#especially with everything he’s been through for his

[leyiorr]

he’s my little ponyboy .ᐟ

mdni.

“this isn’t fair.”

you turn around, spinning on your heel to look back at your boyfriend. there’s a gorgeous pout on his face while he pulls at the cuffs that bind him to the chair, long legs taking up copious amounts of space as he manspreads lazily.

satoru’s face is as handsome as ever, even with his bright eyes covered by a dark blindfold that you’d brought from the store earlier that day.

“this is so unfair and mean,” he continues, moreso to himself than you.

you hum, turning back to the mirror again to run the straightener over the last section of your hair. you hear the jangle of the metal cuffs again, stifling a laugh when you hear him curse under his breath.

“yeah? how so?”

he scoffs loudly; you can practically hear the sarcastic eyeroll. you hike your opaque tights up your legs - though opaque is a stretch, they’re practically transparent - smiling to yourself as they hug your figure.

“you have me tied to a chair with a blindfold over my eyes!” he complains dramatically, clicking his tongue.

you snicker. of course, you do have good reason for tying him up. it’s one of your best friend’s birthday parties, and to you, college parties were everything. dolling yourself up was always so much fun, especially when you knew it’d drive satoru mad.

the only issue was, when you were dolled up, satoru was bricked up. last time you tried to leave for a party you were late. not fashionably late, a whole three hours late, because satoru was too consumed with drilling his dick into you to notice the time.

rightfully, you’d been mad, but it didn’t even last a day - one look at his face and you’d caved.

this time however, things would not be the same. not if you had anything to say about it. with him tied up, he couldn’t let his hands wander. with his eyes covered, he couldn’t ogle you. see? problem fixed!

he whines, bottom lip jutting out as he sulks. “i just wanna look... i won’t even touch!”

“you know that’s a lie. i just wanna get changed in peace, baby,” you explain, and he hears you rummage through the wardrobe, “i actually want to be present for this party.”

he mutters something unintelligible but settles down, clearly acknowledging the fact that it was his fault that you were late the last time.

“...and i’m butt naked right now, i don’t think you could keep your hands to yourself.”

you watch him as the words leave your lips, revelling in the sharp inhale they cause. he shifts uncomfortably, licking his lips. he pulls at the cuffs in a pathetic attempt to release himself, “really?”

“kidding!” you say sweetly, close to his ear so you have a full veiw of the shudder that runs up his spine in response.

“i hate you,” he mutters, biting his lip at the mere image of your body. there’s a growing tent in his pants.

you laugh, pulling on a black, strapless minidress before twirling in the mirror happily. it grazes your midthigh and shows off the skin of your collarbones. there's a single silver necklace clasped around your neck - a tiny diamond heart that was one of satoru’s many gifts.

“oh, i look good,” you say proudly, and you catch your boyfriend groan.

“let me see,” he half pleads from the other side of the room.

you shake your head even though he can’t see it as you sit on the bed, slipping on your heels.

“be patient, baby, i’m almost done.”

his knee bounces impatiently, suddenly frustrated by his lack of senses. satoru can feel his hands getting clammy - he hopes the blindfold miraculously disintegrates so he can at least look at you.

the minutes pass by and his blood turns to molten lava, dick straining against his sweats. it suddenly feels so much hotter in the room than it did before.

“a or b, handsome?” you call from somewhere, and satoru sighs breathily.

how could you ask him to pick something he couldn’t even see?

“b,” he says eventually.

“wrong, the answer was c!” you sing, putting a pair of stud diamonds into your ears and leaving him to sulk.

at least he thinks, before he’s feeling your lips against his. he leans forward, chasing the sensation before you away leaving him slightly disorientated.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” you coo - it goes straight to his dick, “i’m almosttt done.”

satoru groans, irritation and need filling his lungs like water. were you even almost done? what he would give to pry off these cuffs and blindfold.

“...i wanna see you, beautiful.”

he can feel his ears turning pink.

“...please.”

the laugh that you let out makes him want to die and so undeniabley horny that it fucks with his brain.

“not yet.”

his head follows the sound of you walking around the room, moving back to the mirror, where you apply your finishing touch; lipgloss.

the day you’d found the perfect lip combo you jumped for joy. now, you wear it everywhere.

your boyfriend hears you smack your lips together twice, before sensing you approach him. you strategically place yourself between his legs as you untie the blindfold.

and as you do, satoru thanks every god in existence that he gets to exist in the same timeline as you.

because when his vision is finally cleared, his breath catches in his throat.

your hair is expertly done, not a hair out of place as it grazes your midback; makeup emphasizing your natural beauty with mascara lengthening your pretty lashes. and don’t even get him started on the dress. he should start charging people for looking at you.

“pretty?” you ask, but you can already tell from his dazed, lovesick expression that the answer is yes.

he doesn’t answer for a moment, his eyes doing multiple appreciative runs over your figure.

“yeah,” he breathes finally, “real pretty, baby.”

satoru leans forward, nuzzling into your stomach. you smile, raking your manicured fingers through his messy white locs.

“i wanna fuck you,” he mumbles into the fabric of your dress, “bad.”

a laugh bubbles from your chest as you point at the clock, “we don’t have time, love, you know that.”

he groans, looking up at you with those cerulean irises that you were so disgustingly weak to, “just a quickie?”

“no.”

“c’mon baby, i’ll hold back!”

“you won’t.”

his head tilts to the side, veins in his neck showing as he strains against the restraints. the high of his cheekbones and ears are dusted pink; his lips are red from how much he’s being chewing on them.

“please, love.”

you don’t answer him, instead your fingers glide down the back of his neck, satisfied when the hairs raise in anticipation. you lean down to meet his mouth and he reciprocates with the sloppiest kiss he can muster from this position as your other hand cups his jaw.

the mucles in his biceps cry from the force he’s putting in while he tries to break the cuffs; the veins ripple under his skin. he’s desperate to have his hands anywhere on you.

he can taste the flavour of your lipgloss but it does nothing to deter him - instead encourages him to strain his neck further, back flush against the back of the chair as you begin to straddle him. he can feel your nails raking across his scalp; his dick twitches with interest.

you pull back far too quickly for his taste. it takes everything in your power not to drag him into bed like a bitch in head at the fucked out expression his giving you.

he watches your fingers pass over your lips, sighing to yourself as you bring them away to see smudged lipgloss.

satoru pathetically whines at the loss of contact when you get off him, throwing a heatless glare over your shoulder.

“you ruined my makeup, baby, i guess you’re gonna have to sit there and wait til i finish it again before we can go!”

oh, fuck you. literally and figuratively. he’s going to fuck you in that dress, hell, he would probably do it in front of an audience at the party. but you wouldn’t allow that... right?

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

when jungkook finally pulls away, the world feels quieter, as though it’s holding its breath. his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[opheliawhodrowned]

a fox cries; never howls (1/3)

simon riley x fem!reader | masterlist | AO3 | navigation

you're a stranger across the counter. you want so desperately to crawl back over, but it can never be the same anymore.

cw: mafia!au, non-con/rape, pedophilic undertones, forced prostitution/human trafficking, abusive relationships, abduction, forced medical practices/treatments, self harm, suicide attempt, mention of abortion, mention of pregnancy, reader is described as having long hair for plot reasons (can be natural, braided, etc), Simon is not the abuser in any of these tags, whump with an eventual happy ending.

*note: this universe is based off of a story that's no longer available (In Limbo). I'm turning it into an original fiction, but you do not need to be aware of the previous story to understand this one. This was posted previously on my other blog, but I am moving it here, so if it seems familiar that is why!

Each time it happens, you tell yourself it’ll be different, but it never is. 

Broken promises lay in glistening shards around the heels strapped to your feet as you grit your teeth through the pain. No matter how much you beg and plead, it’s always the same. That visceral ache shooting through the core of your being still brings tears to your eyes the same it did the first time. It will continue to plague you. Haunting your cheeks in messy streaks as it drips onto the counter your hands so desperately palm at. Each tear that splatters by your fingers shimmer with black flakes. Running mascara. It stains everything it touches—especially you.

You’re prettier that way. Ruined. At least, that’s what you’ve been told. 

Always pretty on your knees; bent over; looking up; crying; pleading; beg; beg for it; and keep crying; yeah, just like that. 

Your skin is scarred, marked in the shape of greedy lips, and it stings like the wound is fresh. Words seep into the soft tissue where it continues to fester. Burrows its spindly roots until it can bear fruit. You could pull at the stem all you like, but you can’t escape the fact that it’s now a fundamental part of you. The only thing keeping your bones from crumbling. This mantra. This throe. 

“Not tryna hide, are you?” 

Avaricious fingers dig into the firm cartilage of your throat as you’re yanked back and forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The ripples of your defilement echo throughout your body—and you’re forced to watch it. The bounce of your breasts and the smudged makeup dripping along your cheeks. In some odd way, you are a masterpiece. You’re sculpted of nothing but obloquy yet carved just like if you were made of stone. You would close your eyes if you thought you could get away with it.

But Marco likes when you watch. Savors the tremble of your lips as your eyes find him in the mirror. Pristine teeth glint in the pallid light. Perfectly white and straight. He always takes care of himself—of his appearance. It shows in the carefully carved muscles that flex in his abdomen as he pistons into you; in the well groomed locks of his dark hair. This is the sweetest liquor he could ever indulge in—enjoying not only destroying you, but of making a show of it. 

He must always be the performer and the audience; having his cake and eating it too. 

A fury of grunted whispers slice straight through your ear drums. It’s a hardly comprehensible slurring of English and Russian, and though your fuzzy brain can’t make sense of it, you know what it means. Marco teeters close to the edge, hands dragging your body back against him as he holds himself flush against the crux of your ass. Hot warmth spills into you, and despite the hand around your throat, you’re finally able to breathe. This impiety does not offer you comfort in your tainted skin, but it offers you the one commodity you rarely seem to come by: rest. 

That incessant ache lurks deep in the pit of your stomach, even as Marco pulls out, but it’s quiet. Doesn’t demand your attention. You feel the dull throb that harasses the raw tissue of your cunt, and you try not to wince as you feel his seed spill out. Chuckling, he releases your throat in favor of wrapping his fingers around your hair, bunching as much as he can into the palm of his hand. It’s overgrown. Messy and dead. But he refuses to allow you to cut it. 

Nothing about you gets to change without his permission—not even your appearance. 

“Look at you, my sweet little girl,” he coos. Sharp teeth nip at the side of your jaw and you wince. You’re surprised his mouth doesn’t unhinge; that he doesn’t shove you into his maw and swallow you whole. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t get enough of this pussy. Christ.” 

When Marco backs away, you swear your knees will give out. Without his puppeteering hands to hold you up and bend you to his desires, you’re nothing but mush. A disgusting mess of smeared eyeliner and dripping cum. You can hardly stomach the sight of your body in the mirror. Neck littered with faint teeth marks, body bare and on display—used and abused to his content. You’re abhorrent. A pathetic creature you can’t stand to behold. 

Marco’s belt clinks just as a knock rattles the door. Your heart thuds loud enough in your ears that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heavy footsteps crossing the glorified dressing room. You attempt to steady yourself as you back away from the mirror, but the straps of your heels dig into your toes. They’re the only article of clothing you’re allowed. Marco says he likes the way they make your legs look longer. Likes the angle it gives him when he bends you over to fuck you.

When you turn to face him, he’s already sitting on the loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. A fresh bottle of mead sits on the tray next to him, and he pours himself a generous amount before knocking it back for a sip. The soft amber liquid overflows and dribbles past his lips, soaking his bare chest. His verdant eyes find you as he collets the drink on the tips of his fingers, then sucks them clean one by one. 

“Didn’t you hear that knock? You have a guest,” he says, tilting his jaw toward the door. 

With each step you take, you feel Marco’s seed dribble down your legs. It makes a sticky mess between your thighs, and you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is how he marks you. How he makes sure everyone knows who you belong to before he lets them take a piece of you home. 

A stranger with a thick neck stands at the door when you open it. His eyes are an odd shade of grey that sends a shiver down your spine as he looks you over, greedily drinking in the sight of your bare body. The chill of his gaze gets worse as the door closes behind him. He begins to crowd you and the sharp stench of vodka fills your nose. There’s something familiar about him. Every man in this club is familiar to you, in some way. Always hazy. Too fuzzy to place a name to. You think it’s your brain’s way of protecting itself. Of purging the bad things done to you as best as it can, lest you crumble in the palm of Marco’s hands. 

The sharp point of your heel catches on the plush rug that sprawls out in front of Marco’s feet, and you squeak as you nearly lose your footing. Both Marco and the stranger chuckle. The cacophonous tone grates against your eardrums, but you hide your discomfort as you stare at the ground. You wait. For the exchange. For the banter. They speak in Russian with one another through laughter as cash is passed to Marco. The air is still cold, and your thighs are still soiled, but the stranger looks at you like he would never dream of having any other meal than you. 

“Well, go on then,” Marco prompts. You look up at him with dull eyes. He swirls the mead in his cup as he tilts his head. “On your knees, babe. Wants to use your mouth tonight. Be a good girl, now.” 

Comply. Listen. It’s all you can do. So you sink to your knees like the well behaved girl you always are. Resting on your haunches, you look up at the man with a tight throat. He smiles, and your stomach drops. Roils and screams as he begins to unbuckle his belt. As he fishes himself from his trousers, you remind yourself all things are temporary. Especially pain. 

Nothing lasts forever—though, it often feels like it will. 

When it’s all said and done—when you’re thoroughly used—Marco walks you to the door like a gentleman. Hastily adorned clothes hang from your body as you pull your jumper tight around your core. Your cervix still aches from the virulent abuse it had taken earlier, but you attempt to ignore it as he opens the exit. Your only reprieve from this nightmare is that he didn’t parade you throughout the club like this; looking like a whore for hire. Tonight, he allows you to take the back exit far away from prying eyes. 

Cool night air cuts through your scanty clothes, and you stare out at the vast space of the car park before you. Weekdays bring little business and customers to Makarov’s club. Most of the strippers who work for him end up lazing around in back rooms and closets, getting drunk or high enough that they can forget all about their shitty night. 

You wish you had that luxury. 

“Hey,” Marco hums, grabbing your wrist. You turn to face him. Dim shadows from the flickering hallway lights cast his face in darkness, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “See you tomorrow, babe.” 

He sends you off with a kiss. Sloppy and wet—he likes messes. Savors making one out of you. Sweet mead and mint seeps into your mouth as you kiss him back with a tight jaw. When his hands caress your cheeks, pulling you closer, you wonder if he can taste the brine and bitter cum that lurks in the back of your throat. If he relishes in feeling every single way in which you’re destroyed. 

“See you tomorrow,” you murmur. 

Breathing only comes easy the moment you’re locked in your car. The movement is fluid—that gentle expanding of your chest—but it’s still agonizing. Diaphragm seizing with the sobs you fight back, it’s another reminder that you’re alive. As long as you draw breath, you don’t belong to yourself. 

Hot tears sear down your cheeks as you turn the key in the ignition. A gentle rumble follows as the engine hums to life. It’s a smooth, quiet purr. A car that’s much more expensive than you deserve. A lovely gift from Marco. It’s not at all uncommon for him to give you things. Expensive things. A car; an apartment; clothes—you’ll pay it back eventually. The numbers just add up to the big debt that’s hung over your head since you were sixteen. It ebbs and flows but not enough to save you. Not enough for you to belong to yourself again. 

As you bring the heels of your hands up to wipe your eyes, a gentle glow catches your attention. It moves. Dances and swirls in the numbra of the car park. Blinking, you focus on it. Golden yellow embers flicker and fade as life is breathed into them. It’s faint, but it reminds you of the well adored fireflies in America. Squinting, you can make out the outline of a car. It sits patiently and silent, but the windows are cracked. Faint smoke swirls through the openings where it climbs into the dull night sky and dissipates. 

Someone sits inside of the car, puffing away, but when your eyes lock onto the fingers pinching a cigarette, they freeze. Glowing embers quickly smother and die somewhere inside of the vehicle, and you’re left with nothing. You stare into the darkness, and it stares back. You feel its gaze tingling along your spine. Sniffing, you look away from that void. Be it man, or be it monster, you know nothing ever happens to you without Marco’s permission. 

That sentiment is equally as terrifying as it is comforting. 

When you arrive home—to the apartment paid for with your own body—you shower. No amount of water and soap is enough. You can lather yourself in all of Marco’s favorite scents, but the mint on his tongue still follows you everywhere. As you exit the bathroom, you leave feeling just as disgusting as when you entered. Nothing but some sordid creature that hardly knows how to take care of herself. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel sick. Golden glitter still stains your eyelids, and the teeth marks on the side of your throat have only grown more noticeable. Still, nothing is worse than the mark on the back of your neck. Though you can’t see it, you feel it. It makes your skin itch and crawl, and you find your fingernails tearing at it. As if you could rip it off like a bandaid. But it stays. Festers and embeds itself deep inside of you. 

Swallowing, you try to forget it as you continue to dry off. This is your brief moment of comfort, where you’re too far out of reach and well out of sight. Your only reprieve before you spend another night rotting as a trophy of glitter and bone. 

Weekends are better, but only marginally so. Wide eyed men fill Makarov’s club to the brim with wads of cash and twitchy fingers. Lingering gazes and hands brush against the crux of your ass and the back of your neck as Marco parades you through the crowd by your wrist. With your strappy golden heels and matching exiguous outfit, you’re flashy merchandise. Something soft and sweet he flaunts in an attempt to make a quick quid or two as a way to fund his means of pleasure and keeping control of you. While you’d normally spend most nights on your hands and knees, on busy nights, Marco allows you to earn your living in an honorable way—

—dancing. 

Sharp heels tap on soft mahogany as your hips and arms sway, practiced and repetitive, atop a round table. Dull music thrums and shakes the dust off your bones as the men on the crescent sofa surrounding you chat and laugh the night away. Marco’s in the mix of them all, cold glass resting on his knee as his foot taps against the floor. A hazy film covers the spring green of his irises as the liquor settles deep into his marrow. Each time you rotate his way, you watch his pupils dilate. A vast forest covered by the smokey darkness of that void, he licks at the alcohol on his lips as he stares at your clothed cunt. 

His fantasy fills your mind before his own can even make sense of it. Every spare glass and bottle that litters the table around your feet would be thrown on the floor in an instant just to put you on your back. To open your vulnerable stomach. To tear off the little clothing protecting your feeble dignity and truly put you to work. He’d spread your limbs and pin them like a specimen to a board, and he would cut and slice until you have nothing left to hide. Until there is nothing left of you at all. 

“Babe!” 

Marco’s voice cuts through the discordance of the crowd, and pulls you out of a nightmare and back into the present. Your terrifying reality. Slowly, you turn to face him, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face and a card stuck between his fingers. That sly haze still obscures his vision as he offers you his hand. Numb to the feeling of his skin against your own, you take it and allow him to help you down from the table. He wastes no time in dipping his fingers into the strap of your lingerie where he secures the card beneath the band. 

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” he teases. 

Warm hands settle on the curve of your hips as he guides you to turn around, faced away from him. Then, they wander up. Greedy fingers brush along the line of your spine before they find purchase in your hair, grabbing it as if he were trying to help you put it up. You hate how long it’s gotten. That he won’t let you cut it. He doesn’t care if it’s straight, curly, braided—anything. Marco wants it long. Uses it like a leash in which he keeps you bound to him with. 

“I know you’re a good girl, so I’m sure you won’t forget, but a little reminder never hurts,” he coos into your ear. Intoxicated breath fans across the side of your face as he leans closer to breathe you in. A shiver prickles across your skin as he kisses the back of your neck, and your throat involuntarily contracts at the sensation. It’s as if he’s marking you again. Branding you. “If this… patron wants more, I get to watch.”

Swallowing, you nod as best as you can with his fist gripping your hair. “I know.” 

Chuckling, he relinquishes his grip on you before stepping back. “Of course you do, smart thing you are. I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

You wait until you’re well away from Marco and his friends before you fish out the card he stuck beneath the strap along your hip. A pitched ringing plagues your ears as you enter the VIP section of the club. Things are quieter. Less crowded and the speakers don’t blare as loud. But the silence allows something malevolent to burrow inside of you. It festers as incessant tinnitus and broiling nervosity in your stomach. A wordless, desperate prayer breathes past your lips as you approach the room in which your patron awaits you. 

You pray he is kind. You pray that he wants nothing more than to hold you and vent his problems, like others have. 

When you open the door and step into the threshold that always makes your palms sweat, you think for a single fleeting moment that you are lucky. The room is abandoned. Dim lights illuminate the dull leather of the couch in front of you and yet there is no man sitting there for you to serve. Gentle music drones over the wireless speakers, giving the impression that there should be someone here with you. The attendants even set out the ice and whiskey for his drink. It now thaws on the tray, water nearly overspilling in its decay. 

Brows furrowing together, you look down at the card to ensure you haven’t misread it in your haze. The attendant’s handwriting is chicken scratch. He always manages to make a nine look like a zero, but you’re certain this is a six. The door clicks shut behind you as you sigh, too defeated and confused to make sense of this confusion. A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of slinking back to Marco with some saturnine cloud hanging over your head. 

If you can’t find work tonight, he’ll make some for you. 

That pit quickly becomes a gaping hole the moment a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth. Cardstock flutters out of your fingers like dainty butterfly wings, and hits the ground just as your back collides with an immovable chest. You don’t scream, but your heart nearly stops when you feel the cold press of metal against your throat. You are stuck in a vicious cycle. One of fear and sharp blades you’ll never wield yourself. 

“Not a fuckin’ word.” The voice that growls in your ear rattles your spine as the words erupt in his chest. Faint tobacco stains his fingers. Its earthy aroma seeps into your nose as your hands tremble against his tattooed forearm. “Don’t wanna hurt ya, so make this easy and listen to me, yeah?” 

Marco has taught you plenty well enough that the word no should be expunged from your vocabulary, so you nod. 

“Good.” 

You’re as stiff as a board when this stranger releases you. No amount of curiosity can get you to turn around and face the violent truth, not even as a thick jacket is tossed over your shoulders. The fabric is warm. Freshly removed off of the man behind you and placed on you as if it were a blanket. He presses his hand on your lower back and despite his caution, you still jump. 

“We’re going for a quick drive. Easy now. You’ll be home before sun up. C’mon,” he mutters. 

There is no such thing as saying no. There is no such thing as fighting. 

The knife vanishes from your sight but it’s all you can think about as this stranger leads you through the haze of the club. Everything blurs around you as you’re escorted to the nearest exit through quiet hallways that reek of cheap perfume. The only thing you can focus on is your feet. The glittery heels that match perfectly with your pedicure. You want to trip. To fall forward and hit the ground. Cry out and demand attention. The hand on the small of your back is all too grounding for you to make any mistakes. 

You approach and exit through an emergency fire door and the alarm doesn’t trip. Night air hits your skin like razor blades as you’re escorted across the car park. He shoves you into the back of a black car, and you only squeal a little when he slams the door behind you. When he situates himself in the driver's seat, the car hums to life and quiet lights flicker on just enough to scarcely illuminate his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark. The darkest you’ve ever seen. 

“There’s a blindfold in the seat next to you. Put it on,” he orders. Stuck on autopilot, you do as he says. It’s a thick scrap of cloth, something you hastily tie around your eyes and knot at the back of your head with trembling fingers. It only touches your skin for a fleeting moment before it’s soaked in briney tears. “Don’t even think ‘bout takin’ it off.” 

Not even your morbid curiosity can convince you to peek from between the threads. The word no is not in your vocabulary. Neither is disobeyment. 

Each turn the man takes as he brings you to some unknown destination has you swaying in your seat. Every pule that leaves your lips is smothered behind the palm of your hand as you wipe snot along the ridges of your knuckles. You do well to keep the aftermath of your fear to yourself. Even though this man has abducted you — something that was all too easy for him to do as you fawned. You’ll surely pay for this when Marco finds you again — you do not want to ruin the coat around your shoulders with spit. 

Of course you think of escape. You always do. It’s a self soothing daydream that florescences in the neurons of your brain. Unlock the door. Open the handle. Jump out. It’ll hurt. It always does. And it’ll hurt when you’re caught, but it always does. 

You don’t move. Freedom is just a dream.

Despite the knife he greeted you with, this man is surprisingly gentle. His touch is soft when he eventually parks the car, and his fingers do not dig too terribly into your skin as he helps free you from the back seat of his car. You do not trust his softness as he leads you into a room that smells like alcohol and cigarettes. Nicotine burns your nose as you’re settled into a plush seat, and for a fleeting moment you think you were only driven around the block before being thrown right back into Marco’s maw. 

That theory is proven terribly wrong when your blindfold is ripped from your eyes. 

A man with impressive tepidity sits across an antique wooden desk. Rich red walls close in on you. Crushing. Looming. Smoke blurs the space between the two of you as he puffs away at a thick cigar, blue eyes scanning a single piece of paper. He’s dressed nicer than you anticipated. A dark button up shirt, neatly combed hair and groomed beard—he hums to himself as his eyes scan the page in front of him before they land on you. You look away as if his gaze has burnt you. Instead, you focus on your nails and the manicure Marco made you get last week. Baby pink gel; his favorite color on you. 

“It’ll take more than crocodile tears to tug on my heartstrings, love,” he hums. 

The climate in your mouth suddenly becomes sere. All the snot and saliva that had built up before seems to vanish at his words. He’s nonchalant; terrifyingly so. 

“I don’t… uhm,” you attempt. 

“No need to explain yourself,” he interjects. “I understand. We all need to make a living.” Pausing, his eyes flicker back to the paper in his hands. “You’re Marco’s girl, aren’t you?” 

Thick obloquy heats the pit of your stomach as your fingers twitch. That term—that title. It fills you with more shame than you can name. You attempt to swallow down the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as your hand paws at the back of your neck. Expertly manicured nails scratch at the skin, and you wish nothing more than to peel back the layers of your epidermis and toss them aside to rot. 

Stiff, you nod. 

“John Price,” he introduces. 

He drops the name like it bears weight. As if it should crush you with each heavy letter that it carries, yet it doesn’t add on to the anxiety raging in your stomach. Your hand falls back into your lap as you dare to look at him once more. His eyes are sharp, as if he’s using his gaze alone to cut back your layers, but there is nothing to show for it. No secret except for a sour ignominy that you’ve carried for so long it imprints in your very skin. 

“Has Marco not told you about me?” he asks. He’s not upset; or if he is, he hides it well behind curious eyes. 

“No,” you answer truthfully. 

John chuckles. “Thought the man would’ve at least told his benefactor about me.” 

You blink. “...Benefactor?” 

“No need to play dumb. Like I said, it takes a lot more than faux tears to get me to feel sorry for you.” 

Your fear and confusion grips you so relentlessly that you don’t even feel it anymore. It’s wound so tightly around you, restricting blood flow to your body, that everything tingles if it is not numb. This man—John Price—gives you no chance to rest or fix your muddled thoughts. He tosses the paper in his hands across the wooden top of the desk, and your eyes nearly cross at the numbers printed on the pristine sheet and the amount of commas between them. There’s math. Addition and subtraction. Transactions of a bank account with a name at the top: 

Marco Anatolijus Smirnova

Funny. You’ve never seen his full name before. He’s only ever been Marco.

You’ve only ever been his girl. 

While you stare at the numbers, John throws question after question at you, none of which you know how to answer. He asks about transactions. He asks about what they’re for. Each and every time he’s met with the same answer. You are just as clueless as him. Marco does not concern you with his real work. The work that gets him enough money to have a bank account as padded as the one you’re looking at currently. 

His finances make the sparse contents of your stomach curdle. The amount of money you owe him for your unfortunate existence is trivial compared to what he already has. So minuscule it would hardly budge his savings. Marco has been making you work half your life away for something akin to a mere couple quid to him, and it stings just as bad as it always does. Seeing it at face value just how trapped you are—how Marco owns you and always will. 

“Don’t get coy with me.” John’s getting frustrated. Each question he presents you with is met with the same carking response of I don’t know. It’s nothing but the truth, but he seems to be informed otherwise. You’re significantly less important than he believes you to be, but the man looming behind you doesn’t help in settling your nerves enough to explain your situation properly. “Word on the street is Marco’s girl supplies him with his spending money. You’re tellin’ me I heard wrong? Or are you too daft to ask him what he’s using his finances on?” 

You swallow. What a polite way to put it—the things Marco does to you. 

“He… He makes money off of me but I… I don’t know how much or what he uses it for,” you choke out. “Well, I… I know a little bit but it’s not, it’s not like, whatever you’re asking, it’s just… it’s stupid things, it’s like, my housing or… it’s not… important.” 

There’s a quiet beat that settles between you and John, and you feel whatever vexation he harbored for you previously quickly evaporate in the air. He’s silent for so long that you force yourself to look up at him. You’re expecting curiosity, even the most morbid of iterations. John Price is not curious. You can tell by the way his jaw unclenches and eyes soften that he finally understands what you’ve been too inept to say. 

“How long have you been workin’ for him?” he questions, softer this time. 

“Since… I was sixteen,” you reply. 

“Sixteen?” He’s appalled. Repeats the word like it’s the worst taste he’s ever had on his tongue. “What’s he making you do for work? Dance?” 

Shame sears the back of your neck, leaving nothing but wounded, marked skin in its wake. You palm at the burn. Try to will it away with desperate fingers, and the movement causes the coat resting limply around your body to slip off your shoulder. This is the first time you’ve considered lying to John. Omitting the truth just to save the small shred of dignity you still have left, no matter how imaginary it might be. 

“Yeah. I… dance on stage but he… has me do private sessions too but he… sometimes he-” 

A hand brushes against the side of your arm and you flinch so hard your teeth nearly pierce through your tongue. Weathered wood squeaks beneath your weight as you freeze after nearly jumping out of your skin. This well meaning hand that startled you so terribly is well meaning. It pauses in its endeavor to cover your body once again with this stranger's coat, and instead lets it fall. You had almost forgotten all about him—the strange man who stole away Marco’s favorite toy from right under his nose. 

John and the stranger share a look as you retreat back into yourself. Hands folded over your bare lap, you didn’t feel naked until they finally understood who you are—what you are. Pristine nails dig into your palms as you swallow back the bilious vomit that threatens to spew free. 

“If we take you home, will you be safe there?” His eyes land back on you, but you can’t bring yourself to give him the same courtesy. 

You shake your head. “He’s going to be so mad. He… he pays for my apartment. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have a phone. I… There’s nothing. I have nothing. Marco’s provided everything for me and I never… he never gave me the chance to…” 

“I understand,” John interjects, carefully quelling your rambling. He waits for a moment before leaning back in his chair, retracting every bit of malice he exuded while interrogating you. “I’m sorry, love. Should’ve done our research better.” 

“It’s okay… Marco didn’t leave much of me to find.” 

John’s eyes darken in a way that would leave most men with their tail tucked between their legs. You’re too busy making yourself small to notice. “We’ll fix that.” 

In the next few hours, your life changes drastically. It’s sudden and feels just as violent as everything always does, yet it is intimidatingly soft. The gazes that are cast your way scream pity instead of lust, and you are handled with so much care you’re convinced you’ve become nothing more than a tchotchke. At least these men treat you with fragility rather than flippancy. 

You learn the man who took you from Makarov’s club is named Riley. You’re able to get a better look at him without the blindfold and terror willing your vision elsewhere. He’s intimidating. Arms drenched in ink, it’s almost enough to smother the scars that map the story around his body. It can’t shroud the ones on his face. The thin line that dissects his eyebrow, or the one on his nose which only makes the curve of the bridge more dramatic. His eyes are darker than anything you’ve ever seen before—so empty and yet full at the same time; nothing but a contradiction as he watches you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders. 

It is decided that—for your safety—you are to live with Riley until it is determined you are out of Marco’s reach. 

Despite your apprehension, you can’t say no. 

Riley’s house feels like a den. Well guarded but comfortable, the plush cushions that cradle you on the couch feel false. Fake. Everything does, but it’s mostly you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your skin. Nothing about you is tangible, not even to yourself. 

You’re still swaddled in Riley’s coat by the time he tells you that your room is ready. Really, it’s his room. You want to tell him you’d rather sleep on the couch than in some stranger’s bed, but you can hardly bring yourself to speak a single word to him. He scares you, but not in the way people usually do. It’s not the fear of pain that he riles within you, but rather something light. Something that flickers and sputters, waiting to grow. You smother it as he hands you proper clothes to change into. You don’t know where he got them from or why they fit so well, and you don’t care to ask. 

His room is… what you expected of a man like him. Plain walls, sturdy wardrobe and bed. A wristwatch ticks on the nightstand. It laments quietly, so much so that you only notice it when you sink into the mattress. He’s changed the sheets and pillowcases for you, but it’s not enough to snuff out the faint scent of tobacco. You like it, you decide. Or rather, you don’t mind it. Grounding earthy notes are much better than the synthetic chemicals Marco soaks himself in. 

