if you were getting any rest at all.

Despite his stubbornness, the assistant couldn't help but worry about your well-being. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way you sometimes swayed on your feet from exhaustion and the quiet determination in your every movement. It bothered him more than he would like to admit, but he refused to acknowledge that he cared. The thought of you overworking yourself began to weigh heavily on his mind.

One evening, he stood by the window of the general's study, watching as you meticulously swept the courtyard. The sun had long set, and the estate was bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to go out there and tell you to stop. But his pride kept him rooted in place.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?" he muttered to himself.

Just then, the head maid entered the room with a tray of tea. She set it down on the desk and looked at him with a knowing expression. "Still worrying about her?"

Jongho stiffened, then tried to play it off with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm not worrying, Eunsook. It's just… She's working too hard. It's not good for her."

The elderly woman raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his act. "You know, Jongho-yah, it's okay to care about someone. Even if it's hard to admit."

He scoffed, turning away from the window. "I'm not admitting anything. She's just… being reckless."

Eunsook shook her head with a soft chuckle. "You can keep telling yourself that, but everyone can see it. Just don't wait too long to do something about it."

As she left the room, Jongho's gaze drifted back to you. He knew she was right, but his pride and fear of vulnerability kept him silent. Yet, with each passing day, the thought of you overworking yourself increasingly bothered him, threatening to break through the walls he had built around his heart.

About to retire for the night, the assistant once again spotted you still busy at work. Tonight, you were by the furnace outside the House of Lotus, burning coals in an attempt to keep the mistress warm during the relentless cold weather. What an idiot, he thought to himself as he carefully approached you, not wanting to alert you to his presence. Here you were, busy keeping the lady warm while putting yourself in the cold. You were going to fall sick at this rate. He was amazed that you weren't already ill with the constant work and little rest you'd been getting lately.

He let out a small sigh of relief when he was close enough to see your head propped up on your fist, your elbow resting on your knee, your eyes closed. "You stubborn girl," he whispered to himself, feeling his heart ache as he observed the callouses on your free hand and the bags under your eyes. Your lips were dry and chapped, nearly turning blue from sitting out in the cold for god knows how long. He had to fight the urge to pull you close and carry you back to your quarters.

Instead, he sighed and crouched down beside you, lifting a hesitant hand to your face and gently moving a stray strand of hair. Noticing the slight shiver that ran through you, he quickly pulled off the outer layer of his hanbok and draped it around your shaking form. He froze when you seemed to wake up from the sudden warmth enveloping you.

"Hm— what? J-Jongho?" you muttered groggily before realising who was in front of you. Clearing your throat, you shot up from your seat and bowed. "Assistant Choi, wh-what were you…" you trailed off, noticing his outer layer on your shoulders.

Ignoring his disappointment when you corrected yourself and addressed him by his title instead of his name, he avoided your gaze, standing up as well. "Don't overthink it. I may be strict, but I'm not heartless. After all, who would care for the mistress if you fell sick? If you were responsible, you'd take good care of yourself too." He spoke in his usual icy tone, the mask of nonchalance returning as he turned to leave.

"Wait, your—" you started, looking down at the piece of clothing around your frame, but he cut you off.

"Keep it," he said firmly.

As he walked back to his room, he whispered to the wind, hoping it would somehow reach you, "You need it more than I do."

You stared after his retreating figure in confusion. He was so infuriating. If he wanted to be mean, why couldn't he be mean until the end? Why was he always making things more complicated than they should be? He constantly said one thing and did another. Why was he playing with your feelings like this?

You had been trying so hard to push all thoughts of him out of your mind, focusing on nothing but work, keeping yourself busy, and putting him at a distance just as he had wanted. You wanted to show him that you could be just as good at your job as he was—just as hardworking, dedicated, and capable—to prove him wrong about whatever prejudices he might have against you.

And just when you thought you could finally learn to hate him, he would go and do things like this, undoing all your efforts. You sighed, clutching the fabric around you, pulling it close as tears of frustration welled in your eyes. His scent was somehow… comforting.

"Stop doing this to me, Choi Jongho," you whispered to the night, feeling your resolve crumble once again.

The next day, the assistant resumed his work as usual, though his heart raced at the thought of running into you. Would you still be wearing the piece of clothing he had given you? Or had you already cleaned it and left it on his doorstep? The latter seemed more likely. He couldn't understand his internal dilemma: on the one hand, it felt oddly satisfying to imagine you walking around with his robe draped over you, as if you were his. On the other hand, he wanted to smack himself sober for having these mind-boggling thoughts. He was stuck between wanting to see you in it and knowing the impropriety of it all.

