#even if it's a shitty chapter that feels the same as the previous ones

[notasdriedapricots]

Chapter 24: Made up Mind

"There ain't no rhyme, just wasted time Moonlight spotlight shining down on a made up mind and a love gone wrong There ain't no rhyme

The quiet behind a slamming door The break of a heart that won't break no more The getaway wheels in a straight line Serenade of a made up mind"                 - Made up Mind; The Bros. Landreth

"I really fucking hope she switches."

[pandapetals]

Sunlight & Sawdust

Chapter Two: Tulips & Testers previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop. For free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel found himself back at the shitty diner with Tommy for lunch—again.

It was his brother’s favorite spot, always raving about how it had the best food in town. Joel wasn’t convinced. The place was worn down, the vinyl seats cracked, and the walls yellowed with time. The overhead fan rattled like it was one bad day away from falling, and the jukebox in the corner was stuck on some old country song.

Still, the food wasn’t bad. Not that he’d ever admit it. The service was always solid, too, even when the place was packed.

He slid into the booth across from Tommy, about to glance over the menu when something familiar stopped him.

A scent. Soft, floral. A hint of something sweet.

His shoulders stiffened.

Before he could look up, your voice cut through the low hum of the diner.

"I should’ve known you’d be here."

Warm. Easy. Meant for Tommy, not him.

Joel already knew who it was before he even lifted his gaze.

Tommy grinned wide as you approached, his whole face lighting up like you were the best part of his damn day.

Joel felt his mood immediately sour.

But when he finally looked up and saw you, something in his chest tightened, stealing the air out of his lungs.

You stood there, sundress swaying just slightly, a soft floral print skimming the tops of your knees. Your hair was loose, falling in gentle waves around your shoulders, and tucked behind your ear was a single pink tulip.

It should’ve been ridiculous. Too much. Too soft.

And yet, Joel couldn’t stop staring.

"Have you ordered yet?" you asked sweetly, directing the question at Tommy.

He shook his head, grinning.

"I can order you some pancakes," you offered with a teasing lilt. "Unless you’re in the mood for something else?"

Tommy chuckled. "Nah, I’ll take the pancakes—best in town."

Joel barely heard him. His eyes were still on you. Had you always been this—

His jaw tightened. He looked away, grabbing the menu, suddenly far too aware of himself.

This was nothing. Just you being you. Too sweet, too kind, too…

Joel clenched his jaw harder. 

"You want anything? I’m gonna order me a burger."

The question caught him off guard. He looked up, and there it was again—that warmth. The same damn warmth you always had when you spoke to Tommy. Only now, it was directed at him.

Joel should’ve shut it down, scoffed, or made some half-assed remark about how you didn’t need to play waitress for him. That’s what he normally would’ve done.

But for some reason, he held back.

"Coffee," he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. "Black."

His eyes stayed locked on you even as the words left his mouth.

It was stupid. How his chest ached at something as simple as your kindness.

You didn’t seem to notice his hesitation. You just gave a small nod before turning and walking over to the counter, your dress swaying slightly with each step.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

Once you were out of earshot, Tommy’s gaze immediately shifted to his brother.

Joel could feel it—the weight of it, the knowing behind it. He ignored it.

But Tommy wasn’t letting this one slide.

"You gonna be mean to her today, or you givin’ her a break?" he asked with a sigh, resting his elbows on the table.

Joel grunted, irritation curling in his gut. "Don’t start."

Tommy just stared, waiting.

Joel clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the tabletop. "I don’t like her," he bit out, but the words tasted wrong even as he said it. "She’s…"

He stopped short when he caught the way Tommy’s expression shifted, his jaw setting in something dangerously close to disappointment.

Tommy exhaled, shaking his head. "I fuckin’ swear, Joel." His voice was low, steady. "Either admit she committed some god-awful crime against you… or admit you like her."

Joel’s face dropped. His throat felt tight. "It’s not… it’s not like that," he tried to argue, but even to his ears, the words sounded hollow.

Because the more he talked, the more he realized. He wasn’t telling the truth.

It was getting to him. You were sweet to him even when he didn’t deserve it. The warmth in your voice, the way you looked standing there in that damn sundress, all soft and glowing in the midday light. It was crawling under his skin, winding tight around his ribs, and it was pissing him off.

Across the table, Tommy’s disappointment faded into something worse—a slow, knowing smirk.

Joel groaned. He knew that look. Had seen it a thousand times growing up. It was the same smug grin Tommy wore whenever he figured something out before Joel did, the same one that meant he was about to start running his damn mouth.

Joel glared, pointing a finger at him. "Don’t."

Tommy just leaned back in the booth, still smirking.

"Tommy, shut your damn mouth." Joel’s voice was low, warning. He knew his brother. He knew exactly where this was going and refused to let it happen.

But it was too late.

Tommy let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was unfolding before him.

His gruff, emotionally constipated older brother—who hated everybody—had a crush on the sweetest damn woman he’d ever met.

It was hilarious.

Joel’s scowl deepened, heat rising in his neck. "Tommy—"

Your voice cut through the moment before he could get another word out.

"What’s so funny?"

Joel stiffened.

You were suddenly right there, setting down plates with that easy grace of yours, sliding into the booth beside Tommy like you belonged there.

And Joel, who had spent the last five minutes convincing himself that you didn’t, was sitting across from you, hands clenched into fists beneath the table, doing everything in his power not to look directly at you.

Tommy, the bastard, was still grinning. "Oh, nothing," he said casually, far too pleased with himself as he cut into his pancakes like he hadn’t just laughed at Joel’s expense.

Joel gritted his teeth, grabbing his coffee like it might ground him.

He hated this. Hated how friendly you were and how Tommy was enjoying teasing him. Hated every damn second of this.

But most of all, he hated how hard it was to ignore you.

Utterly oblivious to the silent battle waging across the table, you reached up, plucking the tulip from your hair with delicate fingers.

Joel’s eyes tracked the movement before he could stop himself.

The way you handled it—gentle, almost absentminded—as you placed it on the table beside your plate—the soft brush of your fingertips against the petals.

It was stupid. Just a flower. A damn tulip.

But Joel couldn’t look away.

Tommy noticed.

He smirked, glancing between Joel and the flower like he had just won some unspoken bet.

Joel scowled, immediately averting his gaze, fixing his eyes on the dark liquid in his cup like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

But then, you noticed.

"Oh," you said, voice soft with realization.

Joel risked a glance up.

You looked at him now, your expression unreadable, until a slight blush crept up your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you smoothed your hands over your dress and explained, "My daughter insisted I wear it."

Joel wasn’t sure why that made his chest feel tight.

Maybe it was how you said it. So soft and thoughtful, like it meant more than just a silly thing your daughter had asked of you. How you looked with that tulip tucked behind your ear, utterly unaware of how natural it seemed, how effortlessly warmth clung to you like it was just a part of who you were.

Or maybe it was the way his damn brain wouldn’t shut up about the fact that he had never seen you blush before.

"She said it would ‘help’ promote the flower shop," you explained, gesturing vaguely at your floral sundress. Your voice had a quiet fondness, like the memory itself was a comfort. "It inspired the whole outfit today."

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, of course. Ellie would insist."

Joel’s grip tightened around his coffee cup.

He knew you had a daughter. Tommy had mentioned her plenty—how she was always by your side when she wasn’t in school, how smart she was, how much she adored you.

But knowing you had a kid and realizing it were two different things.

And for some reason, it was hitting him like a freight train right now.

"Ellie did. She’s too sweet—thinks me wearin’ flowers is the best way to promote I’m a florist," you laughed, shaking your head.

Tommy grinned. "Kids do the funniest things, huh?" He took another bite of his pancakes, as easy and relaxed as ever.

Joel felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

He brought his mug to his lips, taking a slow drink, hoping the bitter heat of the coffee would settle something in his chest. It didn’t.

Because his mind wouldn’t stop.

Would Sarah have done the same? Would she have insisted on something ridiculous like that, her voice full of certainty, eyes bright with excitement?

She would’ve. He knew she would’ve. She had that same kind of heart—the kind that saw good in the smallest things.

The realization sat heavy, pressing down on his ribs.

You were a mother.

That fact alone had his thoughts spiraling, tangling into something messy, something dangerous.

Because you being a mother wasn’t just some trivial detail. It meant something. It meant you had someone who depended on you, someone you loved more than yourself. It meant you knew what it was like to raise a child—to have that kind of love and fear.

And Joel—he knew that fear too well.

His grip on the coffee cup tightened as you and Tommy kept talking, your voices warm and easy.

Joel stayed silent. He kept drinking his coffee, pretending it was enough to drown out the noise in his head. But it wasn’t working.

Not when you kept smiling like that. Not when his eyes kept betraying him, flicking back to you, lingering just a little too long.

"You heading back to the flower shop?"

Tommy’s voice pulled Joel from his thoughts. He blinked, realizing both of you had finished eating. Tommy leaned back in his seat, patting his stomach with a satisfied sigh, while you sat next to him, still smiling despite the conversation turning toward something less pleasant.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Did I tell you the A/C unit in the window leaked water all over the floor last week?"

Tommy’s easy expression shifted into concern. "No, you didn’t mention that. Do you need help—"

"No, I got the A/C replaced," you said with a slight huff, shaking your head. "Had a new one put in a few days ago, but it cost me an arm and a leg."

Joel’s eyes stayed on you. Even frustrated, you still had that warmth about you—like you couldn’t help but soften the edges of bad news. It was infuriating.

"What about the floor? Did it get water damage?" Tommy asked, brows furrowed.

Your smile faltered just a bit. "It did. But with the cost of the new A/C unit…" You trailed off, rubbing the back of your neck. "I can’t afford to replace the flooring right now. It’s wood… and you know that’s not cheap."

Joel didn’t realize he was frowning until his jaw clenched.

He caught something quiet and weary in your expression. You weren’t complaining, just stating a fact. But he could tell the stress was weighing on you.

And for some reason, that didn’t sit right with him.

"Damn, that really sucks," Tommy muttered, crossing his arms. Joel knew his brother—he hated seeing you stressed, especially about the shop. That place meant everything to you.

Joel exhaled slowly, willing himself to look anywhere but at you.

But he couldn’t help it.

His gaze flicked back, catching you lightly chewing on your bottom lip, and your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your coffee cup. It was a small thing, probably nothing, but for some goddamn reason, it hit him square in the chest.

And then, before he could stop himself, a stupid thought formed in his head.

A dangerous thought.

He was a carpenter. He could fix it.

It would be simple—just a bit of work. It wouldn’t even take him that long, and he sure as hell wouldn’t charge you for it.

Joel immediately shoved the thought down, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug.

Why the hell should he care? He didn’t like you. He had told himself that over and over again. But now, sitting here, watching you try to brush off your worries with a smile—

Shit.

"I could fix it." The words slipped out before Joel could stop them.

The second they did, he regretted it. Not because he didn’t want to help, but because of how you and Tommy immediately turned to look at him, twin expressions of confusion and disbelief.

Tommy’s smirk was instant. Shit.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He should’ve let it go and backpedaled before this worsened. But instead, his gaze landed on you, and before he could stop himself, he doubled down.

"How about I fix it? For free."

Your lips parted slightly, blinking at him like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. "Joel, no." You shook your head, a quiet huff escaping you. "I couldn’t ask that of you—especially not for free."

There it was again—that damn, ever-present warmth.

It irritated him. And it also did something else. Something he refused to name.

Joel felt Tommy’s smug stare burning into him from across the table, but he ignored it, keeping his attention on you.

"I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it for free," he said gruffly, shifting in his seat. "It’ll be an easy fix."

You studied him, brows furrowing slightly like you were searching for the catch.

And honestly? You should have been.

Because what the hell was he doing?

Joel Miller—the same man who spent the last who knows how long acting like you were the most enormous pain in his ass—was now offering up his time, his work, for nothing in return? Even he could admit it didn’t make sense.

Maybe this was a mistake. Perhaps you’d see through whatever was happening inside him before he figured it out himself.

But instead of questioning it or teasing him for it, you just sighed softly and sweetly.

"Are you sure?" Your voice was gentle, like you were afraid to push too hard. "I... could pay you a little bit."

Joel clenched his jaw, gripping his coffee like it might hold him together.

The truth was, he wanted to fix it. Not because he had to, not because Tommy would tease him if he backed out, but because the thought of you being stressed over something he could easily take care of bothered him.

"I’m 100% sure." Joel hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so soft. It just did.

The second the words left his mouth, your whole face lit up.

"Joel, you’re a lifesaver!" you squealed, practically bouncing in your seat.

Joel barely had time to register the warmth in your voice before Tommy let out a knowing chuckle.

He was stunned by how fast you brightened at his offer. How instantly the weight of your problem seemed to lift right off your shoulders. And the fact that he was the reason for it?

That did something to him.

Something unfamiliar. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Tommy, of course, noticed.

His smirk deepened like he already knew that your reaction would boost Joel’s ego for the rest of the damn day. Joel shot him a look, but it was too late—Tommy had already seen everything he needed to.

"Stop by whenever you’re free. No rush." You beamed at him, all soft gratitude. "Hopefully, it won’t be too much trouble for you."

Joel exhaled, running a hand over his jaw, but he couldn’t help it. His lips twitched slightly, the tiniest hint of a smile creeping in.

It had been a long time since something as simple as helping someone made him feel…useful. Like he wasn’t just passing the time, like what he did mattered.

"It won’t be a problem." His voice still held that quiet softness he didn’t quite recognize in himself. "I’ll stop by later. I got time."

Your eyes softened even more, like you appreciated it. Like you really saw him.

"Okay. Thank you so much."

You stood from the booth, giving Tommy a quick, casual hug before straightening up.

"See you later," you said to both of them, flashing one last bright smile before heading for the door.

Joel’s eyes followed you without thinking, watching as you stepped outside into the afternoon light, the bell above the door jingling behind you.

The moment you were gone, Tommy snorted. "Well, I’ll be damned."

Joel tore his eyes away from the door, scowling. "Shut up, Tommy."

But Tommy wasn’t letting this one go. Joel could see it all over his face. That shit-eating grin and the barely-contained amusement.

"Don’t start."

Tommy ignored him, reaching across the table and nudging something forward with his finger.

The pink tulip.

The same one you had pulled from your hair, the one you had absentmindedly left behind on the table.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already hating whatever game Tommy was playing.

"Oh, I’m gonna," Tommy teased, grinning as he pushed the flower even closer.

Joel rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. He should’ve ignored it. Should’ve left the damn thing sitting right there on the table. But his fingers twitched.