Sleep comes about as easy as you expect it to. A TV drones on quietly in the living room as you toss and turn among unfamiliar sheets. Dull anxiety claws within the cage of your chest, but it holds itself at bay better than you anticipated. Or rather, you are just too numb to fully appreciate the pain. You should be afraid. You know it, and it’s lurking there even if you can’t fully feel it yet. 

It manifests suddenly as you feel the ghost of Marco’s hands on you. His teeth digging into your skin, demanding flesh. He wets his maw with your blood just as he wets his cock with your cunt. It sears. Rips through you in the brutal way it always does. Raw. Sinew on bone. And you don’t cry because it’s what he wants. He wants that brine and that sapor and he’ll claim it with claws and a smile. 

His mantra pants. It sweats and drips. It’s wet on your ear. 

There’s no escaping him.

You wake just after the sun does, and it is only then that you cry. 

Grief is the quintessence of escape. You’ve crossed the threshold—you were dragged beyond it—and now there’s no way back to the way things were. Your life wasn’t good, and it was far from comfortable, but it was familiar. You only know how to navigate things when bound. Chained to an unforgiving master. How are you supposed to live with free hands? 

What happens when Marco yanks your leash and finds no tension? 

What becomes of his favorite toy—Marco’s girl—then? 

By the time you finally gather the courage to leave the room, you find Riley in the kitchen. It’s what drew you out of your hiding spot originally; that scent of freshly cooked food. Sizzling meat and steaming eggs. He works at the stove with his back turned to you, arms dancing above the heat as he fries up a breakfast that should make your mouth water, yet it fails to do so. 

“Morning.” He hears you before he sees you, but he pauses with a spatula in hand to look at you from over his shoulder. He gestures to the island in front of you—something you suspect was only built to compensate for the lack of counter space on either side of the stove—then hums to himself as he turns his attention back to his work. “Breakfast’ll be finished soon, if ya wanna grab a seat.” 

There’s a stiffness that plagues your limbs as you sit on the high top chair Riley pointed to. It rolls off you in waves. Taints the air; souring it with your presence. You are not comfortable in this place—with this man. His palm haunts the chapped skin of your lips the same way his chest haunts your back and you can’t help but wonder what he and John would have done to you had they deemed you guilty. If they had looked at Marco’s girl and saw an opportunity rather than a pitiful creature, would you be sitting here now? 

Breakfast is a quiet affair of scraping plates and muffled chewing. Riley doesn’t sit next to you. Rather, he stands on the other side of the counter with a bowed head as he shovels egg and bacon into his mouth as if he’ll starve if not. He tries to rest his elbows on the counter, but it’s too low. It curves his spine uncomfortably, and he shifts as if standing on hot coals. 

Hunger does not pull at your stomach. Nervosity fills you to the brim—too full to consume something other than the ache. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.” Riley’s nearly finished with his food by the time he speaks, prompting you to look up at him for the first time since you sat down. All you’ve managed to do for the last few minutes is drag the tip of your fork around your scrambled eggs. “Boys really thought you were dangerous. That you were workin’ with Makarov and Marco. Shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” 

Dull teeth dig into the wet flesh inside your cheeks. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay,” Riley argues adamantly. “But I am sorry.” 

It’s difficult to discern the purpose of his apology. Is it to make himself feel better for what he did? For dragging you out of that club and into John Price’s office? To interrogate you until your innocence was proven? Does he say sorry to comfort himself, or you? To prove he’s not as monstrous as he looks with dark eyes and tight lips. He is, after all, awfully kind for a monster. You have yet to meet a beast that knows how to apologize without digging their teeth into you afterwards. 

Perhaps his apology is truly for you. To settle fried nerves. To make you feel safe. 

You know better than that. 

You were safer in the clutches of Marco’s jaw than you are now. 

“Riley, can… can I ask something?” 

A cheeky remark bubbles along his tongue. You just did. He takes one look at you and decides to bite it back. “Course.” 

A noisome lurch pulls at your stomach, embittering the sparse bites of food you were able to force down your throat. Thunder roars in your chest as your heart attempts to break free—leave your body behind to rot while it escapes. 

“Would I… Could I get the pill?” you ask. 

“The pill?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, like… the… the morning after pill?” 

His silence doesn’t surprise you, but it stretches long enough to be concerning. Looking up from your cold food, you’re met with soft eyes. They’re the softest ones that have looked at you for what feels like ages. Gentle. They don’t greedily rake over your body to soak in every twitch of your skin—rather, he reads you. Between the lines and and in the margins, he devours every word. 

For the first time in your life he makes you feel more like a victim than a toy, and you’re not sure if that feels any better. 

“Will you be alright by yourself if I go buy it for you?” he asks. There’s no judgment; only pity. 

You nod. 

Riley mulls it over as his tongue swipes along the back of his teeth. When he straightens, he brings his plate with him as he steps back and hums. Your attention is quickly brought back to your hands as he sets the dish in the sink to be cleaned later. 

“Alright.” You try not to choke as he motions to your plate. “Should eat. I’ll be back soon, yeah?” 

Once again, you nod. “Okay.” 

Not a single morsel has been consumed off of your plate by the time Riley returns home, and you are not in your seat. Disappointment buzzes at the base of his skull, but he’s not surprised. He knows what it’s like to be too full to eat—to be plagued with something not even hunger can triumph. He sets aside the pill box to clean up after you. Food in the bin. Plate in the sink to be washed later. 

It’s quiet. It’s never this quiet. Not even when he’s home by himself, which he usually is. Riley stands in the kitchen with furrowed brows as he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something. His keys. His lighter. 

God, he could use a smoke. 

Heavy feet cause old wood to creak as he pokes his head into the bedroom. An imprint of your body still dips into the mattress from this morning, but it’s gone cold. He was going to stay politely stationed in the doorway until the thought flickers across his mind that you’ve left. Got too scared of the brute whose home you’re trapped in and ran off. Away. Hiding from the world—from Marco. 

There’s little reprieve to be found when he notices the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door, but it’s smothered the moment he hears you crying. They’re pathetic, stifled pules. Ones you attempt to desperately hide, yet they bleed out of you anyway. He wants to leave you alone, to let your emotions wash over you, but he can’t. 

Even with your crying, the house is too quiet. 

“Everythin’ alright?” 

Both his voice and knock startle you, and your sobbing swells. Breathing out of control, he can hear you choke on the snot flowing through your sinuses. You’re panicked, and he realizes that this is more than grief. More than anxiety. More than fear. 

You’re terrified. 

You’re standing in the bathtub like a scared cat when Riley opens the door. Tears stream down your face. Relentless. They nearly glisten as bright as the kitchen knife in your hand. 

You told yourself it would be easier for him to clean up the mess of your corpse if you killed yourself in the bathtub. Blood festers and rots in the smallest of crevices, but there’s none of that to be found in the ceramic that surrounds you. However, you’re having trouble getting any blood to flow at all. You’re not sure if it’s you or the knife, but you’re hardly able to break the skin on your wrists. The crimson blood that flows through your minor cuts feels trivial. There needs to be more. 

It’s not enough. You’re scared that you might have to stab yourself. Spill your guts in the tub. Witness your offals for yourself before you fade away. Something. You want to die, but you don’t want it to hurt. 

You don’t want it to hurt, but you need to leave. 

“Hey. Hey, easy now.” Riley feels as if he’s talking to an animal. Some feral cat poised to bite and scratch if he’s not cautious. He approaches you with his palms faced out in surrender, and the walls around you seem to close in. “You don’t wanna do this sweetheart. Give me the knife.” 

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t do this. You-You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Marco he... It’s- I- fuck, I can’t. I can’t do this, please just let me do this.” 

Each word is muffled. So far from your ears that it hardly reaches you. Still, they spew along with your cries. It doesn’t deter Riley from closing in on you. Swallowing the spit building on your tongue, you hold the knife with both hands. A simple kitchen blade, now brandished like a weapon. It’s nearly laughable. You couldn’t even kill yourself. How can you expect to hurt him? 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay, but I can’t do that if you’re not here.” His words feel stupid in his mouth, but he knows he has to try something. “Please. Give me the knife. I don’t wanna hurt you. Hey, give- fuck.” 

There’s a lunge. Grabbing. Blade on skin. Blood on tile. 

Riley meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt you, but you still cry out as he yanks you out of the tub. Once again, your back is against his chest. You are enveloped by him as the two of you sink onto the bathroom floor, held down by his weight, and it is then that you truly can no longer hold yourself together. Vision darkening, chest ceasing; you panic. It rips through you with shaking hands and writhing legs, causing your feet to kick at the dull kitchen knife at your feet. 

For a moment, you are lost. Consumed by overwhelming grief and fear, and still Riley holds you through it all. You feel his heart beating against your spine, feel the exhale of his lungs dance on the top of your head. It’s a flicker in the darkness. In the primal fear of knowing you are still somehow chained to the man who has abused you for countless years. 

Dread transcends physical space. Marco planted it inside of you the first time his lips found the quiver in your throat. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.” 

Riley’s voice fades in like radio static. Disconnected and muffled, yet growing evermore clear. Then, it hits all at once. The slight sting of your wrists and the ache in your leg. Did you trip? You feel the growing bruise pulse and throb on your shin, and another one in your hip. It’s hardly bearable, but neither of them are as uncomfortable as the warm, sticky mess seeping into your shirt. 

It takes several seconds for you to realize it’s blood. 

“There, good. It’s alright,” Riley whispers. His voice is thick—heavy enough to make your stomach sink. 

“Am- Am I bleeding?” you stutter. 

“No, you’re alright. Don’t worry ‘bout the blood.” 

But you do. You worry about it because you don’t want it to hurt, you don’t even think you want to die anymore—you just want it gone. For it to dissolve around you, or for you to waste away into dust. Your chin rests against your chest as you look for the source, scouring your own body for the wound. Your wrists, your arms your legs—

—the wound is on Riley. 

Blood gushes through a gash on the top of his forearm, obscuring your view of the damage. It’s just as steady as every stream you ever used to jump over as a child. It slices through the meticulously crafted ink that graces his skin, and you feel as if you’ve cut through the canvas of a painting. Ruined something good. Something more useful than yourself. More than that, you hurt him. 

“Oh my god, your arm,” you gasp. 

“It’s nothing,” Riley attempts to assure. 

“There’s so much blood, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s nothing,” he reiterates. “Just a cat scratch, sweetheart.” 

His cat scratch takes twenty minutes to patch up. You count the time on the ticking of his wristwatch as you lay in his bed. Body too weak and afflicted with malaise to make something of yourself, you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him hiss and grunt. It’s the blood, you’re sure. Despite the flow, he manages to smother it to nothing more than a scab beneath pristine dressings. 

It takes him another ten minutes to clean you up. He assesses the wounds you left on yourself—shallow horizontal cuts along the delicate skin of your wrists. You stare at them as he cleans and bandages them, and you tell yourself the sting from the antiseptic is what makes your eyes water. 

You’ve created a mess for nothing, and Riley is the one paying for it. 

“There.” He secures the last piece of tape on the gauze. It feels unnecessary. Band-aids would have sufficed, and you tried to tell him as much only for him to mutter something about infections. “Not too tight?” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” 

Content, he hums as he steps away from the bed, gathering up items off of the nightstand. You watch as his fingers swallow rolls of tape, forearm flexing beneath his own dressings. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, your heart lurches, as the guilt pierces through you like a blade. You’re not sure why it lurks. Is it because you hurt him? Because you tried to leave a corpse for him to come home to? 

“I’ll get you some water. Ought to take that pill sooner rather than later,” Riley says, turning to leave the room. 

He only makes it a few steps before you stop him. “I lied.” 

Pausing, his eyes find you with more confusion than you expected. “Yeah?” 

“I lied about… needing the pill. I just said it so you would leave,” you admit. You push yourself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side of the mattress to sit and properly look at him. “When… I first… Marco used to make me take birth control. Like, the actual pills. I got pregnant anyway. Made me get the IUD after that. It’s more effective, so I don’t think I’ll really need it. I mean, I’ve never needed it before, so…” 

Listening, Riley nods as you bare the raw parts of yourself. It’s impossible to share without that warble in your tone—that pain that always leaks into your voice—but in some strange way, it feels good. Refreshing. You’re airing out an old, festering wound that hasn’t ever seen the light of day. 

“You got a kid to take care of? If they’re with Marco-” 

“No,” you interrupt. Riley’s words die on his tongue. “No, he… he made me get an abortion, too. It’s for the best, really. Kids shouldn’t be around that monster anyway.” 

Again, he nods. The house feels loud. Every inch of the four walls around you seems to buzz with an energy you’re not privy to. 

“Well, some water wouldn’t hurt. Food wouldn’t either, since you never finished breakfast,” he continues as he turns. “Want anything specific?” 

He’s so… casual. Nonchalant despite the trauma you subjected him to. He should be angry with you. Furious at having made a mess; at having hurt him. His entire life was turned upside down the very same moment yours was—he should hate you for it, but he doesn’t. 

“Whatever’s easiest.” The floorboards are loose by the door. They squeak as he crosses the threshold, and you feel your stomach lurch. “Riley?” 

Pausing, he turns on his heel as his head pokes back into the room. “Yeah?” 

So calm. So patient. 

“Thank you. For everything. I just… Thank you, Riley,” you choke. 

For the first time since he caught you in that club, he smiles; small and kind. 

“Just Simon to you, yeah?”

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[kiwriteswords]

Unveiled

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This has been on my to-write list forever...hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Mild Injury, Mentions of Field Work, Secretive Behavior, Slight Jealousy, Light Swearing, Mentions of Emotional Vulnerability, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage, Canon-Typical Themes.

Sypnosis: You and Aaron Hotchner have always been experts at keeping work and personal life separate—so much so that the team doesn’t even know you’re together, let alone married. But secrets can only stay hidden for so long, especially when small details start catching everyone’s attention.

The BAU bullpen buzzes with the usual hum of activity. Cases to close, profiles to refine, and endless paperwork to finish. You settle into your desk with a practiced air of nonchalance, tugging the sleeve of your blazer slightly to cover the delicate wedding band now gracing your finger.

The slim band--simple, not flashy, was perfect for both your personality and the line of work you were in. You could count the times on one hand how often JJ had to get her ring fixed or cleaned from the damage being in the field caused. You did not need diamonds or an extravagant engagement or wedding. You had everything and more with the man who had the matching band upstairs. 

You glance across the bullpen, up to Aaron’s office. He’s buried in a stack of reports, his expression unreadable, as always. His left hand is occupied with a red pen, and the thin gold band is barely visible but there nonetheless.

Your lips twitch into a subtle smile as you recall the whirlwind of the weekend: the drive to a secluded courthouse, the soft vows spoken just for each other, the quiet, private moment that bound you and Aaron together in a way only you two could understand--with Jack present, of course. Eloping had been a mutual decision, spurred on by years of hiding, countless near-misses at being caught, and the realization that you were done living for anyone but each other.

Ever the lawyer Aaron was and ever the practical woman you were, you knew marriage was essentially just paperwork. Personally, it did mean a lot more to the both of you in terms of commitment, so that’s why you both decided to do it on a whim, to begin with, but there wasn’t a need for the white dress or all the bells and whistles that you both found overkill. The slim gold bands were enough. The vows were enough. The love you shared was more than enough.

Now, the fun part began.

You turn back to your desk, shuffling through files with purpose as the team begins trickling in. The usual morning energy hums around you, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight thrill of knowing what you’re both hiding—and knowing it won’t be hidden for much longer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful as ever. “Doesn’t this day feel extra special for some reason? Like the world’s just radiating good vibes?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe it’s just you, Penelope. You’re the good vibes.”

She beams, clearly pleased with the answer, before skipping off to annoy Morgan. You catch Aaron’s eye for the briefest second, and the corner of his mouth twitches—a rare, subtle sign of amusement.

The team trickles in gradually. Rossi strolls past your desk, sharp as ever, with his coffee in hand. His sharp eyes flicker to your hand, and he slows just slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Nice ring, kid,” he says, voice casual but curious. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious enough settle down.”

Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but you quickly recover, offering him an easy shrug. “I like to keep my private life... private.”

Rossi had been the hardest over the years to keep at bay. Somehow, it became second nature to be so…secluded in your personal life. It wasn’t that you or Aaron were not sharing with the team, but you never felt the reason to shake things up. You, with your budding career, and him, with his reputation as a leader, why change that? 

Rossi hums thoughtfully, clearly filing that information away for later. You glance over at Aaron again, his focus still trained on the file in front of him. His poker face is maddeningly perfect, but you know he’s listening intently.

It isn’t too long after that a new case brings you to the round table room. You can’t help but feel that there is still an unspoken buzz in the air. Rossi’s comment made you jumpier than you’d like. Not that you’re hiding anything, but the idea of change…makes you uneasy. 

Aaron sits to your right, perfectly composed as always, flipping through the latest case files. His left hand holds a pen, the thin gold band on his ring finger catching the light with every movement. You glance at it, a quiet rush of warmth filling your chest. Your husband. It’s still a surreal thought. You could feel the faintest hint of amusement radiating from him, even if his face betrayed nothing. The quiet thrill of your secret filled the air between you.

You refocus, nodding at something JJ says about an update from the field office, but you can feel Rossi’s eyes on you. He’s seated across the table, his sharp gaze catching every detail. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face, but he says nothing—yet.

“Anyway,” JJ continues, looking up from her notes, “we’ll need to coordinate with local law enforcement to finalize those interviews.” She glances over, and her eyes snag on your hand mid-gesture. Her words falter for a split second before she quickly recovers. “Morgan, you’ll take the lead.”

Morgan nods, clearly only half-listening. His focus has also shifted—to Aaron, more specifically. His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Hotch, you got something new going on?” His tone is casual, but his grin betrays his curiosity. “That’s one hell of an accessory you’re sporting.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, his voice calm and measured. “I wasn’t aware my ring warranted commentary, Morgan.”

Morgan smirks, glancing at Rossi. “Oh, come on, man. You walk in here wearing a wedding band out of nowhere? You can’t expect us not to say something.”

Rossi leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And here I thought I was the only one paying attention,” he says, his voice rich with amusement. “Seems our unit chief had quite the weekend.”

The rest of the team snaps to attention. JJ’s head jerks toward Aaron, her eyes widening as she looks between him and you. Penelope, sitting at the far end of the table, gasps audibly.

“Wait,” Penelope exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re married now? When did this happen? Who’s the lucky lady? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“I’m not the only one,” Rossi interjects smoothly, his gaze now fixed on you. “Looks like Y/N had a busy weekend, too.” He nods toward your left hand.

You glance at Aaron, a silent exchange passing between you. His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

Penelope’s sharp intake of breath breaks your focus. “Wait a second,” she says, leaning forward, her gaze darting between you and Aaron. “Y/N, is that... a wedding ring?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady as you respond. “What about it?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “Hold up,” he says, nodding toward Aaron’s hand again. 

All eyes turn toward Aaron now. He calmly finishes jotting a note before closing the folder in front of him. “Is this relevant to the case?” he asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

Rossi tilts his head, his sharp gaze bouncing between you and Aaron. His lips curl into a knowing smile. “Interesting,” he says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Very interesting.”

JJ’s brow furrows as she glances between the two of you. Her eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn. “No,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then louder, “Wait a second—are you two—?”

You glance at Aaron, and he gives you the slightest nod. With a small sigh, you lean back in your chair and let the corner of your mouth lift into a smirk. “You really don’t know?” you ask, your voice laced with amusement.

Aaron follows up, his tone carrying a faint edge of dry humor. “I thought you were better profilers than that.”

The room goes completely silent as the pieces click into place. Emily gasps, pointing between you and Aaron. “No. No way. You two? Are you telling me you’re married to each other?”

Morgan bursts out laughing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating this whole time, and none of us knew? I don’t believe it. You two are way too good at this.”

Penelope’s jaw drops. “What?! Oh my God, I feel so betrayed! How could you keep this from me? I should’ve been your bridesmaid—or at least in the loop!”

Aaron raises a hand, his calm authority cutting through the chaos in the room. “We made the decision to keep our relationship private to maintain professionalism,” he begins, his tone firm but warm. His eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on each team member before continuing. “This team works best when there are no distractions, and we both agreed that our relationship couldn’t interfere with that.”

He pauses, glancing at you. There’s a moment of silent understanding between you before you speak up, your voice steady but lighter than his. “It wasn’t about hiding, exactly. It was about making sure we stayed focused on the work that matters. But,” you add with a small, wry smile, “we eventually realized we didn’t need to keep it a secret anymore.”

Aaron picks up where you leave off, his tone softening slightly. “Especially now that we’re married,” he says, letting the weight of the words settle over the room. “We didn’t make this decision lightly, and we both value the integrity of this team above all else. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

The room falls quiet again, the team absorbing the revelation. You can see the wheels turning in their minds as they piece together the years of subtle interactions, quiet glances, and the seamless way you and Aaron have worked together all this time.

JJ breaks the silence first, her expression shifting from shock to a warm smile. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations. You both deserve to be happy.”

Morgan leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, I’ll give you two credit—this is the best-kept secret I’ve seen in a long time. But man, Hotch, you’ve got some explaining to do. Married? Without us knowing? I’m hurt.”

Rossi chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it sooner,” he says, his tone amused but approving. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two make sense.”

Reid almost looks relieved, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t pick up on things like this.” 

Penelope is the last to recover, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! This is so romantic!” She gestures wildly between you and Aaron. “Secret agents in love, sneaking off to get married—it’s like a spy movie! Please tell me there are pictures. I need pictures. And cake! Why isn’t there cake?”

You laugh, finally letting yourself relax a little as you glance at Aaron. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one the others might miss, but you recognize instantly. Beneath the table, his pinky brushes against yours, a subtle reminder that you’re in this together.

“Alright,” Aaron says, his commanding tone bringing the room back into focus. “We still have work to do, and I expect everyone to stay focused on the case.”

Morgan leans back in his chair, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah, boss. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Rossi smirks. “Don’t worry, Derek. Something tells me there’s more to this story, and we’ll get the details eventually.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Aaron as the team begins to settle down, still buzzing with excitement. It’s out in the open now—no more hiding, no more secrets. Just you, Aaron, and the life you’ve quietly built together finally shared with the people who matter most.

The case wraps up after a grueling few days. The unsub is in custody, and while the tension of the investigation still lingers, the mood on the jet back home is noticeably lighter. The team is scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Rossi are in their usual seats, discussing the finer points of profiling techniques, while Spencer is engrossed in a book.

You find yourself seated with JJ and Emily at the small table near the galley. Emily is flipping through a magazine, and JJ is scrolling on her phone, but their attention shifts to you when you pull out your phone and casually unlock it.

“You know,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a small grin, “since you all feel so left out, I figured I’d show you some photos from the elopement.”

Emily’s eyes snap up from her magazine, and JJ’s face lights up with interest. “Finally!” Emily exclaims, leaning in. “I thought you were going to make us beg.”

JJ nudges your arm. “I’ve been dying to see these. Penelope’s already planning a post-wedding celebration for you two.”

You chuckle and swipe to the photo album. The first image you show is a candid one—a shot of you and Aaron outside the courthouse, his hand resting gently on your back, both of you mid-laugh. JJ lets out a soft “Aww,” and Emily whistles low under her breath.

“Look at you two,” Emily says, her tone teasing but fond. “Who knew Hotch could look so... human?”

You laugh, swiping to the next picture, a close-up of your intertwined hands with your wedding bands gleaming in the sunlight. “He’s full of surprises,” you quip.

As you share a few more photos, some with Jack, some Jack actually took of you and Aaron.

Aaron walks by, a cup of coffee in hand. He pauses when he notices the three of you huddled around your phone. “Are you showing them the photos?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up at him with a playful grin. “They demanded proof.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leans slightly over the table. “You should show them the photo from last year. The one from the Amalfi Coast.” There’s an amused glint in Aaron’s eye’s that makes you want to roll your own, but you satisfy everyone anyway.

JJ blinks, looking between the two of you. “Wait. The Amalfi Coast? Together?”

Emily narrows her eyes, clearly piecing something together. “Hold on. Didn’t you both take time off around the same time last summer?”

Before you can answer, Reid speaks up from his seat across the cabin, his voice laced with disbelief. “You mean the trip to Italy? I remember you both mentioned visiting Italy, but I never connected the dots that you were there together.”

Morgan, catching the tail end of the conversation, leans over the back of his seat. “Hold up—that’s what you were doing last year? You two were off in Italy, sipping wine and living the good life, and we had no idea?”

Rossi chuckles from across the cabin, shaking his head. “It’s impressive, really. I mean, a courthouse wedding is one thing, but hiding a vacation together? That’s next-level stealth.”

Emily laughs, gesturing toward your phone. “Alright, show us this Amalfi Coast picture. I need to see the evidence.”

With a shake of your head, you scroll back to the album from the trip. You find the photo Aaron mentioned—a picture of the two of you standing on a sunlit terrace overlooking the ocean, the breeze catching your hair while Aaron stands beside you, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a linen shirt. You hand the phone over, and JJ and Emily lean in closer.

“This is so unfair,” JJ says, shaking her head with a smile. “You two look like you walked out of a travel magazine.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t put this together sooner,” Emily adds, smirking. “I mean, Hotch in a linen shirt? That should’ve been the giveaway.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you we were better at keeping secrets than they gave us credit for.”

You grin, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Well, now you all know. Mystery solved.”

Reid looks up from his book, still shaking his head. “I feel like I should’ve noticed. The behavioral cues were there...”

Morgan snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. They had us all fooled.”

JJ hands your phone back, smiling warmly. “Well, for the record, I’m glad we know now. You two really are perfect together.”

Aaron catches your eye from where he’s standing, his expression soft but steady. It’s a look that speaks volumes, and you know you’ll both carry this moment—this quiet joy of finally being yourselves with your team—for a long time.

As the jet hums softly beneath you, you settle into the warmth of the conversation, knowing that the life you’ve built with Aaron is now shared with the people who matter most.

When the jet touches down, and the team unloads into the bullpen, you barely have time to gather your things before Penelope corners you and Aaron. She’s been dropping comments all case long—about needing details, demanding photos, and lamenting her exclusion from what she’s now referring to as The Most Romantic Secret Ever Kept—but this time, there’s no escape.

“Alright, you two!” Penelope exclaims, her hands on her hips as she plants herself in front of you both. Her eyes sparkle with determination. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited through an entire case, and now you owe me. Spill it. All of it. When, where, how? I need the full story.”

Aaron glances at you, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “I told you this would happen,” he murmurs under his breath.

You chuckle softly and look at Penelope. “Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “We’ll tell you—briefly.”

Penelope’s expression brightens instantly. “Finally!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Aaron crosses his arms, his authoritative posture intact but his tone softer than usual. “It started a few years ago,” he begins, glancing at you. “Not long after you joined the team.”

You nod, picking up the thread. “It wasn’t planned. We just... clicked. We kept things professional at first, but over time, it became harder to ignore. Eventually, we decided it was worth exploring, but we agreed to keep it private.”

Penelope’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Years? You mean to tell me you’ve been dating for years, and I had no idea?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly. “We were careful,” he says simply. “We didn’t want our relationship to interfere with the team dynamic or the work we do.”

“And we didn’t think anyone would benefit from knowing,” you add. “It was easier to keep it between us.”

“But how?” Penelope presses, leaning closer. “I mean, we’re profilers! How did you manage to keep it under wraps?”

You exchange a knowing look with Aaron before answering. “We’ve always been good at separating our personal and professional lives,” you say. “At work, we focused on the cases. Outside of work... we had each other.”

Aaron nods. “We were deliberate about our interactions here, and we made sure not to let anything slip.”

Penelope looks genuinely impressed, though she’s clearly not done grilling you. “So, no one ever suspected? Not even Rossi?”

You laugh. “Oh, Rossi definitely had his suspicions,” you admit. “But he never said anything outright.”

Aaron smirks faintly. “I think he enjoyed watching the rest of you try to figure it out.”

Penelope groans dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You two are like... spy-level secretive. I don’t know whether to be mad at you or impressed.”

“Be impressed,” you say with a grin. “It’s less stressful.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at both of you, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re ridiculously adorable together. And because I’m still planning a post-wedding party. You’re not getting out of that.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Penelope finally relents, though she shoots you both one last look that clearly says she’s not done asking questions. As she flounces off to her office, you exhale a soft laugh, turning to Aaron.

“Well,” you say lightly, “that went better than I expected.”

Aaron’s gaze softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice low. “She’ll be back.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you head toward your offices. It’s out in the open now—your story, your love, your life together. And though you’ve enjoyed the secrecy, there’s something freeing about finally being able to share it with your team.

After a long day and an even longer week, the bullpen finally clears out. The soft hum of computers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights are the only sounds left as you and Aaron prepare to leave. You gather your things, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he approaches with his jacket draped over his arm.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the elevator. There’s an unspoken ease between you; the weight of secrecy finally lifted. When the elevator doors close, Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with quiet humor, “we don’t have to stagger our exits anymore.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No more waiting ten minutes so no one sees us leaving together?”

“Or arriving,” he adds. “No more separate cars or pretending to run into each other in the parking lot. We’ve been doing that for years. I think it’s become muscle memory.”

The thought makes you smile as the elevator dings, and you step out into the cool night air. You walk together to the car, and the rhythmic click of your shoes is the only sound. When you slide into the passenger seat, and Aaron starts the engine, the hum of the car fills the silence.

As he pulls onto the road, you glance over at him, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Do you ever think about all the close calls?” you ask, your voice quiet but teasing.

Aaron’s lips twitch in amusement. “All the time. Like that day you got hurt in the field.”

You know exactly which day he means. It’s burned into your memory as much as his. “You mean when I dislocated my shoulder chasing that suspect?”

He nods, his tone softening. “I remember standing over you, trying to keep it together while the EMTs worked. I wanted to pick you up and carry you to the ambulance myself, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay professional and keep my voice steady.”

You smile faintly, your heart tightening at the memory. “I remember how calm you sounded, even though I could see it in your eyes. You hated every second of it.”

Aaron glances at you briefly, his eyes filled with something deeper. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Morgan even asked me later why I seemed so shaken. I had to play it off as just another day in the field.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you were convincing enough. I think I was more worried about you slipping than about my shoulder.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his focus on the road. “That wasn’t the only close call. Remember Kansas City? The hotel?”

“Oh God,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. “I thought for sure Morgan would figure it out. He knocked on my door right after you left.”

Aaron smirks, glancing at you briefly. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was up late working on the profile,” you reply, grinning. “Which wasn’t a lie, technically. I just left out the part where you were with me.”

Aaron shakes his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “How about all the times we shared a room and no one noticed?”

You laugh, sinking back into your seat. “That was a miracle. Every single time. Can you imagine if anyone went looking for you in your empty room?” 

“Or walked past at the wrong moment,” Aaron adds, his voice tinged with humor. “I can’t believe we managed to pull that off.”

You grin at him, your tone teasing. “We probably wasted so much of the Bureau’s money on extra rooms we didn’t need.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I think we’ve earned it, considering the hours we’ve put in.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Still, we were playing with fire. Like that time Rossi knocked on your door in Denver. I thought for sure he’d notice something.”

Aaron chuckles, his tone more amused now. “Rossi always noticed. He just didn’t say anything.”

“Probably because he enjoyed watching everyone else flounder,” you reply with a grin. “He was always a little too smug.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as the memories wash over you both—the near-misses, the stolen moments, the countless times you had to act like nothing more than colleagues. Now, with the secrecy behind you, the memories feel more like a badge of honor than a burden.

Aaron pulls into the driveway, turning off the engine before glancing at you. His expression is soft, his voice quieter now. “No more sneaking around,” he says. “No more separate cars or extra rooms.”

You smile, reaching for his hand. “Just us.”

The two of you walk inside, your home warm and inviting as you settle in for the night. The conversation drifts back to the little things you had to do to keep your relationship under wraps—the cover stories, the excuses, the times you almost slipped. But the laughter and warmth you share now make it all worth it.

As the night deepens, you both revel in the freedom of no longer having to hide. It’s just you and Aaron, building the life you’ve always wanted… with Jack—together, out in the open, and exactly as it should be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[helenofsparta2]

Having the whole plot between Nico and Percy be resolved simply with “You’re not my type” in Blood of Olympus was such a huge disservice to both characters

They are pivotal parts to each others journey. No person in PJO influenced Nico as much as Percy did, aside from Bianca, and no person represents Percy’s guilt and the responsibility he had to shoulder more than Nico does. The writing for both characters really suffers through this lack of a real satisfying resolution.

First to talk about what Percy represents for Nico:

Percy, first of all, represents Nico’s introduction to the mythological world

He is the first demigod Nico ever came in contact with

He saved him and Bianca from the manticore (somewhat)

Nico stated in Blood of Olympus than Percy had reminded of the heroes of his mythomagic game come to life

Nico wholeheartedly believed that Bianca would be safe, if Percy was with her and created this image of the perfect hero in his mind, putting Percy on a pedestal

2.