In his constant efforts to both avoid and keep an eye out for you, half the day had gone by, and he began to realise that you had been nowhere in sight the entire time. He told himself not to overthink it, but his mind raced with possibilities of where you could be, trying to regulate the escalating unease he felt.

While he could have simply asked around, he refused to inquire about your whereabouts, prioritising his pride over his concern. Yet, secretly, he was going insane with worry.

As he moved through his tasks, his frustration grew. Every room he entered, every corridor he walked down, he found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of you. The absence of your presence gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the sun began to set, his anxiety had reached its peak. The thought of something happening to you while he stubbornly refused to show concern made him feel a pang of guilt. He clenched his fists, battling the urge to ask someone where you were.

Instead of carrying out his tasks, Jongho ended up spending nearly the entire day searching the estate for you. Every corner, every room, every possible hiding place—he checked them all, growing more distressed with each passing moment.

Where could she have possibly gone?

After what felt like an eternity, he finally found you alone in the Cold Palace. Your figure was hunched, and his heart clenched when he realised you were crying on one of the steps leading up to the vacant chambers. His heart picked up its speed again when he spotted his robe neatly folded beside you. So, you kept it. It was apparent you had come here for privacy, given that this place had been as good as abandoned ever since the mistress moved out.

A part of him told himself he was intruding on a personal moment and that he should leave you be now that he knew you were safe. But the bigger part of him couldn't take it anymore. He wanted— no, needed to know you were okay.

Annoyed yet concerned, Jongho moved to sit down beside you, his presence startling you slightly. "What's making you cry?" he asked, his tone a mix of irritation and genuine concern.

"Assistant Choi?" Blinking rapidly, you shook your head. "I-I'm fine..."

His stern gaze silenced you. "Just be honest with me… please."

You wiped your tears, taking a deep breath before responding. "Fine, if you insist. I'm just… I'm tired of constantly feeling as though I will never be enough for anyone and everyone. You think you're the only one who fought hard to get where you are?" you began, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've struggled, too. I've given everything to prove myself, to show that I'm just as capable, just as dedicated. You have no right to judge me or mistreat me."

The assistant's heart sank with each word. He had hoped, in some twisted way, that your tears were because of him, a testament to his impact on your life. But hearing your frustration, your own story of perseverance, shattered that notion.

When you finished, you stood up, ready to leave. But against his better judgement, he gently pulled you back, his mind racing for the right words. All his usual defences, his pride and stubbornness, seemed meaningless at this moment.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered softly, his voice barely audible.

You looked at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic vulnerability. For a moment, the air between you was heavy with unspoken emotions. Jongho, struggling to find more words, simply held your gaze, hoping his apology was enough to convey his regret.

At those unexpected words, your tears flowed again as you allowed him to gently guide you back into the seat beside him. The chill of the air was gradually replaced by warmth as he once again draped his robe over your shoulders. He didn't say another word, but his actions spoke volumes, conveying his sincerity. This unexpected kindness only made you cry harder.

He moved closer until your shoulders touched, his presence a silent reassurance that you weren't alone. The two of you spent the rest of the evening sitting next to each other in silence. Though he could have left after offering his apology, he realised he didn't want to. There was an unspoken bond forming between you, a quiet understanding that both of you needed.

As the stars began to dot the sky, the silence between you became more comfortable, almost intimate. He felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time. He glanced at you, noticing the way your breathing had evened out, your tears finally subsiding.

"I'm sorry," he repeated softly, feeling the need to say it again.

You nodded, leaning slightly into his warmth, feeling a strange sense of relief. "Thank you," you whispered, grateful for his sincerity.

The two of you remained there, side by side, the Cold Palace no longer feeling so cold with the shared warmth of understanding and newfound camaraderie. The quiet intimacy of the moment made your hearts flutter, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

The next day, Jongho eagerly looked forward to seeing you again. However, as he made his rounds, his anticipation turned to confusion and panic when he couldn't find you anywhere again, not even the Cold Palace. None of the servants had any answers for him, claiming not to know where you had gone.

Desperate for answers, he sought out the general, the head maid, and the mistress. Each of them gave him the same response: "She left, Jongho. She's gone home."

She... left? But why?

Panic gripped him. Hadn't everything been resolved after the previous night? He couldn't understand what was happening. He clearly recalled escorting you back to your quarters after a pleasant stop by the kitchen, where you treated yourselves to some leftover dishes from dinner. There had been laughter, shared stories, and a genuine connection. You had shyly handed his robe back to him at the end of the night, but he had insisted you keep it. Things were going well, weren't they? So, what went wrong?