Before he could think twice about it, he picked up the tulip, turning it between his calloused fingers. His thumb brushed over the soft petals.

He didn’t know why he did it. Just that he needed to. Like some part of him wasn’t ready to let it go.

Tommy smirked. "You gonna keep it? Jerk off to it like it’s her underwear?"

Joel nearly choked. His entire body tensed, heat flaring up his neck and into his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snapped, shoving the tulip into his pocket before he could stop himself.

Tommy threw his head back, laughing. "Damn, man, you got it bad."

Joel clenched his jaw, refusing to dignify that with a response.

But the weight of the flower in his pocket—the fact that he had pocketed it—said everything he wouldn’t.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

blue. | chapter three

pairing: bfd!joel miller x curvy!fem!reader

chapter warnings: series is 18+ only, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader's age is set at 25, joel is 40), best friend's dad trope, reader works at a bikini bar (race is a blank slate but reader is described as being curvy/plus size and is very much comfortable in her skin), dual POV, divorced!joel, alcohol consumption, shit female bartenders have to deal with (men), all the yearning

word count: 3.6k

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

JOEL

“So, not to pry into your love life n’all, but—“

“But you’re goin’ to anyways,” I heave a sigh and set the oil-stained rag in my hands on the edge of the old pickup I’ve been working on all summer. Tommy was supposed to be here to help me with lifting the transmission, but it seems like my little brother has a secret agenda this afternoon. 

“Janelle said you flaked on her again,” he says, leaning back against my woodworking table in the garage. “What’s all that about?”

Contrary to what I told Blue last Sunday, I hadn’t seen Janelle in next to nothing. I hadn’t seen her at all. I got too in my head and flaked, choosing to spend my night at the bowling alley like some lonely old man. I don’t even like bowling. It just seemed like a good way to pass time until Sarah and Blue went to bed. 

“S’nothin’ against her,” I say, using the back of my hand to wipe the sweat off my brow. “Just not ready for anythin’ right now.”

“I don’t think she’s expectin’ you to get down on one knee anytime soon, Joel,” Tommy chuckles, rhat easy going smile on his face that I could never quite manage. “She just wants to go on a date. See if there’s a spark.”

There is no spark, I want to say. The only spark I feel is with a woman a decade and a half younger than me, who just so happens to be my daughter’s best friend. 

But I can’t say that. So, I go on the defensive. 

“Why are you so concerned with my love life?” I spit, folding my arms over my chest as I level a glare at him. “The ink isn’t even dry yet on me and Shannan’s divorce papers. Don’t I deserve some time to figure shit out?”

Tommy deflates a little, his shoulders dropping as he tilts his head towards the ground. “I know, and you do. I just…you’ve been alone for so damn long now. You and Shannan haven’t been a couple for years now. Sarah’s moved out. It’s just you in this big ole house. Just want you to be happy, s’all.”

“I’m happy,” I lie, and it’s a shitty lie at that. 

Since Sarah moved out for college and then made her home in Dallas, I’ve been a lonely old bastard. Shannan and I haven’t lived under the same roof since her affair five years ago, aside from a few shitty attempts at reconciliation. Tommy, Maria, and Benji stop by enough to fill the void, but it’s not like I’m a social butterfly. I’ve never been that way, despite Tommy’s best efforts to bring me out of my shell. 

At the end of the day, I’m just a man who enjoys the quiet comfort of being at home. I just wish I had someone else around to enjoy that quiet with. 

“Well,” Tommy shrugs, his smile looking skeptical but rooted in affection. “As long as you’re happy. I just think you should tell Janelle that maybe it’s not the right time yet. She’s under the impression you’re interested.”

Letting her down easy is the least I could do after flaking on her. But a part of me worries that if I call things off with Janelle, I’ll cave to the temptation to go see Blue at The Boot, and Lord knows that’s the last thing I need to be doing. 

“Yeah, I’ll call her up,” I say, turning back to the engine in front of me. “Now can we stop talkin’ about me and get to work on this truck?”

The Boot is busy tonight, but it always is on Saturday night. You don’t mind the chaos, not when customers tip as good as they do on hectic nights. The only downside to working weekend shifts is the bachelor parties that stumble in. Finance bros from Dallas and Austin’s most entitled pretty boys flocking to the closest thing to a strip club they can get away with without pissing off their fiancées. 

It’s something I never understood. How can someone be ready to commit to a person, to claim to love them enough to spend the rest of their lives with them, and yet still want to go out and spend the night vying for the attention of half-naked women? 

The booth occupied by a group of men in their late twenties seem more than content to spend the night whistling for whatever bartender or server in sight. Thankfully, you’re behind the bar and only have to deal with their harassment for as long as it takes to make their drinks, apart from the straggler in front of you that has made himself at home on the barstool across from your station. 

“What happens if you get wet?” he asks, his words slurred and obnoxious. 

You play along, allowing Blue’s playful persona to take over rather than the one that wants to tell him to go fuck himself. “Like a spill?” 

He smiles, all veneers and no charm. “You think I’m talking about spills, baby?” 

“Enlighten me,” you say, folding your arms on the counter and locking eyes with his glassy blue ones. 

“I mean, surely you’ve gotta see some dudes come through that get you horny,” he says, his eyes trailing from yours down to your cleavage. “What happens to that pretty lace if you get wet on the job?”

You can count the amount of times you’ve even come close to feeling aroused while working here on one hand. Scratch that. One finger. 

Joel Miller. That’s it. 

“You gonna be the one to pay for a new pair?” you tease, even though it physically hurts to pretend you enjoy this conversation in the slightest. 

“If I get to take those off you,” he says, grinning like a fool. Like a man who truly thinks he’s going to get lucky tonight. “What time are you out of here?”

“I—“ Your rejection is cut off by the sight of a familiar broad shouldered, dark haired, salt-and-pepper bearded man stepping into the bar with a scowl on his face. “I, uh…excuse me for a minute.”

You block out the sound of him calling after you as you make your way down the bar to where Joel stands with his hands in his pocket, waiting for a turn to order a drink from Diamond—a blonde college sophomore working to pay off her loans. 

“Joel,” you call out into the crowd, stealing his attention away from Diamond as she shakes a cocktail rather emphatically. The perpetual jealousy you feel where Joel’s concerned gnaws at you, but you ignore it. “I can get you down at my station.”

He nods, weaving through the crowd to the empty spot besides Mr. Veneers. 

“Hey,” he says with a clear of his throat. “Just a whiskey.”

“The good shit this time?” you ask, forcing a smile onto your face despite the flurry of emotions he stirs inside of you. Arousal, irritation, jealousy, deep, agonizing longing. 

One corner of his mouth quirks up just enough for you to notice it, and then it’s gone. “Dealer’s choice.” 

You get to work on filling him up a drink—top shelf, of course. You tell yourself you’d do that for any friend, but truthfully, you’ve never had a friend come by and see you at work. Not even Sarah knows what bar you work at. It’s just better that way. Keeps the personal and business parts of your life separate. 

Until now. 

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the tumbler across the wood to him. 

“Thanks, Blue,” he murmurs, avoiding your eyes. 

“So what time are you off, sweetheart?” Veneers chimes in like an annoying gnat of a man. “I got a backyard with a pool. We could go for a late night swim to make sure those panties get real wet.”

Joel’s eyes swing to the man beside him, dark and deadly and too fucking sexy. “What’d you just say?”

Veneers gives Joel a narrowed look, as if to silently berate him for daring to interrupt his poor excuse of a pick up line. “Mind your business, pops.”

Joel chuckles, the sound humorless and lethal to anyone with common sense. Unfortunately for Veneers, he seems to be lacking in that department. “Listen, son—“

“Joel,” you interrupt with a hiss. “Drop it.”

Joel sets his glass of whiskey down calmly and lets his head drop between his shoulder blades for a beat before lifting his eyes to meet yours. You give him a pleading look, silently begging him to not start a bar fight in your honor despite some twisted part of you that relishes in the fantasy. 

“What do you say, baby?” Veneers tries his luck one more time, and you watch as Joel clenches his jaw to keep himself from chiming in. 

“I don’t go home with customers,” you say, fixing a flirty smile onto your face like nothing ever happened. “Maybe catch me out in the wild and see what happens.”

Veneers smiles that horrible, plastic-y smile and gives you a wink. Poor guy thinks he has a shot. 

“Well I should get back to the boys,” he says, tapping his hand on the bar before drunkenly stumbling off his stool. “Let me know if you change your policy.”

“Mmhm, have fun,” you say, watching as he trips over his feet. 

“Dickhead,” Joel murmurs beneath his breath. 

“You can’t come in here and act like my bodyguard,” you snap, fixing a stern glare onto him. Joel quirks an eyebrow, his eyes dancing across your features as if he’s enjoying the sight of you pissed off at him. 

A confusing man, that Joel Miller.  

“You shouldn’t be coming in here at all,” you add with a sigh, shaking your head as you reach for an empty glass to pour yourself a water. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a Saturday than come in here and ruin my chance at a good tip?”

Janelle comes to mind, and your stomach starts to flip in that same nasty way it did when Joel all but admitted he fucked her last weekend. You wouldn’t tell a single soul this, the least of which Joel, but you very nearly threw up over the thought of him with another woman—which is something you’ve never done over a man. Whatever this infatuation with Joel is, it’s a heady one. 

“What’s your degree in, again?” he asks, avoiding your question altogether. 

“None of your business,” you reply, giving him a sardonic smile. Joel’s lips threaten to curl again, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s slightly out of his mind. That, or he just likes mean women. Judging by his ex-wife, that very well might be the case. 

“Just wonderin’ why you’re here doin’ this instead of—“

“Instead of what?” You rest your hands on your hips and raise your brows expectantly. 

“Instead of doin’ somethin’ that doesn’t involve dealing with idiots like that kid who sit here and harass you all night.” 

Your name gets called down the bar, your shift manager waving the latest schedule in the air. Sighing, you turn back to Joel. “Give me a minute.”

He lifts his hands, waving you off as you walk into the back room to sign off on this week’s schedule before coming back out. Joel’s in that same spot, only this time, his attention is fixed on Diamond who’s flashing her pearly whites at him like she’s paid to do. 

Only, you can’t help but wonder if like you, she’s actually taken a genuine liking to this customer. 

“So you build houses and stuff like that?” she asks, fixing her crystal blue eyes on him like he hung the moon in place. 

“I used to,” he says. “I own my own company now, so it’s mostly paperwork these days.”

“Do you miss it? Getting your hands dirty?” God, Diamond has the voice of a pornstar. How have you never noticed just how sultry and innocent she sounds? It makes your sarcastic, flirty persona look like amateur hour. 

“Hey,” you interrupt, tapping her on the shoulder. “Schedule’s up. Need you to sign it.”

“Be right back,” she tells Joel before skipping off towards the back room. Your eyes follow her petite but busty frame for a second before sliding back to Joel, expecting him to be staring at her too. Only he’s not. He’s looking at you. 

“She’s bubbly,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment. 

“She’s sweet,” you reply with a shrug. It’s true. Diamond is sweet and pretty and petite. By far one of the most popular bartenders here at The Boot, and for obvious reasons. “Seemed like you two struck up conversation fast. Does Janelle have some competition?”

You don’t know why you say it. It’s crossing a line into dangerous, touchy territory. One you’re not sure you want to venture into. 

Joel’s eyes wander from your eyes to your lips, your lips to your chest, your chest to your round hips. “Yeah. She’s got competition.”

With a sigh and not many ways to dance around the obvious, you fold your arms on the bar and stare at him point blank. “Why’d you come here tonight, Joel? Seems counterproductive to the whole forgetting we ever met plan.”

Joel let’s out an airy, dark chuckle and shakes his head. “Yeah, it is.”

You wait on him, giving him the space he needs to find the right words. There’s gotta be something other than your killer cocktails and superb customer service that he’s come back for. 

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

Joel heaves a sigh and shrugs his shoulders, avoiding your eyes as he spins the amber liquid in his glass around in circles. “With Sarah gone, the house is lonely. I don’t really go out to bars anymore, so I figured best to stick with the devil I know. Doesn’t hurt that y’all have good whiskey.”

“And pretty barbacks like Diamond to look at,” you tease. Joel’s eyes lift to meet yours, something equal parts dangerous and thrilling dancing in his eyes. 

“I haven’t been lookin’ at Diamond.” 

JOEL

With nothing better to do with my night, I decide to stick around the bar until closing. Seems that pretty boy from earlier has the same idea as he sits across the counter from Blue, eyeing her up like a piece of meat. 

She doesn’t bat a single eye at his ogling. In fact, she plays it to her advantage, giggling and shooting those flirty eyes at him every chance she gets. I know she’s just working him for his money, but damn it if that green little monster inside me doesn’t hate the sight of the two of them together. 

And I have no fucking reason to. 

I lift my ice water to my lips to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. One whiskey was enough for me tonight. Any more and I’ll start thinking about what it might be like to slip that lacy set right off of Blue, and that’s the last thing I need to be doing. 

“Come on,” Pretty Boy begs, clasping his hands together as he watches Blue hand him his tab. “One night. No strings attached, I promise.”

Since when is that what a woman wants to hear? Please just let me fuck you once and then you’ll never hear from me again. Sign of the times, I suppose. 

“Sorry,” Blue shrugs, shooting him another one of those teasing smiles as she unties her apron, giving both of us a glimpse at the soft, supple skin hidden beneath it all night. 

God, her curves. She’s got the kind of body that sends a man straight to his knees in worship. Her thick thighs alone make me want to kneel at her altar. 

I’m so consumed with the sight of her that I don’t notice she’s walking towards me, sliding me a blank tab with a wink before leaning in an whispering conspiratorially, “Your drink’s on the house, but I don’t want to hurt his ego so just play along, alright?”

I nod along like a dazed fool and reach for my wallet in my back pocket before slapping my card down onto the check. I’m not even conscious enough to argue about the free drink, not when she’s walking away from me, swinging those full hips that make my hands itch. 

Pretty Boy pays his tab and heads out with his head hung, accepting the loss that is a night without Blue. It’s what I’m about to do, soon as I make sure she’s gotten to her truck alright. 

That fucking beater that looks like it should’ve been turned into scrap metal a decade ago, and yet she’s driving it like it’s new.

I sit here for at least another fifteen minutes, watching the girls head back to the kitchen while the managers close out the tills for the night. The last of the stragglers are stumbling their way out of the bar, and judging by the impatient glances I’m getting from the manager closest to me, my welcome has been overstayed. So, not wanting to get scolded, I get up and head towards the doors. 