In Nico’s mind Percy is irrevocably intertwined with Bianca and everything that happened to her

Despite Nico naively believing, that Bianca would be safe if Percy were around, he was instead the last person to ever talk to her, and present when she died

Percy informed Nico of her death (Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn’t believe nobody had told him yet. Then I realized why. They’d been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person, Titan’s curse)

Nico turned him into the scapegoat for her death, so that he could let all his grief and anger and bitterness out on him

Bianca sent Iris-messages to Percy, so that he would find and help Nico (“Percy has been worried about you, Nico. He can help. I let him see what you were up to, hoping he would find you.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Her ghost only appeared to Nico when Percy was with him

Percy is the only person Nico knows of, who also grieved for Bianca (“Bianca,” I said. My voice was thick. I’d felt guilty about her death for a long time but seeing her in front of me was five times as bad, like her death was fresh and new. I remembered searching through the wreckage of the giant bronze warrior she’d sacrificed her life to defeat, and not finding any sign of her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. Battle of the Labyrinth)

3.

Percy is the person who protected and cared for Nico more than anyone else in pjo

Tried to convince Bianca to think more deeply about her decision of joining the hunters, especially thinking of him (“Biance, this is crazy,” I said. “What about your brother? Nico can’t be a hunter.” (Titan’s curse)

Searched the woods in the dark for hours after he had disappeared (Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo.)

Didn’t tell Chiron about Nico’s parentage to protect him from the Gods. (I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—") Titan’s curse)

Decided to completely commit to the prophecy, solely so Nico didn’t have to bear that burden and go trough any more suffering(It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more." ) Titan’s curse)

Searched for Nico in the months after Titan’s Curse (Now, six months later, I hadn’t even come close to finding him. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. Battle of the labyrinth, chapter 3))

Saved his life on Geryon’s farm. (“Either way, you get my friends,” I said. “But, if I succeed, you’ve got to let all of us go, including Nico.”)

Always offered Nico a place at camp half-blood to the best of his abilities (“We missed you at dinner,” I said. “You could’ve sat with me.”“No.”“Nico, you can’t miss every meal. If you don’t want to stay with Hermes, maybe they can make an exception and put you in the big house. They’ve got plenty of room.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Invited him to join him on his birthday (“Is that… is that blue birthday cake?”He sounded hungry, maybe a little wistful. I wondered if the poor kid had ever had a birthday party, or if he’d ever been invited to one. “Come inside for cake and ice cream,” I said. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Reminded him that he was still a child (I smiled. “Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.” I tossed him the statue, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Helped him to get the sword of hades back to impress his father (Then I looked at Nico. Unfortunately, I recognised the expression on his face. I knew what it was like wanting to make your dad proud, even if your dad was hard to love., Sword of hades)

Acknowledged everything Nico did in The last Olympian and is one of the main reasons why Hades has a cabin at camp. ( “But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that.”)

4.

Percy was Nico’s first, and after Will, his biggest love

Nico had feelings for Percy, which didn’t leave him for around 2 1/2 years, and accompanied him throughout the most challenging parts of his life. 

Feelings, which were so deep, the god of love personally acknowledged them.

Favonius even called Percy, the person Nico cares about most in House of Hades.

This was more than just a mere crush

Percy is so completely intertwined with most aspects of Nico’s character arc, in both PJO and Hoo, be it his feeling of ostracism, his relationship to Bianca or him coming to term with his own sexuality, that them not having a final interaction, makes his writing feel shallow and unfinished. Especially Nico coming to terms with his crush on Percy opens up the opportunity for a really heartwarming conversation and a moment of character growth and maturity for both of them, instead of it being wasted on one throw-away line.

And it’s the same the other way around. Nico is also a huge part of Percy’s journey.

He especially represents Percy’s biggest failure.

The first five Percy Jackson books are characterized by Percy having to take up responsibility and him being afraid of not being able to fulfill them. Be it responsibility for camp, the world, Bianca’s death, the prophecy, his friends, teh unclaimed demigods, or everything else. Most of the time, Percy was able to make sure everything turned out fine. He saved camp, he saved Olympus, he finished his quests, made the right decision for the prophecy, and he made the gods swear upon teh styx. But there’s one exception. And that is Nico.

Percy did everything in his power to make sure Nico would be spared any more hardships. He took up the burden of the prophecy, explicitly, so that Nico doesn’t have to go through any more hardships

He searched for him after Titan’s curse, kept his identity a secret and even risked himself, Annabeth, Grover and Tyson dying if it meant saving Nico

Still, Nico is one of the characters, if not the character, who has suffered the most in PJO and Hoo, even partly because of Percy (though, of course, Nico having a crush on him was not Percy’s fault at all)

He lived alone at 11 years old on the streets and in the labyrinth, while getting manipulated by an ancient evil spirit

He was isolated and ostracized at camp half-blood

He experienced the horrors of Tartarus completely on his own

He got captured by the giants and slowly suffocated to death in a small jar

He had to deal with internalized homophobia and his complicated feelings regarding Percy

He has been a vital part of two wars at only 15 years old

Had to admit his crush involuntarily in front of Jason, etc.  

One of the things Percy battles with in Heroes of Olympus is this overwhelming sense of guilt. He blames himself for almost everything that went wrong over the last few years. Be it for Iapetus, Calypso, or especially Nico. Having Percy acknowledge this complicated relationship he has with him during House of Hades, but not allowing the two of them to talk it out is genuinely baffling to me, and one of the (albeit many) reasons why I really don’t like most of Percy’s writing during Heroes of Olympus, despite the fact that he is my favourite character by far. This could have led to a moment of character growth, where Nico helps Percy to aknowledge that he feels guilty for things he had little to no control over, while Nico himself realizes how important he actually is to Percy.

They are also so similar in terms of who they are and what they’ve been through, that even if you ignore their history with each other, it seems insane, that they didn’t interact in any meaningful way:  

Both were ostracized at camp half-blood because of their parentage, and so far are the only two half-bloods we know of with that experience

They are (together with Hazel) the most powerful demigods in the Riordan verse, and have feats which far surpass anyone else’s

Both are in some way afraid of their powers

Both went through Tartarus

Both have relatively similar relationships to their godly parents

Both have gone through immense trauma and loss

And if you read heroes of Olympus, it actually very much seems to build towards a final resolution of their relationship

Percy and Nico were, aside from Frank, the two people closest to Hazel; both saw her as a little sister, and Hazel treated them both like her brothers

Nico was the first person Percy met from his old life

Percy was the one, who received the visions of Nico being captured

From everyone present, Percy trusted Nico to lead the others to Greece in his moment of greatest desperation

They both had introspections about the other in house of Hades, Nico having to deal with his crush and Percy with his guilt in Tartarus

But, in the end, after they met again, nothing happened. The only scene we really got was the “You’re not my type” line and Percy being surprised by it for a couple seconds. That’s it.

We saw no meaningful conversation between the two of them, no acknowledgement of what they’ve been through together, no lasting feelings. Nothing.

In regards to their relationship, Percy acknowledging everything that Nico has been through led to nothing. Nico acknowledging his feelings for Percy and finally letting go of this pedestal he had placed him on led to nothing. You could argue that their entire relationship, which has been built up since Titan’s curse led to nothing. And considering that they are so important characters for each of their character arcs, their characterization very much suffers from this writing decision.

The two of them, together with Hazel, are my three favourite Riordan verse characters by a long shot, but some very important aspects of both of their characters fall so flat to me through this lack of a satisfying resolution.

 Both of them deserved so much better.  

They are the friendship with the most missed potential in the entirety of the Riordan verse and probably the most fleshed out and nuanced relationship Rick ever wrote.

R.I.P.  Nico di Angelo, and Percy Jackson, you will always be brothers in my mind.

[meleeyz]

୭ 𝗗𝗢 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗠? ˚. ᵎᵎ 

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled.

୨୧ I had a dream where I had a baby and when I woke up I realized it wasn't real. FOR SOME REASON IT BROKE MY HEART SO THIS IS INSPIRED BY THE IMAGINARY BABY MY BRAIN JUST DECIDED TO MAKE UP

୨୧ The baby's name is up to you, I'd like to know your ideas ;)

୨୧ I'm definitely writing about Vi exploring the Firelights' hideout and randomly running into a girl holding an exact copy of her friend Little Man in arms.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Firelight's hideout was eerily quiet. You were standing at the foot of the tree with a small bundle in your arms. The baby—Ekko’s son, your son—stared up at you with wide, curious eyes, his features a miniature reflection of his father’s. The sight was a double-edged sword: it filled you with a bittersweet warmth and an aching longing.

It had been months since Ekko left to investigate the infected tree, months of waiting, worrying, and shouldering the responsibilities he had once shared with you. Every day, you prayed he would walk back through the doors, his grin lighting up the room like the first rays of dawn. But every day, he didn’t.

Your baby gurgled, tiny fists gripping your necklace, the one with the hourglass symbol that your boyfriend had made just for you. His presence was both your anchor and your heartache. He was everything you had left of Ekko, and you had to believe Ekko would come back. He had to. For his family. For his people.

Some members of the Firelights had stepped in to help, as they always did. They made toys, looked after him while you were busy with other things at the hideout, you even found some of the older children telling him stories about his father, how he saved them from somewhere or how much your son looked like him. But they couldn’t replace him, no matter how much they tried. Your son needed his father. And so did you.

When you told Ekko you were pregnant, you braced yourself for anything—confusion, fear, anger. You hadn’t anticipated his face breaking into the widest grin you’d ever seen, his laugh bubbling out like an uncontrollable stream of joy.

“Wait, wait—are you serious?” he had asked, his voice cracking with excitement.

You nodded, watching as he leapt up from his seat, pumping his fists into the air before grabbing you in a tight embrace. He kissed you so many times you lost count, his words spilling over each other like rushing water.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair. “I don’t even know what to say—thank you.”

It was… overwhelming, to say the least. You couldn’t fathom how someone with so much already on his shoulders could embrace another responsibility so wholeheartedly. But Ekko didn’t just embrace it; he flourished.

As he did with everything in his life.

The crib was his first project. He had pieced it together with determination etched into his features, sanding the wood and painting it himself. He showed off every detail with pride, especially the carvings of tiny fireflies along the edges.

Then came the room. The Firelights banded together to help him paint the walls in bright, playful hues, with murals of fireflies glowing against a dark blue sky. You watched from the doorway, tears in your eyes, as Ekko stood back to admire their work, his hand resting on your growing belly.

Ekko had been an awkward yet dedicated father from the moment your baby was born. The first time he held his son, his hands trembled with a mix of fear and awe.

“He’s so small,” he had said, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way he looked at your baby, like he was holding the world itself, melted every doubt you had ever had.

He learned quickly. When your baby cried at night, Ekko was the first to his feet, scooping him up and rocking him gently until the cries faded into tiny hiccups. He talked to him, sang to him, shared stories of Zaun and the Firelights as if the baby could understand every word.

“I want him to know,” he told you one night, his voice quiet as he cradled his son in his arms. “About where we come from. About what we’re fighting for.”

Those months together had been the happiest of your life. Even Vi’s unexpected return—her wide-eyed shock at seeing Ekko with a family—felt like a promise that things were looking up.

But then the tree fell ill, its vibrant glow dimming under the weight of some unknown blight. Ekko had left with promises to return quickly, determined to save the heart of the Firelights’ sanctuary. Weeks stretched into months. His absence became a gaping hole in your life, and with each passing day, the hope of seeing him again grew dimmer.

You swayed gently, humming a soft tune to calm the baby nestled in your arms. He had Ekko’s eyes and his white hair. Every time you looked at him, it was like a ghost of his father was there, watching over you.

The hideout huge door creaked open, and your heart jumped, hope flaring like a wildfire. But it wasn’t him. Just another Firelight returning from patrol. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Still no sign?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

The Firelight shook their head, avoiding your gaze. You felt your chest tighten, but you couldn’t let them see how much it hurt. You had to stay strong. For them. For your baby.

The day dragged on, the tension in the air palpable. The Firelights were restless, their leader’s absence weighing heavily on their spirits. They looked to you now, not as a leader, but as a symbol of hope. You hated it. You weren’t Ekko. You couldn’t inspire them the way he did.

All you could do was hold things together until he came back.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[latin5mamii]

5:42 am

genre: JudeBellingham x you; cute and fluff

summary: After a whole night of no-sleep, you decide to help your boyfriend forget about his overthinking for once.

author's note: Cute and fluffy! Didn't want to make it too depressing so i added a bit of humor; i know this is work is unexpected but i'm getting a lot of inspiration rn!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ

The world is still asleep when Jude wakes, moving with the careful precision of someone practiced in not disturbing the peace. His hand reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and he shifts cautiously to sit up on the edge of the bed.

The room is dark save for the faint blue light creeping through the curtains, a soft haze that makes everything feel slower, quieter.

He doesn’t hear you stir behind him.

The mattress dips slightly as you roll over, and he freezes. For a second, he thinks you’ll fall back asleep, but your voice—soft and warm like the blankets tangled around you—breaks the silence.

"You're already up"

It’s not a question, and there’s no frustration in your tone—just a quiet understanding. Before every match, he could never sleep. He’d toss and turn, get up for water, but he could never settle—especially now, with so much to think about.

Jude glances over his shoulder, a little sheepish as he meets your sleepy gaze.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs. His voice is a whisper, rough from the early hour.

“You didn’t.” You stretch slightly, the movement slow and lazy. “You never do.”

He smiles at that—small, almost imperceptible in the low light. You sit up halfway, leaning on your elbow as you watch him tug on a sweatshirt over his T-shirt.

“Don’t go just yet,” you say, voice still quiet but carrying a softness that stops him mid-motion. “Come back here for a minute; you have so much time left. ”

Jude doesn't hesitate even for a second as soon as he sees you—still cocooned in blankets, your hair messy and your eyes heavy-lidded but bright. It’s not a hard choice, not really.

He slips back into bed without a word, settling beside you. Your arm loops around his waist instinctively, and he leans into it, letting his head rest against yours.

The silence in the room is thick but comforting, punctuated only by the faint hum of the world outside—a car passing, the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Jude’s breathing evens out as he melts into your embrace, the tension in his shoulders softening. You run your hand gently along his back, tracing patterns you don’t think about but that he seems to feel, leaning into each movement.

“You think too much,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but close enough that he hears it.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his arm drapes over you, pulling you closer. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you feel him exhale deeply, as if the weight of what you said has settled somewhere in his chest.

“I just want to get it right,” he murmurs, finally. The words are small but heavy, like they’ve been sitting on the tip of his tongue for days.

“You always do.”

The response is automatic, and you mean it—every syllable. You wish you could pull his thoughts away, fold it neatly into something manageable. But for now, all you can do is hold him.

Jude pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. The dim light softens his features—his dark eyes are wide, thoughtful, his lips parted as if he’s about to say something but decides against it.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing a hand through his hair, which is still slightly messy from sleep.

Jude lingers in the embrace a moment longer, his face tucked against the curve of your neck, the warmth of your skin drawing out a softness he didn’t realize he needed. But when he finally shifts, there’s something lighter in his expression. He nudges his nose against your cheek, playful, and murmurs,

“You’ve turned me into a morning person, you know.”

You laugh, low and easy, your fingers pausing in his hair to tap lightly against the side of his head. “I don’t think you get to claim that title until you actually enjoy mornings, Jude.”

He pulls back enough to look at you, an exaggerated pout forming on his lips. “What if I just enjoy mornings with you?”

“That’s sweet,” you tease, your smile brightening the dim room. “But you still groan every time the alarm goes off, so I’m not sure it counts.”

“Details.” He grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before sitting up. The bed shifts under his weight, and you watch as he stretches, the hem of his sweatshirt riding up slightly. The sight makes you laugh—something about the way his early-morning dishevelment feels so ordinary and yet so utterly him.

He glances over his shoulder at you, catching the amused tilt of your smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head, though the laughter still dances in your voice. “You’re just...cute like this.”

His ears turn a little pink, and he rubs the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s make some coffee before you embarrass me even more.”

“Embarrass you? Never,” you shoot back, but you’re already sitting up, tossing the blankets aside. The cool air hits your skin, and you shiver slightly, reaching for the oversized sweater draped over the chair beside the bed. Jude is already standing, holding a hand out to help you up.

The two of you move quietly even though you're alone in the house, the soft shuffle of your steps the only sound. Jude goes straight to the counter, pulling out the coffee beans and the grinder.

“You want tea, right?” he asks over his shoulder, already reaching for the kettle.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, leaning against the counter and watching him. He moves with a kind of easy precision, his focus shifting between the coffee and the kettle like it’s a little morning ritual he’s perfected. You can’t help but smile—it’s a far cry from the nerves that had him tossing and turning earlier.

“What’s funny now?” he asks, catching your expression as he sets the kettle to boil.

“Just you,” you say, your voice light. “All serious about coffee like it’s a science.”

“It is a science,” he replies, mock-indignant. “And you’re lucky I’m good at it, or you’d be stuck drinking whatever shit they call coffee down the street.”

“Oh yeah?” you shoot back, barely suppressing a laugh. “Says the guy who puts honey in his coffee.

Jude shakes his head, chuckling as he stirs the honey into his mug. “Is it that bad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shrug, fighting back a grin. “I mean, I wouldn’t say bad. Just...no okay it's actually bad.”

Jude groans dramatically, hand over his heart as if your words wounded him. “Wow. First thing in the morning, and you’re already coming for me.”

After a moment, you set your mug down and glance at him. “What do you want for breakfast? Or are we just surviving on caffeine today?”

Jude’s lips curve into a small, thoughtful smile. “Surviving on caffeine sounds very me,” he admits. Then, after a beat, he straightens and adds, “But pancakes sound better.”

“Pancakes?” you say, arching a brow. “Aren't you the man who claims he doesn’t need breakfast?”

“I’m evolving,” he says, feigning a look of mock importance. “Also, I think we have chocolate chips in the pantry.”

You laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “Chocolate chip pancakes at dawn? I really am impressed.”

He nudges your side playfully, grinning. “Come on, let’s do it. We’ll make them quick. I’ll even let you flip them.”

“Generous of you,” you tease, already moving toward the pantry.

The only sounds are the soft clatter of bowls and utensils as the two of you work together, gathering ingredients and mixing the batter. Jude insists he’s got the perfect pancake recipe memorized, but you end up adding a little extra milk to the bowl when he’s not looking, just to mess with him.

“What did you just do?” he asks, squinting at you suspiciously as you stir.

“Nothing,” you say innocently, biting back a grin. “Just making sure it’s not too thick.”

He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue, instead grabbing a ladle and heating the pan. “Alright, let’s see how this goes.”

The first pancake comes out a little lopsided, and you burst into laughter as Jude flips it onto a plate with exaggerated precision.

“Hey,” he says, pointing the spatula at you, “it’s not about how it looks—it’s about how it tastes.”

“Sure, Chef Jude,” you reply, still laughing as you lean against the counter, watching him pour the next one.

The second pancake is better—golden brown and perfectly round—and by the time the stack is finished, the kitchen smells like warm batter and melted chocolate. Jude sets the plate on the table with a triumphant flourish, and you grab two forks, sliding into a chair beside him.

Jude nudges your foot under the table, catching your eye as he chews his first bite.

“Not bad, huh?” he says, grinning.

You smile back, warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the pancakes. “Not bad at all.”

You pause eating and carefully set the little fork down on your plate. Looking at him, you offer a gentle smile, hoping to ease the weight of the long night.

“You’re going to do great today. I just know it.”

He slowly reaches out, his fingers brushing your nose and then your cheek. After a moment, his hand settles softly on yours.

"I hope your predictions are right, then"

[rewaa04]

Hello 👋 my ❤ friends !

I am asking you to support my newly created campaign to help my family survive the gruesome war over Gaza to safety and ✌️ peace. 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸

Life has become incredibly harsh, tough and full of hardship and painful suffering. We lack all he basic living essentials and necessities such as food, water , medicine and other needs.

The war has made our life hopeless and desperate. My six-member family has been going through the hardest days they have ever experience for almost eleven months due to the disastrous war.

The war has taken every beautiful thing from us, leaving us homeless, displaced and jobless. Everything is tough and impossible to get. Water and living conditions are incredibly unattainable and unaccessible.

The rising prices of all necessary items of life has complicated our living conditions especially when all our savings were spent over the least necessities and needs.

A photo taken for my tender sick children who is suffering from a chronic disease relating to his respiratory system. 😭😭😭

That is why I am now asking you to lessen and minimize our burdens and loads of life through your contribution.

You can help my family survive through donating whatever you can or reposting my messages.

My campaign was VETTED by @gaza-evacuation-funds and

@el-shab-hussein here

🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸

Yours ..

Rewaa

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 15: I Don't Know What You Did To Me!

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (IT'S TIME BABY!), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 22K (Hear Me Out... It's Wonderful)

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Denial, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Jealousy, Anger, Rage, A WHOLE LOT OF SHOUTING, Stan Edgar Being A Jerk, Sexist comments, Illusions to Sex, Heavy Petting? Making Out (It's ABOUT time), Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: Alright, hear me out... I know this is a long one, but I got so excited and the sun was in my eyes, and I forgot where I parked my car and... well... I got tired of the cliffhangers. 😂 But seriously y'all I am SO excited 😉🥰

The apartment was cold and dark when you walked through the front door, but the plants called out to you, filling the silence of the early morning, rustling and turning towards you as you enter. The curtains on the windows in the living room were closed, but the sunlight that dripped beneath the fabric was sufficient to see that Ben wasn't there.

It had been exactly seven days since you'd walked out of this apartment with Ben beside you, arguing with him about finally letting you go to work, seven days since you'd killed your brother, and seven days since Ben had tried to call you and you hadn't answered.

You wished you had. The guilt stirred in the pit of your stomach from not picking up the phone and to remedy it, you'd tried to call Ben, but he hadn't picked up.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you'd sent an awkward text with the one word that you could think to say:

"Hi."

I'm such an idiot.

You really didn't know what else to say, not after everything that had happened. Not to mention you didn't want to tell him how much you'd wanted him there with you, how you'd imagined him riding on the bus alongside you while the wooded forests quickly shifted into farmland. You didn't know how Ben would react to that, especially since you weren't sure how that seemed like a friend-thing and you still weren't sure why you wanted him with you when your entire life fell apart.

But Ben hadn't answered the text, and he hadn't tried to call you again, which only made you feel worse for not answering his call a week ago.

You had been expecting him to at least try to call one more time or text you, but he hadn't, and there was a gaping hole inside that continued to open wider and wider with each passing day that you didn't speak to him.

He's probably out on a date or something. Has more important things to do than listen to my soap opera or help me pick up the pieces of my life.

It did still feel like it was in pieces. Everything you knew had changed within the course of a few hours, but you were glad to have your grandmother with you.

You had stayed with her instead of going back to NYC, allowing her to cook for you and soothe you the best she could with cups of tea and the love that she'd always had in abundance for you. It was still a little weird to think of her as a supe, but it was getting easier to swallow, and it felt like you were seeing her for the first time.

Since you'd talked about her time as a supe, she'd been opening up more about the past and you loved hearing all her stories. It also was making you see Ben in a new light. 

Your grandmother knew more about his childhood than Ben had ever mentioned to you. He never seemed to be forthcoming with any information about himself, but the things that she'd told you about his father and the way he treated Ben made your blood boil.

It made you want to raise his father from the dead just to put him back in the grave all over again.

Of course, knowing all of this now made you feel worse for not picking up his call. A part of you thought that it was odd that someone who was so concerned for you at the hospital after everything happened with Elijah had gone radio silent.

And it made a part of you worry about him. Yes, as your grandmother had put it, Ben was more indestructible than you were, but you couldn't deny the fact that you were worried about him.

But as much as the last seven days had been soothing, there were still some odd moments.

For example, you'd woken up earlier one morning and followed your nose into the kitchen where your grandmother was making breakfast only to hear her muttering "what a fucking idiot" under her breath. Weirder still was another time you'd come back from the bathroom only to hear her cursing while she aggressively knit something that looked like a sweater and heard her whisper "I'm going to kill him. Could I have been any clearer?"

You hadn't asked her what she meant, but you'd assumed she meant her next door neighbor Mr. Filbert who was about the same age as your grandmother and was the bane of her existence. Each day she would have a new complaint that made her march over there and yell at him about something.

Personally, you thought he liked it when she yelled at him. Not to mention every Christmas he always brought over a large bottle of Brandy, your grandmother's favorite, and she made a chess pie specifically for him at the annual Christmas party she threw.

Annie and you had been shipping them harder than the post office the week before Christmas for years, but nothing ever came of it. In fact, the two of you had a yearly bet to see if this was the year that Mr. Filbert would finally do something about it or if it would be your grandmother who stopped being so stubborn and blind to what was in front of her face.

You couldn't imagine being that way if you saw how much someone liked you or went out of their way to care for you.

But being at home for a week made you feel better.

Everything that happened was settling over you, the newfound strength of your powers, your connection to nature, and there was the other thing you'd noticed, but were afraid to think about.

The thing you realized after you stepped out of the creaky shower and looked at yourself in the mirror without being covered in dirt. 

At first you thought it was a trick of the light, but turning your face this way and that had confirmed it. The small wrinkles on the top of your forehead had faded, your laugh lines weren't as pronounced, and even the few gray hairs that you'd had since you pushed yourself too hard in high school and your first, and only, year of college, were gone. You were visibly younger and the only thing that you could think of that changed it was how you felt when you absorbed the energy of the plants. You remembered how it felt to absorb their life force, to have the energy flooding through your body taking away your pain, and healing what was broken. It felt like the best kind of high there was, your body melding with the tangled vines and unfurling leaves, feeling connected to everything in that shop while it made you whole again.

Standing there and looking at yourself, but not yourself in the mirror was weird and a little overwhelming.

There was also a part of you that didn't want to become an creepy old lady who sang to glowing flowers in the middle of the woods in the dead of night.

Annie had noticed it the moment that she'd seen you, and the two of you had discussed it over a Alien movie marathon, what it would be like if you could take the life of plants to make yourself younger and if it meant that you could live longer.

You figured that it was as good as true.

But to get back in tune with your powers you had sat outside in the back garden meditating. It seemed to work. Sitting out in the warmth of the day, with the breeze wicking the sweat at the back of your neck, the grass brushing against your worn jeans, and the call of nature all around you, it made you feel at peace for the first time in a long time.

It was nice to have a few moments to yourself, but that also meant that the thought of what came next seemed to hover over you. You knew that you had a long way to go before you fully got in control of your powers again, but you also knew that you couldn't hide in Illinois forever.

It felt like you were running from everything that happened, and you knew the longer you stayed away the harder it would be to go back to NYC, face the aftermath of Darren's death, and see Ben.

Although, he hadn't showed up, Annie had. She came on the second day and spent the next four days with you the same way the two of you spent your weekends growing up: with nostalgic movies, junk food, pizza, and copious amounts of wine, while bundled under plush blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

But the more days that passed when you were in Illinois, the more you were aware that something was missing, and now standing in your apartment you felt the same way.

Why?

Bean comes shooting out of your open bedroom and down the hallway in a frenzy, practically knocking into your ankles in his haste to brush his dark gray coat against your legs. He purrs loudly to get your attention, and you drop to your knees to pet him, staring into his luminous orange eyes.

"Hey Bean, did you miss me?" You smile at your cat, rubbing along the curve of his back the way you know he likes before you work your fingers under his chin.

The creature, now named "Rex" was perched on your shoulder like a bird of prey watching Bean with curiosity. The name was chosen due to how it looked like a T-rex with longer forearms whenever it stood up on it's back legs, but not from ferocity. He was a bit of a cuddler, more so than Bean. You also thought that Ben would appreciate the name given how much grief he'd given you when you told him your cat's name.

Bean glances up and hisses at Rex, who curls into your neck as if he's afraid.

"Oh, so you’re fine ripping someone apart, but you draw the line at meeting your brother?” You smile reaching up to scratch along his neck.

Annie had been terrified of him at first. She’d heard from Butcher exactly what he had done to Darren and was wary that Rex could grow into a maneater at any moment.

But Rex didn't seem to have man eating tendencies, at least now he didn't.

And when it came to Annie you figured that she was angrier that she hadn't gotten a shot at Darren.

She's waited a hell of a long time.

Bean narrows his eyes and raises his paw to swat at Rex, the claws scraping off his smooth leaf-like coat and leaving behind no damage. Rex cowers further into your neck.

"Stop acting like a jealous, only child." You chide the cat. "I love both of you the same way. And you've got to get along."

Bean makes a low noise in the back of his throat but leans into your hand asking for more rubs.

You indulge him for another minute, before looking up down the dark hallway. "Ben?"

The name echoes through the apartment, but Ben doesn't appear in the hallway.

I wonder where he is. Maybe he's at Butcher's.

You had spoken to Butcher once, who'd assured you that he, Frenchie, MM, and Hughie were cleaning everything up and that there wasn't anything for you to worry about.

You trusted Butcher to handle it. The last thing you wanted was to be unable to walk down the street because everyone was running for their lives and screaming while hoping you didn't unleash Rex on Manhattan.

One of the vines on the opposing wall flicks the light switch on, bathing your living room in artificial light. You pause, your hand frozen on Bean's back as you look over the living room and kitchen.

The apartment is spotless. There are no empty bottles of scotch, no half smoked blunts in the ashtray on the coffee table, no empty pizza boxes stacked next to your couch, and no dirty clothes and socks strewn around the room. In fact, there aren't any clothes at all or shoes.

Everything that belongs to Ben that was once scattered over your small living room is gone, leaving the room almost uncomfortably bare.

Is he doing laundry?

You strain your ears to hear the tell-tale sound of the sink or the shower in the bathroom, but don't hear anything.

Maybe he cleaned up because I was gone?

It seems a little out in left field, but you reason to yourself that Ben had tried to clean up while you were gone, just like he did when you got back from the hospital two weeks ago.

But as you walk down the hallway towards your bedroom you notice that the hall closet when Ben keeps his other things is empty. Every article of clothing, every shoe, every sock, and the small box of personal items that Ben had never let you see into was completely gone.

Something inside your chest begins to crack, you're not sure what, but all you know is that it doesn't feel good. There's an odd foreboding feeling that sends alarm bells off in your head.

Did he leave?

The thought is like a punch in the gut and your chest tightens, making it difficult to breathe.

Why would he leave without telling me?

You pull your phone out of your back pocket and scroll through to find Ben's number. This time you don't hesitate to hit the call button.

Each time it rings you can feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into something that you can't describe. You didn't understand why he left, and why he wasn't here when you got back.

Was it because I didn't pick up the phone when he called? Was it because he finally figured that I wasn't going to sleep with him and he decided to leave?

He doesn't answer, but this time you leave him a voicemail.

"Hey Ben, it's me. I just got back to the apartment and all your stuff is gone, which means either we got robbed or you got kidnapped by your evil brother." You laugh awkwardly. "But I'm back in town so you should call me and let me know if your stuff should be here or whatever-um-" You clear your throat trying to keep your voice from shaking a little. "Just call me back okay?"

When the final beep sounds whatever it was you were feeling was lodged deep into the back of your throat and this time, as you look out over the pristine living room and kitchen you allow yourself to notice just how empty it looks without Ben in it.

"Babe!" Annie calls waving her hand from where she sits at one of the artisanal wrought iron tables at Calamity Coffee Co to catch your attention.

The inside of the shop was identical to the last time the two of you were here. There's still a collection of best-selling author's to be lining the wooden bar along the front windows, still a much too happy barista who grins when you walk through the door, and still a group of people sitting on the plush velvet couch talking about absolutely nothing at all while sipping colorful coffee mugs

It was surreal, as if the past two weeks hadn't happened and you were the same person that you were then.

Annie had left about two days before you came back to the city after she got a phone call from someone at Vought demanding that she come back for some "big emergency."

You still had no idea what the "big emergency" was, but you figured that you were about to find out. Annie hadn't been able to send you more than a handful of errant texts in which you planned this coffee shop meet.

Truthfully you weren't sure that you could share any of her enthusiasm or her excitement over what the "big emergency" was. You were still swimming in whatever the feeling was at Ben's sudden disappearance and his radio silence.

You'd thought that the feeling would have passed and tried to think about all the positives about him not living in your apartment would be, but the list was shorter than you expected, and the negatives were mounting higher with every passing minute since you'd called him and left the awkward voicemail. It was odd, especially after how hard you'd fought for him to not live with you, and how hard you'd tried to convince him that he didn’t want to live with you, but the feeling was still there.

Maybe he didn't move out and maybe he's been kidnapped and taken back to Russia!

That thought was distressing, but you thought that if Ben had been kidnapped your apartment would have looked like a train ran through it. Not to mention there wouldn't have been fresh water or fresh food laid out for Bean, almost as if Ben had been back to feed him.

But if he had voluntarily left, you still didn't understand why he had. You racked your brain trying to come up with something, some reason why Ben wouldn't be there, some little detail that you missed in the week that led up to the big explosion that was Darren's death and the destruction of "Please Don't Die," but you couldn't remember anything.

If anything, Ben and you were getting along better than you had in the days that lead up to it. He had been more attentive, had taken care of you in his own way, had sat with you on the couch and watched his ridiculously cheesy old films and pouted whenever you laughed at the lines he had delivered in all seriousness.