His mind raced with questions. For once, he wasn't worried about the consequences Seonghwa mentioned he would face if you quit. All he could think about was why you had left and where you had gone. Was last night a goodbye? Why exactly were you crying? There had to be more to it, right?

He needed answers.

Holy crap, he needed you.

As he stood in the empty courtyard, grappling with his mounting frustration and confusion, the general approached, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Jongho...? You okay, buddy?"

The question snapped the assistant from his spiralling thoughts. He turned to face his employer, his face a mask of desperation and determination. The weight of the revelation that you had left, combined with the realisation of how deeply he had come to care for you, pushed him to the brink.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Jongho blurted out, "I need to know where she lives. I need her address—now!"

General Park's eyes widened in surprise. The head maid and the mistress exchanged concerned glances, their expressions reflecting the unexpected turn of events. His outburst revealed a side of him they had rarely seen—a side filled with raw vulnerability and an intensity that spoke of deep feelings.

"You... you were right, I can't be without her," he continued, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and resolve. "I didn't realise how much she meant to me until she was gone. I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I need to bring her back."

Took you long enough, you prideful idiot.

Seonghwa's hand remained on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support. The assistant's declaration of his feelings, so raw and exposed, left him feeling both embarrassed and liberated. He knew now that his emotions were undeniable, and he was willing to face whatever consequences lay ahead to be with you again.

Eunsook stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Jongho, are you sure about this? It's a long journey, and things might not be as simple as you think. Miss Kwon, she was uh... she seemed very troubled."

Jongho nodded, his eyes determined. "Then that's all the more reason for me to be there for her. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I can't let her think that I don't care. I need to see her, to explain… to fix whatever I messed up."

The lady, witnessing his resolve, stepped in with a sympathetic smile. "Very well. We'll get you the address. But remember, you must be honest with her. Be clear about your feelings. No more saying things you don't mean."

He nodded firmly and took a deep breath, the weight of his decision settling in. He felt a rush of relief and fear, knowing that he was about to embark on a journey to find you and make things right. He had come to understand that his feelings for you were more than just fleeting emotions—they were real, and they mattered deeply.

As the information was given to him, the assistant clutched the piece of paper tightly, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He turned to Seonghwa, Eunsook, and the mistress, offering them a sincere thank you.

"I'll make sure she knows how much she means to me," Jongho said with resolve. "Thank you for your understanding."

With that, he set off, ready to face the world and do whatever it took to bring you back. The journey ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he was no longer just an assistant doing his job—he was a man determined to fight for the love he had finally come to recognise.

Your heart felt heavy as you stepped out of the carriage, staring up at the estate you once called home, though it had never truly felt like one. No matter how many people filled its halls, it always remained a cold place, devoid of the warmth you craved. And yet, here you were again, returning after years away. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before entering the Kwon household for the first time in forever.

As you walked through the entrance, the servants bowed in recognition of your presence. "Welcome back, young miss," they murmured. You nodded emotionlessly, your eyes fixed on the altar straight ahead, which held the painting of a person whose affection you had fought hard to earn but never received.

Your brothers turned as your presence was announced. The second eldest furrowed his brows, a sneer forming on his lips. "Well, well, look who finally decides to show up? And here I was thinking Miss Ungrateful would never step foot in this house again. I'm afraid it's a little late to return, little sister. Mother's already dea—"

The eldest grabbed his arm, stopping him from finishing the sentence. "That's enough. Don't start anything. Show some respect. Mother would not want this."

You stood there, feeling a mix of sorrow and resentment. The coldness of the house and the harshness of your brother's words only served to remind you of why you had left in the first place. Yet, as you looked at the painting of the late Lady Kwon, you couldn't help but feel a pang of grief. Despite everything, a part of you had always hoped for reconciliation, for a family that would accept and love you.

Swallowing your emotions, you stepped forward, trying to find your voice. "I came to pay my respects," you said softly, your tone measured and controlled. "Whatever differences we had, she was still my mother."

The second eldest scoffed but remained silent, his gaze shifting away from you. You took another step closer to the altar, feeling the weight of the past and the unresolved emotions pressing down on you. It was difficult to be here, but you knew you had to face it, if not for your own sake, then for the memory of the woman whose portrait now watched over you.

As you stood there, the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken words and buried feelings. Your heart ached, but you remained resolute, determined to find closure in this place that had once been so unforgiving.

You settled on your knees before the altar, the flickering candlelight casting gentle shadows across your face. After lighting your own incense stick, you carefully placed it in the holder before your mother's resting place. Lowering your head, you clasped your hands together, the scent of the burning incense mingling with the bittersweet memories that flooded your mind.