“Wait up,” Blue calls from behind me. I turn to see her walking over with her purse slung over her shoulder, her lingerie swapped for a pair of daisy dukes and a white linen crop top that shows almost as much skin as before. 

I swing the door open and hold it for her before waving her through. It’s a mistake I realize immediately as my eyes fall to her plump behind. Clearing my throat, I try to think of something to say that doesn’t lean towards come home with me. “I’m payin’ for my drinks next time.”

She shoots me a smirk as she matches my slow pace, the two of us walking through the empty parking lot like two people who aren’t entirely inappropriate for one another. “Next time, huh?”

“Unless I get a life,” I joke, earning a laugh. It might be the first one I’ve pulled out of her, despite her chuckles and smiles the first night. This one has nothing to do with getting a nice tip. She’s just laughing because she thinks I said something funny. 

We carry on in silence, our feet crunching against the gravel as we near her truck that I may or may not have deliberately parked next to earlier. 

“Thanks for walking me to my truck,” she says as she slides her key into the lock and swings the driver door open. “I was half-expecting Veneers to be waiting for me out here.”

“No problem,” I say, rubbing the sweat off the back of my neck as I try not to watch her climb into her truck. 

She goes to start the engine, but it just whirs back at her, revving but never catching. I watch and wait for her to try it a few more times, each to no avail. 

“Shit,” she rests her head against the steering wheel with a thunk. 

My mouth opens before I can think twice about it. “I can give you a ride home.”

She lifts her head slowly, turning to meet my eyes with hesitation dancing in hers. “What about my truck? I can’t just leave it here.” 

“I’ll tow it tomorrow,” I say, already turning around and unlocking my own truck before getting it started so that the A/C can run for a bit. When I turn back around to face her, I find her watching me with a frown and a tilted head. “What?”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she says, her voice soft and forlorn. Like she’s more worried about being a burden than about the two of us being alone together. 

Maybe it’s just me. 

“You live a couple blocks down from me, right?” Sarah told me as much when I grilled her about who this friend of hers was before the party last weekend. Apparently, I hadn’t grilled her nearly enough. “You ain’t putin’ me out, alright? Not unless you keep makin’ me stand here in this heat.”

She smiles and a chuckle escapes her as she caves. Sighing as if I just asked the world of her, she hops out of her truck, grabs her bag, and locks up the rusty dinosaur she calls a vehicle. “Wouldn’t want to be reported for elderly abuse.”

I stop and glare at her as she walks by, keeping my face blank despite wanting to smile. A part of me thinks that if I give in even just a little--even just a smile--I’ll lose all footing and tumble headfirst into the mistake that would be the two of us. 

“Very funny,” I say, following her over to the passenger side so that I can open the door for her. She eyes me as I do just that, like I’m some sort of alien creature. “What?”

“I can open my own doors, you know.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t mean you have to. Now hurry up.”

“You’ve got a real bossy streak to you, you know that?” She hops into the passenger seat and I have to ignore the feeling in my chest--like all the puzzle pieces have come together now that she’s where she belongs.

Because this, right here with me, is the last place she belongs.

[rarepears]

A nearby country just had a new monarch ascend the throne. Cang Qiong, as was the norm, was invited to pay their respects to the new monarch, reaffirm the standing alliance between cultivators and mortals (which pretty much boiled down to cultivators kill evil things, mortals stay out of cultivation affairs plus some trade agreements), and ensure that the previous monarch's soul wasn't still lurking around the palace as a ghost. You know, the standard stuff.

So Yue Qingyuan didn't think much when he sent the usual delegation of Shen Qingqiu (to handle the political negotiation and come back with observations of the new Emperor), Shang Qinghua (trade agreements), and Qi Qingqi (to talk with the court ladies and government official wives for the gossip).

The last thing he expected was for the new Emperor to recognize Shen Jiu as the little brother who went missing when the previous Emperor - the new Emperor's paternal uncle, from what Yue Qingyuan understood - undertook a military coup to secure the throne.

---

When Shen Yuan finally killed his super fucking evil tyrant uncle who had been sending a million assassins after Shen Yuan and his (unfortunately now dead) brothers, he got saddled with the throne. He knew that was going to happen! It was something he wasn't asking for, but it was either regain the throne or let his uncle finally succeed in killing him, the rightful Emperor, off. It was pretty shitty that his first month in this new world involved surviving a military coup in the palace where his new dad was murdered by his new uncle for the throne. If Shen Yuan thought being transmigrated into a body that drowned in the pond because of some harem politics for the crown prince position was bad, well, his life got a whole lot fucking worse.

But things were over. He was crowned emperor, had a million super tight best friends all high up in his government backing him, and even the cultivators were recognizing his reign as the legit one, so he was all fine.

Right??

NO! Because why the fuck was he just realizing now that his second life was actually taking place in PIDW and why the fuck was that Shen Qingqiu and the Cang Qiong delegation??? Like, he was busy living on the streets and plotting to retake the throne, sure, but how could he had missed that Cang Qiong was that Cang Qiong!?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where in the PIDW plot line was he in now? How far along is Shen Qingqiu busy torturing the protagonist and how much longer does Shen Yuan even have to rule his country before the protagonist comes to conquer? How the fuck is he going to stop the plot from continuing - how is he going to remove Shen Qingqiu from the plot?

Shen Yuan isn't proud to admit it, but he rolls with the first shitty idea that pops into his head.

He claims that Shen Qingqiu is his missing younger brother - he had like three dozen of them to be honest, his second life's dad was one horny motherfucker - and tries to keep Shen Qingqiu from going back to Cang Qiong under all sorts of familial pretenses.

Shen Yuan is sure that Cang Qiong is merely humoring his insanity by letting Shen Qingqiu go along with it all, having "family dinners" and making small talk while being careful to skirt around any true political talk, but his plan hasn't backfired on him yet.

YET.

He's sitting on this ticking timebomb and Shen Yuan might be in his 40s but he still feels like the same stupid 20 something year old writing 5k word diss reviews on PIDW chapters some days. If only he had a system to help guide him out of his own mess.

(Meanwhile Shen Jiu: I HAVE AN OLDER BROTHER WHO LOVES ME???? but I'm still sus about his motives. I will reluctantly allow him to shower me in presents and praises and spend time with him to investigate more.)

[darknight3904]

Every Breath You Take

Chapter Nine- Wildflowers

Summary: Wildflowers are gathered for your companions as you and the brothers get closer to Boston.

Warnings for this part: Canon typical death violence, themes, language, gore, and horror. Check the Series Masterlist for expanded warnings.

Word Count 1.8K

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / The Last of Us Masterlist

Two days later, August 2005, Southeast Massachusetts 

Joel watches from afar as his brother wades into the river. The water had been a refreshing sight after sweating it out for the past few days in the car. You were sitting on a rock on the riverbank, hands clasped together as the water rushed over your bare feet, running shoes discarded somewhere in the tall grass.

Joel sighs, resting under the shade of the huge tree he’d sat down under. It’d been a rough 48 hours. He stares down at the mess of blood and mud that stains his jeans and makes a mental note to try to find a new pair before you all reach whatever the military has set up in Boston. 

“C’mon out, the current ain’t strong.” His brother’s voice reaches his ears 

Joel watches him beckon to you on your rock, unmoving, and hands still folded in your lap. 

The infected had come out of nowhere. One minute he was helping Lara hold the gun, the next he was being tackled to the ground by a snarling, screaming monster. He’s still not sure how they managed to get the drop on him; all he could remember now was how loud Lara had screamed while he fumbled for the knife he had strapped to his leg. He can still smell the infected now if he closes his eyes, the way it growled and tried to snap at the soft skin of his neck. Joel can hear the way the gun fired into the air as she blindly shot at the one that had pushed her to the forest floor. 

Tommy had shown up just a moment too late, barelling through the trees like some superhero from a shitty action movie, he’d kicked the infected off Joel, putting it down with a single shot to the head. But the damage had already been done. 

It’s a scene that will probably live in all of your heads forever. When the smoke had cleared and the last infected was finally dead, Joel had been the first one to see it.  Lara was on the ground, holding baby George so tightly that Joel was sure she had smothered him at first. Anguished cries filled the once serene forest as he walked to her, peering over her shoulder for just a moment. Joel feels a shudder wrack his spine even now as he tries to scrub the image from his mind. 

A large bite mark on the child’s neck marred his once-perfect baby skin, spelling death as Lara desperately tried to hold the blood that was oozing out. He wouldn’t walk among the infected, it was too deep, he’d bleed out no matter what she did. Somewhere in his mind the image of Lara and George blends into what he can decipher as Sarah’s choking that fateful night as he held her tight to his body, wishing there was something he could do.

Tommy had tried to keep you from seeing it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Joel could hear his brother grab you and try to keep you away from the gruesome scene. You of course resisted, twisting out of his arms so you could take it all in, be as traumatized as he and his brother already were. 

He can pinpoint the moment George must’ve died. Lara’s screams confirmed it, even though Joel couldn’t see the baby from where she was over the bloody scene, he’d stumbled back a few paces, nearly tripping on something.  At his feet, Joel stares at the overgrown grass and wildflowers that are dirty with blood. A wooden elephant stares back at him, it’s smooth surface stained with a child’s blood. He reaches down, foliage tickling his skin as he picks it up. 

Lara deserves this, a memorial to her son, Joel turns, wanting to give it to her, to comfort her as she cries even if he can’t do much, she deserves it. He knows what it is to lose a child, Lara will never be the same. The loss of Sarah had ripped him in half. Joel’s sorry she’s experiencing this loss so young, still a child herself. 

The elephant tumbles from his grasp, when he sees it, the silver flash of the gun’s muzzle. He lunges for the handgun, Lara’s name on his lips as he crashes into her. 

He lands on his stomach on the forest floor, he’s knocked the wind out of himself, landing badly on his arm, a groan leaving his lips. He can feel his ears ringing even now, the scent of gunpowder and blood as he turned his head. 

Joel’s brown eyes meet blue ones. Normally, they’re bright, sparkling when the sun hits them just right, but something is wrong; they’re duller than they should be. There's screaming, but Lara’s lips are unmoving; they’ll never move again, but Joel doesn’t realize that just yet. 

You watch the water lap over your feet. In any other universe, it’d be refreshing, a welcome feeling after two days of driving cooped up with two grown men who redefined the term body odor altogether. 

Instead, all you can feel is the pit of dread that has opened in your stomach. You want to vomit, but there's nothing left in your stomach. You dry heave into the water, nearly choking on your saliva as Tommy stands beside you, hand running up and down your back as he pulls your hair back. 

Tommy eases you into the water, letting you lean against your rock as he cleans the past few days from your body. Somewhere, you hear Joel yelling for you both to hurry up, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything back. 

That night, Tommy held you tight to his chest, Joel’s snores filling the car as you tried to sleep. Soothing circles are rubbed into your back as you shift aimlessly. Tommy’s still awake, you know from his uneven breaths. 

You suppose you could talk to him, but what was there to say? Every time you shut your eyes, you could still see it, replaying in slow motion as if your mind was simply there to mock you. The way the gun had gleamed in the sunlight just before the trigger was pulled, Lara’s wild eyes meeting yours, the same way they had in that forest so many months ago. Only this time, you cared about her; she wasn’t some starving girl who had stolen from you; she was yours, your friend, your traveling companion, family even. 

The trigger is pulled no matter how much you will her to stop in your mind. You’d been frozen to your spot, Joel had reacted first, just a hair too late as she pulled the trigger while he lunged, attempting to stop it all.

The grave had been jarring. No one had shovels, so you let Lara rest with George in her arms, and you arranged brilliant white wildflowers around them, and by the end of it, even the nasty wound on George’s neck had been covered. Lara’s wild red hair was arranged neatly to hide the oozing wound in her temple, skin pale as her freckles practically glowed in the sunlight. They looked like they were resting, just a girl and a baby asleep in a patch of wildflowers. Perhaps if you wish hard enough, they’ll wake up and laugh about the way the petals tickle their skin, tell you you’re silly for jumping to conclusions. 

You let your eyes fall shut again, listening to the rain that has begun to fall as you whisper a final goodbye to Lara and George. 

August 2007 Boston 

Fuck hiking. You were so sick and tired of this, god, you missed cars. Joel’s hulking figure led the way as your feet tiredly dragged along the road. He and Tess were talking about something, their voices a jumbled mess as you tried to keep up with them. 

Tommy was next to you, talking about some bird he just saw. You loved your boyfriend but sometimes you wished he’d just shut his damn mouth. Here you were dying of heat stroke and he was jabbering about some cardinal he saw.

You were only out of the QZ because Tess claimed she’d made contact with some men who claimed to want to trade with them. Frankly you thought it was a load of bullshit. She’d been wrong before, and you’d watched Joel and Tommy pay the price; the latter would show up with a busted lip and black eye every once in a while. You had no idea what Joel looked like, his apartment being on the other end of town. All you knew was that if Tess was going to keep using the Miller brothers as her personal muscle, she was going to have to start getting things right and not let them walk into traps constantly. 

You don’t really like Tess. Not even because she periodically got Tommy’s ass beat, he did that himself by following her around. You weren’t sure what it was, there was just something about her. In return, she didn’t exactly like you. Of course, it wasn’t anyone's fault. 

You can’t get along with everyone. 

The words your mother had said to you when you were seven and came home crying that two girls at school didn’t like you echo in your mind. 

The people you were out to meet were named Bill and Frank. Two men who lived in a fenced-off place named Lincoln. Tommy had told you a week ago, you had insisted on tagging along despite not usually being directly involved with the smuggling, and yet you wanted this one. You had told Tess just before you left the QZ that it was probably bullshit and she’d given you a funny look before saying, 

“Only one way to find out.”

Yet, here you were eating your words as you gazed at the fence surrounding a sleepy little town. Tommy stands next to you, nudging you with his elbow, 

“You’re real quiet today, what’s wrong?” 

Your eyes narrow in on some wildflowers that have sprouted out of a crack near the fenceline. Joel and Tess are conversing with Bill and Frank, it looks like you do have new trading partners. A scowl forms on your face as you step away from Tommy. Somewhere a a girl and her baby are decaying in a patch of dead wildflowers. You rub your temples tiredly, you need an excuse to get him off your back, or he’ll worry. Today marks two years since she’d died, and you’re not sure if Tommy even knows what day it is. 

“I’m fine, just tired.”