And the only reason you could come up with was that Ben genuinely didn't care about living with you or being around you as much as you thought he did and that he was tired of pretending to be a nicer person.

So basically, you were back to square one and you were trying to shake off the feelings that had started to bloom whenever you spent time with him and Ben acted like someone who you could love, someone that you could see yourself with. The same feelings that you had fought to push down and ignore because you didn't want to feel that way about someone like him.

The rays of the mid-day sun stream through the large windows catching the glints of gold in Annie's hair. The steam from her latte swirls and tangles out from her cup, crawling across the table to where the iced latte she ordered for you sits. The condensation has already started to drip down the plastic outside to the white napkin beneath, smudging the purple script of the coffee shop's name printed on the paper.

"Hey." You smile and embrace your friend.

It was good to see her again, but she looked more tired than usual. Her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes and her hair wasn't tied up in her usual high ponytail, but instead was thrown over her shoulders and finger combed.

"I missed you." She sighs into your shoulder. "Work is killing me. Ashley is going to be my thirteenth reason I swear." Annie rolls her eyes.

The wilted wildflowers in the center of the table perk up in your presence without you focusing on them.

"I missed you too." You reach into the front pocket of your overalls and extract Rex, who is now about the size of a coke can, and who crawls across the table to say hi to Annie.

She gently scratches under his little chin the way she knows he likes. "You're not going to eat me are you?"

"He already ate-"

Annie's eyes widen. "Not Bean!"

"Are you crazy? Do you think that I'd let him eat Bean? No. He had some cat food. Surprisingly he likes it so I guess that's what I'm gonna feed him and-"

"What is that thing?" A barista asks as he passes Annie and your table on the way back to the counter, toting a large tray of dirty mugs.

"Oh it's a-" You clear your throat thinking of something to call Rex. "It's an Aconitum Napellus." You reply saying the only name that could come to mind and hoping that the barista didn't know the scientific name for wolfsbane.

"Wow I've heard about those I think!" The barista replies leaning towards where Rex is stretching out in the sunlight on the tabletop. "Aren't they super rare?"

"Yep." Annie nods her head, the picture of seriousness. "My friend saved him from a guy who was practically part beast." She shoots you a wink, understanding exactly what Aconitum Napellus is.

"Can I pet him?" The barista's hand is already halfway to Rex, but you reach Rex first and pull him to you.

Honestly, you didn’t think that Rex would bite his finger off, but you didn't want to take that chance.

"Um. No. He's kind of finicky about other people." You laugh awkwardly.

"Bummer." The barista shrugs and walks back to the counter.

"You really think that it's a good idea bringing Godzilla out like that?" Annie takes a sip from the steaming cup in front of her.

"I don't think he's vicious unless I tell him to be." You look down at where Rex is curling into your arms. He's grown maybe another inch or two, but not enough to attract unwanted attention.

"And are you going to tell him to be?"

"Now?"

"I need to know, just in case I have to start running for my life."

"I'll keep you posted, just try not to piss me off today." You snort reaching for the latte on top of the table. "So, what was the 'big emergency.'"

"Oh my fuck! You're not going to believe this!" Annie leans across the table. "But it's kinda a big secret so you can't tell anyone, at least until not after tonight."

"Why tonight?"

"Because tonight is the big official announcement/celebration." She braces her elbow on the table and extends her pinky. "Special pinky swear me."

"Special pinky swear? What are we ten?" You roll your eyes at her.

The special pinky swear was the secret handshake that Annie and you had come up with when you were eight after Annie got kissed by Matthew Colson in second grade behind the giant oak tree in the schoolyard. The "special pinky swear" was only used in moments of complete seriousness. The same handshake had seen juicy secrets the two of you had shared over the years with no one else. When Annie lost her virginity to Drummer Boy, when the two of you got high in Esther Masterson's family cornfield, when you stole a bright red thong on a dare from Victoria's Secret, and when Newton and you had sex for the first time in the backseat of his dad's pickup truck senior year at Look Out Point. All of these moments had involved the "special pinky swear," so for her to bring it up, meant that this was big.

You hesitate. You don’t know why, but there's an odd feeling tugging in the back of your mind, almost as if you know what she's going to say before she says it.

"Babe." Annie wiggles her pinky over the table and you take it.

"Okay, what is it?"

She's still leaning on the table towards you, her blonde hair falling forward over her shoulders, and her eyes bright with her secret. "Ben is joining The Seven."

You sit there for a moment, her words not quite comprehending in your mind. And when it does, you feel the same tightness in your chest when you realized that all of Ben's stuff wasn't in your apartment anymore. You forget how to breathe, how to act normal, because you didn’t understand why Ben would do that, not after everything that happened with Payback.

"What?" You choke out.

"Honestly, I'm kind of surprised that he didn't tell you since the two of you are so close." She tilts her head to the side as if examining you for a minute.

"But why? Everything with Payback was so fucked up and that means he'd have to be around Stan again and-" You couldn’t finish the sentence, it felt like you were running out of air, a vice clamping down on your throat, because if Ben was going back to The Seven it meant that you'd probably never see him again.

Before the possibility of him being kidnapped or all his stuff being stolen meant that you'd run into him at least at some point, but this no way. You never saw anyone on The Seven save for Annie and that was because she still ran ops with Butcher and she was your best friend, but Ben and you were… nothing.

And standing in your apartment with all his things gone made that almost chillingly true. You and Ben were nothing more than roommates, and now he’d made that very clear by not telling you that he was moving out and taking another job. Nothing about that was the friendship that you thought the two of you were achieving.

Maybe it's a good thing, because I was beginning to feel things for him that I didn't want to and now he's gone I don't have to worry about it.

The thought didn't make you feel any better. Something inside felt like it was shriveling up and dying, something that you didn't know had grown and bloomed within you the moment Ben moved in.

"I know!" Annie exclaims. "But Hughie told me that while we were gone, Ben stormed into the apartment and confronted Butcher, said that he 'didn't feel appreciated' and that he was 'sick of all the bullshit' and that he was 'fucking done.' Hughie said that Butcher was pissed, but Ben must've gone to talk to Stan because they're officially announcing Ben or rather Soldier Boy's glorious return to Vought as the leader of The Seven."

"Wow the leader that's-" You swallow, voice hollow. "That's good for him."

"More than good. They're throwing him one of those ridiculous over the top parties tonight to celebrate and re-introduce him to the press." Annie takes another sip of her coffee, practically shaking with the excitement over the news. "And holy fucking shit!"

"What?" You breathe. Suddenly the room is spinning and you're not sure that you're getting enough air to your brain. You feel like you've been punched in the gut and at the same time feel like everything inside of you is spilling out.

You couldn't understand any of it, couldn't understand why it felt like Ben had broken up with you or why it felt like your heart was breaking, not over Ben of all people.

Why? I don't love him or like him. He's my friend or… I thought we were becoming friends.

"Stan is literally just falling at his feet. He's been busing in these slutty looking women that all go up to Ben's apartment, and you have no idea what I can sometimes hear through the walls. Those women are so loud."  Annie makes a disgusted face, and you could only imagine what she was hearing.

It was the reason why you hadn't let Ben bring women back to the apartment, because your walls were thin and you didn't want to be subject to hearing his live action porn shoots. You knew the exact kind of person that Ben was when he moved in with you, but the week you'd spent with him before you killed Darren was different. He was kinder, softer, more patient with you, and willing to help you. Not to mention overprotective because he didn't want you to leave the apartment or even lift a finger with your broken arm.

You think about how Ben hadn't been on a date that entire week, that he stayed at the apartment with you and how he didn't act like he saw the woman in the grocery store hitting on him. Your jaw tightens as you fight the urge to cry, not quite comprehending why you were feeling this way.

What did I expect? He's the same way he's always been. And maybe he really was pretending to be different around me so that I'd sleep with him. Ben is Ben he's…

You think about what your grandmother said to you, about Ben acting differently than the one she knew. How Ben cared for you at the apartment and in the hospital was so different than the person she'd been friends with in the 80's. But now you weren't sure.

I don't need him anyway. He was just my roommate and now I have the couch all to myself.

You think, but it doesn’t bring any comfort

Annie's eyes focus back on you. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"No actually I'm not feeling that great all of a sudden." It wasn't a lie, you felt like you were going to throw up with all the memories you had with Ben swirling around your head. You didn't understand why this was happening.

In the past Annie and you would have giggled and laughed about something like this, but you didn’t feel like laughing at all.

"Oh no. Was it the latte? I'll come with you-" She starts to get up, but you hold up one hand while using the other to put Rex into your front pocket again.

"No, it's okay. I've just got a headache, and I don't think I'm ready to be around so many people, after Darren, you know?" It was a lame excuse, but you knew that it was the only thing to say that would make Annie leave you alone. "I think I took it too fast or something."

"Oh. Okay." She looks at you sympathetically. "Well text me when you get home? I want to make sure that you're okay."

"I will. I love you Ann."

"Love you too babe."

You rush from the coffee shop, trying to put as much distance between everything Annie said and you, but it's still all there in your head making it spin.

Why did he just leave without saying anything? Why didn't he tell me that he was being offered a place on The Seven?

You think to yourself, gaze on the sidewalk as you go, following the cracks and the blackened lumps of gum that have been smooshed against the concrete.

And why the fuck do I care so much? It's his life, he can do whatever the fuck he wants to!

The flowers in the black circular bins outside the florist shop wither and die as you pass, spilling multicolored petals at your feet that you trample underfoot.

He never said that he wanted to be friends. It was me that said it at that ridiculous fundraiser. Me that told him countless times that I didn't want to sleep with him.

The trees that are planted sporadically along the sidewalk shed their leaves when you walk underneath.

And I don't want to sleep with him. I want a relationship, I want love, I don't want just a one-night stand with someone like Ben. I deserve more I-

The thoughts were the same ones that you told yourself whenever you felt yourself considering falling into bed with Ben. The ones that usually brought the memory of your parents dancing to "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" by candlelight in the kitchen when they looked at each other like there was no one else in the world. You wanted that kind of love so badly that you could feel it in your bones.

But this time when you think those thoughts, it's not your parents that appear, it's Ben and you sitting on the couch in your living room with him reading the newspaper and you reading a book.

Stop it. Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want a relationship. And I guess he doesn't want a friendship because he just up and left without telling me!

"Excuse me!" You hear a voice say followed by your name, but you ignore it, and continue down the sidewalk.

The tears were close to falling and you didn't fully understand what it was that you were feeling or why you were so upset about Ben leaving when it meant that you could get your apartment completely to yourself again.

"Excuse me!" The voice says again and this time someone grabs on to your left shoulder yanking you backward.

You'd only seen Ashley once.

The first time Annie invited you to Vought Tower to look at her ridiculous apartment, Ashley had made you sign an NDA before you did. What exactly she thought you’d see you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you were as oblivious as everyone else to the way the heroes of The Seven acted when the cameras weren’t flashing.

But Ashley looks the same as she did the last time you saw her, thinning red hair, sharp black suit that's buttoned over her chest giving the illusion that she doesn't have anything on underneath, tacky necklaces, crimson lipstick, and just like last time, she's not looking at you. She's typing something furiously on her phone as if she couldn't be bothered to acknowledge your existence with her eyes.

You hated when people did that.

“Hi." Ashley says with false sweetness, drawing it out too long to be natural. "Can you get in the car please?” She asks, still not looking up from the phone in front of her and gesturing with her head towards a gigantic black SUV that idles on the curb. It's easily bigger than your grandmother's truck and has windows so dark you can't see into the backseat.

Probably something Vought gets custom done to hide what goes on with their fucking heroes.

“Why?” You ask.

Did she hear Annie tell me about Ben? Wow, she works fast, I’ll give her that.

Your gaze shifts to where your building is just a few steps down the sidewalk. You were thinking about ignoring her, and continuing to walk down the street, but a part of you was intrigued.

“I don’t have time for this, get in the car.” This time Ashley looks up from the phone with a forced smile.

It's the forced smile that makes you decide to keep walking. You were tired of people trying to manipulate you with false sweetness to get what they wanted.

“I heard you the first time. No.” You reply before turning to walk down the sidewalk.

She moves so fast that you'd think she was A-train, putting herself directly in your way.

Ashley lowers her voice to a whisper. You didn't know why she was doing that. "Look, if you don't get in the car it's my ass. And I'm not going to be fired because one of Soldier Boy's sluts is acting like a little bitch and refuses to get in the car."

One of Soldier Boy's sults? Soldier Boy’s SLUT?!

"I don't know where you're getting your information, but I am not one of his sluts." You spit.

"Well, the only people I've been picking up for him all damn week have been." Her mouth twitches up into a smirk. "So, the options are you either get in the fucking car or Javier is going to put you in the car." She gestures to the behemoth of a man sitting in the driver's seat of the SUV, who smirks at you.

"Oh, is he?"

"Yes."

All the emotions that you'd been feeling about Ben begin to reach a peak in your chest and something finally snaps. You didn't want to deal with any of this, all you wanted was to go home to your bed, and yet here Ashley was treating you like you were some weak-willed little girl who would do everything you were told. It's the same thing that Darren used to do with you, and like hell you were going to let anyone do that to you again.

"I’d love to see him try." Your eyes shift to bright green and the entire world begins to tremble. You could feel the trees that lined the streets turning to watch, the roots that pushed and tangled through new earth stirred beneath the streets and sidewalks, the flowers in the florist shop two doors down that had wilted and lost petals twist together and burst with new life before spilling out onto the sidewalks, and Rex who was sleeping soundlessly in the front pocket of your favorite overalls drops to the ground at your feet, snarling as he grows to the size of a microwave.

"Holy fuck!" Ashley shrieks and takes a step back from Rex who snaps his jaws at her feet. His pointed stick-like teeth now the length of a pencil, clicking together.

"You should be more careful who you threaten." You say, your voice lowering. The energy of nature around you was thrumming through your veins, electrified by your anger. "It might be the last thing you do."

Just as Rex takes another step towards Ashley, who is quickly running out of sidewalk, the backseat window rolls down, and you see Ben sitting there with an annoyed expression.

"Just get in the fucking car Petals." He says with a sigh.

Has he really been back there the whole time?

"Are you shitting me Ben?  You’ve been in the backseat this whole time? Why didn’t you get out to ask me to get into the car yourself?" You shout, eyes still a bright green.

I guess that's why she was whispering, didn’t want Ben to hear her call me one of his "sluts."

The thought made a surprising wave of anger and frustration crash over you when you remembered what Annie had said about Vought busing in women for Ben. You didn’t understand why you were upset; you knew the kind of person he was, knew that was what he went on dates to do, but for some reason the thought of him having a non-stop orgy at Vought tower after he had taken care of you and acted like a completely different person made you livid. It made you think again that he had just been putting on a big show to trick you into sleeping with him.

"That’s what that bitch is for!" He gestures to Ashley who is practically cowering against the car while Rex snarls between the two of you, now the size of a post office box.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I can’t do this with you. I’m going inside."

“Wait.”

“I don’t want to wait Ben.” You reach down and scoop up Rex who shrinks in your arms back to the size of the coke can before he hisses at Ashley one last time. She looked like she was going to faint, but you didn't feel guilty.

"Are you really going to make me get out of the fucking car? Ben shouts above the sound of traffic.

Honestly, you really didn't feel like talking to him, not when you weren't sure why you were upset with him.

All he did was move on with his life. Why do I care so much about that? He was going to move out eventually and I didn't want him to live with me anyway. He was crashing on my couch; it wasn't a permanent situation and-

The thought of your couch makes an odd feeling rise in your chest for a second as the memory of him and you picking it out at IKEA come floating back. Despite how much Ben annoyed you, you’d had fun with him at IKEA trying out the different couches and getting coffee. It always surprised you how you could enjoy spending time with him, even when he annoyed you without end. But you had enjoyed yourself. Just as you'd enjoyed yourself when the two of you watched tv on the couch and when he walked with you to the shop and picked you up at the end of the day.

“You don’t have to get out of the car. I’m going inside.” You turn and walk away from where the SUV is idling on the curb, weaving through the foot traffic.

I don't want to talk to him. I just want to go into my apartment and forget everything Annie told me and forget that Ben doesn't live with me anymore.

“For fucks sake.” You hear Ben grumble under his breath when you turn away, but you don't stop walking. "Petals!"

You can see the glass double doors and brick steps that lead up into your apartment building up ahead, but even with how fast you're walking Ben catches you easily.

"Wait." Ben moves to block your path just as Ashley had.

He looks different than the last time you saw him standing in the street asking you to let him make sure you were okay and asking you to let him take you home. And if you were acknowledging it, Ben looked better than you remembered.

He's still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt combo, except now you can see that they're made of nicer material, designer, and he's wearing a large golden Rolex on his left hand that you're sure someone at Vought bought for him. Ben's dark hair isn't falling into his face, it's a little shorter, more controlled. You liked it better the other way, but you weren't going to admit that to yourself.

Even his beard is trimmed, and you wonder if Ashley got him a stylist and a hair/makeup team to spruce him up before his big debut.

Oh yeah. The debut he's making after he moved out of our apartment and didn't tell me, and after he's been fucking whatever comes across his path all week.

The thought makes your jaw clench together.

That's the way Ben is! He's been going through women since he got back from Russia. That's not new!

You thought it to make yourself feel better, but you can still feel the tightening in your chest that you'd been feeling since Annie told you the "big news" and you realized that Ben moved out.

Then why does it kind of hurt?

"What?" You sigh.

"I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Can you get in the fucking car first?"

"No. I don't want to get in the fucking car, nor do I know why I need to get in the car!"

"Because I want to talk to you!"

"And we can't do that here?"

"No!"

You cross your arms over your chest and refuse to budge. You knew that it would only annoy Ben that you were being stubborn, his stubbornness also drove you to the point of insanity as did his taunts, so the two of you were at a stalemate and you refused to give in.

"Fine." He seethes. "I'm joining The Seven."

“I heard. Congratulations. You’re getting everything you want." You clip.

“Just about.” He mumbles under his breath so low that you don’t think you heard him right.

"I don't see why that involves me."

"If you'd shut up and fucking listen to me for a minute I'll tell you!" He snaps.

"Don't tell me to shut up Ben! Who fucking disappears without so much as a note? Who up and leaves without telling their frie-," You clear your throat to change the word. "Their roommate that they're moving out!?"

"You didn’t want me to live with you!”

"Maybe at the beginning but-" Your cheeks redden for a second and something flashes through his eyes that you've never seen. "I mean, it's not that bad. And after everything I thought that you'd still be here when I got back."

"Well if I recall, you left without telling me where the fuck you were going and didn't pick up my damn phone call!"

"I called you back! And I texted you! It's not like I was completely radio silent!" You stamp your foot in frustration. "And why are you going back to Vought? They got your team to stab you in the back and took your genetic material to make a psychotic freak!"

"Because Stan Edgar called me and he said he wanted me to be the new leader of The Seven!"

"Oh please, you believe that guy? He only looks out for himself. If you trust him again, he's gonna give you another one-way ticket back to Russia."

"He's not going to fucking-"

"Yes he is! And if you thought things through instead of jumping in feet first, maybe you wouldn’t land into a pile of shit! Now if you'll excuse me. I have to do some laundry, but whoopdie fucking do! It seems like all your dreams are coming true." You try to step around him, but Ben shifts his body to block you.

"Just fucking listen to me." He snaps, green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

"What? What do you have to tell me that's so important you had that red-headed bitch try to shove me in an SUV for?"

"They're throwing me a damn party tonight and I want you to come with me." Ben shouts back at you, eyes blazing in anger.

Your mouth drops open. It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say. If anything, you thought that he was going to try to get you to come with him to Vought to make a pass at you, not invite you to probably one of the most exclusive events of the entire year.

"What?"

Ben still looks angry but uncrosses his arms from his chest. "I want you to come with me to the party."

You clear your throat to dissipate the shock, your anger coming back. "Why me? Why not any of those other women that Stan's been bringing to the tower for you?" You snap. “They certainly seem to be more your type. Probably look a lot more impressive than I do on your arm."

You hadn't seen them, but you could only imagine what they all looked like. Ben's matches on tinder he often bragged about and had shown you photos as if he needed to prove how attractive they were to someone else. Of course, then you'd told him to just stuff it in a tube sock like everyone else rather than risk the venereal disease.

"What did I tell you about saying shit like that about yourself in front of me?" He looks angry again.

You think back to the day the two of you shopped for a couch at IKEA and Ben had yelled at you for making a self-deprecating joke about being "useless."

An odd look crosses Ben's face for a split second when he realizes what he said, before he smirks to hide it. "Are you jealous Petals?"

"No."

"Because you're acting like you are." He smirks wider. "Kinda sounds like you've been having Annie spy on me for you."

"I didn’t have her spy on you! She can hear everything that you're doing, and she told me because we got coffee today and she wanted to tell me your oh so wonderful news. That you’re the leader of the Seven and that means you have an endless parade of women willing to fuck you.”

"All women are willing to fuck me Petals."

"Not me."

Something flashes through his eyes that you can't place.

You chew on the inside of your cheek for a minute, before you sigh. "Ben, I don't think that I should-"

"I want you to come with me because none of them are supes and I want you to understand what being a supe is supposed to look like." He interrupts, but it doesn't sound convincing enough.

"I don't think any of that is real or how it's supposed to be!"

"How would you know anything about it? This is the Seven. The most powerful supe team in the world-"

"Just because it's the most popular doesn't mean that it's the most powerful. And I'm not sure I want to be a part of this. My grandmother told me what it was like for her and-"

"But you've never experienced it!"

"Well, no."

"Exactly. So just come with me tonight."

"I don't know Ben. I'm not sure that I'm up for being around that many people after everything, you know? I-" You swallow. All the feelings of frustration, confusion, and anger were slowly dissipating, and it was leaving behind something you didn't want to think about. "I stayed in Illinois because I needed a few days to get away from all of this and I don’t think that I can rush into it all over again the day I get back." You could feel the memories of the day you killed Darren beginning to come surging back, followed by the realization of how out of control your powers could get.

Not to mention that standing here and looking at Ben was making the tightness in your chest worse.

Then Ben does something he never has, he reaches out and takes your hand. “Come on Petals, just one night.”

He was saying Petals in the soft way he had two weeks ago when he had been taking care of you after the hospital, and it made warmth pool in the pit of your stomach.

"But-"

"And I won't leave you alone at the party with any of those boring fucks. Or with that octopus fucker.” He interrupts, trying to convince you.

"One night?"

"Yes."

Your eyes drop to where he's holding your hand gently between the two of you. It was odd for him, especially because he'd never done that before, even when you had nightmares, Ben never held your hand like this. It was always an awkward cradle, but for him to fully entwine his fingertips with yours it between the two of you was shocking. You raise your gaze to his unblinking green eyes. "Do you promise?" You whisper.

"Yes. I promise, one night and if you hate it, I'll take you back to your shitty apartment building." Ben smiles as if it's a joke, but it stings a little bit.

It was the first time that Ben had ever referred to the apartment as just "yours." You'd gotten so accustomed to him calling it "our apartment" and to hear it that way made your chest tighten more. Maybe it was because it was settling in that Ben wasn't coming back, that he wasn't going to move back in or be a part of your life anymore.

"Okay. One night." You nod and let Ben lead you back to the car holding on to your hand.

Why is he doing this if he's been fucking his way through New York's female population this week? Why does he care so much that I be the one to go with him to this ridiculous party? Any one of those women would be ecstatic to go. And why is he holding my hand?

"Talk to her like that again and I’ll make sure that the next job you have is cleaning Stan Edgar’s fucking balls.” He growls to Ashley as he opens the door of the SUV for you.

And as you slide into the plush leather seats in the backseat, you begin to wonder exactly why Ben was so adamant about you "experiencing" what it was like to be a supe.

"So, what do you think?" Ben's voice echoes through the large living room/sitting room, vibrating against the floor to ceiling glass walls that stand at the back of the room and give a spectacular view of New York City that lays below Vought Tower.

From up here the rest of the world looks so small and out of focus, and you wonder if that's why so many supes lose their morals, because they're worshiped and put in places like this to look down on the people below.

Treat them like gods and that's what they'll think they are.

Annie's apartment at the tower was impressive, but Ben's is practically another planet. The entire place is filled with mid-century modern furniture, supple leather couches so soft it feels like you're sliding through butter, beautifully crafted wooden credenzas, and modern art pieces that you'd only ever seen prints of online.

The high lofted ceilings are so tall that you're sure the first three floors of your apartment building could fit inside, and there's an odd echo that follows everything Ben and you say. There is a tv so large it might as well be a billboard that sits on top of a wooden credenza and holds a speaker system that must be more expensive that a yearly car payment.  It looks so intricate that you're afraid to touch it, let alone breathe next to it. The entire room screams wealth and not one piece of it is homey. It feels like a museum, as if someone tried to create something that felt like a home, but it turned into a time capsule of a time everyone else forgot.

You wondered if Ben ever felt that way and that way why he was really joining The Seven. If it wasn't just because Stan Edgar called, but because Ben felt like the world had forgotten who he was and he needed to prove it to everyone.

If that were true, you didn’t like that he thought that way. Yes, Ben annoyed you, but you liked who he was when he was with you. He never seemed like an old fossil that someone decided to shove into a box at the back of the Smithsonian, you liked the way he was, didn't think that he needed to prove himself to anyone.

Ben is standing behind you, leaning against one of the dark wood walls with a smile. You didn't know why he cared so much about your opinion of where he lived, not if you were just coming here for the party and then going back home to your apartment.

Your mind stutters on the word "home," because it hadn't felt like home when you got there, and Ben wasn't there. You didn’t want to admit that to yourself, but you knew it was true.

"It’s big." You say half-heartedly.

The apartment only made you think that Ben wasn't going to be living with you, a concept that you were confused as to why you were still saddened by, especially now that he'd had ample time to say goodbye. Before you’d been angry that he’d left without a note, but now you felt like you should be okay with what was happening.

You weren’t.

"Mhmm. Like it should be. Oh, you should have seen the good old days Petals. All the apartments, the hotel rooms, the houses they rented for us were like this. Not to mention everyone doing whatever the fuck you asked without hesitation, bringing me exactly what I wanted without argument. Fuck it takes me back." Ben sighs at the memory. "That’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re a supe. Not all of this squatting in small apartments and taking 500 jobs because you can't make enough money."

"I kind of like my 500 jobs." You say. "I've learned how to do a lot of things, and most of them are kind of fun-"

"Come on Petals." Ben rolls off the wall to get closer to you. "You're a bad liar and you know it."

"Fine. I don't like all of them, but I really like  working at the senior center and at the plant shop-“

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you're reminded of exactly why you're not working in the shop anymore and everything that happened with Darren. You hadn't called Jake yet or texted him. Again, you didn’t know what to say.

Honestly, you didn't even know if he was alive and the thought that you'd killed your friend hurt you.

"He's okay." Ben murmurs quietly anticipating what you’re thinking. "Saw someone helping him from the rubble before I got out of there."

"Good. I was worried that I-." You let out a breath and shake your head feeling relief stir in the pit of your stomach. “I didn’t mean to lost control like that and I-“

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. That asshole deserved it.” You can hear the anger begin to drip into Ben’s voice.

“I know.” You look around the room again at the fancy furniture and high ceilings to distract yourself. "This apartment is definitely big enough to manspread in. But it seems kind of empty though for one person."

"What?"

"I just mean- all this space.” You gesture to the vaulted ceilings. “What person needs this much space? At least in my one bedroom it’s a bit cozier.”

“You don’t like it?” For a second you think that he looks disappointed, but you think you imagined it.

“Nope. Not really my style.”  You walk through the large living room exploring the apartment with Ben following behind you.

And you miss the way his shoulders slump just a little and the frown that pulls at the end of his mouth.

The bedroom is bigger than your whole apartment, with a giant four poster bed made of dark wood swaddled in gold and black bedding. The floors are made of black marble and there’s a giant fireplace that is so wide that a city bus could drive through no problem. The view out the floor to ceiling windows is even more breathtaking than the one in the living room.

“What no bearskin rug?” You snort at your joke, but for some reason it doesn’t make you smile.

All you're aware of is how weird this is, that Ben wanted you to come here and show you the way you "should" be living as a supe, and weirder still it was almost as if he wanted you to like his apartment.

Since when does Ben care what I think?

“Do you want a bearskin rug?” Ben asks, not sensing your sarcasm. "Because I can tell that bitch to bring one in here."

“No I was just-“ You sigh, but stop talking when you notice something green on the bedside table.

There’s a small pothos plant sitting there, it’s vines dangling over the sides of the table towards the floor a shock of green in an otherwise black and gold room. Ben didn’t like plants as much as you did. You knew that.

“Why do you have a plant?”

“It’s-“ He pauses as if embarrassed. “For you.”

“But you didn’t know I was coming?” You look over your shoulder. “And I told you that I was only staying one night.”

“I know.” Ben shrugs. “I got it earlier just in case.”

“In case?”

“You decided that you wanted to be a part of The Seven, or I don’t fucking know, just live here at Vought Tower.” He sounds angry, but you don't let it get to you.

“Well if I wanted to be a part of The Seven wouldn’t I get my own apartment? And if I stayed here, where would I sleep Ben? There’s only one bed.”

He bought me a plant? Did he think that I was going to sleep in here with him? Did he think that I was going to sleep with him?

“I mean we’ve shared before and you didn’t seem opposed to it.” He smirks, but when he notices that you don’t smile, he frowns. “I can sleep on the couch. It’s almost as comfy as the one we picked out.”

“Oh.”

“And actually if you want I can have them bring that one here too-“

The thought of the couch the two of you had fitting in with any of these outrageous displays of wealth was laughable, but again it confused you, because Ben was acting like he wanted you to move out of your apartment and into this one with him. Which, given how you heard he spent his week seemed ridiculous.

This is so weird. I have no idea what’s going on.

"So, um-" Ben clears his throat awkwardly. "How are you?"

"What?" You turn around to look away from the bedroom that looks a little bit like it belongs in a supervillain's penthouse apartment.

"Well, I mean-" He clears his throat again. Ben looks like it's difficult for him to say what he's about to, as if it's difficult for him to carry on a normal conversation. "Diana said that you were having a hard time."

"You talked to my grandmother?"

"Once. Before Stan called."

"Oh." You bite your lip. "I mean finding out that my brother killed my parents and tried to kill me wasn't exactly a walk in the park. But-" You shrug. "I'm dealing with it."

Ben nods as if he's unsure what to say. You noticed that when conversations got a little too personal Ben looked out of his element and you supposed that was what was happening right now. Sometimes it made you feel bad for him, as if he didn’t know how to act in a normal situation.

"Do I look different to you?" You blurt to clear out some of the awkward tension.

"What?"

"I mean, do I look younger? I thought that I was imagining things, but Annie pointed it out and I-"

"A little." He swallows.

"Great." You sigh.

"You don't want to look young?" Ben chuckles to himself. "Petals I swear every time you open that perfect mouth of yours you say the most outrageous shit I've ever heard."

"No, I mean I-" You wave your hand as if looking for the right words. "I guess I can make myself younger, but I don't think that I want to."

"Why not?"

"I mean if you live forever or longer than the average person you see everyone you love die. That doesn't exactly seem healthy."

"Not if the people you love don't die either." Ben says it quietly, almost to himself.

You snort. “My grandmother doesn’t live extra years, neither does Annie.” You hesitate to think of something that you never asked Ben. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Think about what?"

“When you and Countess were together. Didn’t you ever think about what would happen when she aged and you were well, you?”

Ben hesitates as if considering something. “Not really.”

“Why not?"

"You're full of questions today, Petals."

"And you're full of cryptic answers." You reply. "Come on Ben, you didn't think about that? I think that if I was with someone who didn't age that I would-"

"Someone like Jake you mean." Ben is frowning again, just as he always does whenever you bring him up.

"Why are you always so focused on him?"

"I'm not. Why are you so focused on Countess?"

"Stop answering my questions with a question!"

"I'm not!"

"You don't really have to worry about Jake. I think I blew my chances with him the minute that I destroyed his plant shop." You frown, reaching to touch the pothos plant that sits on the bedside table to get it to perk up.

Ben stands there for a minute watching you. "He's a fucking idiot if he lets that stand in the way of being with you."

Shock hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you turn to look at Ben, who suddenly looks very uncomfortable, as if he didn't mean to say that.

"Thanks."

He shrugs.

"And I think Countess was a fucking idiot and a Bitch for stabbing you in the back and making you love her."

"Thanks."

You shrug.

The odd silence is back, floating in the air between the two of you, something that you've never noticed before. You're not sure where it came from or what it's supposed to represent, but you wonder if Ben can feel it too.

“I-um- I’m sorry that I didn’t pick up the phone when you called. I didn’t know what to say.” You begin quietly. You wanted him to know that you had thought about picking it up, that you did want to talk to him.

“You don’t have to apologize for that Petals.”

“No I want to. And I’m sorry that I left you in the street like that. I should have stayed. I wanted-“ You stop talking, considering what you’re about to admit. “I wanted to stay with you.”