The past few days had been a tumultuous sea of emotions. Upon receiving word of your mother's passing, you had been overwhelmed, retreating to the solitude of the Cold Palace to grapple with your feelings. The cold and empty chambers mirrored your own inner turmoil as you wrestled with the decision of whether or not to return to the place that had caused you so much pain.

As you knelt there, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, thoughts of a certain general's assistant suddenly entered your mind. The memory of his comforting presence the night before, his robe draped around your shoulders, and the sincerity in his voice as he apologised, filled your heart with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coldness of your surroundings.

I wish you were here, Choi Jongho...

His steady presence, his silent strength—it would have been a balm to your aching soul. You longed for his reassuring touch, his quiet support. The thought of him brought a small measure of comfort amidst the sorrow.

Blinking back tears, you whispered a silent prayer, seeking peace and closure. You hoped that, somehow, your mother could hear you and understand the complex emotions you harboured. Despite the years of distance and the unresolved pain, you wished for forgiveness and reconciliation, even if it was now too late.

You took a deep breath, lifting your head to gaze at the portrait before you. "Mother," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I hope you find peace. I hope you know that despite everything, I loved you. And I hope… I hope you can forgive me."

The room was silent, the air thick with the scent of incense and the weight of unspoken words. You remained kneeling, feeling the presence of your elder brothers behind you, the tension still palpable. But in that moment, you felt a small sense of release, as if a part of the burden you had carried for so long had been lifted.

As you rose to your feet and turned, your breath hitched at the sight of your father standing there, your younger brothers by his side. His presence was imposing, yet there was something different in his eyes—a softness you hadn't seen before.

"You're really here… I didn't believe them when they told me you came," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You gulped and bowed deeply. "Yes, I've come, Father."

To your surprise, he broke into a smile, a genuine expression of warmth that took you aback. "Come, my dear, let us have some tea and catch up."

Your heart warmed at the semblance of pleasure on his face. Was he glad you returned? Could he have… regretted not treating you better after you left? The questions swirled in your mind, but the hint of hope blossomed in your chest.

The eldest gave you an encouraging nod. You took a deep breath and followed your father to the living hall, your footsteps echoing softly in the spacious corridors of the house where you spent your childhood.

The living hall was just as you remembered—lavishly decorated yet exuding a cold elegance. But today, the atmosphere felt different, almost welcoming. The elderly man gestured for you to sit, and soon a servant brought in a tray with a steaming teapot and delicate porcelain cups.

As the tea was poured, your father looked at you with a mixture of pride and regret. "I've been thinking, and I believe it's time for you to move back home," he said, his voice steady but with an undertone that made your blood run cold. "You don't have to work so hard anymore. I heard you're out there working as some servant to General Park. You're a lady from House Kwon; you can do so much better. I have a list of marriage candidates that could guarantee you a lavish life, my daughter."

In that moment, the warmth you had felt earlier was sucked out of your being. You should have known better than to believe he genuinely wanted you back for the sake of family. You saw through his motives right away. He only saw a use for you now—to marry and establish another powerful connection for his family. That was all you were ever good for in his eyes.

Your heart sank, and the chill of disappointment wrapped around you. "I see," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The tea, which moments ago had brought comfort, now tasted like ash in your mouth. "So that's why you want me back."

He frowned, clearly not expecting your reaction. "You misunderstand, my daughter. I only want what's best for you."

You stood, feeling a surge of defiance. "No, you want what's best for you and this house. But I am not a tool for your ambitions."

"That's right because she is so much more than that." You gasped, whipping around to find Jongho standing there, a confident grin on his face. "And Lord Kwon, this young lady is far more than just a mere servant for General Park. In case your informant wasn't thorough enough, she is a renowned obstetrician recommended by noblewomen all around Joseon. She is now a valued and cherished member of the Park household. So, it would be great if you could show her the respect she deserves."

Your father narrowed his eyes at the uninvited guest, standing up. "And who the hell are you? Her little secret admirer?"

Before you could turn to defend the assistant, Jongho stepped forward, his voice steady and unyielding. "If you must know, I'm Choi Jongho, General Park's most trusted aide and only assistant. And yes, I am also Miss Kwon's secret admirer, but I don't need your permission to court her. I've come to ask for hers, not yours."

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. Was this a confession?

With a final, stern glare, he took a step forward, placing his arm protectively around you, just as he had when you went to the market. "Now, if we're done here, Lord Kwon, I will be escorting the lady back to where she truly belongs, far away from here."

You let him lead you away, the shock slowly giving way to a warm, comforting certainty. For the first time in a long while, you felt valued, seen, and cared for. As you walked away from the place that never truly felt like home, you glanced up at Jongho, grateful for his unexpected presence and the boldness of his words.