Your right hand fiddles in your pocket, the smooth wooden elephant soothes your nerves as one of the men, Frank, greets you with a big smile on his face. You link your arm to Tommy’s, playing the part of a girl with no baggage as you smile back. 

The wildflowers blow mockingly in the wind as you walk past them. 

Next Part

And so we have reached the end of part one of this story.

Joel lovers, your time is coming, there's smut next chapter with Tommy though, so it's not your moment yet...

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter; I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@freythecrazyfae @rae-gar-targaryen @keseqna @eniepascal @jakecockley @aphroditesblunt @soberbabes @daisyhams

@h0neylemon @womenlover0 @ghostofseattle

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 6: Unveiled Shadows - The Burden of Power and Promise

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

You can’t calm down. Not with all those voices around you, the curious looks that haunt you down the ballroom while you make your way to your shitty brother. Is this here for real?

You just met Toji.

He straight up threatened your new-found life.

None other than the prince version of Gojo Satoru is about to propose to you any given moment.

Your old life, your parents, your siblings – all vanished into thin air. All that’s left is you. You in that way too tight dress, you with your mind racing so rapidly that you feel like fainting any given moment. How are you supposed to survive all of this?

“Where the hell have you been?”, Naoya hisses through gritted teeth.

To the untrained eye, he must look like the perfect brother who is oh so worried about his little sister, gently holding her arm in order to steady her.

Truth is, his stinging touch will definitely leave another mark on your sensitive skin, covered by your gloves.

That fucker.

“I was with the Prince. We had to discuss when it’s time for the official engagement. I thought this is just what you wanted, brother”, you bite back.

“Watch how you speak to me, (y/n). Without me you have no value as a woman-“

“You may have forgotten, brother. But after this night, I will be the future queen of this land and therefore so much more powerful that you’ll ever be”, you spit into his face.

Fuck, you’re having enough of this. Enough of getting talked down constantly, enough of being a part of this shitty family. This is your second and maybe final chance for life. There’s no way in hell you’ll let that slide. Even though your life is nothing but a mess since you woke up in that body, you will not give in.

With a swift motion, you straighten your back and pull yourself out of Naoya’s grasp. You need to focus on your mission, focus on what’s in front of you.

The engagement. Gojo Satoru proposing to you. You’ll be safe after this, right? This engagement is your ticket to freedom.

Three shrill blows against a glass, Gojo who’s standing at the top of the sky-high stairs while smiling down at the mesmerised people to his feet.

“Lords and ladies, honored guests,” he shouts through the halls, his voice carrying both command and charm, “pray lend me your attention, for I stand before you tonight to declare a matter most dear to my heart. Though many have gathered for the pleasures of music and dance, I confess it is neither melody nor movement that have bound me to this evening. Rather, it is a heart that beats beyond mine, one which I have sought to entwine with my own.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, as he pauses, his gaze fixed on you with such devotion that you feel a flutter in your chest. You feel like throwing up all over again, your body twisting and turning underneath his merciless blue eyes and oh so smitten words that sound like straight out of Bridgeton. He continues, his voice so soft and touched that they leave no room for thinking about him as a something apart from a man who is deeply in love.

“There is a lady among us,” he continues, casting a brilliant smile in your direction, “whose wit, whose grace, whose very essence has enchanted me as surely as the sun commands the morning sky. It is she who has restored to my life a joy once dimmed, and it is for her that I would brave any storm, weather any tempest.”

He extends his hand to you, palm open, an invitation as much as a vow.

Time stands still when all eyes are suddenly set on you. Never in your life you were willed to stand in the spotlight, always well-hidden in the shadows and comfort of loneliness. But this? This is another level of spotlight, way worse than every presentation you’ve ever had at school. Curious, jealous, even annoyed looks shoot towards you like daggers and pierce right through your confidence. You, the fiancé of Gojo Satoru? It has to look like a joke.

“To the lady of my heart, I give my future, with all the honor and constancy of my rank and soul. With this assembly as our witness, let it be known that I, your prince, am fully, irreversibly hers.”

As he bows his head to you, the crowd breaks into applause, a shimmering wave of approval, and yet, in his eyes, it is only you who seems matter. Smiling, you take his hand, feeling the thrill of his touch, the promise in his gaze, and the whispered promise of your deal as a bond.

If he wouldn’t hold onto you so tightly, you might stumble and fall. All of this feels surreal, like a cruel joke, like a dream you’ll wake up from any given minute.

“There is no need to be so tense, Lady (y/n). I’m right by your side”, he mutters for only you to hear.

“I…I just don’t want to do this. I just don’t know if I can do this.”

Finally those words leave your mouth. Finally you’re able to express your hidden feelings. What if you fail? What if you get killed despite all those efforts? What if you’ll never be free? Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest all over again, your vision becoming blurry.

“Hey.”

Gently, he lifts up your chin with his warm fingers, his eyes being the only thing you’re able to see.

“Didn’t I promise that everything will turn out alright? What happened to your cheeky mouth and bad temper?”, he teases you.

You try to chuckle, but it gets caught somewhere in your throat, suffocating and dry. His touch is gentle, too gentle for a man with eyes like storms and hands that can kill. You hate how safe it makes you feel, how much relief you’ve felt when he rescued you from Toji earlier.

“I’m serious,” you whisper.

“I know.”

He leans a little closer, his breath brushing your cheek oh so gently.

“That’s why I’m here. Because for once in this messed up kingdom, someone actually sees what you’re hiding. You aren’t just the youngest sibling within the Zenin household, aren’t you?”

You blink up at him, heart skipping and leaving your boy at the same time. No, he can’t know that you don’t belong in this world. You simply refuse to believe that he caught the stinging fact that you just barged into this strange life. They never caught this in the isekai stories you’ve read, they always realize stuff like this way too late.  

“And what’s that, Your Highness?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides down from your chin, grazing your shoulder before settling lightly at your waist. Possessive. Reassuring. Dangerous.

“A woman who refuses to break. Even when she thinks she already has.”

You have no clue how to respond to that. The words settle into your chest like a glowing coal, warm and unbearable. The music swells around you, the room spinning in applause and champagne and golden gowns. Yet somehow, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Just the two of you and that unsettling feeling in your guts.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. A shiver runs through your spine, not from nerves this time, but something else. A buzz beneath your skin. Like static. Like magic. Like… power.

You glance down at your hand.

It’s glowing. Faintly, almost imperceptibly. Like the shimmer of starlight caught on skin. A little like Edward from Twilight.

You yank your hand away from Gojo’s instinctively, holding it close, hoping no one saw. But Gojo did. His eyes narrow for a split second. A moment of calculating silence passes between you.

No, no, no.

Your fingertips didn’t glow. Out of all the people in this ballroom, you’re probably the last who has any powers, who possesses cursed energy. No, you don’t even belong here, you are just an average kid in a pompous dress. Gojo probably didn’t even notice, maybe it was even his powers that showed-

“I felt that,” he comments, low enough that only you can hear.

“Back then too. At the room earlier. You’re not just some girl from a noble house, are you?”

Panic surges through your body, thick chaos starts to spread like a virus. You feel like throwing up any given minute. No, this can’t be true. This can’t be happening. Not now, not when you are this close to freedom. Not when you threatened Gojo Satoru himself with revealing his powers if he doesn’t cooperate.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gojo doesn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he smiles again - easy, princely, fake. But his hand finds yours again and laces your fingers with his.

“Careful, Lady (y/n),” he murmurs as he turns back to the crowd, raising your joined hands in victory.

“You keep shining like that and someone else might notice too. Someone a lot less charming than me. Someone you didn’t threaten well enough to keep your little secrets.”

The cheers swell louder. You barely register the nobles clapping, the nobles whispering, the nobles dancing. You spot Suguru in the distance, his smile polite, eyes unreadable. Naoya stands frozen in place, lips thin with rage.

And at the far edge of the ballroom, right where the golden light fades into shadow, a tall man watches you like a beast waiting to strike.

Toji.

You shudder again.

How are you supposed to make this?

Your chest tightens as your breath comes quicker, harsher, like the walls are closing in around you. You try to pull your hand from Gojo’s grasp, but your fingers tremble too violently.

A sudden wave of dizziness sweeps over you like a wave, your vision blurs, and the voices around you distort into an unbearable disharmony. The chandelier lights seem to swirl, twisting into smears of gold and white.

They won’t stop until you’re gone, until you’re dead. Even though you didn’t even get the chance to really live in the world, even though you did absolutely nothing in life to deserve death. You see their cold eyes, their violent grins and Toji’s satisfied face from afar. And Gojo? Who know if he’ll turn his back on you after tonight as well.

Your heart is pounding so loud, it feels like it might burst through your ribs.

In this world, you have no one to trust, no one to lean into. It’s only you and those powers, you and your will to live.

You clutch your chest, trying to steady yourself, but the panic swells mercilessly, like a storm breaking loose inside your lungs.

Your knees buckle.

Gojo’s grip tightens instantly, steadying you before you hit the floor, his voice cutting sharply through the chaos.

“(Y/n), stay with me. Breathe. Breathe with me.”

You simply can’t. You’re drowning in your own panic, drowning in everything you’ve tried to keep under control - the terrifying discovery of your power, the looming threat of Toji, the overwhelming reality of this engagement.

Tears blur your vision as you desperately try to calm the rising chaos, but your body betrays you.

You slide down until you’re sitting on the polished marble floor, shaking uncontrollably.

The room’s spinning, the walls closing in. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps. Truth is, you really don’t know if you can do this, if you’ll be able to keep up.

Gojo lowers himself to your level, his expression intense but gentle.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Oh, how much you want to believe him, how easy it would be to simply lean onto him and forget about the dangers of this world, but the fear growls louder inside you than his sweet words ever could.

Your hands glow faintly again, barely controlled, flickering like a candle in the wind. No, no, no. You need to gain control again, need to make this stop, need to-

Suddenly, your vision blacks out.

You collapse fully, unconscious.

Gojo catches you effortlessly, pulling you close, his sharp gaze sweeping the room - alert, protective, furious.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

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[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (7)

—  Pairing: Poly Ot7, hoseok x Ot6, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader,

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 4.7k

—  Warnings: Past Emotional abuse, past psychological abuse, referenced mistreatment, referenced sexual manipulation, breakups, brief homelessness, Hoseok has PTSD, hurt/comfort

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Previous Chapter)

(Yoongi, 1 year and 3 months ago)

Yoongi brings Hoseok home one day. Like a little kid would bring home a stray puppy. Apparently, they work together somewhere.

Namjoon and Jin and the others have long stopped asking what Yoongi does for work, used to his cagey answers. But it’s normal as far as beta’s go. Each of them gives Yoongi his space because they understand that all beta’s need it. They’ve all had the same sentiments shoved on them.

Don’t crowd him. At least he comes home. If it was something we needed to know, he’d tell us. He’ll tell you if you really want to know Koo.

Seokjin’s not really surprised that Yoongi does something with music now, that’s always been his first love (before Seokjin of course) he’s always saying this and that, someone showed me this song during work, do you mind if I play it? It’s stuck in my head. And now because of Hoseok- they know why. 

It’s easy to see how a person could get stuck in your head, the same way a favorite song might. Especially when it comes to Hoseok.

It’s the first time they learn of Yoongi’s occupation in nearly a year. The pack tries not to be jealous that Hoseok knows more about what their beta does during the day than they do. That he gets to spend more time with him. Hours and hours the same way that Seokjin used too.

They work at the same record store that gives Yoongi the freedom to make calls in the back (as long as he pays the owner off. As if that’s difficult at all. The owner is just like all the others, and bows to kiss Yoongi’s feet.)

But Hoseok doesn’t know that. Hoseok is just…Yoongi’s friend. Not his best friend yet but by far the person Yoongi likes the best outside of the pack. The only person who knows him that isn’t pack or family.

Hoseok is perplexed that the others don’t even know where Yoongi works. That he’s never shared it with them and that they don't talk about it. But Hoseok has never been in a pack with a beta- so it’s understandable that he doesn’t know.

It's Taehyung that explains it to him weeks later. "It's not that we don't want to know it's just- hyung likes his privacy and you know- he's a beta."

Beta. It's almost a dirty word. Hoseok doesn't like the way that Taehyung says it. Not when Yoongi makes him feel so clean. Hoseok doesn't have the best first impression of Teahyung in general but if Hoseok was being honest, it's mostly because he's jealous. 

Jealousy is hard to admit. Even more when you’re at your lowest.

The day Hoseok meets the rest of the pack is a bad one. Arguably the second worst day of Hoseok's life (the worst day will come a lot later, about 900,000 words from now but you can be patient, can’t you?).

Hoseok doesn’t know what he would have done if Yoongi hadn’t seen him crying on a street corner outside of their workplace. The young alpha looked wrecked- smoking a cigarette with shaking hands and bloodshot eyes. Holding his shoulders oh so carefully. His heart between them aching with fresh wounds. The kind that takes a lifetime to heal.

Yoongi can never leave anyone to wallow- and he gets the story from Hoseok over a warm cup of hot cocoa in the shitty break room. Eyeing the old telephone and begging it not to ring. And the whole time Hoseok feels like he’s drinking down the beta across from him.

Yoongi smells like hot cocoa, warm and comforting. Comfort that he needs desperately right now.

Under Yoongi’s gaze, Hoseok certainly feels like he’s the one being devoured or judged. Like the weighing of the hearts- will Hoseok be able to weigh enough to be loved? Or will Yoongi find him unsatisfactory just like his last pack? Unable to give enough. Undeserving of any and all affection. 

It takes Hoseok a long time to come clean about it, to tell Yoongi what his last pack has done to him. It takes even longer for the beta to understand. Years and years of friendship and love.

But the short answer comes sooner. Yoongi asks him why Hoseok’s pack kicked him out later that night when he’s curling up in the pack’s apartment. Because Hoseok didn’t have another place to stay and Yoongi wasn’t the type of friend to let Hoseok sleep in his car when they’ve got a perfectly good couch. It feels a bit too much like how Seokjin came into his life. But Yoongi keeps his parallels to himself.

Yoongi asks why Hoseok’s pack dumped him out of the blue. Yoongi honestly hasn’t seen one red flag in Hoseok, and Yoongi would know because he’s naturally suspicious of people.  

Jung Hoseok has always seemed nice enough. They’ve worked together for a few months now. Their banter over records and cd's and old sound systems that honestly weren't worth much is as good as his banter with Jin. His opinions on 90's rap are a little pedestrian sure, but they've both bonded over their mutual love of music quite a bit over the last few months. Enough to be friends. 

"In another life, I think I could have been a producer."