It seemed stupid to admit that out loud especially after you’d heard from Annie exactly what Ben had been doing all week, but you were so confused. You didn’t understand what you were feeling, didn’t understand why Ben asked you to come here, didn’t understand why he bought you a plant if you were only staying here for the party, and didn’t understand why you were so upset at the thought of going back home to your empty apartment.

Ben was confusing you again. He was being sweet and asking you how you were and he held your hand and he was genuinely asking you what you thought about the apartment and he bought you a plant to make you feel more at home. Not to mention he was acting as if the past week hadn’t happened, and it was still just the two of you back in your apartment.

And you could feel a cold chill of fear squishing your stomach into mush. You didn’t know what the fear was. Maybe it was because you were slowly realizing just how much you wanted Ben to be the man that he embraced when it was only the two of you. Maybe it was because you were realizing how much you liked being around him. Maybe it was because you were still cursing yourself because you didn’t want to fall for the wrong man. Or maybe it was because when Ben did things like this it was difficult for you to think that he was the wrong man.

He doesn’t want a relationship.

The thought doesn’t hold as much weight as it once did.

Ben’s hand gently touches the small of your back, turning you to look at him and making the thoughts evaporate. His green eyes search your face before he responds. “I wanted to come see you, but I thought you’d want to be left alone.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t want me to touch you in the street or check if you were okay and I wasn’t sure that I should-“ He clenches his jaw as if it’s difficult for him to admit this. “I didn’t think you wanted me there.”

“I did.” You whisper before you can stop yourself and his eyes widen in surprise. “Annie came to see me, but I wanted you. I-“

Ben gently traces your cheek with his rough fingertips, something warming in his gaze. The air between you is charging with electricity and you see his eyes dip to look at your mouth, before raising to your eyes once more. You know what he's silently asking you, and you want him to kiss you.

The memory of the two of you pressed against one another on your couch after the night Darren stayed in your apartment surfaces, the ghost of how it felt to be pressed against his body with your hands planted against the warm ridges of his muscles. You inhale a soft breath and it's full of Ben, enticing you forward, begging you to close the distance between the two of you.

Ben's thumb falls to the pillow of your lips, and they part in anticipation. Your body subconsciously moving closer to him so that your hands are resting against the soft fabric of his dark t-shirt. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric soaking into the palms of your hands, a comfort in the chill of the marble covered room.

"I should have been there." He whispers. "But I-" Ben swallows, his voice no more than a murmur over the dull buzz of electricity that runs through the apartment.

The afternoon sun that shines through the glass windows behind you illuminates the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them a piercing green, and giving the illusion that they can see through you. Sometimes you thought that Ben noticed more about you than he was letting on, just as you noticed things about him that you were sure he tried to hide.

"It's okay." You murmur, leaning towards him, and letting your hands slowly move up the expanse of his chest.

“Sorry to interrupt.” A calm voice says from behind where Ben and you are standing.

The man standing in the doorway you'd, never seen in person, only on TV, but Stan Edgar is just as intimidating as he looks on the news. He's wearing a black pinstriped suit, a light blue shirt and a black tie. Not a piece of his outfit is out of shape. He looks calm and collected, not the frazzled out of control chaos that is Ashley when interacting with Ben.

And you hated him.

This was the man that had told Ben's team to stab him in the back and gave him to the Russians, and the man who gave Vogelbaum the okay to take Ben's genetic material and create Homelander. If Ben hadn't accepted the job with Stan, you probably would have ripped him to shreds.

Rex turns back from looking out the window and begins to skulk towards where Stan is, his beady black eyes narrowed up at the man. Stan looks down at the creature, who is about the size of a toaster now, in distaste.

“You don’t fucking knock?” Ben spits, turning around to face him, your hands falling from his chest.

“I did. I also called but you didn’t pick up your phone.” Stan says, undisturbed by Ben’s obvious anger. “Is she the new one that you made Ashley pick up?”

The new one?

His words settle in the pit of your stomach like an anchor making you remember exactly how Ben had spent his first week here at Vought. It made whatever the hell you'd just been feeling dissipate.

“Ashley was right, she certainly seems different than the others you’ve brought here. At least she’s wearing more clothes-“ Stan purses his lips looking you up and down. “Are you sure that you want her with you tonight? It is a big debut and-“

Stan was talking as if you weren’t there, as if what he was saying wasn’t insulting.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ben interrupts in a growl.

“We need to talk about how tonight is going to go. Not to mention Ashley has been waiting outside the door trying to muscle up the courage to knock so she can dress your date.”

“I can dress myself.” You say.

“Not for this.” Stan presses his lips together in a tight line, again looking you up and down as if you're a stain on his perfect suit.

Ben’s anger burns hot in the air, and you’re not sure if it’s because Stan interrupted the two of you or if it’s because he insulted you or if it’s because Stan just reminded you that you’re not special to Ben.

Because I’m not. No one who goes through women like that cares about them. What was I thinking? Ben’s probably using all of this in his grand plan of trying to sleep with me.

“Fine. Give me a minute and I’ll meet you outside.” Ben replies through gritted teeth..

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Stan gives you one more disappointed glance before he walks out the bedroom door.

Ben sighs as he turns back to you. “I-“

“It’s okay just go.” You take a step back from him. It was easier to clear your head when you couldn’t smell his shampoo or feel how wonderfully warm he is. “I’ll see you tonight. I guess.”

Ben hesitates as if there’s something he wants to say, but finally he sighs. “I’ll come pick you up. I think they're gonna fucking dress me somewhere else”

“Okay.” You nod once.

And as he walks out another uncomfortable thought begins to squeeze at your insides

What if this is Ben’s big move? Showing a woman a fancy apartment with a sprawling view of the city while inviting them to an exclusive party and acting like a completely different person, just to finally get me to sleep with him?

The flashing of the cameras and loud voices of the reporters shouting question after question made you dizzy. The brilliant lights blinding you as flash after flash barraged your senses from all sides. The lights were uncomfortably warm and the cameras that pointed at you made you feel like you were under a microscope.

It had taken an entire make up team and the four hours before the event to make sure that you were ready, with Ashley barking orders over the mad scramble of hands that touched every part of your body with no sense of shame. They had forced you to take a shower, and scrubbed your body so hard that you were sure there were skin cells missing, before yanking you out from under the warm water to dry you and tug and pull your hair in all different directions, trying to figure out exactly how you should have it done.

Whenever you tried to protest, someone would tell you how "fucking hot" you looked or how "sexy" you were. It didn’t make you feel any better and all you could think about was you hoped Ben was being subjected to such torture in another room of the Tower somewhere.

The team had rubbed you in creams from plastic containers and shiny body scrub so that you glittered under the lights and then slathered your face with more make up than you'd ever worn in your entire life. You felt like a doll being abused by a four-year-old who got her hands on a new make-up kit on Christmas morning.

When you'd finally thought it was over, Ashley had brought over a velvet box that held a diamond and emerald pendant that was bigger than the size of your thumb and made you feel sick to your stomach to think about how many groceries you could buy with the money it cost.  When she tried to put it on you, you'd waved your hand and said that you didn't want it, but then she'd said that "Soldier Boy bought it especially for you and she'd be damned if she got killed over a fucking necklace." The drop emerald and diamond earrings that matched could have easily bought your grandmother's house in Illinois, but Ashley again refused to listen to your protests.

You didn't know why he'd bought you something so extravagant, especially if you were only going to be there for one night. The memory of what Stan called you followed the entire dressing process: “the new one.”

All it did was remind you that Ben didn’t want a relationship, and it was stupid to consider anything else despite how gentle he had been acting moments before Stan showed up.

The dress that Ashley had shoved you into was the same dark green of Ben’s supe suit, but made of a shimmery fabric that caught in the light. It was surprisingly close to the same style of the red one you wore to infiltrate the fundraiser weeks ago.

It hugged your body, clinging to the natural dips and curves, accentuating them and leaving nothing to the imagination.  It was completely backless, held together by thin criss-crossing dark green fabric straps across the back that were so fragile you thought that any moment they would break. The front of the dress was plain and strapless, arching over the top of your breasts and cinched at the waist so tight you’re not sure how you’re breathing.

And it wasn't you, none of it was. The dress, the expensive jewelry, the party- it made you feel like you were five years old again and playing dress up with Annie in your grandmother's attic.

In the past whenever Annie did your makeup for you, at least she made you look like you, but after one look in the mirror, you didn't see you.

You wondered if this was what Ben wanted women to look like, so far from how they naturally looked, almost as if they were a shadow of themselves and plastered to be a perfect version of what an "ideal woman" should be.

But there was one piece of this outfit that seemed like you. There was a gardenia corsage on your right wrist, something that Ben had given you when you met up privately before your big entrance on the red carpet.

It had made you smile, something old fashioned he'd thought of and yet he knew you would like it because he knew that you loved gardenias. You were flattered that he'd remembered. He'd looked a little uncomfortable when he gave it to you, the same way that he always looked a little uncomfortable when things got a bit too personal, but he'd grunted out a "you like it?" and you couldn't help but smile up at him and nod, because you did.

And it seemed to tear you apart inside, because you wished you knew why Ben was doing all of this for you, why it was so imperative for you to see what this kind of life was like.

"Soldier Boy, is it true that you were overseas for 40 years?" A reporter screams from the sidelines into a microphone.

"Soldier Boy, who is she? Is she your new girlfriend? What's your name honey?" Another screams at you, but you don't answer.

"Are you a supe?"

"Show us your powers honey!"

It felt like you were on display and your words were caught in the back of your throat. Ben was next to you smiling and waving his hand, the epitome of cool, but you knew that you didn't look it. Your smile felt tight, and you were sure that the make-up plastered on your face was moments away from melting off your face.

His hair was slicked back in a very un-Ben way, his tailored suit was a dark green, so dark that it almost looked black except in the flashes of the camera, and he was wearing a black tie that shimmered whenever he turned.

You didn't think that Ben looked like Ben either, and something tightened around your throat when you looked at him, because all you could think was that this was the Ben he was becoming again to re-emerge into the public, the Ben you'd seen clips of in music videos, pictures, and old movies that donned the Soldier Boy uniform.

A little piece of your heart broke to see him like that, so different than the Ben who had gone to IKEA with you, the Ben who had checked on you when you had a nightmare, and the Ben who had slept in the hospital to make sure that you were okay.

And now that he was coming back to all of this, you thought that it meant you were losing him, and it hurt more than you'd realized.

The spotlights were blazing hot, your stilettoed black sandals were stuck in the red carpet, and you could feel the prickle of anxiety in the center of your chest crackling to life and spreading through the rest of your body. The urge to run was settling on your limbs, your body tenses, preparing to bolt-

Ben's arm comes around your waist and he pulls you against his chest, still smiling at the reporters, his hand now resting on the small of your back, and your hand goes to the front of his suit to steady yourself. He brushes his lips against your ear.

"It's okay Petals, I'm right here." He whispers, but you catch it.

His touch calms you, grounds you to the moment, and for a second the smile you have is genuine when the cameras continue to flash, your heart rate slowing with the warmth of his hand against your back.

"Thank you! That's enough photos." Ben flashes a winning smile and leads you past the paparazzi and into where the party is. He rolls his eyes with a sigh. "Fucking vultures."

You don't answer, instead you look around at all the other elegantly dressed people at the party, supes and non supes, and waiters who weave through the crowds with trays of food. You hadn't eaten anything all day, the only thing you'd had was a few sips of that latte, but you weren’t hungry

You felt so out of your element, so completely out of place, and the way you were dressed made you feel like a fraud. Annie had told you that she sometimes felt that way, but it passed. You knew that it wouldn’t for you.

She was here with Hughie. You'd seen her for a second and she'd looked at you in surprise. You hadn't been able to tell her that you were coming to this thing, because Ashley had confiscated your phone, stating that you didn't have enough of an "online presence" to post anything of worth.

You were living for the moment that Annie found you and you could collapse into her and hug her. Being here was just solidifying the fact that you weren't what Ben wanted, that Ben wanted this life, women, drugs, fame, and all you had was a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a shitty neighborhood.

And all you were was a hopeless romantic searching for something in someone that would never exist.

"Are you okay?" Ben asks you, and you snap back into reality. He's raising an eyebrow at you, looking almost concerned.

You hate that he was doing that, acting like he cared, when all it did was give you the false hope that he would turn into someone different, someone who wanted to have a relationship.

"Yeah, it was just a lot."

Ben clocks your frown and the scrunch between your eyebrows that he knows is you tell for when you lie. You hope that he doesn't point it out. 

"Ben look, I know that you think that all of this is-" You wave a hand. "But it's not me. I'm not this girl I'm not-" Your voice catches for just a second. "The party, this dress, the jewelry I-"

"You don't like the necklace?" Ben frowns.

"I mean it's pretty, but all I can think about is how much it cost. And how expensive the insurance policy must be for it." Ben's lip quirks up in a smile. "I think you're the first person to ever think that when I got them jewelry."

"Exactly Ben. I don't know why you want me here. Stan said you should have brought a date-date, you know like them." You point at the twins hanging on Deep's arm who laugh and jump with whatever he says, both wearing identical dresses that look like they were rigged with fishnet and seaweed.

"I don't give a fuck what Stan Edgar thinks, and I wanted you to come to this with me. Just give it a chance, we've only been here a few minutes." Ben replies, but for a moment you think you see something that looks a little bit like disappointment in his eyes.

You bite your cheek and search his gaze, hoping to catch another glimpse of it, but you don't. "Okay." You relent, nodding your head.  

Ben stands there for another minute surveying the room, watching the couples begin to dance on the dance floor, and others wobbling their way to the bar. He looks a little lost in thought, so you don't interrupt him.

"Wait here. I'll be right back." He squeezes your forearm before he vanishes into the crowd without another word.

"But-" You begin to say, but he'd already gone. You audibly sigh and begin to sway back and forth to the song, something that you're not sure the name of, but the words are melancholic, a man singing about a woman who thinks falling in love with him is madness.

Someone taps you on the shoulder and you expect it to be Annie, but when you turn you see Jake. He's smiling at you, his shaggy blondish brown hair falling forward into his tortoiseshell glasses, and he's wearing a charcoal-colored suit. There's a bandage on the left side of his face hiding a cut you can't see, but you knew what it was from. You'd never seen him in a suit and maybe the old you would have noted how good he looks, but you can't, not when seeing him is a shocking reminder of everything that happened with your brother.

"Jake? What are you doing here?" You sputter.

"My dad is one of Vought's lawyers." He shrugs. "Invited me to this. I think he thought it would cheer me up after well… you know."

"Fuck, Jake I am so sorry for what happened. I really didn't mean to drag you into all of that or-" Before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you into a tight hug.

"You don't have to apologize." Jake says not stopping the hug. "What happened wasn't your fault. Annie told me what happened."

"But I destroyed your shop. And your face! I-"

He pulls back with a wide smile, the same one that he'd had all the years that you'd worked for him. "It's okay. Honestly it could have been a lot worse, but Ben pulled from the wreckage. Guy saved my life. I owe him big."

"He what?" You ask confused. You remember that Ben said he'd seen someone else helping Jake from the rubble.

Why would he lie about that?

"He saved my life." Jake smiles wider. "Not to mention he called today, said that he's going to bankroll me for a whole new shop. For a guy who acts like he hates me, he's sure putting in a lot of money."

"He's going to pay for a new shop?"

"Yep. Good thing too. Thought I was going to have to be a lawyer again."

"You weren't too good at that." You snort.

"Don't remind me." He groans. "So you're a supe. And Ben is Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah, it's a long story."

"I guess I should have known you were a supe. No one can make plants grown that fast." Jake jokes, his glasses catching the lights. "And Ben's intimidating so, that tracks.”

"Guess so."

It was weird to talk to him again. You'd been avoiding it for the better part of a week, but the two of you were falling into the same patterns you had in the past, and it was nice.

But for the first time since you'd started working for Jake, you don't see the appeal of dating him. It was odd. All the qualities in a man that you were looking for was right in front of you and you felt… nothing. Sure Jake was cute in a puppy sort of way but-

"Ben hey." Jake smiles at where Ben appears over your shoulder, back from whatever mysterious location he had been in moments ago.

"Jake." He grunts his name and you can only imagine Ben's frown.

Jake looks back at you. "It was good to see you. We should meet up to talk about where I should put the shop and what I should name it. Ben had this great idea about adding fresh produce and fruit, and maybe doing a farmer's market on the weekend. I know how much you like that sort of thing." Jake looks up at Ben and extends his hand. "Thanks again Ben, you saved my ass, and I think this new shop is going to be great."

Ben takes it. "Don't mention it. Really." His voice lowers like it's a threat. "Don't fucking mention it to anyone."

"Sure." Jake winks at you before he walks away through the crowd in the direction of the bar.

There's an awkward moment of silence as you turn to look at Ben.

"Didn't take you long to find that pussy did it?" Ben's jaw is clenched tight and you notice that he looks a little angry.

"He found me." You find yourself feeling guilty, and maybe you were because you were technically here with Ben, but it wasn't a date. He was just showing you what all of this was like.

"Sure. Bet you were just waiting for me to fucking leave so you could get your hands on the perfect man." Ben shakes his head and begins to turn away.

"Careful there Gramps, someone might think you're jealous." You tease, scooting around him to stand in his way.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I am not fucking jealous of him and-“

Before Ben can finish his sentence, you pull him in for a hug. You know that he was angry for some unknown reason, but you didn't want to be angry with him, not when he saved Jake's life, and not when Ben told Jake to add fresh produce, fruit, and a farmer's market because he'd remembered that it was your dream.

"Thank you Ben." You whisper into his chest, his body tenses in surprise just the way it was the last time you hugged him.

"You're welcome." He's not hugging you back, he's more resting his hands on your waist, and slowly very slowly you feel his right arm begin to raise enough to hold you for just a few precious seconds more against him. It made your heart beat stutter, because it was the closest thing that Ben had ever done to hug you back.

When you pull away your cheeks are flushed bright red, and the gardenia on your wrist now has a second bloom that Ben notices. He touches the delicate petals with a wide understanding smirk, his eyes catching yours.

"Guess you're having a good time now." Ben breathes.

"I might be." You whisper back. "Why didn't you tell me that you saved him?"

"Who?"

"Jake."

Ben frowns at the mention of Jake's name, his fingertips still tracing the petals where they barely kiss your skin. "It didn't matter."

"You saved his life. It does."

"I didn't want you to think that I did it because I gave a shit about him."

"What?"

Ben's frown deepens. "I'm not a good person Petals, I don't give a shit about him."

"Then why did you save him?"

He doesn't answer.

"Ben." You say softly, touching the front of his suit and he widens his eyes at your boldness. "Talk to me."

"I saved him because I didn't want you to find out that you killed him. I knew that you were going through a lot and I know you think that he's so fucking perfect and he's the man you love or whatever." Ben says it bitterly and it was the first time you think that you'd ever heard him sound that way.

"I don't love him."

"You will." Ben grits his teeth. "Because he's everything you want."

"Is that why you're giving him money for the plant shop? Because you think that I-"

"No, I did that because I know how much you love that fucking place and how much you hate all of this and being here with me and-"

"I don’t hate being here with you Ben." You admit before you can stop yourself. "I mean all of this isn't my favorite, but… you're my friend."

It hurt you a bit to say friend, but you didn’t want Ben to think that you hated him, not after he had saved Jake because he knew that it would have crushed you if you'd killed him, and not when he told Jake to add produce, fruits, and a weekend farmer's market just for you.

Ben stands there for a minute, the cameras flashing in the corner of your eye, and the longer you stand there, you're suddenly aware that "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" By ABBA was playing in the background, an odd choice for a party like this.

You look up at him in confusion, and Ben is smiling sheepishly, before you realize that was why Ben walked away before Jake showed up, to tell them to play it for you. Ben's hand lands against the small of your back and he begins to lead you towards the dance floor.

"What where are we going?"

"We're going to dance."

"Oh no. Ben I don't know how to dance and-"

"Just follow my lead Petals." He pulls you against him, putting your left hand on his right shoulder while his right hand finds the small of your back and his left hand catches your right.

You know that you must look ridiculous as you try to wobble along following Ben's lead.

"It's okay Petals, it's just us." Ben whispers with a smile, pulling you just a little tighter against him as the two of you begin to sway to the music.

And the longer you sway to the music, the more comfortable you feel being there with Ben. The warmth of his hand warming your body, his green eyes only focused on you, and the soft smile on his lips so unlike the Ben you saw smiling for the cameras a few minutes ago.

"Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is it so important to you that I experience all of this?"

"Because everything you know about supes is from Billy Fucking Butcher. It's not always the way he says."

"But that doesn't really answer my question. Why is it important to you?"

Ben doesn't answer for a few seconds, measuring what he says. "Because I want you to like it."

"Why?"

“Because-“

And this time, instead of finishing his sentence, Ben leans forward and kisses you. His lips move with a softness that you never knew that he possessed, the hand he had on the small of your back holding you tighter against him, as your body molds into his.

This kiss is different than the one that the two of you shared outside of your apartment the first night he stayed with you, it’s filled with something unspoken that makes the weight in your chest lighten, that makes you feel as if you're floating above the dance-floor, but then something clamps down tight on your ankle and drags you back down to earth.

The song continues to play, the soft notes and words bringing back the memory of your parents dancing in a darkened kitchen lit only by candlelight, with your father looking at your mother as if she was his whole world. Their love and your grandparent's love had infused your childhood with something magical, a romance that seemed to transcend time and space, you knew how much you wanted it.

And standing here with Ben kissing you only reminded you that he didn't want that, that he didn't want a relationship, that all he wanted was to sweep you off your feet and make you his for only one night when you wanted a lifetime.

You suddenly heard Stan Edgar's words ringing in your ears when he called you the "new one." Just another in a sea of women who threw themselves at Ben for this exact reason, for his suave attitude, extravagant gifts, and lavish parties where he brought them to cling to his arm.

You remember what Annie said about how Ben spent his entire week in the apartment upstairs, how he spent a whole week fucking his way through whatever came his way instead of calling you or texting you back, and how he didn't seem to care that you wanted to reach him.

And it snaps you out of it.

You pull back from Ben's kiss and out of his arms, your head swimming with emotion. The urge to cry comes up in the back of your throat like vomit, but you shove it down.

Ben looks surprised and you figure that he is, because it hadn't worked, you hadn't fallen for it the way the others had.

He says your name for the first time in a long time, but you shake your head and take another step back from him.

"I can't do this Ben." You turn and flee through the crowds, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you stumble on shaky legs towards the elevator.

You can hear Ben saying your name again and then hear Annie, but you ignore them. You can't be here, you can't go back to the prying eyes of the reporters, and you can't look at Ben, not when he was pretending to give you everything you wanted and you could feel your heart breaking.

The doors of the elevator close just as before Ben reaches them, and your eyes lock with his through the thin opening. He looks the way he did the day you left him standing in the street the day you killed Darren. The same look flashes in his eyes, shock, worry, and maybe just a little bit of fear, but you can't look at him anymore.

The numbers on top of the elevator passes in a blur, the tears finally bubbling up and spilling over your cheeks, the make-up that was so meticulously applied smudging, but you don't care.

You want to get out of this dress, get Rex, and go home. Your real home, where Bean is waiting for you, curled up on the couch, where your plants are, where you could crawl into bed under the covers and forget that this entire night ever happened.

But then you remember how cold it felt when you left this morning to get coffee with Annie, when you were aware of how empty it was when Ben wasn't there.

No. Please just let me get through this.

You practically shoot from a cannon when the elevator opens onto Ben's floor.

Rex greets you at the door with a toothy grin, now the size of a Labrador, jumping from where he was curled on the plush leather couch to come say hello.

You scratch him under the chin, your tears still falling and you knew that they wouldn't stop anytime soon. Everything was crashing down on you again, everything you were realizing that you felt about Ben.

You stumble through the large apartment towards the bedroom hoping to find your clothes where Ashley had wadded them into a plastic garbage bag as if she couldn't look at denim overalls without vomiting. 

And as you reach the bedroom door, you hear the door of the apartment open and Ben shout your name.

For a second you think about locking the bedroom door, but you figure that he'll only break it down. Ben’s track record with locked doors wasn't the best and you didn’t want this one to suffer.

You snag the plastic bag from the corner of the room just as he opens the bedroom door.

"Petals, what the fuck is going on? Why did you-" Ben begins to say, shutting the door on Rex who was sitting just outside.

"I can't do this Ben." You interrupt him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this!" You wave your hand around the room for emphasis. "I'm not this girl. And I'm not some bimbo that you can wine and dine and fuck and then throw away."

"What in the actual fuck are you talking about?"

“I can’t do this." You repeat with a sob, tears curling down your cheeks. You couldn't quite look at him, not without feeling like your heart was burning up. "So, whatever fucked up science experiment this is I want out. I can’t be here.”

“I thought we were having a good time? That you were enjoying yourself?” Ben says. "We were dancing and then I-"

“Why? Because you were pretending to be the man that I’ve always wanted, the one that keep telling me you aren’t? By making me fall in love with a version of you that doesn’t exist? So after you get what you want you just leave me?” You spit.

It hurt you to say the words to him, but it was how you felt. You felt like Ben was yanking you around on an emotional chain, trying to manipulate you by doing kind things, by acting like he cared, just so that you'd finally give in to him after saying no to him since the moment the two of you met.

It made you feel stupid to think that there was a part of you that believed he could be the man you fell in love with.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you down there changing tactics to manipulate me!”

“What?” Ben shouts looking utterly confused.

“Manipulate my emotions by playing that song, saving Jake, telling him to open a fucking farmer's market, and holding me like you actually care with the reporters and kissing me the way I want!"

“I wasn’t trying to fucking manipulate you-“

“Don’t try to lie. I know when you’re lying.” You point a finger at him, ripping the gardenia corsage from your wrist and tossing it across the room at him.

It hits him square in the chest and falls to the floor.

“I never fucking lie to you.”

"Oh please." You could feel the anger, frustration, and the feelings you had for Ben that you pushed down coming to a head. "You do. And I refuse to be 'the new one.'"

Ben's eyes widen in realization. "Are you talking about what that piece of shit Stan said when he saw you earlier today?"

"What else?! Annie told me exactly how you spent your glorious and masterful return to Vought. How you had Stan Edgar bus in women for you all week long!" You reach around to remove the necklace and the ears, fearful that you’ll break them in your anger.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING!" You scream so loud you were sure that the words were vibrating against the windows. "It's how I know you're manipulating me! Because if you really did care about me, and care what I like, and want to be the man who I saw downstairs or the man that came to check on me when I was having a nightmare or the man who sat in the hospital for days you wouldn't have been doing that all week. You would have been in Illinois with me!"

"I told you why I wasn't fucking there!" Ben shouts back just as loud.

"Oh sure. Mr. "I didn't think you'd want me there" What a great fucking excuse, just let me swoon!" You snarl back. The tears were falling faster now and showed no signs of stopping.

Ben's teeth grit together and he looks close to exploding, but you see him gain control. "Just shut up for one fucking second and let me explain."

But you're already past all of this. You were so tired emotionally and physically, so out of touch with everything that by now you could feel yourself slipping into insanity.

"No Ben, because you know what?" By now you're so frustrated that you're almost laughing. "Congratulations! Your big plan paid off!"

"What?"

"You've done it! You've won. You finally wore me down Ben. You finally did everything that I wanted, so come on let's do it! Let's fuck! Because who cares about all the fucking romantic pussy shit right?" Your hands scramble against the dress, the delicate material tearing off in your hands easily and leaving you in the lacy black bra and underwear that Ashley had forced you into.  You advance on Ben, throwing away the ruined dress. "This is what you wanted right? Me naked and completely yours? So let's go! No emotions no nothing. Who needs any of that as long as you get laid? You'll get your five to ten minutes, and then you'll throw me away. Just like you throw away all those other women!"

Ben looks at you stunned as if he thinks you've lost your mind and maybe you have. Because you were so sick of this, of all of this, for trying so hard to refuse him, for trying to hold out for someone who you didn’t think you’d ever meet.

"But it's fine. Throw me away! People have manipulated me and thrown me away my whole life, but whatever you want Ben. Because it’s all about you! Oh wait do you want me to call you Soldier Boy? Would that make all of this better for you?"

Ben still hasn't moved and by now you're standing just a few inches away from you, the expression on his face unreadable.

You grip the front of his suit. "Come on. Take off your clothes!"

He says your name in a low tone, but you don’t listen to him.

"Oh what? Were you expecting something different? You want to pretend that you're going to make love to me? You think that’ll help?”

He says your name again.

"Oh you don't want me now? Is that it? Because I'm finally giving you everything you want?" You rip the suit jacket off of him, and reach to grab his shirt, tearing it and sending buttons flying everywhere.

"Petals." Ben growls, his jaw tight.

“No! Come on. You pretended to be everything I want, you deserve a good fuck. Come on!” You tug at what's left of his shirt, losing the fight to the emotions that continue to crash over you, sobs shaking your shoulders. You beat your fists against his chest, and you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels so damn good to hit him to release whatever the hell all of this was.

Ben's hands come up to grip your wrists the best he can to stop you, but by now you can't form words. Uncontrollable sobs are shaking your body, tears blurring your vision, your breath coming in savage gasps that do little to bring oxygen into your lungs. The makeup is smeared over your cheeks and you know that you look like a drowned raccoon by now, but you don’t care.

He whispers your name in a soft tone, in a way that you've never heard him say before, and it only makes you cry harder.

You collapse into his chest, shaking uncontrollably. You couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except cling to the tatters of his dress shirt and sob into his chest.

Ben picks you up, scooping under your knees as if you weight absolutely nothing and places you on his bed, but instead of staying there with you he walks away and it breaks something inside, because all you can think is that you'd finally done it, you'd finally proven to him that you wouldn’t be one of the women who gave in and he really no longer would pretend to care about you.

You grab for one of the pillows, smearing your make-up onto the fabric and clutching it to your chest like a lifeline. You could hear Rex outside the door scratching because he wanted to check in on you, but you can't get up.

The bed dips and when you look up Ben is sitting there with a wash-cloth in his hand.

"What?" You sniffle.

"Close your eyes." He says.

You do as he says, sitting up so he can see you better. The washcloth drags over your cheeks, wiping away the makeup that was smudged and caked over your red cheeks.

“I never really liked makeup. When I was younger all the women used to look natural didn’t wear all this shit on their faces.” He rumbles. "I kind of like that you don't wear it as much."

The pressure of the cloth is surprisingly gentle against your cheeks far gentler than you would have thought possible. He adjusts his left hand to cup your cheeks, and as another tear falls you feel his thumb brush it away. The methodical stroking of the washcloth against your skin is calming your racing heart and Ben is quiet for another few minutes, focusing on his task.

Finally, he withdraws his washcloth and sets it down on the bedside table, next to the pothos. You feel his weight shift away from you.

“Put this on. Because you in my bed in your fucking underwear is really testing my restraint.”

You open your eyes and see that he's holding his dark t-shirt, the one from earlier that he wore when he came to pick you up. You raise your eyes to look at him, trying to gauge what he's feeling, but he's keeping his cards close to his chest.

You slip the shirt over your head and as soon as you do, Ben tucks it under you.

Ben was being more gentle than usual. Gentler than you'd ever seen him be. It was making you dizzy. Because again, he was acting like a completely different person. The person that you wanted him to be, the person that he could be to make you fall in love with him.

He swallows.

“I didn’t bring you to Vought because I thought I could manipulate you into sleeping with me.” Ben pauses to readjust. “I mean the thought crossed my mind, that maybe you would be more open to sleeping with me. I'm not perfect Petals, I'm just a fucking man."

You're clutching the pillow to your chest still, trying to understand what he was saying. His thigh is brushing against yours from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“And you’re right I do want you. I’ve always wanted you, since the moment I saw you.”

“I know that-“

“Let me fucking finish.” He snaps

You sigh and rub your cheeks with the back of your hand.  The expression on his face is almost pained, frustration shines behind his eyes as if he hates what he's about to admit.

“I’m such a fucking pussy.” Ben shakes his head, saying it more to himself than to you.

What?

“I wanted to have you. And you kept saying no. Which normally I wouldn’t care, I would just move on, but you fucking did something to me. Whenever I was fucking someone else all I thought about was you. You yelling at me, or going off about some stupid shit that I did, when I know that I did it the right way." He huffs. "And it-shit- It made me guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Yes!" He snaps.

"Why?"

"I don't fucking know! It just did!"

Your eyes widen in shock. It was the last thing that you were expecting Ben to say.

"I've never, never cared about anyone other than me. ME. I'm Soldier Boy. I'm not supposed to have any kind of weakness especially not for someone like you." Ben spits the word 'you' like a curse.

"Like me?" You whisper with a sniffle. By now the tears are about to start falling again. You didn’t know what he thought this was, but it just seemed like he was insulting you. "Ben I don't understand what you're saying."

“Yes like you! You’re-“ He gestures to you as if he can’t really find the words. “You’re fucking annoying , you crochet those ridiculous sweaters, you like plants, you get people presents for their birthdays, you sing in the shower, you care about other people-“

“So I act like a person?” You wipe away the tears with the back of your hand.