"So, you're my secret admirer, huh?" you teased, biting your lip as you watched the assistant's face flush with a deep, embarrassed red. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure, and straightened in his seat across from you in the carriage.

"Yes, well… I suppose I am," the usually composed assistant stammered, his hands fidgeting nervously. "And I need to apologise for all the times I was mean to you."

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Oh? And why were you so mean to me, Assistant Choi?"

Jongho sighed deeply, his gaze falling to his lap. "I didn't mean any of it. I was bitter because I thought it was unfair that you seemed to have it easy while I had to work so hard. But now… now I see how hard you work and how much you deserve every bit of recognition you get. And your family, if you can even call them that— I... I was wrong about everything, and I'm truly sorry."

His eyes met yours, brimming with genuine regret and admiration. "Most importantly, I've come to realise how much I admire you and how much I enjoy being around you. It's been hard, and I have no one to blame but myself for pretending I didn't want to hold you close, feeling foolish for pushing you away when all I wanted was to be by your side."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his heartfelt words. "And that was why, when I found out you were gone, I had to get you back. I can't lose you without having you know how I feel. I promise that this time, you'll never have another reason to return to the Kwon estate. You'll always have a home here with us… with me."

You blinked, slightly confused. "As sweet as that is… you do know I was planning to return to the general's estate the next day, right?"

He went speechless, his eyes widening in surprise. "Y-you were…?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I was just going to attend the funeral. Besides, who would care for the mistress if I was gone? I promised I'd help her through it, and I intend to. Didn't Eunsook or the general tell you that?"

Jongho shook his head, a mix of relief and frustration washing over him. He silently cursed Seonghwa, his wife, and Eunsook for making him look like a fool.

You sighed, a light laugh escaping your lips. "And here I was, worried that the lady's water might have broken because of how suddenly you appeared to take me back."

He softened, a sheepish grin slowly replacing his earlier tension. "Well, I guess that makes me look a bit like an idiot. But I'm glad I could finally be honest with you and with myself. I promise I'll be good to you and make up for all my past mistakes… if you'll let me."

You reached out hesitantly for his hand, then nervously retreated, feeling unsure. But he was quick to hold onto your hand firmly, cradling it against his chest, letting you feel his heart racing for you. Heart fluttering in your chest, you smiled warmly. "Jongho, I never wanted anything more than for you to be honest with me. I forgive you. Let's... let us try again."

His eyes lit up with relief and joy, his grip on your hand tightening with earnestness. "Thank you," he whispered, leaning in slightly. "I won't let you down."

As the carriage continued its journey, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, a new bond beginning to weave itself between you. For the first time, you felt a deep sense of peace, knowing that the future held promise and that you had someone who truly cared by your side.

Arriving back at the general's estate, Seonghwa greeted you both with a teasing smile and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Ah, Miss Kwon, you're back a day early!"

Jongho shot the older man a flat, unamused look but couldn't hide the blush and adoration in his eyes as he watched you. You suppressed a laugh, noting the general's knowing grin.

"Yes, sir," you replied with a grateful smile at Jongho. "Assistant Choi was kind enough to bring me back early. Now I should probably get to work—I'm sure the mistress could use my assistance."

Giving his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, you turned to head towards the House of Lotus. The assistant stood there, rooted to the spot, his gaze following you with a lovesick grin, already missing you.

I can't believe she's really mine...

Observing the scene with amusement, Seonghwa clapped him on the shoulder. "I told you I'd help you find a wife. Perfect, isn't she? Just wait until I tell Miss Kwon all about your speech on how you'd be a terrible husband."

The younger man cleared his throat, irritation on his face. "Sir, need I remind you that you were once just as hopeless as I am?"

Seonghwa fell silent, his smile fading as he remembered his own awkward past.

"Look at you now, all grown up," the general teased. "Now get back to work if you're so free to stand around. It's not a honeymoon until you ask for her hand in marriage, and I expect that to happen soon!"

Jongho's face turned a deep shade of red. He stammered, "Y-yes, sir. I need to, um… get something done."

In a flurry of flustered haste, he dashed off, muttering about urgent tasks. Seonghwa chuckled, watching his dedicated assistant with a sense of satisfaction. It was heartening to see that even the stubborn Jongho had finally found love. General Park couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, knowing that all his friends had found their own happiness. His thoughts then drifted to a certain fourth prince, wondering how he was faring these days.

Aaand we're finally done with baby bear's love story! Hope it was decent! Are y'all ready for Prince Yeo's spinoff? One last story to go before wrapping up this universe! I am, of course, open to doing more TWTHH bonus content but we'll see hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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