"Really? You strike me more as a dancer." Yoongi had rewarded him with a shitty impression of the worm and in turn, Hoseok had rewarded Yoongi with a bright laugh that's almost better than 99% of the music he's ever listened to.

Almost- he still thinks Stick Season is a perfect album. 

Hoseok is basically homeless. Functionally homeless. He’d be sleeping in his car tonight if it wasn’t for Yoongi. He’s a deadbeat alpha without a pack to call his own. A lone wolf if ever there was one. This morning, just this morning he’d woken up to the apartment empty. Everything but the bed gone. The walls vacant of pictures and the hallways silent of laughter. The lease expired; the keys handed over. Alone and on his own and without a place to sleep tonight.

But thankfully, not for long. Yoongi had found him crying in the rain outside of the record store, dragged him inside, and that was that.

Yoongi’s pack has been so kind to him. Kinder than he deserves, offering a place to stay after a short phone call. Yoongi’s phone lighting up across that small table in the breakroom with approval and invitation’s that Hoseok is almost too insecure to accept. Almost.

But he does need a place to stay.

Standing in the doorway of the pack’s apartment. He shouts apologies and thank you’s to anyone who will listen while two of Yoongi’s packmates help carry in his boxes and the other three finish clearing a corner of their spare bedroom for him. (Hoseok does deserve it, it's just his stupid and shitty internal monologue that has him convinced otherwise.)

They set him up in his own space down the hall from the pack’s bedroom. Half a reading room with a cot and the other side occupied by an honestly massive pile of clothes. Hoseok doesn’t mind- it smells good in here. Like their fresh-smelling fabric softener but also a little bit like the inside of a sweet shop with how sugary everyone smells. 

Not like his scent, his old pack mates had always told him he smelled like sugar burning, caramel, Heavy on the burn. 

Hoseok has maybe three plastic bins full of clothes to his name that act as a side table to the single bed. Apparently one of Yoongi’s alphas (the one who smells like cinnamon and pepper) likes to stay up late and read in here instead of keeping his pack mates up with a reading light. Ownership of this space has easily been transferred to Hoseok. They’d made this small space for him. Although the books were taken out regardless of Hoseok's mutable protests not to make a fuss for him. He didn’t need much space.

Hoseok can’t remember the alpha's name or remember if he’d even heard it. They’d called him darling so much that it might just as well have been his name. Jealousy chafes and Hoseok's never been a good enough alpha to receive that kind of affection. He’s never earned that kind of pet name. 

It had been a bit of a slap in the face to see the two omegas treat that alpha with such a kind hand, ruffling his head and loosening his tie for him. Being tactile with him in a way that Hoseok had only ever dared to dream about. Now he and Yoongi sit on the edge of the small bed that smells like that alpha; an appropriate distance away on the too-fluffy blanket and Hoseok- Hoseok just feels so touch starved it hurts.

He won’t get casual affection like the other alpha did, least of all from Yoongi. He’s the beta- the desirable one. Maybe in the next life he can be reborn as a beta, so he’ll get that easy affection. It seems only right when he’d been denied it so much in this life. Hoseok has had the hope burned out of him; he doesn’t have much faith in this this- that things could change enough to accommodate what he wants.

Yoongi’s eyes are warm in the half-light, so warm even if the question is so cold.

"Why did they dump you anyway?" 

Hoseok’s hands play with the blanket, thick and fluffy. “I don’t think they ever really wanted me, just an alpha.”

“All omega’s?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs.

It’s hard to admit when Hoseok had tried so futilely to earn their love for so many years. But he vomits out the words now, begging Yoongi to understand. “As long as one of them wasn’t in heat they basically just ignored me. They’d make me go on suppressants for my rut so that I didn’t have them, but they were making me sick. When I told them I wanted to go off of them and spend my rut with them- they cut me off- and said no one would want to deal with an alpha who has ruts as bad as mine. That I was asking for too much.” The tremble in Hoseok’s hands is a near thing, covered by Yoongi’s and a reassuring squeeze. “I just wish they’d done it directly instead of leaving a note.”

Yoongi looks nearly breathless. “They didn’t have the balls to tell you to your face?”

“No, and remember, all omega’s.”

Yoongi rolls his tongue against the inside of his teeth, it feels…special, and important. Having someone angry on his behalf. Hoseok hasn’t had anyone angry for him and not at him in a long long time.

“What a bunch of assholes.”

A day ago, Hoseok would have defended them, now, he’s just silent.

Internally, Yoongi snorts and thinks that no one's ruts can be worse than Jimin’s. He still has bruises from the last time- hickeys shaped like a literal heart on his happy trail hidden by his thick sweater. But he has more pressing issues right now as he watches the gentle tears drift down Hoseok’s cheeks. Hoseok’s hands tighten on the coverlet.

“Hyung, was I? Was I asking for too much?”

Hoseok sees Yoongi’s jaw roll again, and the beta goes from smelling like chocolate to smelling like the ocean entirely, the sweetness dimming. Yoongi smells like the ocean at night when he's angry, salt and hidden brine. So at odds with his chocolate scent. So opposite. Beta's always smell a little despondent. Their happy and sad scents never match up. Hoseok’s almost sorry he asked.

“No Hobi. You weren’t asking for too much at all.”

Yoongi pulls Hoseok’s head to rest against his shoulder. Letting him stay there until Hoseok’s tears have dried and his sobs have become little hiccups.

That night Hoseok sees the two omegas kiss each of their pack mates on the forehead. They spend special time with the pack alpha. They linger in the hallway outside of the spare bedroom, door open because it’s not Hoseok’s door to close. Completely aware that he’s there, that he’s watching, and yet the pack alpha does nothing about it.

He- Namjoon- is a happy sandwich between the two omegas’, with a hand on either side of their waists. He smiles good-naturedly at Hobi from the doorway and tells him he can stay as long as he wants too.

Wants too, not needs. Namjoon is very careful with his words. Generous with them.

Hoseok doesn’t understand why they’re treating him so well. Namjoon’s alpha instincts must be screaming at him to not let a stranger get close to his omegas or his pups (he’s heard him, and his omega refer to the three youngest as such- it’s an affectionate title, similar to calling someone ‘baby’).

It would be natural for them to feel uncomfortable with a stranger in their den. But Hoseok never senses any distaste from Namjoon nor from the other two alphas- Taehyung (darling) and Jimin.

Hoseok hardly sleeps that night, tossing and turning, nose itching from all the new scents echoing from down the hall. He gives up sometime after 4 am, quieting the restlessness in his bones in the one way he knows how.

By being useful.

Namjoon usually wakes up first. He has to be at the hospital by 7 am for his shift and waking up early has always been difficult for the alpha. He almost walks into the wall, the thud resonating in their apartment. Blinking dimly when he looks at the spread stretched out before them on the dining room table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. Hoseok smiles and finishes wiping off the counters with a beaming smile.

He hopes it’s enough. 

“Good morning! I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you letting me sleep here- I’m not the best cook but breakfast is my-” Hoseok’s smile fades when he takes in Namjoon’s wide eyes. The alpha blinks away his sleepiness in the doorway. Before rubbing at his eyes like what he’s seeing can’t possibly be real. “Specialty…”

Hoseok is panicked, all but ringing his hands. “Of course you don’t like it- oh my god did I overstep? I’m sorry pack alpha I know this is your den I shouldn’t have been so-”

  Stupid . Hoseok had fucked up. Again. He’s barely been here for 18 hours. Must be some sort of record.

Before Namjoon can answer Seokjin stumbles out of the bedroom nearly hip-checking Namjoon. Not expecting the alpha to be just standing there dumbly. He’s pretty tall for an omega. Both of them a bit uncoordinated especially half asleep. Namjoon almost trips, Seokjin catches him. “Don’t bump into any more walls I’ve got you I’ll make coffee in a second just let me-” he blinks too, stopping. 

Hoseok has made Omurice and cinnamon toast with sugar. A plate of poached eggs and a bowl of cut bananas and strawberries. Creamy hollandaise sauce too. Pancake batter is in the works, the coffee pot already gurgling. Ready to be pipped out at request. And the dishes, the dishes are already done and on the drying rack. The table set for seven people.

Hoseok even had time to water Tae's plants. a plant collection that will nearly triple in size in the next few years because Namjoon won’t be able to resist giving them to Hobi. A gentle alpha. An alpha like him- that likes to see things grow. There will be bonsai trees and cyclamens and itty-bitty orchids from trader joes. Everything that grows will point to Hoseok. Like a sunflower tilting in the direction of the sun.

“I have a bit of a green thumb. I hope you don’t mind. I noticed your pithos was a bit dry.” Seokjin can’t help but look at Hoseok and think that taking care of things for someone is it’s own special type of flirting.

Dimly, Seokjin remembers last night, quiet questions over dinner, “do you like to cook Hoseok-shii?”

“Not really, I’m really good at making breakfast foods but everything else is sort of out of my depth omega-shii. If you want, I can do the dishes?”

“Please, call me Hyung, everyone else does, and the dishes can wait for the morning. You’ve had a tough day, you deserve some rest.”

The two of them blink and blink at Hoseok stunned that the alpha has made them a full breakfast. And did it so quietly. None of them are heavy sleepers (besides Yoongi and Jungkook) Namjoon doesn’t know how he didn’t hear anything. 

The alpha is quiet, stealthy almost. And Jin’s heart hurts when he thinks of why that might be. Even now, the alpha struggles to meet Jin’s eyes. He doesn’t have the same problem with meeting Namjoon’s.

Seokjin all but pushed the pack alpha in his direction.

A few minutes later Hoseok tries to hide his shy smile as Namjoon and Seokjin both let out simply pornographic moans at the taste of Hoseok’s food. Sitting on either side of him, Namjoon piles his plate high with food. “I'm only really good with breakfast food, I can’t make anything else.” But neither of them seems to hear him. Seokjin pouts down at Hoseok, a little bit of runny egg yellowing the corner of his mouth. Narrowing his eyes.

“Can we keep you?” 

Namjoon's words are muffled by the 6th pancake of the morning, hunched over his plate. "phfuck off he's phmine." 

Hoseok falls into their pack easily. It's not all romantic at first.

He walks with Tae home and helps Jimin with the laundry. He cooks breakfast and wears Seokjin’s apron and helps do the dishes. He likes being helpful. He goes on runs with Jungkook every morning to keep an eye on him- in case he has an episode while he’s running. He’s the only one who can really keep up with the youngest. He’s the one who has the idea of getting Jungkook a smartwatch to track his heart rate and therefore his seizures. All of them connect their phones to the app and check-in. Especially when they don’t want to bug Jungkook but still want to make sure their precious youngest omega is okay.

Even if Hoseok is wary of omegas in general given his history; he’d never let the younger suffer through it alone.

Yoongi’s only known Hoseok for a couple of months and still- He’s the jumpiest alpha that Yoongi’s ever met. He puts Jimin to shame (Jimin’s job keeps him so on edge, the tenseness that he only loosens when he comes home). Flinching especially around Seokjin and Jungkook. But every inch of him goes calm when Yoongi is in the room.

Yoongi had noticed the same thing in the record store.

The Flinching, the tentativeness, the fear that lurks underneath Hoseok’s skin. That only points to one thing. Hoseok checks his phone obsessively the first few weeks but then less as time goes on and Yoongi thinks good.

Good, they didn’t deserve you.

Hoseok never brings up any physical abuse that he might have suffered at the hands of his old packmates. Hoseok won't even say their names, still too trauma-ridden that all he can say is ‘this one’ or ‘that one’ or ‘the pack omega’ when Yoongi asks him about his old pack. Usually on their late-night drives when their hands tangle over the center console and Hoseok feels safe enough to talk about them. 

He'll feel safe enough to talk about them with the others too eventually, but it takes baby steps to incorporate him into the pack. He still can't even say their names and after the first few months as they fade from relevancy, Yoongi doesn’t ask.

All in all, that’s probably a good thing, Yoongi had half a mind to track them down and orchestrate some sort of accident for them otherwise. But if you could manage to hurt a person like Hoseok, as sunshiny and as genuinely good as he is, they must be twice the monsters that Yoongi is. It’s probably for the best that Hoseok never mentions them by name.

Names have weight.

At work, The record store owner’s beady eyes flicker from Yoongi to Hoseok. He notices when they start to come and go from the shop together. And he starts to sync their shifts. Anything to keep someone from the Min family happy. Maybe Yoongi would carry that good opinion back to his grandfather and lead to better business. Yoongi knows the owners motives and as much as he hates to admit it- It’s nice to lean into Hoseok on their walk to the subway, to sit close and share a pair of earbuds while they scroll through some YouTube videos.

He and Hoseok have a lot of the same interests. But as time goes on- Yoongi starts to get a little worried about Hoseok’s proximity to Yoongi’s job- the one he doesn’t talk about with anyone in his pack. Hoseok just assumes he does acquisitions and inventory for the store owner, which is why he’s constantly ducking into the backroom whenever the old phone rings.

It was the same way at the coffee shop, but Hoseok and Seokjin never knew to compare notes.

Sometimes the family needs more from him than a simple phone call, and Hoseok is too close to it now. It’s easy to lie even if Yoongi hates lying to his packmates. He tells Seokjin that he has to work and tells Hoseok that he doesn’t. And it’s easy to slip away. 

Usually, Yoongi finds himself at a hotel or to a different part of the city, far away from his packmates. Yoongi hates meeting in person but sometimes it can’t be avoided. Often times the rooms he enters are too fine and expensive for his tastes. Chandeliers dripping with diamonds and fine velvet interiors at odds with his ripped jeans and old band t-shirts that make him feel wholly out of place. 

Yoongi’s conducted these meetings in so many places, in the back of limousines, the back rooms of bars and clubs, a pool on top of the city's most expensive apartment complex, and even once an underground bunker. Anywhere and everywhere. It helps that most people are willing to travel for him- since Yoongi is firm on his decision to not leave his city.

The secretaries at this hotel eye his appearance like he’s nothing but street trash. Which, granted, he is. But he’s beta street trash and that makes all the difference.

“The reservation should be under Min.”

That gives them a start usually, a subtle widening of eyes, hands fumbling for the phone to call the hotel director.

“I take it they’re already expecting me?” 

On the days that Yoongi actually tends to his day job, he does a good job keeping an eye on the record store owner. If only because Hoseok has such a proximity to him. Yoongi’s noticed whenever the owner comes into work a lot more people frequent the store. And he’s seen him slip small bags of white powder into the sleeves of records before. But Yoongi knows how to keep quiet about that sort of thing. And Hoseok has so much on his plate that he never notices.