“No! You-“ He roars in frustration and rises from the bed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You can see the glow in the center of his chest burning hot as if he's about to explode, but he gets it under control.

“When Diana called me and told me that you wanted me there I-“ Ben's jaw tightens. “I wanted to come, but I hate how much I care about you because I fucking shouldn’t!”

“You hate how much you care about me?”

"I knew that I was in too deep, so when Stan called I jumped at the chance to get out of Butcher's shitty little outfit! I came here and I had him bus in all those women so I could fuck it out of my system, fuck you out of my system but I can't!" His eyes flash around the room with anger and frustration. "Because when I moved out I realized it meant I wouldn’t see you. It meant that I wouldn’t hear you bitch about me doing something wrong, I wouldn’t see your cheeks get fucking red right before you tell me off, I wouldn't smell that damn grapefruit shampoo that follows you around.” By now he almost looks angry, shouting more at himself than at you. "I wouldn't see you sitting on that stupid fucking couch in those sweatpants that drive me crazy while you crochet like a fucking old person. And I wouldn't see the way all the plants in your apartment turn towards you when you walk in or how they all fucking bloom when you smile."

Wait a minute, is he saying that he misses me when I'm gone? That he missed seeing me as much as I missed seeing him when he didn't come to Illinois?

"And I fucking saved that pussy's life because I knew it would destroy you if you found out he died. And I wanted to fund his new plant shop with a damn farmer's market because you said that was your dream and yeah maybe I wanted you to like all of this-" Ben waves his arms around the room. "But I want you to be happy Petals! I fucking hate it when you cry and I hate what happened with your brother and everything that happened with that piece of shit Elijah. I wanted you to have a choice to leave it all, because the shit that Butcher puts you through every damn week isn't for you! I've known that since the day we fucking met."

You felt your chest tighten with his confession, because you suddenly realize that Ben was trying to give you a way out, he was trying to pull you away from Butcher's line of work because he knew it wasn't for you.

It was the conversation the two of you had the first night he stayed with you, when he said that you didn't quite "fit." It was true. You didn't love working for Butcher and you only stuck around to be with Annie, but the fact that Ben cared enough to try and give you an out, something that not even Butcher had done, made you feel like crying all over again. By now he was pacing the room, talking more to himself than to you, almost as if he didn't really want to tell you what he was feeling.

And despite never telling Ben, he figured out that you felt more like you at the plant shop.

"I don't know what you fucking did to me. I've never felt any of this shit before! Even with that bitch Countess this was different! It wasn't like this! I can't sleep without hearing you breathing, I can't eat without knowing that you ate- because you always fucking forget to eat some shit, and I can't survive without seeing you. So are you happy? You've turned me into a pussy. Because yeah I'd still like to fuck your brains out, but now I don't want to do that with anyone else I just want to do it with you." He shouts it pointing a finger at you as if he's accusing you of being a witch. 

He is in love with me. Soldier Boy is in love with me. BEN IS IN LOVE WITH ME.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks to the chest, that even though Ben tried to distance himself from you, he had fallen, he had done the one thing that he swore than he never was going to.

"Ben-" You start to say in a whisper, but he keeps going.

"So no at the party I wasn't trying to manipulate you. I held you close in the photos because I knew you were scared. That’s why I made the cunts stop taking pictures. I kissed you like that because you were looking up at me with that look in your eyes that makes me fucking burn. I had them play that damn song because I wanted you to be happy to be there with me, especially after that fucking pussy Jake came over and touched you. Do you have any idea what it does to me when he touches you? Or when he makes you fucking smile about some shit? Or when he looks at you? Or the way you look at him?" His chest is glowing again. The tatters of his shirt are still hanging off his body from where you ripped it open.

"Ben-"

"And yeah, maybe I'm not some wimp who likes fucking plants. And maybe you're right, maybe I'm not the guy you bring home to meet your parents, but all I fucking want is for you to look at me the way you look at him!" He snarls and your mouth drops open in shock. "Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that is? I don't get jealous! I have fucked so many women and never given a shit if they had someone else, but I'm not even fucking you and the thought of you with him makes me want to-"

"Ben!" You shout over his monologue.

"What?" Ben snaps face contorted with rage.

You swallow. "I love you too."

And you know it's the truth, you know that it's exactly what you've been ignoring and what you've been fighting tooth and nail to avoid admitting to yourself because you were afraid that you were going to get hurt. You were afraid to have those kinds of feelings for Ben, because you thought he would only break your heart and push you away.

You can hear your grandmother's words ringing in your ears:

"There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared. You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful."

You had been so afraid to fall for the wrong man, but looking at Ben now and listening to everything he said to you, everything he admitted didn't make you think that he was the wrong man anymore. It made you realize that he was the right man, but only for you.

Ben is still staring at you, face contorted with his rage and frustration, eyes burning with the jealousy that he's never allowed himself to admit aloud.

But you refuse to take it back. It was true, maybe the truest thing that you have ever admitted in your entire life, and you didn't regret it.

You knew you loved him even when he made a disgusting joke or teased you or drove you to the point of insanity. You knew that it was why Ben was able to push all your buttons just the right way in a way no one ever had. You knew that was why your apartment was so empty and why you kept thinking that something was missing when he wasn’t there.

Because you loved Ben, and nothing else in your life seemed to matter.

His entire body is pulled tense, the glow in his chest dimming until it's completely gone. And for just a moment you think that Ben is going to start yelling at you again and accusing you of bewitching him, but he doesn't.

Ben crosses the room in two powerful strides and practically tackles you back onto the bed. His mouth fits against yours, urgent, demanding, but also filled with things unsaid. The feelings that both of you had for so long colliding, like a supernova, making your body ignite. You melt into him, feeling the comforting weight of his body settle on top of yours like a heated blanket as you sink into the blankets beneath you.

You hate that you denied yourself this indulgence for so long, not when it feels like Ben was made for you. Not when every single twist of his tongue sends you further into overdrive and makes something at the back of your mind scream “MORE!” at the top of its lungs.

Ben’s body fits perfectly over yours, his hands holding on to your cheeks so tight as if he’s afraid you’re going to pull away from him again as if he thinks you’ll run like you did.

A part of you knows that you’ll always feel guilty for that, for running from Ben when he kissed you on the dance floor. But you won’t feel guilty for this.

The world falls silent and you’re left with Ben.

The man who seemed to be wrong for you in every way, the one who told you that he didn’t believe in romance, and the man who you can’t live without.

“Ben-“ You moan into his mouth your arms wrapped under his arms to hold him close to you, afraid that he’s going to cut and run. “Ben wait-“

“What?” He smiles down at you the same way he did the morning you woke up next to him. And it’s the same way you wanted to make him smile for the rest of your life. Not the cocky smirk,but the soft smile that you felt Ben only reserved for you.

But before you can answer, Ben dips his mouth down and kisses you again. It’s not with the same burning intensity as before, but this time it’s with the gentle movement of his lips against yours, the soft nudge of his nose while his scruff rubs against your cheeks in a way that makes you sigh into his mouth.

“What is it Petals?” He whispers pulling back.

You gently shuffle your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, loving the way the strands fall between your fingertips and scrunching it out of the slicked back style it was earlier. He looks more like himself now. “Can we go back to the apartment?”

“You want to leave?” Ben frowns. “You don’t want to stay with me?” The way his voice shifts just a little, breaks your heart and you pull his face back down so you can kiss him again.

How can he think that I don't want to stay with him if I just admitted that I loved him? Is that how it was with Countess? That she promised him those little things and then left him?

“Of course I want to stay with you Ben. I just like the apartment more."

“Then why?”

“Because it’s cold here. There’s no warmth and nothing familiar. It’s like a museum. And I miss Bean.”

“But-“

“I know that you’re used to this and that you like all of this, but I don’t. I’m not this girl. I’m not the parties and the jewelry and the millions of screaming fans and the ridiculous dresses. I like my little crappy apartment and my five hundred jobs and just staying in to watch movies and eat pizza or read a book and I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” His hand cups your cheek.

“Because this is what you like. The fans, the parties, the apartment on the top floor of Vought tower-“

“I don’t care about any of it if you’re not with me.” Ben winces as if it physically hurt him to say that. “Fuck. Forget I said that-“

Your lips meet his, gently pulling him further on top of you. “No.” You whisper, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose. “Because it’s not weak for you to admit that you like having me around. Would you hate it if I said that I hate not being around you?”

“No.” He mutters, but he doesn’t look any less disgusted with himself and you’re not convinced.

"We're going to have to work on that Gramps." You smile kissing him once more. Ben's hands travel from your face down to your hips griping your body even tighter against where he lies in the cradle of your thighs and bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist. "Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"I also don't want to have sex with you in this bed."

"Why not?" He smirks. "It's pretty comfortable."

"Because I don't know when the last time you cleaned the sheets was and I don’t want to think about all the women that have been in here this week."

Ben frowns. "Probably good that you don’t." But then he smirks again, pushing the cotton t-shirt you’re wearing up over your thighs, brushing his fingertips against the soft skin gets closer to everywhere you want him to be, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But you're finally admitting you want to have sex with me?"

"I guess so."

“Good.” He smirks. “Because I think I’ve been patient long enough. And I can’t wait to show you just what you’ve been missing out on.”

“You are so full of-“

Ben cuts you off again, his tongue slipping between your lips while his fingers search even higher to a place that makes you gasp and moan into his mouth.

“You were saying?” You can feel his smirk against your lips and fuck if it’s not the sexiest thing you’ve ever felt.

“I was saying, let’s get out of here.”

The car drive from Vought Tower to your apartment was ten minutes, and you were very much appreciating the tinted windows and private backseat from the driver. Ben hadn't been able to take his hands off you since the two of you left and you also were enjoying learning how much Ben liked it when you touched him.

You didn't know how you were ever going to stop. Everywhere inside and out of you felt like it was on fire. It had never been this way with any of the men that you'd dated in the past.

Even your first boyfriend, Newton, never made you feel as beautiful and sexy as Ben did, but it felt pointless to compare them. Not when Ben touching you made you feel like you were radioactive and burning from the inside out.

By the time you get to your apartment door, your lips are already swollen and red, and there’s a collection of marks on your neck that Ben was more than happy to place.

“Ben-“ You moan softly trying to fit your key into the lock of your front door.

He was pressed against you, his hands roaming up and down while he sucked another mark into the shadow of your jaw, his beard burning against your delicate skin in a way that made you want to lose yourself in him.

“I’m a little busy at the moment Petals.”

“We’re in public.” You giggle as you try to fit your key in the door again, but Ben pushes you up against it, his large hand reaches low to squeeze your butt and possessively roams his other one over your chest in a way that makes you flush bright red at the thought of anyone seeing the two of you.

Rex was sitting patiently at your feet for the door to open, while looking up and down the hallway for a potential meal.

“So?” Ben rumbles against your throat, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. “I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“Everyone or Jake? Because I don’t see him and-“

Ben moves so fast you think you imagine it. Your arms are suddenly wrapped around the back of his neck, and he has your legs tangled around his waist, bracing your back against the door.

“Don’t say his name in front of me.” Ben all but growls, eyes so dark that it sends a shudder down your spine. “Not now.”

“Please don’t be jealous of him.” You whisper, nudging your nose against his, before you kiss him once more. “I stopped noticing him the day you moved in.”

“Oh really?”

You nod.

“Good thing too.” He murmurs with a smirk. “Because I’m about to make you forget him and everything else.”

A shudder goes through your body that Ben notices and the smirk that curves over his lips makes it difficult to breathe.

“Your heart is racing.”  The hand that he has placed under your leg to support you against the door brushes against the soft fabric of the sweatpants he let you borrow moving back to hold on to your ass. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re excited.” He kisses you again, long and drawn out in a way that makes you feel like you’re going to melt into a puddle. “That I excite you.”

He’s going to be the death of me.

“You excite me too.” Ben says kissing the slope of your neck to suck a new mark there, before you can stop him.

“You’re very sure of yourself.” You say out of breath.

“Mhmm.” He moans, but he puts you down to let you open the door.

Your hand finds his as you cross the threshold of the apartment, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure him.

Bean is lounging on the couch, a lazy smirk on his lips as if he knew exactly what the two of you were about to do, and Rex scuttles over to sit on the other side of the couch, jostling Bean who gives an angry hiss, that Rex ignores.

The air in the apartment is different now that Ben is with you. It’s not cold or dark anymore or empty, it’s warm and light and filled with something that you’re not sure what it is yet, but you can’t wait to find out. And it makes you happy, happier than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

“So… yours or mine?” Ben murmurs with a smile, his eyes shifting to the couch in your living room before flicking above your head to the darkened hallway where your bedroom is.

“Hmm.” You bite the inside of your cheek as if contemplating something. “Well I was thinking-“ You begin to walk backwards, tugging him in the direction of the bedroom. “What about ours?”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Ben smile so wide, his eyes softening in the gentle light coming from the lamps in your living room.

“You asking me to move back in?”

“No. I’m asking you to come home.” You whisper because you knew that it was home, that no matter how many times Ben had said it in passing, the word home had changed into something wonderful. 

“I like the sound of that Petals.”

You continue to pull him down the hallway, but before you get to the bedroom, Ben stops.

“Petals?”

“Yeah?” You look up at him suddenly worried.

“I’m not going to lie to you I’m not really that gentle, but I know that’s you want that. That you want someone who’ll make love to you, but I-“ He grimaces when he says the words ‘make love.’ “I don’t know if I can.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper, cupping his bearded cheek. “As long as I have you it doesn’t matter.”

“You do. And I’m going to try.” Ben murmurs. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

“I know.” You kiss him again and wonder if he’s ever said that to anyone else. “I trust you Ben.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Let me decide that.”

And it was true. You knew that Ben wasn’t gentle, but he was with you. And you trusted him. And sure, maybe it wouldn’t look the same way that you’d always imagined when you read those romance books, but it was your love story, your romance, and you didn’t care how it looked as long as Ben was there with you.

A/N: Well the two idiots finally figured it out in the most dramatic way possible lol. I will say that writing that confession scene might be my favorite thing that I've ever written, goodness it was so fun and I've had it written for AGES 😂😭. I'm not quite done with them yet, I see maybe another chapter or two, but we are quickly nearing the end of this story. Again thank you so much everyone for all the love and support, I really couldn't do it without all the wonderful feedback and love that everyone has shown me. ❤️🥰

If you'd like to ask me about my WIPs for WIP game my asks are open! And my WIPs are listed on this post!

As Always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[ylangelegy]

Can I request idol!jeonghan ANY PLOT CAUSE I MISS HIM BADLY, THIS URGE TO GO TO KOREA AND FIND HIM AND HUG HIM 💔💔💔💔

🐈‍⬛ keeping company (jeonghan x reader)

or: the one where jeonghan leaves you with some 'company' so you're not lonely while he's on tour.

★ includes: established relationship, pet names, mildly irresponsible pet ownership c/o jeonghan, fluff. inspired by the recent rumor [?] that jeonghan and seungkwan have adopted a cat. ★ footnotes: the timing of this is impeccable. i've also been missing jeonghan like crazyyy and so here's a quick drabble! (°◡°♡) not proofread lol ★ word count: >1,850

"This is a decision that's usually made as a pair."

If Jeonghan is bothered by the annoyance edging your tone, he's good at not letting it show. He remains perfectly calm as he cradles the orange-and-white shorthair kitten in the crook of his elbow.

"You said you wanted a cat," he points out. His voice is modulated just a little bit lower, and you realize it's because the kitten is snoozing against his chest.

"I do," you respond, matching his tone. It would be comical, how the two of you are arguing like a married couple trying not to wake their child. "But not right now!"

Jeonghan has always been just a little bit on the impulsive side, especially when it came to giving you gifts. Sure, he got you absurd presents for shits and giggles— but this? A live animal, an actual pet?

"This is irresponsible, Jeonghan," you insist.

A pout overtakes his features. "Excuse me?"

You could almost laugh. Jeonghan's not affronted that you've called him out for being irresponsible. No, his gripe is with the fact that you've foregone his pet name. "Baby," you amend.

His pout pulls into a thin-lipped smile. He's still cradling the kitten, rocking it back and forth with surprising gentleness. "It's not ours," he notes, finally answering the question you'd posed since he first walked through the front door of your shared apartment. "It's a foster."

"A foster."

"For only about four months or so."

Four months would seem like an oddly specific timeline for anybody else, but the sudden information drop has everything clicking into place in your brain. "You did not," you say exasperatedly.

A proper grin breaks out on to Jeonghan's expression. "I did," he sing-songs.

His steps are careful, measured as he crosses the room over to you. The two of you share a brief look, and you almost protest at his silent request. But then he shakes his head and you're helpless to comply— gingerly extending your arms until Jeonghan has deposited the drowsy kitten into your arms.

It curls right into you despite your initial stiffness. Try as you might, you can't help the way your expression melts at the sight of the cat cozying up to you. Jeonghan doesn't miss it; he plants his hands on his hips and smirks ever so slightly.

"He'll keep you company while I'm gone," he says, all but divulging his ulterior motive in fostering.

You shoot your boyfriend a half-hearted glare. It's difficult to look stern when you're holding a kitten that's dozing off. With a resigned sigh, you prompt, "Does he have a name, at least?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Bright-eyed, Jeonghan leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. He's still got that boyish grin on full display as he carefully moves so as to not hurt the temporary addition to your home.

"His name's Hannie, of course."

Your shoulders shake with quiet laughter. "Of course," you echo.

You have to give Jeonghan some credit: He prepared virtually everything to ensure that Hannie would be comfortable. Your boyfriend cat-proofed the apartment in between preparations for his impending world tour, and he left you with more than enough food and toys to last Hannie more than four months.

A part of you wonders if it's intentional— Jeonghan's choice of a foster that was essentially just him in animal form.

"I swear," you whine over video call. "It's as if you were reincarnated as a cat."

Jeonghan is at their twelfth or so stop, roughly two months into the tour. There's a twelve-hour time difference between the two of you. It's morning on your end; evening on his. He's only stealing away a quick moment to call with you before going out to dinner with the boys, and so you make your complaints and gripes quick.

"You know, his favorite thing is the mirror," you say. "He bumps his little head into the glass, like, three times a day. He likes how he looks just a little too much."

Jeonghan, on the other end of the call, pulls an expression of mock offense. "And you said he's just like me," he snipes from his perch on his hotel room bed. "Are you calling me vain?"

You pause, feigning thoughtfulness.

"Yah!" Jeonghan whines, and you break character to laugh.

"He's a cutie, though," you concede. "He can get clingy, and he's the absolute sweetest."

"Now that's a comparison I don't mind."

You shake your head at Jeonghan's jab. Your eyes flit over to where Hannie is— busying himself with the cat tree in the corner of the room.

Jeonghan's tone takes on a more delicate lilt. "Is he giving you a hard time?"

"No," you answer instantly. It's not the full truth. It is a bit difficult, having to adjust to the fact that you have an entirely new presence to consider outside of your own. But—

"No, he's good company," you say, your gaze moving back to the pixelated version of your boyfriend on your phone.

He's smiling into his camera, looking at you in that soft way that he often does. It's not the same as the real thing, as being able to see it in person, but it will do for now.

"I'm glad," he says, and you know by the glint in his eye that he means it.

On some of the particularly lonely days, you find yourself confiding in Hannie.

At first, you feel foolish to be talking to this six-month old shorthair. He's an obliging audience, though. His boba-shaped eyes only stare up at you as you rant about how much you miss Jeonghan, how you wish he could just be home at this very instant.

That's why— on the night he comes home— Jeonghan finds Hannie asleep at your side, the two of you curled around each other like parentheses. Jeonghan snaps about a dozen photos from five different angles before placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Baby," he murmurs. "Hey, baby."

He'd been hoping to catch you awake, to greet you a lot more properly with his surprise homecoming. Instead, he finds his amusement growing as you only snore into your pillow, a protective arm placed around the equally knocked out kitten.

"Baby," Jeonghan calls again, giving your shoulder a light shake.

In your sleep, you grumble and shift closer to Hannie. Jeonghan can only marvel at how your body seems so attune to Hannie that you avoid all the ways you might crush him.

All Jeonghan can do at this point is shake his head with slight helplessness. "Damn," he grumbles, though— for what it matters— the word is said with blinding adoration. I've been replaced, Jeonghan thinks to himself as he makes his way out of your bedroom.

Couch it is, then.

You drop Hannie when you find Jeonghan on the couch the next morning.

Thankfully, Hannie lands on his feet. He lets out curious, high-pitched mewls at the sight of the new presence in the household, bounding over to the couch.

For a moment, you think you're hallucinating. But then Jeonghan rouses at the sound of Hannie's mewing, and his hand reaches out to give the cat a half-hearted stroke on its chin.

"Hey, bud," Jeonghan grumbles Hannie, his voice a bit rough from sleep. "Are you done stealing my girl away?"

If the words had been any less ludicrous, you might've faulted Jeonghan for addressing the foster before you. But, as it stands, you can only bark out a disbelieving laugh at the sight of your half-awake boyfriend trying to pick a fight with a kitten.

Hannie, none the wiser, merely tries to swat its little paws up at Jeonghan.

"Oh, it's like that? Let's square up, then—"

"Jeonghan."

Jeonghan glances up at you. He seems hardwired to resist any time you refer to him with his given name, and it shows in the way he practically side-eyes you despite his haze of sleepiness.

"Baby," you correct. "When did you get in?"

"Last night." Jeonghan is sitting up, now, stretching his arms over his head in a bid to wake himself up a bit more. Hannie— seeming no longer interested in the new character— wanders off to go play with one of his toys.

"I tried to wake you up," Jeonghan says. "But you were preoccupied with Jeonghan two-point-oh over there."

It's not quite the post-tour reunion that either of you imagined. Still, it encapsulates your relationship perfectly. Jeonghan's teasing, your fond exasperation.

Your boyfriend beckons at you with one hand. You pad over to him with a slight shake of your head, though you're also quick to sink into his side. Jeonghan doesn't miss a beat; his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close to him.

The two of you let out twin sighs of contentment.

Jeonghan beats you to the words. "Missed this," he says, tilting forward to press a kiss to the top of your head. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too," you respond easily, your hand resting on his thigh.

As you trace nonsensical shapes over his skin, Jeonghan hums absentmindedly. "I doubt that," he goads. "You had me in cat form the entire time."

"Are you really jealous over a pet that you got me?"

Jeonghan's eyes narrow slightly at your question, because he can hear the way you're trying to conceal your laughter. "Of course not," he answers haughtily, giving your shoulders a slight squeeze.

A beat. And then—

"Maybe a little," he grumbles, because he's never lied to you.

When the laugh breaks free from you, it's not anything cruel or judgmental. It's a tender thing, almost overwhelming in its affection. The sound of it soothes any and all of Jeonghan's petty concerns that you might've learned to love the little menace more than you loved him.

"No one can beat the original," you say.

"Damn right."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, basking in each other's presence. You've had dozens of reunions throughout the course of your relationship— heated exchanges, passionate kisses— but this is something new entirely. It feels a lot like a fulfilled promise, like the soft starting notes of a song.

Jeonghan thinks he could get used to this.

You watch Hannie tussle with a rubber mouse, and Jeonghan watches you.

You break the silence with a terse question of "We have to give him back soon, don't we?"

Jeonghan huffs out a mindless 'mhm'. His thumb traces letters over your clothed shoulder, almost in a soothing motion. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

"Or," he drawls. "We could fill out the adoption papers on my desk."

When you glance up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief and poorly concealed elation, Jeonghan is suddenly so grateful for his foresight. He cackles at your expression before leaning down to press a kiss right between your furrowed brows.

"What do you say, baby?" he prompts, even though he already knows the answer. "Think you have some room in your heart for another Jeonghan?"

[scrumdidiliyumyum]

Something special

@lotsofstuffsblog hope you all enjoy!! :> Prologue -> Part 1 Yan!batfam x Neglected!reader

A cold, harsh wind flew through the streets of Gotham, just outside the police station, camera flashes going off and helping to illuminate not only the police officers, but the young child that they had surrounded.

A small child stood, one with a small stature, and a face that told anyone passing by that they had seen far too much for their age. And, of course, that child was you. Y/N L/N.

As you stood there, shivering despite the heaters best efforts, you stared hard at the ground as if to try and separate yourself from the people flocking around you. After your mom died, people hadn't really given consideration to you. To them you were just another child that had lost their mother to the cruel streets, something far to common to be normal.

You were originally sent to a child-care center, somewhere you could be kept until further notice. The only problem, well, was that you didn't really have anyone else to take you. Your mom, mama, was the only one who really cared as much, or even at all about you. That was that, and you were going to be sent to an orphanage, just like the other poor kids that lost their parents.

Well, that was the plan atleast.

When your mom died, and you were brought to the police station after having to be dragged walked to the car by two friendly police officers, you had run into someone, Commissioner Gordon. The way he scrutinized your face, as if you had reminded you of someone had been weird. Well, until he made you take a DNA test.

"Hello there Young Master," a soft voice said from behind you.

You turned your head to the side, and saw an elderly man, the perfect example of a butler, smiling at you. But, the longer you looked into his eyes, you could sense the inner turmoil he was experiencing.

You were like so lifeless. He could tell from the way you mindlessly stood there while he talked to the officers, or strode to the car, passing by the news reporters, ignoring the continuous questioning. You ignored it all, eyes blocking out people from questing what could possibly be going through your mind.

When Alfred started the car, and started to drive off, he pondered on how you would affect the future of not only the Wayne family, but the vigilantes of the city. Would they welcome you? Or consider you a anomaly? Perhaps-

Oh.

As Alfred looked into the rear view mirror, he could see small droplets falling down your cheeks, which eventually turned into a steady stream of them. A vulnerability you hadn't been able to show coming forth, a trait he recognized from another young boy he had once raised, many moons ago.

"Young Master?" He whispered to you softly, your sobbing paused as your head snapped up towards him, "...Yes?" His eyes softened as they connected with yours in the mirror, he could see the way you were scared, all the uncertainty that would come with this new home of yours.

"Are you excited to meet your new family?" You paused to think of what to say, before settling on a quiet, "No." After which, you looked away and resumed your sobbing.

In any normal situation, he would've laughed at your honesty, but considering this wasn't normal, he let the two of you sit in comfortable silence. Your honesty, the ability to hide your thoughts and emotions already at such a young age.

You really were your fathers child.

You could feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that everything would be alright, it was so hard to believe so as you stood infront of the towering doors of the Wayne manor. As a distraction, you clutched Alfred's hand as hard as a 7 year old possibly could, as he lead you inside the dark and mysterious manor.

Being inside didn't help at all, doing nothing more than making your nerves work overtime, especially when you looked down the dark halls that seemed to lead to nowhere, or the staircase that seemed to stretch for miles upon miles, and for the first time since you were here, or even brought to the police station you thought-

Where's my father?

Instantly you looked around wondering where the man that was displayed as a generous and charitable man was this entire time.

"That's going to be my father?"

"That is your father."

You stared up at Commissioner Gordon for a brief second before returning your gaze to the T.V. , and there he was, in all his glory, Bruce Wayne, the man who gave all he could to the world, after having the world take so much from him at such a young age

Gordon paused for a moment thinking of what to say next, "I know, it's nerve wrecking being thrown into a whole n'other world, yeah? You'll be okay kid, I promise you." He then raised his and ruffled your hair before leaving you to your own devices.

"Master Y/N," Alfred started, "I'm sorry master Bruce couldn't be here for you at the moment, but he had pressing matters he unfortunately couldn't abandon." He stared at you to see your reaction, but as soon as you were going to respond,

"Hey Al," you peaked from behind Alfred and saw a young man, maybe in his 20's walking towards Alfred before pausing after seeing you hiding behind him. He stared at you for a moment before questioning, "who's the kid?" Alfred shifted his attention to Dick, "the new Young Master, Master Bruces child."

Dick's eyebrows went up for a second, before quickly shuffling over to me, "Hey, nice to meet you kiddo!" He ruffled my hair roughly before lowering it and moving his attention back to Alfred, "B needs me to help him with the.." he paused and glanced towards me "stuff. So I'll come back and hang with you in a little, okay kid?" He quickly started to rush down one of the long halls.

"Honestly..." you could hear Alfred mumble before sighing and grabbing your attention, "Let us go and find a place for you to settle down in, alright?" You nodded and followed after him while he led you to what was to be your room.

After walking for what felt like miles, passing walls so big that little you thought would swallow you at any moment, paintings you thought would come to life and drag you into their world with them, you had finally reached your room, one with doors that had door handles you could barely reach. Alfred opened them for you, and pulled you alongside with him.

You looked around, observing the big space, filled with nothing but a bed, T.V. and nightstand. A room that was bigger than your entire apartment, something that made you even more nervous. But not wanting to bother Alfred any further, and be able to wallow alone for the first time in who knows how long without the fear of prying eyes, you looked towards Alfred.

He gave you his full attention as you whispered, "I'm fine, so can you please go?" You both knew that that wasn't true, him from the look in your eyes, and you from the pit you could feel forming in your stomach.

"Understood Young Master. I will be leaving now but, if you need for anything, please just call." He started to head out for the room, hesitating for a moment, with an unsure look in his eyes, but turned his back, leaving you alone in the dark room.

The family was difficult to bond with.

It was after the excuses upon excuses that began to pile up so much, that you always knew word for word what one would say, or the quick glances that were sent your way as someone walked past you, or even the way some ignored you, completely pretending you didn't exist, further cementing the idea that you were nothing more than a shadow to the people that should've considered you family.

Dick, he was a kind man, always willing to lend a helping hand and be there for others. Well, everyone except for you. He was an enthusiastic man, known as the acrobatic, the man that lights up people's days with jokes and charming smiles. He gave you those smiles, the same fake ones he gave to anyone else that wasn't his family. Excuses on how, " I'll hang out with you later kiddo!"

Promises that were never fulfilled. You really did hope that one day they would be, but as a kid, taking all the love you could get out of someone, you believed him and his charming smiles, atleast he smiled at you, right?

Tim, a tech savvy, was in simple terms, a genius. Someone who's mind was never turned off, always at work. Someone who's quiet, and yet always observing, something that unsettled you when you first met, the way he quietly scrutinized you, as if sizing up how important you were, seeing if you were worth his time and the effort.

Clearly, you weren't, as instead of the excuses you were instead met with silence, as if telling you, 'I really couldn't care less about you.' So, you took it as it was, and with little efforts here and there, tried to stick to your lane.

Jason, the bookworm, one that read things that were educational to things that were political to even language guides. He was a man that had a hardened exterior, closed off to people, becoming another person after his death. It wasn't talked about in depth, mainly Alfred wanting to spare the gorier details.

Surprisingly enough, he was alright to you. He acknowledged you, and despite the fact you longed for so much more it was enough to know that someone saw you. He would wave, or nod his head on some days, but all it did was leave you wanting for more, a hug, hell, a high five. But, it was fine, you were used to feeling fine. It was something you found yourself feeling ever since you got here.

Damien, someone you were so so excited to meet. You pushed aside the faces that came to mind when thinking of all the other times you tried bonding with people in the manor, and held hope. You guys were related, by blood, something that may not matter to some, but mattered to you, being able to bond with someone in a way you couldn't with anyone else.

But, when you hovered by him during his first appearance in the manor, the cold look on his face told you just how much he despised you despite only just meeting you.

His eyes narrowed before taking a breath, " You're father's other child?" The way he had said other child made you jump in a way you didn't like, and before you could respond, all you could feel was the harsh shove he sent your way. You yelped as you fell into a table bruising your hip.

"Master Damien, Have respect." Alfred's voice came out calm, but the look he gave him along with the warning in his tone said otherwise. Not taking his words to mind, Damien simply scoffed and looked at you in disdain, "you're nothing more than a whores child, so back off." The sight of his back towards you felt all to familiar.

It was obvious, the looks, the words, the shove. But feeling desperate, wanting something to cling onto, something to love, something to replace mama.

You pushed through.

Barbara, a polite, but distant lady. Also another tech savvy in the family that was introduced to the manor by Dick. She was often helping the family with god knows what on those computers that she and Tim seemed to stick to as a life-line. And before you knew it, you would see her fairly often.

She would say hello, but would abandon you for the first person she saw, or go towards one of the many computers in the manor to once again, do god knows what. But with how fed up you were starting to get, you found myself almost not caring on what was so interesting on the other side of that screen.

Stephanie Brown, a kind and mischievous girl that seemed to lighten up a room from the moment she walked in, though the mood always seemed to dissipate when you walked in she always tried her best to seem friendly. She would crack a joke here and there, but always looked like she didn't know how to talk with you. Sometimes she would just avoid you entirely.

Though, on the days you did run into her, giving her no choice but to talk and smile, you could tell with the amount of experience you had under your belt, that you weren't her object of interest.

Cassandra, quiet and aloof, but always watching and taking in the world and its people around her. When she was brought into this already big family, you were on the way to all hope being lost. But, when you learned of her illiteracy you found yourself wanting to learn with her. You could see yourself learning to read with her, helping her and reading late at night under a blanket fort.