The rest of his pack doesn’t mind stepping around Hoseok when it’s clear he’s having a bad day. They come less frequently as time goes on and soon, he feels just as comfortable curling up with the omegas as he does with the alphas. But the adjustment is slow, he meets Jin’s eyes only sometimes. Sidesteps Jungkook’s teasing. Bows under the weight of Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder.

The adjustment is slow but noticeable. He play wrestles with Jimin, with Taehyung. Ducks his head under Jin’s fussing but doesn’t out right reject it. He takes the packed lunch and a sleepy scent mark without gnashing his teeth and growling. Far from it- he blushes.

But the first time they invite him into their nest Hoseok looks like they’ve just doused him with a bucket of icy water.

“I’ve never been in a nest before, at least not outside of a heat." Jungkook flinches, and Jin hisses. Hoseok pales before Jin’s had the chance to realize his mistake. But still, the border gets pushed back. And Hoseok waits. Taking one step closer than anther before he gently puts a knee on the border.

It hurts them that he sits in it- rim rod straight. Worried that he’s going to be booted out of it for messing up the edge or accidently spreading his scent in it. But Seokjin and Jungkook just surround him with their favorite nest-making items and sit chest-to-chest with him. Hoseok shivers with every easily given touch. Through his hair, over his shoulders, on his scent glands round and pudgy at his neck. Jungkook kisses into his mouth soft and sweet. 

“Love it when our nest smells like you Hoseokie.” 

It takes them a while- but eventually, he opens up to the others about his old pack. How poorly they treated him. He names specifics that have Jin hiding his mouth, that have Namjoon’s hands tightening on the back of the chairs. That make Jimin grit his teeth and growl. That have Tae folding his book and tossing it to the side in favor of pulling him in.

To them, he’d been an add-on- nothing special. The only alpha in a group of four female omegas.

Comparatively, their pack feels more balanced now with two alphas for each omega. When Jungkook and Seokjin’s heats eventually come he’s very happy to take the lowest spot in their hierarchy even though he’s the oldest alpha. He doesn’t know how to be a good alpha he says (though he’s never done anything wrong) Namjoon needs to show him.

But it’s just reassurance that Hoseok needs and that’s easily given. Hoseok is so honestly happy to please. 

He’s everything to them- the most special and desired person in their beds and in their lives. Jung Hoseok is the one to wake them up with coffee in the morning, and also the one who tries to say every night, “you don’t have to do this, really guys I’m good.” Even when they know having his back rubbed is his favorite way to fall asleep. They pet his hair until the touch-starved shivers subside into happy grumbles, the alpha version of an omega purr. They love how shivery and cutely hazy he gets when they shower him in affection.

Things are good, for a while- they're so so so good. Things get so good that Hoseok almost forgets.

Almost.

~-~

(Yoongi, 124 days before).

But someone always leaves, someone has to go first- it’s just the way things are.

They just never expected it to be Yoongi.

It happens when Yoongi least expects it, after a group date with the seven of them. It's probably the last truly warm day of the summer, warm enough that it has them all escaping on a Sunday to go to the ocean again- Hoseok's favorite place. The sand sticks to Yoongi's bare feet. His ankles are cold. Fall is just on the horizon. Not far now.

Yoongi's phone rings and he walks away from their big picnic blanket to take the call. Jimin’s laugh rings in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the ocean and the person on the other side of the phone.

Hearing fluent unaccented Korean is so jarring through the speaker that Yoongi almost misses it. He's so used to Jimin's slight drawl, Seokjin's crisp syllables, the way that Taehyung sounds as he flips from English to Korean and back again words and grammar all tangled.

He'd forgotten what his family sounds like when they talk.

“Harabeoji is dead.”

Yoongi's blood goes cold, and his hands start to shake. They don’t say anything else before they hang up, but they don’t need to. The message is clear. Yoongi is well trained. Yoongi is a good pup, a good beta. He knows to come when called.

“What is it Yoongi? Is everything alright?” 

Yoongi schools his face into a neutral expression while his pulse roars in his ears as he turns around. “I’m perfectly fine Jinnie. Nothing is wrong.” He lies effortlessly. The words couldn’t be further from the truth. 

(Sometimes, people leave not because they want to- but because they have to).

(Next Chapter)

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Honestly this is another chapter where the title??? Why am I even bothering with chapter titles??? I mean I love them but half of them are! Not right and I don’t know how to fix it (yet) I feel like this chapter being the bumblebee chapter is too on the nose. (edit, I did actually go back and change this just a few days later.)

- Reading this I’m reminded that everything is up to interpretation. And I think because we see this scene again a lot later in this story. this is what happened from Yoongi’s perspective and later- that’s from Hobi's pov you know?.Just trust me if you look at them next to each other it makes sense that this one you’re seeing right now is a biased view.

- Some of Hoseok’s chapter feels a little bit fanfictiony, but I don’t hate it, like I think that I’m trying to hit somewhere in the middle of a published book and a fanfic, it doesn’t need to be one or the other right now.

[gotham-daydreams]

For your Not [] I was wondering how would Alfred and Y/n's relationship post kidnapped will go? Down the drain? Sure, they may have some reprieve from the rest of the family with Alfred, but would they resent Alfred for causing them to come back to the manor? After gathering the clues it was Alfred that pushed them to find you.

Also would Y/n have eventually gotten back into contact with Alfred after taking their much needed break away from the family, to help figure out and find themselves?

Well, that's the thing, I suppose!

I have thought about their relationship post kidnapping, and honestly I don't even know if the reader will ever logically know the extent of what Alfred has done to ensure that they stay in the position they're in. Especially, well, considering how I plan for Chapter 4 to go.

Of course at some point they'll definitely be able to deduce that he did something- they'll be able to tell from the things some of the Batfam says and just generally how Alfred acts, even if said things they catch with Alfred aren't all as they seem. But if they'll know the full extent of it? How much he played a part in what happened? In what ends up happening? Maybe not, not everything but maybe enough to be afraid. To get a peak into the ruin and shitty mess that is their life, and the true extent of that ruin. But a glance is only a glance, y'know?

I guess that's the scary thing - for me personally, anyways - that they won't know right away. That even when it happens they'll have no idea, and for those moments where they remain ignorant, unaware, and blind- Alfred is their saving grace. The only sane person amongst the endless sea of madness and derange that is the Batfam. The only person that seems to under their side, that not only comforts them but someone they actually feel comfortable and safe with. Alfred is the only one they trust, and... well, I rather not spoil how he feels about that.

Though, for the reader- from the little they put together and the little they know, its heartbreaking all the same. They don’t want to accept it- who would? The only person after being stripping and taken from their life- is just as insane as the rest? The only person they felt like they could confide in? That they could trust? That they could allow themselves to be vulnerable with when the others were away? That person is just as insane? Just as cunning and- and tricked them too?

It ruins them, and even if I won't say much else as it will be shown when I have it written- I think what I've said here is a good enough image of how badly things get from there once the reader even gets an idea of what Alfred may have potentially done. Though even if they did reach out now, they would probably still hold the whole "everything is fine" attitude they've got going on, and just try to talk to him normally- if not then at least passively mention how the family is sort of being weird and giving you a hard time (will that cause him to stop them? Not at all, but maybe things could've turned out differently. Which may be a recurring thing?? Well- it sort of already is but yk!)

As for the reader reaching out- I think I mentioned this in an previous (albeit older) post a bit in passing, but the reader has technically been in touch with Alfred! Just... not in a way he prefers. They are technically communicating with him, but it's very one sided (which is by design) and... well, may or may not be one of the reasons Alfred kick started this mess.

If this didn't answer your question then I apologize! Feel free to send in another ask if you want, and I can clarify anything you have any questions about!

[koolades-world]

Hello i'm the person who gave you the idea of satan being an angel and i wanted to say thank you very much!.

I really liked how you did the reactions and the ending with MC is adorable. If i'm honest it was my first time asking for a request (manly because of my english) but when i saw that you liked my idea i was excited ♡.

So here's another idea in case you need any what do you think if MC holds a grudge for all the brothers threats?. For example all those times when Mc's life was put in danger, the insults and threats make MC start to hold a grudge against the brothers. Of course when it happened with Belphie *cough Mc's death cough* Mc snap at the brothers. It would be great if the brothers have to earn Mc's forgiveness.

(By the way i realized that the editor changed two words in the previous request so if it happens again i'm going to cry)

hello again!! so glad you liked the way I wrote the previous request <3

of course i can write this! hurt/comfort is so fun to write and i feel like it's for sure not talked about enough the way Mc would feel after the events of chapter 16 especially towards Belphie

please enjoy and hope to hear from you again soon!

Mc with a grudge against the brothers

Lucifer

he knew you weren't exactly fond of him towards the beginning of your stay in the devildom and while he did feel a little bad, at first he felt like he couldn't undo the damage that was already done

he harbored a lot of guilt especially after he got to know you

he understands when you got upset because the entire situation really was all his fault

he wants to gradually rebuild the trust he broke and makes sure he doesn't rush you

Mammon

as the only brother who never threatened or harmed you, he's on your side since the way his brothers treated you was shitty

after you finally snap at them, your mutual bond only grows as you only really want to be around him

willing to be the middle man between you and his brothers

he'd do anything for you babes

Levi

he isn't sure how to feel at all

he didn't think he'd be so upset by someone who'd only known for such a short period of time

he didn't think he'd miss you so much but he's afraid to try and talk to you in case you got mad again

it might take him a while, but just know he thinks about you daily

Satan

he kind of thought you wouldn't be mad at him after that serious bonding you guys did but understands where you're coming from

it was wishful thinking

he really wants to make it up to you since you helped him become who he is and let him know he's got nothing to prove to anyone

he gives you lots of gift and cards instead of trying to talk to you in person at first, then personally talks to you

Asmo

at first he's certain you're not mad at him but comes to a shocking realization

he struggles to accept the fact that you're upset with him but eventually comes to the realization that you might hate his guts

he actually remains in denial for a while and acts like nothing is wrong

only after you yell at him does he realize what he's done and tries his best to give you the space you need

Beel

he hates to admit it but he was part of the problem

although one of his rampages is what caused you to grow closer he won't ever forget how he acted towards you

he's probably the most genuine in his apology

he really misses having you around so he's the first to admit he's in the wrong since he wants to be able to talk to you again

Belphie

at first, he didn't think what he was doing was the big of a deal since you were just a way to get what he wanted

after he goes through with it and sees the damage it caused, he changes up

he doesn't expect you to forgive him

he works hard to show you he's changed and even if you never want ever be his friend again, he at least wants you to feel comfortable living in the same house as him

[awkwarddaryl]

There is Only Now - Chapter 12

Daryl Dixon x FtM!Reader Pronoun used ➤ "You", same age as Daryl, about late thirties. Song AO3 ➤ here First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

TW (general story) ➤ transphobia, homophobia, abuse, alcohol and drug abuse, mention of suicide, death.

Word count: 1.1k

You were highschool sweethearts, fled your abusive homes together, married. Then, Merle came back into Daryl's life and played a big role in your divorce. For the last three years, during Merle's death anniversary, you kept finding Daryl drinking in this bar. Today was Merle's fourth death anniversary, would you come for him this time? Or did you move on?

A new adorable character is mentioned!

You left to get to Paul and Aaron’s home to spend a little evening together. They could know something had happened because of the strange behavior you displayed for the last few days. You looked sad, and while they desperately craved information on what had transpired, as they could probably know it was about Daryl… They were mainly worried about you, and that had probably been why they had invited you. You decided to watch an old TV show with them, with popcorn on your laps, and lemonade. You were all enraptured by the actions of the different characters, fighting against a horde of zombies in an awful apocalypse world. One character made you think about Daryl a lot, but you tried not letting it put you down. It had been a few days since you had sent your message, without receiving any answer. You understood, of course, but it was still difficult to swallow.

“I would never survive in this. Can you guys imagine just… Having to deal with T shots? I’d die. The idea of hygiene and vaccines not being a thing anymore? How many shitty illnesses we’d catch?” You said horrified after one of the episodes.

“Aw, we’d protect you, I’m sure,” Paul began, “Actually, I’d steal T in pharmacies for you.”

“I feel like you’d go completely bonkers and steal anything from anyone, Paul.” Aaron replied.

He had sparks in his eyes while replying. “You’re right, actually, without the law I could do anything.” And you knew he was dead serious.

You laughed together, and you felt your heart a little bit less achy for an instant.

“You wanna talk about what happened with Daryl?” Aaron said after a pause.

Your eyes went towards your lemonade, taking a large sip before putting the glass on the coffee table. Tears already threatened to overflow from your eyes. Paul got closer to you on the couch to pat your back, trying to comfort you.

“We had a great day. Going kart racing was a good idea, we ate with everyone, it was the best day I had since… I can’t remember the last time I got such a good time, actually.”

They listened to you intently, without a word, and you took some popcorn. Anxiety made you eat.

“Then we went to my home. I know we shouldn’t have but… It was such a good day I think we got carried away.” Your cheeks felt hotter by the second. When you looked at Paul, he was smirking, wiggling his eyebrows. “Eheh good for you.”

Aaron pinched Paul’s flank. “Be serious.” He laughed in response, trying to defend himself.

You smiled at them and their cute stupidity, and brought even more popcorn to your mouth. They had a gift to warm your heart anytime something was troubling you. They were definitely the perfect couple in your eyes. You thought back to the night. “I woke up after a terrible nightmare… About Merle.” You felt your body tense, and Paul must have felt it too, because he rubbed your back some more. “I went to see Daryl, he was smoking, so I knew he wasn’t feeling well either. Then I just… Exploded.”

“Exploded?” Aaron’s brows raised.

“I screamed at him, about how he chose Merle over me, about how much Merle fucked our marriage and our lives. I told him I hated him for abandoning me. I also drank a couple of shots.”

Nobody said anything to that.

You swallowed a hand full of popcorn before wiping your eyes to remove the tears. “I sent him a message about how much I regretted it a few days ago. But I had no reply since. I can’t blame him though, I wouldn’t reply to me if I’d seen myself like this…” Paul took you into his arms, kissing your temple.

“We promised ourselves we wouldn’t be like our parents and… Here I am.”

“You had stuff on your heart sweetie, you’re a faulty human like the rest of us, the divorce was hard on you and the reasons felt unfair. I’m sure he understands and he’ll forgive you.” Paul said.

“Maybe that was a good thing that will allow you both to move on,” Aaron added, “you always hold so much stuff inside yourself all the time, I don’t think it’s bad you finally said your piece. Even if you regret it, that’s how you felt for all those years. I was there.”

“No matter what, we’re here for you.”

You felt tears on your cheeks and hugged Paul tightly. “Thank you guys. You’re the best.”

--

Lying on the couch after the chaotic duo went to sleep, you thought back on Rick’s words to you. How you had to move on. How Merle was dead and wouldn’t cause any more future troubles, and that meant you could let go of it. Of everything. You made a fist with your hand, concentrating all of the pressure, all the things you were holding on to regarding Merle. All the hate, all the fear, all the pain. And you opened your fist, trying to let it go, trying to let him die from your heart and your memory. It didn’t matter anymore, who was wrong, who was right. And you understood the reasons that led Daryl to abandon you, even though it still felt near unbearable to you. You wanted to move past it, you wanted it so much, to release all that tension, all that rancor.

You wanted to live in the present moment, not regretting what could have been. You wanted more days like you had with Daryl. You wanted to laugh with him, to smile with him, to travel with him, to make love with him. You wished it so much it hurt. But you were prepared to be patient, to wait calmy for the day he would forgive you. You had waited for so long already… What would a couple more years be, really? Even though you felt death at your doors sometimes, the existential crisis of knowing your end was inevitable, you knew you still had time. You had to. This couldn’t end like this.

A ringtone startled you, and it took you a couple of seconds before you understood it was yours. You sat down on the couch, looking for it everywhere as you forgot where you had placed it. Anxiety ate at you, someone calling you that late was never a good news, and it meant it was important. When you found it, you stared at the screen: it was Daryl’s name on it.

“… Hello?” You said, feeling weird. Your heart beat so fast you could hear it inside your temples, you even forgot how to breathe.

“Do you still know anything about dogs?” Daryl asked then. “Dogs?” You said, dumbfounded, you felt you needed some context there. “Yeah.”

What the fuck?

[hyuuukais]

-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> general, y/n gets told she talks too much kind of, discussion abt cheating

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER THREE -> AM I IN? (partially written! wc:546)

"...and then, after telling him how much I love him, he comes out of our shared- yes, shared- bedroom with another woman! Can you believe that? I pour my heart and soul to this man, and he just steps all over it! Them? My heart and my soul, so, yeah, I guess them. Sorry, what was the question again?"

"...what do you do for work?" The guy on the right side of the couch says, arms crossed.

You blink. "Right! I'm a graphic designer for a website."

"What website?" Beomgyu leans back, arms behind his head.

"This Just In!" You say excitedly, passionate about your work. "I'm trying to move into the journalism area as well. I'd love to be able to interview some of the people we do, but my boss didn't seem very keen to the idea yet."

"How come?" The one in the middle asks.

"He says I talk too much." A sudden wave of emotion hits you. "My boyfriend says the same."

"Ex-boyfriend."

"What?"

"Your ex-boyfriend." It's the one on the right again, eyes piercing into you; you can't hold his gaze.

"Right." You clasp your hands in your lap. "Maybe I've overshared a bit to you guys. I don't even know your names-" You point at the two.

"Han," the middle one offers. "Well, Jisung, but most people call me Han."

"Minho." You still can't look at him.

"Okay. Um, so, unless you have any other questions...?"

"Yeah, actually," Minho speaks. "What's your current living situation?"

"Oh! I'm living with my best friend, Hyunjin, and his roommates. But they're all models and it can be a bit... dramatic." You laugh nervously.

"Models?" Han sits up straight, looking at his two roommates. "What are the others like?"

"There's Felix, a literal sunshine, and Yeonjun and Wooyoung. They're usually the ones causing drama." You laugh again, this time more naturally. "Wooyoung just came back from a business trip, so I'm gonna be staying in my other best friend's, NingNing, she's amazing and I love her, apartment until she comes back. She's also a model... I'm friends with a lot of models."

"Do you mind stepping out for a second?" Han says with a smile. Your stomach drops. "I just need to discuss something with my roomies here."

"Y-yeah, okay." Quickly, you pick up your bag and head to the door, only stumbling a little bit.

Of course, you press an ear to the door once outside. If they don't want you, at least you'll know before they tell you to your face. Then maybe you won't cry at the news. The thick wooden door makes it hard to hear, only picking out bits and pieces.

"Dude, her best friend is a model-"

"Han, I swear to God-"

"She does talk a lot-"

"Like you're one to talk-"

"Okay, but with the breakup? Won't she be, like, crying all the time-"

"Hey, Min just went through a breakup too, so maybe she can help him with it-"

"Shut up-"

"Back to her best friend being a fucking model-"

A loud sigh signals you should back up, taking your phone out and pretending to be busy. The door opens, Minho in front of the other two looking more tired than before you left.

"You're in."

notes -> what is with me making idols i love into shitty exs like what is with that genuinely

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @taeriffic @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 9 - Nobody Else Gave Me A Thrill

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: You two finally figure it all out on New Year's Eve...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: none, really… just some swearing and love confessions.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. Here we are; this is the final chapter! Both reader and Benedict finally see the truth. There will be a short, hopefully humourous epilogue to this story as well, which I will post tomorrow. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. I hope you have all enjoyed this fic <3

For the next few weeks, the dreary weather, the clocks changing, and the chilly nights drawing in match your sullen mood. Your argument with Benedict at the wedding made you so sad but resolute to try and put it behind you.

It's the last weekend in November when you are buying a Christmas tree that you feel the worst. Making a mess of dragging the tree back to your place alone, leaving a trail of needles behind you, you stop halfway and slump onto a doorstep. Recalling with perfect clarity how you and Benedict had bought one together from the same man the previous year, laughing carefree as you easily carried it between you. Then you drank mulled wine as you haphazardly threw on lights and ornaments, dancing to cheesy Christmas songs. It's what you miss the most—his companionship, the ease of time spent with one of your favourite people.

Just as you are wrestling the tree through your front door, exhausted, sweaty and prickled by a thousand tiny shitty needles that seem to have it out for you, your phone pings with a message.

BB: I'm sorry for how things ended at the wedding. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. Please call me. I want to talk. 

Pride (and your current disastrous had-a-fight-with-a-tree-and-lost appearance) stops you from doing what you genuinely want to—picking up your phone and Facetiming him to sort it all out.

Not ready yet.

__

Two weeks later, it's mid-December, and you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor with a big glass of wine, wrapping presents for friends, when your phone pings again. For a while now, almost every day, he has been sending links to Insta posts with adorable and hilarious content. Each of which you have enjoyed but couldn't bring yourself to reply to. This time, it’s a message.

BB: If you are available at the moment, please call me.

You stare at the little pop-up notification and take a gulp, a weird weight in your chest at the idea you might cave this time. Perhaps. Once you are done wrapping this gift. A few minutes later, your phone pings again.

BB: Okay, I assume no call means:

BB: (A) you can't take a call right now

BB: (B) you can, but you don't want to talk to me or 

BB: (C) you desperately do want to talk to me but are trapped under something heavy

BB: If it's A or C, please call me back later, doesn't matter what time

BB: Also, if it’s C, please call 999 if you are in danger, then call me after. I don't have any heavy-lifting equipment… 

You can't help but giggle at his gentle, silly humour, attempting to diffuse the tension. A large part of you wants to call; you even have the phone in your hand, but at the last minute, you rest it against your forehead with a sigh, something stopping you. Your stupid rebound fling being the biggest one, Benedict’s cutting remark about how quickly you let someone else into your bed, making your stomach roil. 

Still not ready yet.

—

“Obviously, she doesn't want to speak to me,” Benedict laments, his words muffled into a scatter cushion on Kate and Anthony’s sofa. 

It's the morning after they've returned from honeymoon, three days before Christmas. While they are thankful Benedict popped over with some basics to make breakfast, they could do without his melancholy—they’re much more about a ‘let’s have newlywed sex on the kitchen table’ vibe.

“What do I have to do? Get hit over the head? Be in some calamitous accident?” Benedict whines, twisting his head in aggravation as if trying to burrow himself head-first into the furniture.

‘What do we do?’ Anthony mouths to Kate, who throws her hands up defeatedly.

‘How should I know?’ she mouths back, frowning. ‘He's your brother.’

‘Your friend's fault,’ Anthony shoots back.

Kate crosses her arms and gets a look like a sour lemon, and he instantly regrets that line.

Benedict lifts his head to look up at them, and she has to stifle a giggle behind her hand at the deep red imprint of the cushion zipper on his forehead.

“If she wants to talk to me. She will call me back, right? I'm done with making an idiot of myself….” Benedict claims boldly.

__

You are sitting on the sofa at your childhood home early evening on Christmas Day, almost disgustingly full of Baileys (your mum's tipple of choice on this day) and Christmas pud, watching The Wrong Trousers - a family tradition - when your phone pings with a message.

It's from Benedict and your stomach vaults. You honestly thought after more than a week of silence, he had given up trying. And part of you was so sad. There is no text this time, just a video attachment. You excuse yourself to the downstairs cloakroom, taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, intrigued as to what it is.

The video starts with him looking directly into the camera, his handsome face filling the frame and making your stomach swoop again. Fuck, you have missed seeing it.

“Merry Christmas y/n. I hope you are having a nice time. I miss you, and I hate how we left things,” he opens honestly, “and when Bridgertons don't know what to do, we always act stupidly. It's our ‘thing’. So here, You can blame this on my genetics...”

The video cuts to black briefly and then fades into him, a huge 6ft lump, crowded behind a plastic toy piano on the floor, probably one of Daphne’s kids' toys. You instantly giggle at the ridiculous visual as he apes a maestro, closes his eyes as if about to play Chopin, and flexes his hands. Then, the tinny, electric sound of some familiar notes being played hesitantly begins. He isn't exactly a natural pianist.

“Hey, I didn't just meet you, And this is crazy, 

You know my number, So call me maybe,

It's hard to feel right without you, lady

You know my number, so call me, maybe…”

You are instantly laughing. He's such an adorable, charming idiot. Sitting behind a miniature plastic piano and playing, half in earnest, half in jest. At least his voice can hold a semi-decent tune. It brings an affectionate mist to your eyes even as it continues…

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad; I missed you so, so bad

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

And you should know that, I miss you now… so, so bad….”

For the last few words, he slows down the song and looks directly down the lens pointedly.

Something in his pleading look is the straw that breaks the camel's back proverbially, and with a slight tremor in your hand, you scroll to his name and hit the FaceTime button before you can think twice about it. The sound of the tone, as it rings, feels so loud, and each crisp ‘bringggg’ makes your nerves jangle. Just as you are about to hang up, the call connects.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I had to find a private spot.” he sounds a little winded.

“Where are you?” you frown, an unfamiliar background behind him.

“My childhood bedroom. Aubrey Hall.”

“Oh my god! Show me!” You enthuse, your initial equivocation derailed by nosiness, which you decide to frame instead in your mind as mere curiosity.  You never got to see it the wedding weekend for, well, reasons you don't want to dwell on right now.

He quickly flips the camera around, giving you an audio-guided tour of the room he grew up in. Dark blue walls with framed posters for his beloved Blur alongside Travis, Radiohead and Shaun of the Dead. Silly stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on the high ceiling that are likely too high for anyone to bother getting out a ladder and peeling off. Shelves with little wooden car models he made with his dad before he died, mixed in with certificates of achievement from school, shiny brass archery trophies, and his early sketches in those cheap snap-in frames. And lastly, a collection of jagged small rocks and colourful pebbles. It makes you feel so very affectionate for little teenage Benedict.

“You are bloody adorable!” you blurt out, almost forgetting all the awkwardness from the past few weeks.

The camera flips around, and his lopsided grin fills the screen. “Thank you. I try to make a habit of it…”

You smile back and then sigh. “I’ve missed this,” you confess quietly, wistfully. 

“I’ve missed this too. You. Us. Can we please be friends again? Please? I know we both have a lot of things to talk about. With that night and all… but… can we reset? I need you, Bluey. I am miserable without my best friend,” he pouts, his raw honesty making your chest ache. 

It’s exactly how you feel, too. Except with a massive pang of regret that he seems to want to forget your magical night together. Sex is never like that, at least not for you—electric and addictive. Doing a reset to save your friendship feels like the most logical step. Still, it doesn’t stop the “what if” fantasies running in your head with increasing frequency, especially on a day like today—nostalgia, sentiment and overindulgence swirling in your being. 

“I would like us to be friends again,” you exhale, a lie by slight omission, drumming your fingertips on your cheek nervously to stop you from saying more. 

“Wonderful! Then it is so! I can’t wait to see you again! Are you going to the New Year's party? The one Simon & Daph are hosting at the Sky Terrace? Cos if you are, I was wondering, if you don’t have a date if we could go together? We always said we would be each other's plus one if neither of us is with anyone…”

That he wants to completely reset to that world makes your heart crack. You want to scream at him, ‘No! I want to be your real date! Pick me, for real, this time!’

“I… can’t do that,” you waver, and it comes off sounding tired.

“You have a date?” It’s soft, hesitant, trepidatious.

“No…” you admit, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go together like that. I… I can’t be your consolation prize anymore, Benedict,” you blurt out, the hurt taking over your tongue.

The look of stunned surprise on his face makes it worse. As if he had never even seen it from that perspective.

“That’s not what I….” he begins but is interrupted by a loud door bang as it slams into the wall and a yelling voice.

“Stop fucking hiding and get your bloody arse back downstairs. You can’t miss family dinner on Christmas Day!” Colin scolds loudly offscreen.

“I’ve got to go…,” he sighs reluctantly as an arm manhandles him up and off the bed. “Merry Christmas,” he adds, belatedly realising you both forgot to say it earlier on the call.

“Whoever it is, hang up. No one is more important than family on Christmas,” Colin gripes. “That’s it, I’m taking your phone…”.

The screen is filled with random shapes and loud noises as they seem to wrestle like children. And then the call suddenly disconnects. 

You sigh and tip sideways against the cold tile of your parents' cloakroom wall.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

__

Benedict takes stock of his surroundings. December 31st, 11:00pm, lying on his stomach on his sectional chaise, staring up at the big flatscreen on his wall.

This isn't so bad… he tries to convince himself. I've got Jools Holland’s Hootenanny - the only decent New Year's programme, some Glenfiddich and Mini Cheddars - the best snack there is… 

He sighs and realises how pathetic he sounds, even in his own mind, alone in an empty flat.

__

The man whirls you around, and you are almost thrown straight into Kate and Anthony.

“I should never have let you drag me to this,” you grouse so only they can hear.