You thought, maybe for once, effort would be enough, though it never was, was it? From the way she passed by you once you had walked up towards her giving you nothing but a hard stare, it was like you could hear your heartbreaking.

Duke, another boy, God how many children was father going to bring into this cold desolate manor before giving you the attention you deserve?- was a nice difference from the other ones that resided here. He didn't have a hidden agenda, or just looked you in the eyes and lied to you, but was just...distant. not like Barbara's distant, no, he would sometimes start to talk with you then just...stop. It was weird, like he was afraid to actually talk with you.

But nonetheless, he was nice, always giving you a smile in passing and not like the fake or strained ones everyone else gave you, a real genuine smile. It really was a simple gesture, but something that you hadn't realized you desperately needed.

Terry, he was a funny and charming guy. He could think up jokes in a flash, and seemed like a chill, but smart guy. You could see it in his walk, and in his eyes. But he was someone you knew from the get-go you could never reach.

He was someone who, despite his..affiliation with father, was someone who had a normal family. One dad, one mom, and one brother, at the end of every day when he came home he knew what to expect, a kind loving home. And deep in your heart you knew you could never be apart of that.

He would often look past you on his way to who knows what, which was fine. You were quiet when it came to people in the family, and would try to just walk past without looking up.

Kate on the other hand, was someone you didn't want to even attempt to talk to. She was brutally honest, a seemingly common trait in the Wayne blood, and never afraid to show or say what she thought.

Other then to you that is.

Unlike Dick who brushed you off with the promises of another day, or Damien who glared and spouted venomous words every chance he got, she gave you pity.

You could see it in the way she looked at you in passing, the way she could see the burdens on your shoulders, far too many for a kid as young as you. Sure, being a Wayne means having those burdens, but by having so many people around you it would seem lessened in a way.

But not for you.

You could tell by the way she would speak without hesitation when it came to Dick or even father himself, but hesitate when it came to you. And in all honesty, it completely sickened you. Not in a, 'I hate you' way, but the unfamiliarity of being pitied by someone made you queasy.

The funny thing is, your mom would always scold you, tell you that making eye contact is necessary when talking with someone, but in the few times you've been able to talk with her, you could never will yourself to no matter how many times mama's voice rang out in your head.

But, nonetheless, she's related to your father, so because of that she-

Oh.

Thats right. Your father.

Your father, he was well, you honestly didn't even know. He was always off doing something else, something that was apparently more important to him then his own blood child, atleast one of them anyway.

You were curious though, some days when you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering what features you share with him, or late at night when you were alone with nothing but your thoughts, you wondered stuff about him like, 'does he have a favorite food? Does he like to exercise? Does he like to play pretend like you and mama used to?'

Sometimes one part of you wonders if he would ever play with you if you asked, if he'd be willing to put aside his duties for a little while to play with his child.

But the other part of you already knows the answer to that question.

You knew you would never hold a candle to the people that lived here. That you would never be as athletic as some, or have the same brains as others, but you so desperately wanted to.

You wanted to be able to share your accomplishments with your family, to have them show you off with pride look at you with nothing but admiration and love.

And you tried.

You really did, you pushed and pushed through until everything hurt. Ran in track until your legs would give up, played piano until your fingers felt like they would snap, painted until the once beautiful paintings didn't at all make sense to you.

Your mama, you missed her so much, would tell you that no matter what, the eyes were a window to the soul, something that told you more about someone than any words could.

So why is it that your family's eyes are always so cold and closed off when you look into them?

HI HII I hope you guys enjoy!! Please let me know how it was!! :D

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Three

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Shit really just went down in this chapter. IM SORRY

Masterlist: Here

The months that followed were a blur of late nights, baby cries, and countless moments of learning how to be something neither of you had ever planned to be—parents. The house was constantly filled with the soft murmur of Willa’s coos, the sound of bottles being washed, and the endless shuffle of trying to make everything fit together.

It wasn’t easy. There were days when you thought you couldn’t keep your eyes open, and nights when you questioned if you were doing anything right at all. But there were moments, too—small victories, fleeting glimpses of joy—that kept you both going.

Moving in with Rafe had been the right decision, you told yourself. The practical side of it made sense, especially as the weeks went on. Rafe was still Rafe: intense, unpredictable, and sometimes impossible to read. But he was trying, and that was something.

Willa had come to see both of you as a constant in her life. She was thriving—growing fast, her chubby cheeks rounding out and her eyes lighting up when either of you walked into the room. You’d become an expert in diaper changes and feeding schedules, and though you hated to admit it, Rafe was actually pretty good with her. He had his moments where he was awkward, unsure, but when it came down to it, he was there. He would hold her when she cried, rock her when she wouldn’t sleep, and talk to her in that soft, almost tender voice you rarely heard from him anywhere else.

You had both fallen into a routine, the rhythm of everyday life settling in like a steady heartbeat. Willa would wake up around 6:30 AM, and by the time Rafe would stumble downstairs with a groggy groan, you’d already had coffee brewing and Willa settled on her blanket. The mornings were quiet—comfortable silence, filled with routine, until Willa started to fuss and everything shifted into motion.

You’d learned how to work together without much communication, both of you picking up on cues. One of you would get the bottle ready while the other soothed Willa, and when she finished, it was time for a nap.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you’d grown used to Rafe’s presence—his heavy footsteps down the hallway, the sound of his voice trying (and sometimes failing) to sing Willa back to sleep at 3 AM.

But there were challenges too. It wasn’t all sweet moments and baby giggles. There were the days where everything felt like it was too much, when you felt overwhelmed by the endless demands of raising a baby, of balancing the practicalities of your life with the unexpected responsibilities of parenting.

There were the mornings when you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all, when you were late for your shifts at the café, and you’d have to rush around to get everything in place. Rafe would always be there, trying to help, but still learning the ropes himself.

The first time you caught him on the phone with his aunt, asking how to properly wash a baby bottle, you had to stifle a laugh. It was the first time you realized that Rafe Cameron—wild, unpredictable Rafe—was just as clueless as you about this whole parenting thing. He might have grown up in a house full of servants, of wealth and privilege, but when it came to taking care of a tiny human, he was as green as they come.

But you didn’t hold it against him. You couldn’t.

The kitchen was where a lot of your moments happened—early mornings when you’d both stand side by side, quietly making coffee, or late nights when you’d settle Willa back into bed, whispering soft words of reassurance to each other. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was yours.

One night, as you both took a rare moment to sit on the couch after putting Willa to bed, you glanced at Rafe from the corner of your eye, noticing how he rubbed the back of his neck, a tired but satisfied look on his face. You couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips.

"She’s growing so fast," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I swear she was just a tiny little thing a few weeks ago."

Rafe hummed in agreement, glancing over at you with a small, almost wistful smile. "Yeah. And it feels like every time we get used to something, she changes again."

You nodded, leaning back against the couch. "It’s like we’re constantly playing catch-up."

"Yeah," he said, the word carrying more weight than usual. He ran a hand through his hair. "You ever think about what this is all gonna look like when she gets older? I mean, God, we’re just making it up as we go."

You chuckled, the sound light and almost freeing in the quiet room. "I think that’s kind of the point, right?" You paused, looking over at him, your expression softening. "I never thought I’d be here. With you. Raising a baby. But it doesn’t feel... impossible anymore."

Rafe glanced at you, a small flash of something unguarded in his eyes. "Yeah. Me neither." He paused, looking down at his hands before looking back up. "I guess we’re doing okay, huh?"

You didn’t have an answer at first. Instead, you just let your gaze soften. Maybe you hadn’t figured everything out yet. Maybe you still had a long way to go. But right now? Right now, in this moment, you were okay.

The door creaked from the hallway, and you both turned toward it, the sound of Willa stirring faintly through the door. Without a word, Rafe got up, stretching his arms before walking to the crib. You watched him for a moment, surprised at how natural it had become for him to step in like that.

You followed him, your steps quiet as you watched him gently pick Willa up, rocking her in his arms as he murmured something soft to her. You felt a flutter of something in your chest, a strange mix of relief and warmth.

“Got her?” you whispered, half-expecting him to protest.

He looked at you over his shoulder, his face soft, the exhaustion in his eyes mixing with something else—something more like contentment. “Yeah. Go back to sleep. I got it.”

And in that moment, as you watched him rock Willa back to sleep with ease, you realized something: this—whatever this was—had become a part of you. Not the life you’d planned, but a life that felt strangely right.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was a few days later, and a crisp morning greeted them when the crying started again. Willa had been particularly fussy the past few days—her sleep patterns erratic, her cries escalating to heart-wrenching wails that neither you nor Rafe could seem to soothe. You'd tried everything: feeding her, changing her, singing to her, rocking her to sleep—but nothing worked.

Rafe was pacing around the living room, his eyes scanning every corner of the room as if the solution to Willa’s crying was hidden under a piece of furniture or buried in a drawer. You sat on the couch, rubbing your eyes, already feeling the exhaustion of another sleepless night pressing in on you. You hadn’t been able to focus at work, and the lack of sleep made everything feel like a blur. But now, there was no ignoring it. The crying was louder, more insistent, and it was like a knife to your heart every time she screamed.

Rafe glanced at you, his frustration mounting. “We’ve tried everything,” he muttered, the words tinged with helplessness. "What else can we do?”

You shook your head, feeling that same helplessness clawing at you. “I don’t know... We’ve been through the list a hundred times.”

You both sat there for a moment, staring at the baby monitor as Willa's cries grew even more frantic. You were about to stand up, about to try the rocking chair again, when Rafe's voice broke through the tension.

“I might know something.”

You looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Rafe shifted, his brow furrowing slightly as he leaned against the wall. “Sarah used to do this when she was little. It’s crazy, but it worked every time. She had this blanket... a childhood blanket. I don’t know, it just always calmed her down.”

Your eyes widened as you processed his words. "Wait... Sarah had a blanket? Here?"

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. I think it's still in the attic. I’ll go get it.”

You watched as Rafe turned to leave, the sound of his boots echoing on the stairs. There was a strange, almost surreal feeling in the pit of your stomach as he disappeared from view. Sarah’s blanket. You hadn’t known about it—had no idea it was even still here, tucked away in the attic, a piece of her childhood still lingering in the house after everything that had happened.

A few moments later, Rafe returned, a slightly worn but soft-looking blanket in his hands. He didn’t say anything as he made his way over to the crib where Willa was still crying, her little face scrunched up in distress.

“Here goes nothing,” Rafe muttered, more to himself than to you.

He gently wrapped the blanket around Willa, smoothing it over her tiny body. It was faded in spots, the fabric soft with age, but it carried a strange comfort to it—a piece of Sarah that had been forgotten until now. You stood quietly, watching the scene unfold, unsure of what to expect.

And then, in what felt like an instant, Willa’s cries started to fade. Her tiny hands grasped at the blanket for a moment, and then she let out a soft sigh. Her body, tense from the crying, relaxed in Rafe’s arms, and her big brown eyes blinked up at him, almost like she was seeing him for the first time.

You could hardly believe it. The moment felt like magic.

Rafe, looking just as surprised as you, stood there for a moment, his hands still holding Willa as she cooed softly, her eyelids fluttering. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “It actually worked.”

You couldn’t move. The sight of Willa—now calm and almost content—was like a weight lifted from your chest. You had been so focused on solving this crisis, on trying to manage everything, that you hadn’t considered that something so simple, so deeply tied to the past, might be the key.

As Rafe gently placed Willa back in her crib, you stood still, unable to shake the strange sensation that had crept into your heart. Watching him with the blanket, watching him soothe Willa, a feeling washed over you—an unfamiliar tightness in your chest that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as if, in that moment, a piece of Sarah had crossed into your life in a way that felt too intimate. Too real.

Rafe glanced over at you, his face soft, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t think it would actually work,” he admitted quietly, still gazing at Willa, who was now sleeping soundly, wrapped in the faded childhood blanket.

You swallowed, trying to shake the sudden lump in your throat. “I didn’t know she had it,” you whispered, your voice quiet. “It’s... it’s kind of strange, isn’t it? To think that something so simple could bring her comfort.”

Rafe nodded, walking slowly back toward the living room as he sat down on the couch. He looked at you, his gaze slightly distant but full of that same raw honesty you’d come to expect from him. “Yeah, it’s weird. But it makes sense, right? Sarah had that damn thing with her everywhere. Maybe she passed it on to Willa somehow. Who knows? Maybe it’s something about the smell, or just the familiarity of it. But I guess that’s the thing with kids—they find comfort in things that we can’t even explain.”

You didn’t answer immediately. The room felt thick with something unspoken. There was a soft, melancholic weight in the air, and your chest ached. You hadn’t expected to feel this—this weird pull in your heart. The thought of Sarah, the reminder of her presence in this house, in your life, and now, with Willa... it was all too much to process.

You sat down beside Rafe, your body heavy with the unspoken thoughts crowding your mind. Neither of you said anything for a while. There wasn’t anything to say, really. But the silence between you two didn’t feel uncomfortable this time. It felt... shared.

Finally, after a few moments, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “It’s... strange to think that Sarah’s still here. In some way. For Willa.” You looked at Rafe, trying to read his face, but his expression was guarded. “It’s like... she’s still looking out for her, even now.”

Rafe didn’t meet your gaze immediately. He just stared at the floor, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But I hope so.”

You glanced down at Willa, her tiny form tucked into the blanket, her face peaceful now. The weight in your chest felt a little lighter. “I hope so, too.”

It wasn’t easy. None of this was. But at that moment, with Sarah's blanket wrapped around Willa, you both realized something—it wasn’t just about the past anymore. It was about the present. And the future.

You didn’t have all the answers, but maybe you didn’t need to. Maybe you just needed to trust that you were doing your best, that you were doing this for Willa, for Sarah, for each other. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The day had shifted into something quieter, something more grounded. The house felt a little warmer, a little fuller, with Sarah’s memory lingering in the most unexpected of ways.

And as you sat there next to Rafe, silently watching over Willa, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace—the first you’d felt in a while.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A few hours later, the night had settled into a rare quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house the only sounds in the otherwise still air. Willa had finally fallen asleep—her tiny body now wrapped snugly in her crib, her peaceful face illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the window. You and Rafe were sitting in the living room, a bottle of wine between you both, the remnants of the evening slipping by in a slow, comfortable haze.

It wasn’t something either of you had planned, but tonight felt different. The weight of the past few months, the stress of adjusting to this new life together, had somehow slipped away after dinner. There was no rush to get up, no urgent task that needed to be done. The wine flowed freely, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were allowed to just breathe.

You poured the second glass of wine, the conversation light, a mix of joking about how neither of you had ever really handled a bottle opener right and how neither of you knew much about wine, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. The normal world felt far away, and this small moment of calm was something you both desperately needed.

“I swear,” Rafe said with a half-grin, swirling his glass and leaning back into the couch, “I think I might be a natural at this wine thing.”

You laughed, lifting your own glass to your lips. “Oh yeah? That’s what I was thinking too. A whole new world of sophistication has opened up for you.” You clinked your glass against him, the light chimes almost too loud in the silence.

There was a quiet ease to the night. The tension of the past few months, the uncertainty of your situation, seemed far away. You both talked about random things—life before Willa, stupid high school memories, the occasional dig at the ridiculousness of the Kooks’ high-society antics. And somehow, in this soft glow of laughter, you both began to forget the weight of your new reality.

But as the night wore on, something in the air between you shifted.

The conversation had died down, and now the silence felt heavier, different. You caught Rafe’s gaze as he looked at you over the rim of his glass, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the space between you seemed charged. It was almost as if, after everything, this moment was too... easy. Too comfortable.

You shifted on the couch, the wine starting to cloud your mind in the way it did when it wasn’t just about a drink anymore. Your heart beat a little faster, a strange heat blooming in your chest.

Rafe’s eyes never left you, and you could feel the sudden awareness of his presence—his usual confidence now laced with something more raw. You tried to brush it off, to laugh it away, but your throat felt tight.

“I think we might’ve had a little too much,” you said, your voice a little unsteady, more than you’d intended. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or the sudden tension or maybe something else entirely.

He nodded, his gaze now focused entirely on you. “Yeah, probably. But... you know, it’s been a while since I’ve had a night like this. With someone.”

You felt the words sit heavy between you both, something unspoken hanging there, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes—something that mirrored what you had felt earlier, that strange warmth in your chest.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could find the right words, Rafe shifted closer.

It was subtle, a slight movement, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. And then, before you could stop yourself, before you could even process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was gentle, and slow, like neither of you wanted to let go. For a moment, it felt like everything had shifted, like time had paused and all that mattered was the contact, the connection, the warmth of his mouth against yours.

But as quickly as it started, it was over. The distance between you two was almost immediate, both of you pulling away with wide eyes and labored breaths.

You both sat there, frozen, the weight of what had just happened sinking in like a heavy stone.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, your chest tight as your heart raced, “That... that was a mistake.”

Rafe’s face was flushed, his hands running through his hair nervously. He looked just as stunned as you felt. “Yeah. A big mistake,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with something like disbelief.

The air around you both thickened, heavy with the tension of what had just happened. Neither of you knew how to fix it, how to go back to the way things had been just minutes before, when everything felt... simple. When you both were just two people trying to figure things out.

“I—” You cut yourself off, unable to find the words. You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, what you were supposed to feel. The kiss had been... unexpected, yet somehow, it had felt too natural to ignore.

Rafe was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on his hands, his voice quiet when he finally spoke. “We can’t—this can’t happen again, [Y/N].” His words were final, but there was something underneath them—a hesitation, like he wasn’t entirely sure that was what he wanted to say. “I mean, we’re... we’re doing this for Willa, right? We can’t let this mess things up.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. You’re right.” But as you said the words, you felt a strange tug in your chest—something that didn’t align with the logic of what you knew was right. You didn’t know what to do with that feeling, how to even begin to unpack it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You and Rafe were guardians to Willa. That was it. It had to be that way. This... this wasn’t supposed to complicate things.

But the air between you both remained heavy. Every word that followed felt like an attempt to fill the silence, to erase the awkwardness, but nothing worked.

You sighed, your hands pressing against your eyes. “This is just so messed up. We’ve already got enough going on, and now...” you trailed off, unsure of what to even say next. You felt disoriented, your emotions tangled.

Rafe glanced over at you, his expression shifting from shock to something softer. “I don’t know what to say either. But... we need to focus on Willa. We’re doing this for her. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded again, trying to pull yourself together, but the air between you two was thick, and no amount of words could erase the kiss, the connection that had flickered between you both.

And in the quiet that followed, you realized something: things were already complicated. Whether you admitted it or not, the line between what was necessary and what felt right was already blurred. And neither of you knew how to unblur it.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The days dragged on, each one more awkward than the last. After the kiss, Rafe had retreated into himself, throwing up walls so high you could barely see over them. He was colder now—shorter with his words, sharper with his tone. The rare moments of understanding and teamwork you’d managed to build in the past months seemed to vanish overnight.

It was suffocating.

You found yourself juggling too much at once: your shifts at the café, the endless demands of parenting, and now, the tension that lingered between you and Rafe like a storm cloud. You couldn’t escape it. Every glance, every clipped response from him was a reminder of the kiss—a reminder of how things had gone wrong and how neither of you knew how to fix it.

Willa was your only reprieve. Despite the chaos, she was growing brighter by the day. Her giggles were your anchor, her tiny hands reaching for yours a reminder of why you were enduring this storm. But even she wasn’t enough to distract you from the weight of everything else.

“Rafe, can you grab her bottle from the kitchen?” you called one afternoon, cradling Willa in your arms as she fussed.

He didn’t look up from his phone. “You’ve got two legs, don’t you?” he muttered, the words slicing through the air.

You froze, biting back the sting of his tone. “I’m holding her, Rafe,” you said as evenly as you could manage.

With an exaggerated sigh, he got up and stomped into the kitchen. The bottle landed on the coffee table a moment later, the sound of it hitting the wood sharper than it needed to be.

“Thanks,” you said, though your gratitude felt hollow. He didn’t respond, disappearing into his office without another word.

This was how it was now—barbed comments, cold silences, and the ever-present feeling that you were walking on eggshells.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

One evening, after another particularly tense exchange, you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The exhaustion was bone-deep. You felt like you were failing on all fronts—your job, your relationship with Rafe (if you could even call it that), and even Willa.

You couldn’t help but wonder how much longer this could go on. How long you could juggle everything without dropping one of the pieces.

But before you could dwell on it too long, there was a knock at the door.

Rafe stood there, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to apologize, maybe he was going to acknowledge how hard this had been for both of you.

Instead, he said, “We need to talk.”

You braced yourself. “About?”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—nervousness, maybe, or anger. “Ward.”

Your stomach dropped. “What about him?”

Rafe stepped into the room, his posture tense. “He’s... he’s trying to get custody of Willa.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“He’s claiming we’re unfit,” Rafe said, his jaw tightening. “Says we don’t have the resources, that we’re too young. He’s filing a petition.”

Your heart raced as you tried to process the information. Ward Cameron, the man who had emotionally scarred his children, who had driven a wedge into their family with his manipulations, was trying to take Willa away?

“He can’t—he can’t do this,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “He’s not fit to take care of her! What about everything he did to you? To Sarah?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, a mixture of fear and fury flashing across his face. “None of that matters to him. He doesn’t care about her—he just wants control.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. You couldn’t lose Willa. Not to Ward. Not after everything you’d fought for, everything Sarah and John B. had wanted for her.

“What do we do?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rafe looked at you, and for the first time in weeks, the coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by something raw and real. “We fight him,” he said firmly. “We don’t let him win.”

But as he said the words, the doubt in his voice betrayed him. Because deep down, you both knew that Ward Cameron wasn’t a man who fought fair. And the thought of what he might do to get his way sent a chill down your spine.

The battle for Willa had just begun, and it was about to shake everything you thought you knew.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[ridingtorohan]

Moments of the Tulpar crew experiencing Hanahaki disease for the reader (pre-crash)

𓇻 content warning. no spoilers for the game. swansea's is left ambiguous if it's romantic or platonic. receiver's choice. jimmy's whole section is a warning; denial, mention of self-mutilation (not depicted), possessiveness, manipulation and implied sexual frustration. jimmy's ending line is not about sexual assault, he's just manipulative.

Hanahaki Disease

A condition that causes the victims to cough up flowers or flower petals, due to either unrequited love or repressed love for another person.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Read it On AO3! _ Masterlist _ Join the taglist _ Ask box

Yellow Chrysanthemum- a deep love that cannot be spoken.

"You have your space legs," Curly says, voice a low rumble in his chest. His hand smooths over your shoulder, feeling the shift of muscle. Through the flightsuit, he could feel the rumble of your laughter.

"Six times the charm, right?" You smile with the glint of your teeth, head tipped back to peer up at him. Warmth and roots lodge in his chest, like tiny tendrils of leaves crawling through him. Like being tickled from the inside, a radiated warmth that resonated through his limbs. He loved to look at your smile, how your expression lit up the whole room.

Curly remembered when the two of you were paired together, with you fresh out of training and new to travel. How queasy it made most people feel, even with the artificial gravity. He'd been the same.

Blue eyes dart low, watched as Daisuke threw a uno reverse down, giddy in his seat.

You shout back and reveal one of your own. The conversation devolved then to a bickering match and culminated in Daisuke's sulky expression as he scrounged around for a green.

"You should join us, Curly," you said, eyes back on him.

Stems lodged in his throat, petals curled against soft muscle. A bloomed flower, ripe under your attentive gaze. Everything inside him blossomed at your every word, fragile and wanting in his mouth.

"In a minute. Piloting duties." As he excused himself with a clearing of his throat, he reluctantly pulled away from your side, only to let his eyes linger on your side profile. How easy you interacted with the other Tulpar crewmembers; Anya and Daisuke especially.

Swansea grumbled in his seat and through some barbaric display of betrayal, threw down a stack of +4's on top of Daisuke's green before announcing the new colour (green). The pivotal horror only increased as you slapped your own on top, just for Daisuke to hurriedly slap through the deck. ("We don't even have enough cards!")

It's a gentle feeling; being in love like this. Feeling connected in more ways than a captain should. Than a captain legally ought to. Still, it reached up, through his body, like an ache that needed to be fulfilled. Eyes that always followed you; the attentive way he spoke to you. Every bone in his body whispered love, love, love. I love you.

Pilot duties was just an excuse. Safe from the rec hall, Curly raised a fist to his mouth as his chest heaved. A wet, sticky yellow flower fell from his mouth, devotion spelled out to the bone.

Curly doesn't hate you for this. He's lived long enough to cradle the emotions as they come, to take the small chances when he could get it. A captain's duties didn't extend to fraternization.

As he held the flower between his fingers, he couldn't fault you at all. Not when you smiled at him - like the crew-- like that. He didn't expect his love to be returned; loving you was enough. Even like this.

Honeysuckle- devoted love, whose entwined vines represent the difficulty to escape its grasp

The insufferable itching was the worst of it. Each swelled muscle, bulge under his veins; Jimmy has half a mind to claw into his own skin. Tear the flowers right out from him, bloody and whole.

He'd rather feel anything but this, this unfathomable twitchy lurch in his chest. How you made his skin clammy and pulse skittered. Half of the time he wanted to throttle you, the other portion involved throwing you against the wall and devouring you right there.

Because something about you demanded that he take, stake a claim on his person. Outside of Curly, you were the only one able to placate him, to have a backbone and withstand his hurled words.

He didn't expect this twitch in his body, the tension that rattled through him like a freight train. Jimmy, on all accounts of everyone he's ever been with, didn't do soft. He didn't do sweet.

With you, it felt like the best and worst of him was brought out. A willingness to scoff and turn the other way - however begrudgingly. The way his temper flared, quick to rise on the offense and defense.

Red, sickly petals fall from his mouth, stems and roots attached. He's aware of the damned disease; felt it in every rock of his body. Every time his arm so much as touched yours. The inescapable draw, the sway of the boat, the chasm that roared to life inside him.

They tore like a mother up his throat and no amount of scratches at his skin lessened the torment. You have him wrapped right around his finger, drowned him in a pool of your own making.

Jimmy all but hated you for it; hated your sympathetic frowns, the way you so easily acted with the nurse and Daisuke. He's imagined it many times, his fist clenched around your wrist, his mouth on yours. How hot you'd feel against his skin.

The way you turned your head, how your mouth moved so easily, focus rapt on Swansea over some bullshit. Holed up on the sofa, electronic board between you. A better student than Daisuke was supposed to be.

Jimmy's eyes darted over your expression, the way your nose moved when you breathed, the swallow of your throat. Under the simulated forest screen, you looked captivating. Forest light over your eyes that highlighted your cheekbones.

That familiar spasm resonated in his chest again, wet, hot and sickly, and he spat it out, threw the squashed pink and orange blossom in his fingers, roots slick with blood. All that left to the ground as he stomped ahead, hands planted on the back of the sofa.

"Sure, electronic work is all hoorah, but how 'bout I show you some real skills in the pilot's chair?"

He's definitely one to boast, and with the way your eyes turned up, it sent another tremor through his chest. Eyes narrowed, a challenge left your lips, his eyes quick to follow the motion.

Swansea scoffed with a sneer. But who cared about him or his opinions?

When you finally relented, the rattle in his chest intensified, that ache to touch reigning fierce. While Curly's presence deterred any advances Jimmy could make on you, he'd eventually get you right where he wanted you.

Forget-me-nots- the pain of loss and desire to hold onto memories and love

Psych evals weren't Anya's favourite task by any means, but it had been another aspect of her career. One that she chose, one that she'd keep choosing again and again. A step closer to the actual job she wanted; one with different stresses, different bosses. More stability.

For all that it was considered, one aspect that she liked most was to learn about you. How you perceived the depicted situation, how your lips pursed when you were in thought. How your leg shifted, how you once paced the room.

More than once, she'd been distracted by the lull of your voice, the stride of your steps, how your tendons moved beneath your flight suit.

"Good." She says, the word airy in her mouth.

When you smile at her, it is blinding, enough to make her eyes dart away, heart tender in her chest. With you, everything just so much ... less. Less frightful, less stress. Less constant noise in her head. She could breathe around you, bursting a garden for you in her lungs with each stolen glance.

For her, passing the flowers were easy. Mostly petals at first, loose and velvety to the touch. Then whole ones, beautiful and pristine, a testament to their circumstances.

She didn't feel drawn to you, so much as drawn around your orbit; like the Earth around the Sun. A star that burned bright in her eyes. She'd always preferred sunrises.

As the nurse, Anya has been expected to pick up on traits of her patients; learn their allergies, habits. How to better help them. Who helped the nurse? Who helped her when her heart galloped, cheeks a fire when she looked at you?

You were sweet - tender, when most others would look away.

It felt like a baptism by fire.

"That's a cool flower," you breathed out, when the silence lapsed between you.

She startled, hand to her mouth - but your eyes are distant, focused on the bottle she kept on her desk. Not that bottle was an apt term; a tall cup was more appropriate. Keeping a flower without roots was difficult; but forget-me-nots was simple. Easy. Swaddled in water, pretty blue petals frame the glass lip. A testament to her affection for you.

The end of her pen tapped against the clipboard. "Thank you."

Now, your eyes turn to her, lidded with approval and warmth. Her flower garden grows. "I never knew we were allowed to keep flowers here."

A smile lit up her face, immediate and without hesitation. Your approval, however small, meant the world to her. It filled her with a sense of satisfaction, of belonging. Of knowledge that she'd be safe and secure with you, as she always has been.

"It's a special case."

Eyes turn back, admiring the pristine petals. "Still petty cool though. Adds nice colour to the room."

She smiled and her chest hurt with the admiration and affection that ran through her. An intensity that swooped through her, fierce and devoted. "Thank you. I'll be sure to add more next time." She would; anything to have you keep coming back to her little corner of the world, to see your eyes linger, even if not on her.

"Sounds great."

You both turn as Daisuke poked his head in, grin wide on his face. "Hey, guys." Brown eyes dart to you with a pointed, "Curly was looking for you." You nod, fingers on your coat lining as you adjusted it. Anya tried not to focus on it.

"We'll continue this later?" You ask her.

Anya's eyes turn to the forget-me-not, alone and perfect. Even though psych evals weren't a choice, this was. And she'd always keep choosing you. "Yes."

Rue - fragrant flower that is used to ward off evil spirits, representing courage, repentance and healing

Feet step over the small, fragile petals littered over the ground. No matter how many times Swansea swept them up, they clung to his clothes and followed him. Even now, they cluttered his workspace, with one ground to paste around a bolt.

"Looks like a chicken was killed here," comes your voice. Swansea's mouth twitched, upper lip pursed as he doubled over his work. Wiring was delicate work, after all, and he had to correct the mess that his intern made before it affected anything.

Fortunately, he was able to rewire the grid for the time being.

"Shit's tough if a little flowers gets every inch of you knotted up," he answered, voice gruff as flowers tickled his throat. With a twist of his mouth, he coughed, and with the ease of a man whose been through this before, spat the dry buggers out and away from his workspace.

He could all but hear the shrug as you say, "Doesn't bother me."

As he set aside his tool, he leaned over for the spool of electrician's wire. Your knuckles met him, warm flesh against weathered hands as you pass it to him. "Thanks." As he turned away from you, he coughed again, each petal little more than a nuisance.

All the same, you hovered beside him, head leaned over his shoulder as he toiled away. There was something soothing and mundane about it, the way your eyes drifted over his hands, faded tan lines not yet gone.

"You want something or you just like babying my work?"

From his peripheral, Swansea could see the twitch of your lips, the wry wrinkle in your brow. How your eyes turned away, roamed over the assortment of metals he has strewn about over his work table, only to linger on the equally as vast array of pale yellow.

Telling him to see Anya about his 'condition' hadn't helped the last time you brought it up. Swansea had more than enough experience to believe that it'd be here to stay, to ruminate among the other seedlings left behind in his chest. This one festered longer than the others, almost soft and delicate. How he dealt with it was the same.

But you were different from the rest.

"You know me, always wanting to admire your work." There's that cheeky grin he knows and he snorts in amusement. Even when it was followed by a short cough, he turned his focus back on the wires. When that was sorted through, he leaned back in his chair, brow sweaty with exertion.

"Alright, get it off yer chest and tell me what's up."

There's that twitch of your head he knew so well, the cock of your mouth and the side-glance of your eyes. Even as you leaned against his workstation, hip to the edge, every side of you rang with familiarity. Cramped together on a ship for six hauls did that to people; it was easy to know their body language, their mannerisms.

Easy to love.

Swansea's head tipped back, lips quirked and brow shifted in a beckoning motion. With a sigh, as you always did, you began your tirade about your latest frustration. Jimmy was at it again, a string of months long frustration bubbled out. Cards up his sleeve - literally--, the snide remarks, the open hostility. A point of contention that Swansea knew all too well.

"Want me to sock him a new left cheekbone?" In response, you laughed, eyes shut tight as you doubled over. No holds barred, genuine and true to the bone.

A facet of you that Swansea always liked; you had been upfront from the get-go, earnest in your attempts to befriend the crew. In mapping out the ship, glad for Swansea's guidance as he gave you the grand tour. A genuity that he hadn't seen for a long time, let alone directed at him.

Most people scoffed at his age, dismissive of the years toiled away in labour, dedicated on one task to the next. Where the two of you may have butted heads, you always bounced back, prepared for the next go. It had reminded him of himself, when he was younger. Now, it just reminded him of you.

While you all too gleefully admonished him for the offer, he didn't rescind it. Because for all the things he admired in you, you fostered it in him too. A drive to be himself, to rebound after the goings get tough. Wakeup calls weren't as pleasant as your company, but for now he'd take what he could get.

Even if the flowers got in the way of it all.

Dahlia- representing sacrifice and endurance needed to thrive in harsh conditions as well as gratitude and commitment

His leg is stationary, twitching every so often against the table. Daisuke has already knocked over a few Sorry! pieces, not that he had much problem with that - Swansea was winning anyway.

The tv screen before you two was awash in a golden haze, a sun over a distant horizon, washing the sea in light. It's picturesque, letting him ruminate in the thoughts with a hazy feeling in his chest.

He's never quite been in love like this before, this upbeat, yawning, yearning chasm inside him. Where every touch gives him the jitters, where he just wants to wrap you up in his gangly arms and hold onto you forever.

He's never been in love where it aches, like flowers rooting in his blood. Out of everyone, he knows more than enough about the condition that saunters in his body; seen it enough times on his sisters. A hereditory predisposition, he somehow never grasped that he'd get it.

Not once did it ever feel wrong, like this was a burden. A phantom ache, it reached into his lungs and nestled there. He had seen the pink petals fall into his palms and he knew, 'this is love'. When he saw your face, felt his heart patter in his chest, he knew, 'this is love'.

Each time he opened his mouth, slid a packet of extra sweetener your way, he felt it. Just as he felt it now, resting low in his chest, stems of dahlias woven into his hair. Out of everything, he'll always be proud of it, of what you've given him. This life that throbs inside of him, the moments that never seem to pass.

Even though you've expressed concern whenever Daisuke coughed up a fresh one - whenever your shoulders so much as touched-- he was glad for it. Glad for how your leg shifted against his now, your arm all but crushing his. How you two are folded together, your eyes glued to the peaceful scene on the screen, while all Daisuke can think about is watching you.

How the light dances over your cheekbones, over your nose. How you nestle against him like you can't pry yourself away, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. As restless and ansty as he tended to be, he felt solid and complete right beside you.

"That is not what your book says," is what you say as your mouth twitched upwards, eyes crinkling at the corners as you look at him. Each glance has him grin and he felt like a kid again, one who learned how to draw again for the first time.

"It is so!" He chirped with a dramatic wave of the electrical book that Swansea had given him. "It is hella in here! Thomas Edison totally got the idea of the lightbulb from the flowers that wove around it!"

And you laugh, that sound that sent shivers right down to his bones and he grinned and echoed, unashamed of how he sounds, his heart and inner garden close to bursting.

"No way! I've read that book! He isn't even in there!" You smacked his shoulder and he doubled over, sides pressed to yours as he dramatically flourishes it closer.

"Is so!" He pointedly tapped his index finger to the paragraph he was on. As you squint through the dim light, he could already tell by your furrowed brow and rolled eyes that you had skimmed the page. Even as you jostled his shoulder, he laughed.

"Am I right or am I right?" He laughed.

"It's not in there!"

"It might as well be!"

Even as your laughter chorused together, he found himself all too eager to slide back up against you, the book propped up in his arm as he showed off the page. "...and he totally, radically, found purple petals. The end!" He concluded his paragraph. It was worth the elbow to the gut and the hard laughter. Because it was coming from you. It was all you.

"You said orange flowers last time!" You admonish, almost under your breath before you laugh, "But alright, go on then. Read the rest of it if you're so sure of it!" With a wide grin, he did, even when you rolled your eyes at his random embellishments, or when he completely derailed and started to rant about the invention of pizza.

For each moment that lingered between you two, it felt easy. It felt safe. Even when you gave up and grasped the book from his hands, when your knuckles touched and electricity wound under his skin, he knew it to be true.

As your hands drew out the flower bookmark he kept, half-squashed between the pages, he caught it as you set it down.

For every failure that he felt he cropped up in life, this certainly wasn't it; this was something made with love, with passion, with something that he had avidly searched for as he grew up.

When he tucked the flower into your hair, he listened to the ramble of your words as you scanned through the paragraphs - the proper ones-- and watched the light of the screen reflect across your eyes.

This is the feeling that Daisuke knew best; this burning, smoldering affection that rested inside his chest. This was as close as he'd get to feeling 'home' without returning to Earth, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[cupidsdolll]

pairings: best friend!Harry x fem!reader

summary: Y/N's having a bad day and who better to help than her best friend

word count: 2.2k

authors note: hi hello!! here’s something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a whileeeee while i work on chapter three! :) hope you enjoy!!

TW: for a mention of self harm but the only thing she does is pinch her arms over and over again, please read with caution or don’t read if it triggers you or make you uncomfortable. i love you❤️

----

Y/N’s always been such a happy person, always there for all her friends, always having a smile on her face and making sure her friends are okay. She’s always been that one friend that no matter what time it is, she’ll always be there to lend a listening ear and provide the needed solace. 

She’s always been that friend that’ll give the ones she cares about the last of her anything, always willing to give the last of her money to help a friend in need, willing to give the clothes off her back if it was necessary. She’s just a giver by nature. She’s always been the friend to go to whenever you need advice, always taking care of her friends, giving them whatever’s needed. 

Because she’s grown to be able to mask her emotions, it’s hard to tell whenever she’s not able to fully give as much, whenever she starts feeling down and gets in her head. No one notices as she starts becoming quieter, smaller, less. 

She very rarely has bad days, her sunshine personality weeding its way through the dark clouds and allowing her to smile and laugh her way through the day. It’s easy to forget why her day was bad when she’s around friends, but it’s especially easy when she’s around him. Her best friend, her right hand man, her everything in a sense. 

Her and Harry had become friends when she stumbled into him and spilled her tea all over his cream flared pants and she over-apologized until he laughed it off and rubbed her head gently. After that, they became inseparable, always attached at the hip. They were close, close enough to where whenever they were out by themselves they were constantly asked how long they’ve been together, they were constantly mistaken for a long term couple. At the question, they’d both blush softly and deny the question by laughing and shaking their heads as they smile and say they’re just friends. 

They’ve always been just friends and neither have entertained the thought of becoming more, not seeing the point of appeasing everyone else as long as they were happy. He’s always noticing her, takes in the small details and keeps them all in a special folder in his brain and his heart. 

He notices how she’ll sway lightly in her seat whenever she’s happy, he notices how her nose scrunches whenever she genuinely laughs, he notices how she never leaves without a hug and ‘I love you’, how she puts her hand over a sharp corner when her friend bends down to get something, how she makes sure to never split the pole and to always give a little snack to any cat or dog she sees on the street. 

He also notices when she starts distancing herself in conversation, how her lip will quiver and her eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit when she’s upset but can’t sneak away, he notices that when she starts playing with her rings that means she’s in her head or she’s uncomfortable, he notices how her glossy eyes will lose the light in them whenever she’s having a bad day. He notices things that she doesn’t even notice in herself and he prides himself in knowing her so well. 

She’s his complete other half, his soulmate, he can’t imagine his life without her and refuses to even think about that. He can just feel whenever her energy shifts ever so slightly and he’s always been there to help her. 

But he knows that when she has the bad days she prefers to deal with it alone, she’ll start excusing herself from the friend group when she’s asked to hang out. Her most used excuse is she’s on her period and her cramps are just killing her, and he knows that’s when it’s bad, when her pain is at its worst and she can’t bother to attempt to mask. 

Her body aches, she can feel the pain rooting itself deep in her bones, she’s tense as her muscles scream at her. Her bloodshot eyes sting painfully as fat and heavy tears stream down her pink cheeks, her lips chapped no matter how many times she licks them. She can feel her head pounding and throbbing from how long she’s been crying, her throat sore and tight as she hiccups. 

Her arms are beginning to form a slight hue of red and she can feel bruises beginning to form as she pinches them quickly, trying to distract her mind from the intense feelings of her own emotions flooding through. The muscles in her stomach are tense and uncomfortable at the amount of heavy sobs and pants that flow through her body and out of her plump lips. 

She can’t remember what triggered all of this, her brain too fuzzy to even remember if she grabbed her list to ground her. As she cries and screams into the empty space, she can feel her lungs expand as she breathes, she can feel the light touch of her loose tank top brush lightly against her skin, she can feel the loose strands of hair brushing against the back of her neck. 

She feels as if she can’t breathe, it feels like her bedroom is caving in on her, the small room only seeming to grow smaller and smaller as her breath gets stronger and shaky. Her hand scrambles around her messy bed, searching for the list containing ways for her to calm down and a shaky sob racks through her body when she realizes she can’t find it. 

She closes her eyes tightly as she brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, burying her face into her legs she can’t help as she shakes her head. She doesn’t know how long this has been going on, how long she’s trapped herself in her room, but she hopes it’ll be over soon. 

She grabs her phone from her beside table and with shaky hands she unlocks it and clicks on her messages app. She quickly taps on the conversation she’s looking for and attempts to write out a message. 

——

Sweet Girl: H, can u come over please

She doesn’t have to wait long for a response from him as her phone dings a couple seconds later.

Haz: Of course sweet girl. Do you need/want me to bring anything for you? Some food maybe?

Sweet: Girl: if u want, just want you rn

Haz: Ok bug. I’m gonna get us some food and then I’ll be over. See you soon x

Sweet Girl: kay, thanks H. love u

Haz: I love you sweet girl, just try to breathe for me, I won’t be too long and I’ll use my key so you don’t have to get up. 

——-

As she tries to focus on her breathing, attempting to take slow and deep breaths, she wipes her face to clear away the tears on her cheeks. She sniffles and wraps her arms around her torso gently as she lies in her bed, the soft material and warmth from her cover enveloping her and makes her smile softly. 

She’s only able to enjoy a couple moments of peace before another painful sobs rack through her body. She sobs into her pillow, the pain searing through her body as the tears stain her cheeks.

She hates this, she hates not knowing why she’s so upset, she hates everything to do with her bad days. She wishes she was able to ask for the help she needs but she’s so much of a people pleaser, she can’t bear the thought of not being there for her friends when they need her. 

A soft knock at her bedroom door jolts her gently from her thoughts. She quickly tries to wipe her face from any tears and snot streaks before telling the person to come on. Her door squeaks softly as it opens and his face appears in the small space. 

As he walks into her small bedroom, he smiles sadly at her in which she returns the favor. Her eyes light up just a bit when she spots the brown takeout bag with her favorite Mexican restaurant logo printed onto the cheap plastic. He leans down and kisses her forehead before sitting down on her bed gently and placing the bag next to him. 

“Hi” she whispers and he smiles 

“Hi, feelin’ any better?” He says and she nods 

“Not really, thank you for uh coming over” she says as she leans her head on his shoulder.

He hums softly as he wraps one arm around her shoulder and squeezes once. 

“Y’know m’always gonna come. You don’t have to thank me. Wanna talk about it?” He asks gently and she shakes her head lightly.

“Not much to talk about, dunno why it happens. I just get really sad out of nowhere.” She closes her eyes gently as she relaxes into his hold. 

He nods in response and they sit in silence for a couple minutes before he reaches over to the bag and holds it out to her. 

“Here, you should eat it before it gets cold.” She smiles in response as he nudges her hand with the bag. She thanks him quietly as she grabs the bag from him, smiling bashfully she begins to open the bag and the styrofoam box inside. 

As she eats in silence, she’s not able to eat as much as she normally would. She takes a couple decent sized bites before she begins to move the food around. 

“M’gonna put this in the fridge, I’ll be back.” He says quietly as he makes a way to grab the box, she sighs softly before looking at him. 

“Sorry..” he shakes his head in return.

“Don’t be sorry lovie. M’proud of you for eating as much as you did.” He says before walking out and setting the box in the fridge before walking back to her room. 

As he comes back into her room, he hums a soft song as he makes his way to her bed and wraps his arms around her, squeezing tightly. He kisses the top of her head before whispering into her ear. 

“M’so sorry you’re feelin’ like this lovie. But you’re not alone okay? You have so many people who care for you and love you.” He can hear her sniffle softly and be squeezes her once. 

“Not your fault Haz. I know I’m not alone but I don’t wanna burden anyone.” She says and he shakes his head.

“You’re never gonna be a burden. We want you to be happy, be okay, we want you to not have to suffer alone. All of us worry about you, it’s okay to ask for help, angel. We’re not gonna judge you.” Her quiet tears slowly become louder as he speaks, she shakes her head and he rubs her back.

“It’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be in pain. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to accept the love you give out, angel. You give and give and give to everyone else, and I know you don’t give yourself the love and energy you deserve.. let us love you how you love us, let us help you. Let us care for you. We’re not gonna judge you sweet girl.” He says and she grabs his t-shirt tightly before sobbing into his chest. 

She can feel the tears streaming down her cheeks and wetting his shirt as she cries into him. She can’t find it to be embarrassed at how loud she’s being and how she looks, not with his hand rubbing small circles on her back and how his words have sparked a sense of warmth in her stomach. She can feel it fluttering throughout her body while he whispers all these soft and sweet words in her ear. 

She can’t remember how long she’s been crying, and she goes to move away from him and he stops her. 

“Y’okay now? You don’t have to move if you’re not ready yet.” She nods before scooting closer to him, their thighs mashed together and her head resting on his shoulder as he rubs her shoulders softly. 

They stay like that, sitting in the comfortable silence for a while before she yawns softly and catches his attention. 

“Y’tired?” He asks and she nods 

“Sorry you spent your day with a crying mess.” She says with a sad chuckle.

“You’re my best friend Y/N. I’d gladly spend however long with you no matter if you’re sad or happy. As long as you’re okay, I’m happy. Want me to stay with you tonight?” He asks and she shakes her head. 

“Uh uh, go have fun with your other friends. I think I’m okay now. Thank you for everything H.” She says as she squeezes him softly before moving to the head of her bed and getting under the covers. 

“Text or call me if y’need anything angel. I mean it.” He says and goes to tuck her in, resulting is a soft giggle to breeze past her lips.

“Okay, dad. I love you.” She says a smile playing on her lips as he leans forward and kisses her forehead.

“I love you sweet girl. Sleep well and have sweet dreams.”

[z4rph1m]

Platonic Yan!batfam X dazai!reader X yandere dc

Tw: implication of sex (between reader & Chuuya), past mentions of self harm,

Forgotten child

Pro. Ch.1 Ch.2 (you are here) Ch.3

Nakahara Chuuya

Your former lover of the dark.

Why did the two of you broke up? He forgot, or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember.

He knew that the moment the two of you were in a relationship, it was unhealthy and toxic.

Maybe it’s the way you would ignore him the whole day but the moment you’re within his arms you’re a touch starve, hopelessly in love mess.

Or maybe the way he would be angry at you and try to guilt trip you into doing whatever he wants or the way you would purposely annoy him so that he would try and hurt you (he tried ask you to stop doing that)

But why exactly did the two of you stay together?

It’s simple, you two completed eachother perfectly.

Especially how fitting your abilities names are to describe the two of you.

You made him act like a human, he gave you a reason to live on.

“Are you the most beautiful human to me or to me, you’re the most beautiful human”

You stare at the empty space of your bed in longing, feeling as if there was something missing in your life.

The love marks surrounding your body, the lipstick mark on your bandages and the soft touches lingers around you.

Oh how you miss him.

You knew well that being with him was a terrible idea, especially with how aware you are to how much of a terrible person you are.

You know well you’re only using him to have the willingness to live yet the more you are with him, the more you crave for his touch.

That’s the reason why you broke up with him.

You hated how it felt, how it didn’t felt real to you. You wanted to save him the tears and pain, breaking off was maybe your only choice.

You remember well on how soft his kisses are on your scars, lips and all over your body.

Or how beautiful yours and his voice sounded together.

Maybe, just maybe under different circumstances the two of you could be together.

As much as you two stayed friends, the benefits can’t really be pass on.

“I can’t feel love, I will give you the love that you lack your whole life”

The more time Bruce walk through the hallway to your room, the more sense of guilt cover him.

Wilting flowers, spiders in cobwebs, empty vases and dust covering the paintings.

The side of the mansion that’s long been abandoned.

God how long did he let you live like this?

How long did he left you to live within the chilly and ghostly halls of the manor?

On the way to your room, the two passed by Dick and Tim, who seemingly curious on where they’re going.

“Hey Alfred, Bruce, where you’re going?” Dick in all his glory, having his usual smile while Tim with his eye bags and energy drink in his hand.

“We’re on our way to Master [N] room, which is just at the corner of this hallway”

There was a deafening silence, but at the same time it was accompanied by a presence of a lonely child.

The presence of a child that was useless to the family.

The silence kept on going until Tim voice spoke out.

“Are you sure you’re in the right way Alfred? The corner of the hallway looks as if it’s haunted”

“Yes Master Tim, they’ve been assign to that room after all”

Damian stare at the picture that’s laying at your table.

A picture of you and your mother.

Maybe it’s the only picture of you and her but it explains everything about your relationship with her.

You malnourished, eyes hold emptiness yet smiled so awkwardly at the camera, having just an oversized t-shirt and a shorts on, bandages free, happily in your mother arms.

Thats probably the only picture of you smiling.

Out of all the pictures that he sees in the album, the one where you’re under the care of Alfred, not his father.

You’re smiling with your mother, where you live a miserable and pitiful life.

What was it that was different or missing from this family that made you never smiled at least once?

In the past, he use to sneak into your room whenever it’s one of those days where you don’t come home.

Interested on why you look so….. depressing and On deathbed-like.

Yet as time goes by, he was interested in you by you’re nature.

Seeing your photos, art and diary (or at least what’s left of it).

He wanted to know more about you yet his pride and jealousy got in the way.

He wanted your attention yet he rejected the idea of even having a conversation with you.

Everything was fine until one day he sees the room clean and smell of fresheners.

That’s when he realized what he did.

He was too late- no, he can fix it.

He will get his older sibling back, he must.

God whoever this “Q” is will be the top of his list for taking what’s his.

He hold onto your childhood doll before tensing his body when the sound of creaking fills the room.

“Father, Alfred, Tim, Dick, what are you doing here?”

Inspired by @-acid-ixx Again & again series and @-marcyvamp1re-blog silly little bat

[jarofstyles]

Juno

Based off of the song Juno, I tried my hand at writing song inspired one shots again! this one is filthy but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive works (sign up on your browser and not the iOS app to save fees!)

WC- 3.5k

Warnings- heavy breeding kink, cum play, soft dom H, slight restraining, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up yall)

It had been a long fucking day.

Being the boss wasn't for the weak, apparently. Harry had been through the ringer today especially. People unable to communicate, an overly long and exastrubsating meeting, having to terminate an employee, all of it had made him itchy for the day to end- only for him to have to stay late to fix a problem. He had felt guilty texting his girlfriend that he was going to be home late, telling her his day had been a bit hellish.

Thankfully, he had been blessed with one of the most incredible women in the world, who assured him she was fine, not to worry about her and she would see him when he got home- but he hadn’t expected just an incredible sight to greet him as he opened the bedroom door.

It was like a vision he’d see in the most incredible of dreams.

Y/N was stretched out on the bed, her head propped up on a pile of pillows. She was wearing a tiny, frilly pink babydoll nightgown that barely covered her assets and showed off her legs- god, her fucking legs. The delicate fabric shimmered in the soft lighting, catching Harry's eye and drawing his gaze downward. Dragging his eyes down the perfectly wrapped present, he counted every single one of his blessings.

“Hi.” She spoke softly, clambering up to her knees and crawling to the end of the bed. “I missed you today, H.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he watched her crawl towards him, his eyes taking in the delicate nightgown that flowed over her curves in all the right places, riding up her thighs as she sat on her knees waiting for him. He felt a surge of love wash over him, his exhaustion melting away at the sight of her. Crossing the room in long strides, he met her at the end of the bed. "I missed you too, baby," He murmured. “What’s all this, hm?”

“I got a package today. This was what was in it.” She shrugged, running her hand down her waist to show it off. “I figured you had a rough day, but you like when you see the pretty things I buy. I thought…. Maybe this would make you happy.” Her hands ran over his chest, peering up at him through her lashes. “I wanted to make you happy. I love you so much.”

His eyes softened, warmth spreading through his chest as he took in her words. She really had no idea how much she affected him, how much he absolutely adored her. Reaching out, his fingers brushing against the delicate, shimmery fabric, slowly running it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist. "It makes me very happy, my sweet girl." He murmured, his voice raspy as he took in the sight of her bare hips and thighs. "Come here." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he urged her to straddle his lap, which she did without complaint.

“I know it’s hard to be the boss all day.” Her voice was silky as she ran her finger through his hair, the gel keeping it back having failed hours ago. The man looked slightly disheveled, and that did something to her. “I know you need to come home and have a soft place to land. You’re so good to me. I brag about you to my friends all the time. About everything.” Even the not so appropriate bits. She couldn’t help it! “I want to be the one to help you make your fantasies come true. You pay the bills here, so…” Shrugging her shoulders, she bit down on her glossy lip. “I figured I’d give you something pretty to come home to.”

Harry's large hands palmed her ass, squeezing lightly as she straddled him, her warmth pressing against him. Her words, her kindness, her thoughtfulness, it all made him want to be a better man. She was the soft place he landed every day, his happy place. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers combed through his disheveled hair. “You are… incredible. Fuck me. Can’t believe you’re real.”

“Do you like it?” Pressing her lips to the corner of his, she hooked her finger in his shirt and tugged the half undone tie to the ground. “What I put on for you? I know you like to say M’your little angel. Figured this was a little angelic for you.”

He growled softly in approval, his hands tightening on her ass as her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. "It's perfect, just like you." He sighed, his voice hoarse with the amount he had yelled today, and his desire for the girl on his lap. His hands roamed over her curves, his touch gentle but greedy. The man could never get enough of her. He loved how she would let him have his way with her, no matter what he desired. Nothing and no one could compare to how she made him feel, playing into every base level instinct he had. "My little angel... Dressed like that... S’almost unfair."

Y/N let out a giggle, loving the effect she had on him. Knowing he was such a powerful man and yet he had a weakness in her was more arousing than she could have prepared herself for. She loved being his soft spot, his little angel. “It is fair, though. I wore it just for you. And I decided…” This was the part she had been nervous about all day. The decision she had made. She wanted him to lock her down. “I know we aren’t married yet, but I don’t think I can let you wait any longer to give you what you want.” Brushing her nose against his, she spoke against his lips. “I think m’gonna let you get me pregnant.”

Harry's breath hitched, his eyes widening for a moment before they filled with a heat that almost burned her. "Y/N..." He growled, his voice low and loaded. "Are you sure? We can wait if you're not ready." Even as he said the words, his hands tightened on her, pulling her closer against him. He wanted it, he wanted her, like this, forever. When she nodded to agree that she was absolutely sure, he let out a deep groan, eyes wild as they searched her own. " Say it again. Please."

“I want you….” She purred, leaning in so their chests were pressed together. “To get me pregnant. Knock me up.” Smearing their lips together, she sucked a soft kiss to his bottom lip before murmuring again. “Put a baby in me.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, his control snapping. "Fuck, Angel..." He groaned, crashing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She tasted so fucking good, so much like his. He couldn’t get enough. One hand tangled in her hair while the other slid down to grip her thigh, squeezing, owning. Pulling her down fully, he ground up against her, letting her feel how hard she made him. It had started the moment he walked in to see her splayed out on the bed, but this was something else. His weakness. "You want my baby?"

“Uh-huh.” She giggled against his mouth, turning it into a whimper as she felt his cock rub up against her. Since coming to the decision she had been wet, aching for him to actually do it. She wanted to keep him, lock him down in every sense of the word. Be the only one for him. She wanted to be the mother of his children, all of them. There was no patience for waiting. The ring could come later- she had known he got one anyway. “I want to be yours so badly. I need it.”

"Shit, baby, you already are.." Standing up and with her in his arms, he turned them over and set her down on the mattress with her back against it, looking at her with intense eyes. "M’going to give you my baby, my everything. You're going to be so fucking pregnant with my child, everyone's going to know it." Fumbling with his belt, he tossed it down and hurriedly stepped out of his trousers, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders as he watched her sit back up.

Her hands went for his briefs, tugging them down with shaky fingers. Y/N was just as needy for it as he was, and it showed. He let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as she wrapped her hands around his shaft and pumped slowly, leaning down to lick the tip. He twitched in her grasp, throbbing in her palm.

"That's it, baby..." He encouraged softly, his hands tangling in her hair as he guided her head down, slowly thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. "Just like that. Get it nice n’wet for me." He pulled out, his breathing heavy.

She came back up for air, her hand pumping him slowly as she looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. "Open up for me, sweetheart. Stick out your tongue." He watched intently as she obeyed, baring her neck and tilting her head back. He wrapped a hand around the base of his erection and slowly pumped, his eyes rolling back as he grew harder. "Thatta girl..." He guided the tip to her lips, rubbing the head on her bottom lip.

He fed her his length slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored the hot sensation of her mouth wrapping back around him. He pulled back and thrust into her mouth again, his hands tangling in her hair and guiding her head. "Look at me, Y/N. Keep your eyes on me."

Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks as she looked up at him, her mouth stretched around his thick girth. She hummed against him, eyes watering as he thrust further into her mouth. She looked so good, taking him like that, and he couldn’t help but groan, his pace quickening. "That's my good girl. Such a sweet little thing f’me."

He gently thrust in and out of her mouth, his hands cradling her head. "Relax your jaw for me, Y/N... that's it... jus’ like that." He praised her softly, his voice a husky whisper. "You're doing so well, m’love." He thrust a little deeper, pulling back quickly when she gagged slightly, his eyes flashing with concern. "Careful, careful. Breathe through your nose, baby, you can take it… Y’know how to do it."

She breathed in through her nose as he instructed, her chest rising and falling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the push but she didn't pull away, determined to please him. Her hands came up to grip his thighs for balance as he continued to slowly thrust. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the tip each time he pulled out.

He was absolutely stunning, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his chest heaving with each breath. The sight of his strong thighs tensing and flexing under her hands, the way his abs clenched... it was almost too much. She wanted to memorize every detail. She needed to be his, forever. His skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his hair disheveled. He was the picture of raw, masculine beauty. And he was all hers..

It was adorable, how she whimpered at the loss of his cock as he pulled it from her mouth, but he needed to have her fully. Claim her in the way she had promised to let him. “Mmm, shit. Baby, you’re too good. S’okay.” He panted, pulling her up by her arms and crushing his lips against hers. "I need inside, love. I can't...I can't wait any longer. I need t’put my baby in you."

She nodded eagerly against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck as he adjusted her against the fluffy duvet. Never in her life had she been this fucking horny, but that was simply the way the man tended to affect her. Her legs spread wide for him, her heels digging into the bed as she watched him move to hover over her. Positioning himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips firmly, admiring the beauty that was his angel underneath him. "Y/N...look at me, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me, okay?" His voice was gentle, loving, but his face was contorted with raw, unbridled desire.

"Need you t’watch while I knock you up." He grit out, pressing forward and filling her with one long thrust. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out, his eyes fluttered shut in rapture. "Oh, fuck." He hissed, reveling in the feel of her wrapped around him. This was what he needed, the remedy to his long day. Always her. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his size. It was a stretch, and he knew it. "Okay?" he asked softly, his hips flexing forward slightly.

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were glued to his, wide and glassy as he filled her completely. The sensation of being so full, so stretched, was overwhelming. It never got old. When she got tipsy and slightly loose lipped, it was one of the things she alluded to with her friends- how big he was, how fulfilled he made her. She could feel every thick inch of him inside her, his heavy balls pressing against the plush of her ass. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she adjusted to his size, her walls clenching around him in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. "S’so good.”

He began to move, slow and deep at first, savoring the exquisite drag of her silken walls. "That's it, baby... take it. Take every inch of me." He whispered, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. One hand slid down to rub tight circles over her clit as he fucked into her. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt. Pump you full of me."

His cock stretched her, a dull, delicious ache as he drove into her again and again, the wet sounds of the thrusts filling the room. He angled his hips, searching for that perfect spot inside her. He always did. He loved to make her go crazy, see her buck and cry out when he got it. They fit together so well, sometimes it was hard to believe they’d found each other naturally. When did find it he heard it, music to his fucking ears. The borderline frantic cry as she grabbed his arms where they held her hips, her back arching off the bed. "Yes, there! Just like that." Her nails dug into his forearms as he hit her spot dead on with each thrust.

His balls slapped against her ass with each deep stroke, the sound echoing through the room. “Yeah, I found my spot. Didn’t I?” He crooned, smirk on his face as he kept it up. If there was anything he allowed himself to be smug about, it was how good he made his woman feel. “S’good, I know. Hitting right where my girl needs. God, you’re fuckin’ perfect. Dressing up for me…” He grit his teeth. “Tellin’ me I can finally give you a baby. You love me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I do. Shit, Harry.” She cried out, her voice high-pitched as her inner walls tightened around his thick shaft. She could barely think, let alone speak, with him filling her so perfectly. “Y-Yes, I love you so much- Please, please, please, please!” She chanted, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as he continued to fuck into her sopping cunt. “Please what, baby?” He taunted, looking down at her beautiful form. It was the prettiest picture only he got to see. “What d’you want?”

“I-I want you to-” She gasped as he hit her spot again, her toes curling in ecstasy. “I want you to knock me up, H. Please knock me up, get me pregnant like y’wanted. I don’t care, just wanna feel you inside me, I want my tummy to grow, I want all of it.” She pleaded, tugging him down to her as she felt her eyes water, looking up at him. “Please, baby- please, please.”

His face contorted as he looked down at her, love and possession shining in his eyes. "You're really going t’let me breed you like that, huh? All for me?" He grit out with clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward as his hands gathered her, wrapping around her wrists and pinning them above her head. "Y’want to carry my baby, grow round with it inside you?"

"Yes, yes, yes." She chanted with a lovedrunk smile on her face, her back arching as he took her harder. The new angle had him hitting impossibly deep. "Please Harry, I need it. Need you to fill me up, make me yours. I want everyone to know I'm your girl, carrying your baby." Her voice broke, overwhelmed with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm getting close."

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good girl." He growled, feeling her tighten around him like a vice. "Milk me, I'm gonna pump you full. Gonna flood this fertile little cunt with my cum." His balls drew up tight as he pounded into her relentlessly, the wet squelch of her arousal obscene in the room. "Fuck, m’close too. You want it baby?"

Y/N could barely speak as her orgasm took her faster than she had anticipated. It was his voice, his promise that took her there. The sensation was indescribable. Like being consumed, each hard thrust sending wave after wave of intense heat through her veins. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick, pulsing length as it slid in and out of her slick hole. Her whole body was alight, every nerve ending on fire as he stretched her to the limit. The pressure built and built, her muscles tensing as the first waves of her release washed over her.

"Please, please... I want to feel you, inside me, filling me up. I want your baby, Harry. I want you to breed me." Her words were barely coherent, her mind fogged with desire as he continued to thrust into her, his powerful hips driving his thick cock home again and again. She could feel the heat of his body, the tautness of his muscles as he held back, intent on pouring into her just as she'd begged. “Wanna be the only one.”

“Shit.” He whined weakly, losing all resolve to hold on. Hearing her beg for it was the final straw on his composure. This was a day he had dreamed of, and she had so willingly handed it over to him. It was his turn to give it to her, just as he promised. “I’ll give it to you baby. Give you everything- only t’you. Fuck.” With a feral groan, he lost all control, slamming into her one final time as he erupted inside her. His hot, thick cum flooded her, painting her insides as he filled her to the brim. She could feel it pouring in, the warmth spreading through her belly as he continued to pump her full, his cock jerking and twitching inside her. “Take all of it.”

Her mouth parted on a silent 'O' as she felt him surge inside her, his warmth spreading through her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he released her hands, and her fingers immediately digging on his back as she found a way to cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. She didn’t want him to leave, wanted him to stay buried.

"That's it, baby... take it all." He encouraged softly, nuzzling her neck as he slowly thrust in and out, relishing in the feeling as he pulsed inside of her.

She moaned softly, her head tossing on the pillow. "It feels so warm, so good... S’so much inside of me. I love you so much." She whispered, a fucked out smile painting her lips. "I hope it takes."

Pulling out slowly, his cock glistened with them combined as he held her open, his load leaking out of her. The scene was absolutely filthy and everything he had hoped to see when they tried this. "Look at you... so full of my cum. So fucking perfect." He gently held her thigh open with one hand, his fingers on the other spreading her open to show off his work. "Look at how full you are, baby."

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as he displayed her to him. "Harry... It's so much. I can feel it dripping out of me. Don’t waste it." She whispered, her voice tiredly giddy. "We should try for round two... just to be sure, right?"