They both shoot you an apologetic look until you are whipped away again. This man’s dancing style is more akin to a waltzer amusement ride than anything sensual or fun. Your shoulder is already aching. It's a far cry from the surprising salsa Benedict pulled out of the bag last New Year’s Eve. And the idle thought of him has you spiralling…

“Mind if we stop?” you puff as the band finishes the song with a flourish. He’s some slick European investment banking type, and really, you couldn't give two shits about offending him, merely your ingrained politeness kicking in.

He nods and goes off to grab drinks as you stand, hands on hips, trying to gather your breath as you watch all the people moving like a mass of limbs on the crowded dancefloor as the following number begins.

Why the fuck am I here?

__

This is much better… Benedict rationalises to himself as he wanders down the rainy, empty East London streets not far from his Hoxton pad. Who needs to be at a big, crowded party pretending to have a good time?

He pauses outside a trendy shop on Old St, selling overpriced crap that he's not even sure what it is.

See? I can do some window shopping. He tells himself silently—clutching at anything to distract himself from the creeping sense of dread in his gut. A slow twisting knife as he thinks about you dancing the night away, ringing in the New Year with some fancy, handsome man who definitely doesn't deserve you.

What does it matter to me? We are just friends. Best friends… the only friend I ever want to see every day… the only one who truly matters….

He has thought about how to repair the damage between you so much over the last few weeks that he's exhausted himself. Really, he just wants you back. All of you, ideally, but being realistic, any part of yourself you will let back into his life. The suggestion of a reset he made on Christmas Day being his cowardly way out.

—

You are fake laughing at the banker’s story as you lean around the pillar you are backing yourself against in an attempt to secure more personal space. Glad of the heated lamps and the glass overhang to shelter from the drizzle.

“I'm going home,” you growl.

“You’ll never find an Uber,” Kate points out deadpan as you turn back around and keep faking amusement.

__

Just as his thoughts spiral, Benedict hears a chuckle on the other side of the road. There, a couple are laughing together, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing, looking like no one else in the world matters… and it’s like a lightning rod hits him square in the chest.

Suddenly, all he can see are images of you, fluttering like motioned-filled playing cards from above, swirling into his eyeline, then floating onto the glistening pavement around him. Vignettes of his life and where you intersect at so many pivotal moments. The day he left uni - the car ride where you bickered like an old married couple, the day he moved to Paris - your dilated pupils and hitched breath on the Eurostar when he whispered in your ear, the unerring sympathy when you heard about his divorce, the way you held his hand when you wandered after dinner somewhere (he doesn't even recall where… only that it was with you), watching movies together on FaceTime, your incredulity when he confessed to his uneventful recurring sex dream, your surprise and, yes, arousal as he led you in the salsa dance, the way you tucked so neatly into his arms haunting him. And finally, how it felt to be buried inside your gorgeous body as you clung to him, calling his name like a siren song, intimacy like he has never known, the profundity of the connection petrifying the very life out of him. 

But as he stares down at his tatty old Converse, the same ones he wore the day you met, in fact, all he sees in the puddle beneath him is the simple truth he has been in denial about, possibly for a decade or more. Rippling refractions of your face - your knowing smile, bright eyes, your wonderful, happy expression…

And before his brain acknowledges it, his feet are moving….

Walking fast…

Then it’s a jog…

Then it’s a run….

.. his feet carrying him to the one place he knows with every fibre of his being he wants to be.

—

You wander as if in a daze, seemingly surrounded by nothing but couples, kissing, dancing, whispering, and it's the final straw. You spy Kate and Anthony sipping champagne together and slope over.

“I'm going,” you sigh.

“But it's almost midnight,” Anthony protests.

“Being surrounded by people kissing is just…” you shrug, melancholy creeping in like a clingy fog around your heart.

“I’ll kiss you,” Kate placates, and Anthony perks up to no end at that suggestion, nodding enthusiastically as you both roll your eyes, bemused. “Stay? Please?” she pleads, pouting and grabbing your hands.

“Thanks, Kate. But no. I have to go. Have a wonderful night,” you bid them, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Happy New Year,” you whisper as she returns the greeting.

__

Benedict's lungs are burning as he races down Old St towards Shoreditch, not far from where you celebrated last year. He ignores the ache in his muscles and keeps going, checking his watch to see 11:56pm and racing harder.

I need to be there at midnight!

__

As you walk to pick up your coat, a sight makes your heart leap into your mouth and stops you dead in your tracks.

There, rounding the top stair, casual in old faded jeans, those ancient Converse and a chunky knit jumper… is Benedict. Hair fluffy and dishevelled from the rain, out of breath and scanning the crowd desperately. As if he is seeking someone.

Then his eyes finally land on you, and your world tilts. 

Oh god, is he here… for… me?!?

Then he is striding purposefully towards you, and it seems like the crowds part. His eyes blisteringly intense, like they were on that fateful night. You try to school your face, aiming for casual indignance; you probably fail spectacularly— your heart thumping wildly.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking…” he begins as he pulls up before you. “And the thing is… I love you..”

Everything grinds to a halt, and your head feels dizzy.

This must be a prank, surely?

“What?” you stutter, disbelief rocking your core.

“I love you,” he says with a simple shrug as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ben.. I… what do you expect me to say?” you blurt out, floored.

“How about you love me too,” he smiles a tiny fraction, and you hate it.

You hate how RIGHT he is. Your body is a total jumble of live wires, but your mind is suddenly calm. It's like the clouds of your thoughts part, and it all seems crystal clear. And yet, something in your stubborn heart won't let you admit it. Terrified what it could mean to voice it.

“Look, Ben, I know it's New Year, and I know you may be lonely tonight. But please don't do this,” you implore haltingly, tears prickling hot in the corners of your eyes, “...not like this,” you whisper, defeated.

“Okay, how about like this….” he throws his hands up. “I love that you won't admit you love me. I love that you are looking at me like you want to kill me right now. I love that my body is screaming at me cos I ran here as fast as I could.” he gestures down at his slightly shaky legs.

“Ten seconds to New Year's!!” a loud voice blares out over the speakers.

“TEN!!” the crowd chants.

“I love that we are idiots who would never admit to how in love we are.”

“NINE!”

“I love that you are my blue lobster, rare and beautiful as a diamond but a delicious soft treat under that hard as nails shell….” 

“EIGHT!”

He tilts your chin to look up at him, a thumb swiping a tear you didn't even know had escaped. 

“SEVEN!”

“Don't leave me out here in the wind, y/n…,” he murmurs softly.

“SIX!”

“I… I love that you never give up,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it. 

The smile that lights up Benedict’s face makes your whole being feel like the stars live inside your chest.

“FIVE!”

“I love that you take homemade salads on a road trip,” he smirks playfully, referring to the first day you spent together all those years ago.

“FOUR!” 

“I love that you kept your amazing dance prowess under wraps,” you laugh over a stilted snuffle, everything in you fizzling.

“THREE!”

“I love that I can still smell you on my clothes after we spend the day together,” he sighs, moving in closer, your eyes hypnotised by the movement of his cupid’s bow.

“TWO!”

“I love that you came here tonight,” you admit, your hands circling his forearms as you sway slightly in unison.

“ONE!”

“I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night,” he confesses, his lips ghosting over yours now, smiling crookedly even as he speaks.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” the crowd chants.

All around you, party poppers go off, colourful ribbons of streamers, and the sound of glasses clinking fills the air. But it’s background noise, your whole focus on each other.

Finally, your lips meet, the fireworks under your ribs matching those in the skies above, the same as it was that first time weeks ago. You melt into each other's embrace, your kiss a seal of a pact and the promise of something new and infinite.

“For the record,” he rumbles, his minty breath hot on your lips, the strains of Auld Lang Syne ringing around the rooftop. “I'm not saying this because I’m lonely and not because it’s the New Year. I came here tonight because when you finally realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start…”

“...as soon as possible,” you exhale, completing his sentence with him as he nods, grinning from ear to ear. 

The drunken chorus around you gets louder; he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve never understood this stupid song.”

“I think it’s about remembering not to forget. Or not forgetting to remember. Or something,” you peal a laugh, knowing you are talking gibberish and not giving a damn. “Anyway, it’s about old friends,” you add pointedly, moving in for another spine-tingling, heart-melting kiss.

As you part, he cradles your jaw in his hands. “It was only ever you, y/n,” he sighs, hazy eyes burning into yours, his whisper fervent but contented into your skin. “It had to be you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[corpseri]

ᝰ.ᐟ serenity | 003

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ novel: twtptflob/roxana

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ databank: here

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ word count: 2.5k

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ tags: @evaxmisu, @00hellohello00, @welpthisisboring, @hsrvl264, @flyingpansaurus, @semi-wife, @elvinapandra

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ►

the next day:

the next day, you find yourself sitting beside roxana, idly chatting. the garden is quiet, and for a moment, it's almost easy to forget where you are.

"bro listen," you start, "the ‘yanny’ or ‘laurel’ debate is fucking stupid. it’s quite obvious that some shitty ai said both names and distorted them to sound similar, layering one on top of another. so whatever name you think of is the one you’re going to hear–!" your arms flail as you rant with no care of your surroundings.

"hmm…" roxana hums in response, already losing the plot of the conversation. at first, it started as simple small talk about how her day was to pass the time, which then changed to some basic musings over the novel, that then briefly side—tracked to you mentioning an f1 car you saw on some stranger’s phone the day before you came here, which happened to remind you of luzark’s hair, followed by a quick summary of madagascar 2, which somehow led you to the ‘yanny’ and ‘laurel’ audio debate.

roxana’s sharp eyes flick to your arm where the bruise stands out against your skin, dark and unmistakable, the skin over it starting to slightly swell.

"what happened?" she asks, her voice deceptively light, but you hear the edge beneath it.

you look down at your arm, forcing out a small laugh. "ahaha— it's nothing, i just fell."

she doesn’t buy it, obviously. you silently click your tongue. her brow takes on a light arch as her gaze lingers on the bruise, lips pressed together in a thin line. "did dion do this?"

"no." your response is too quick, too eager.

that single word only deepens her suspicion. unimpressed, she takes a second to rub her temples in exasperation, sighing through her nose.

"you're a terrible liar, you know."

you open your mouth to protest, but just then, out of the corner of her eye, roxana catches the familiar dark fabric of dion's cloak, and her expression hardens.

"ugh, here he comes."

she’s in a more daring mood today; if the way she turns her head in his direction instead of ignoring him as usual shows you anything.

"dion," she calls, her tone like that of a particularly annoyed owner. in the shadow of the trees, he emerges from behind the pillar with the same unconcerned gaze he always seems to have with the blonde.

as he slowly comes to a stop in front of your shared table, his cool, tired eyes briefly flick to you before settling on roxana. "did you do this?" she asks, gesturing toward your arm. her voice is steady, but you can well enough recognize — practically smell, even — the restrained anger behind it.

dion's gaze shifts to you again, lingering for a beat too long. "what does it matter?" he replies, sounding indifferent.

you keep your eyes fixed on roxana, refusing to acknowledge him. the silence stretches between the three of you like a taut wire, and you can feel her growing irritation in the way her jaw tightens.

"i asked you a question," roxana insists, her patience wearing thin.

dion shrugs, his attention flickering to you once more. "if she says no, isn't that enough?" he replies lazily, just pretending to be bemused, as if to humor her.

your eyes are focused on looking at every other spot in your vision except for him, your lips pressing together as you feign interest in the teacup cupped (haha) in your hands.

"ah, but i’m not asking her, am i?" she states, watching him carefully.

unexpectedly, you hear him snort at the subtle jab. "and? i trust you're capable enough to figure it out by yourself, no?"

her eyes narrow.

"in any case—there are better things for me to do than entertain your accusations."

you remain silent, your disinterest deliberate, and you don't miss the way his eyes slant just slightly.

"i'm sure there are," roxana says coolly, clearly unconvinced.

dion doesn't respond, staring at you both for a few moments before turning on his heel. he walks away without another word, but not before sending one last glance your way out of the corner of his eye.

you let out a dazed giggle. "ah, i'm kinda glad you defended me, even though i did lowkey assault him first—"

"you what?"

                                    ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the room smells of burnt cigars, the smoky undertones mingling with the sharp tang of polished metal. lante’s office is exactly what you’d expect from a man like him; a cold shrine to his ambition of being a powerhouse of illegal drugs and weapons.

it looks just like in the manhwa. dark, gloomy, kinda cool.

he leans back in his high—backed chair, a smirk playing on his lips as you stand before his desk.

"you know why you’re here," he says, eyes boring into you, calculating. lante doesn’t speak for the sake of speaking. every word he utters is like a careful set of notes on a church organ.

you shake your head a bit, uncertain. "no… what’s happening?"

his smirk deepens. "don’t insult me by pretending you’re clueless, girl. yggdrasil. the most important event in the world, a time for alliances to be forged and enemies scouted and ripped from the roots; in other words, a big deal of opportunity for our gain."

are you serious? it’s obvious i'm not from this world, so how would i know about yggdrasil?

you clasp your hands behind your back, maintaining an air of innocent ignorance. "what will be required of me?"

lante leisurely rises from his chair, slowly pacing around the room. he stops to inspect a gleaming dagger displayed on the wall, running his finger along it. "play your part, of course. you’ll smile, you’ll flatter, you’ll intrigue. it’s but a simple game if you’ve the wit for it. but," he turns, "i’ve noticed a certain… roughness around the edges with you."

your jaw tightens. "roughness?"

"your manners, girl," he replies, deadpanned. "or lack thereof. you seem clever—I’ll give you that. but cleverness alone won’t open the doors you’ll need to pace through for me."

"...and what do you propose?" if you say lessons i swear to the mighty lord in the sky i will—

"lessons," lante declares, the word falling from his lips like an order, not a suggestion. i hate you. "you’ll be under griselda’s guidance for manners and etiquette. she’ll teach you how to carry yourself properly, how to speak in a way that turns heads and commands respect. you’ll learn to walk like someone who belongs."

"like i belong? but isn’t the part of my intrigue that i don’t belong?"

ignoring you, he adds, "and roxana will handle the… other aspects of your training. seduction. subtlety. the art of disarming someone without drawing a blade."

"seduction lessons?" you say, the disbelief setting on your face. "people aren’t blind. people know when they’re being seduced, they simply choose not to act on it. it’s not about some elaborate act—it’s about giving them a reason to trust me, right?"

besides, there isn’t enough time to teach me anything meaningful in a week, anyway.

lante’s brow arches at your audacity, but you can see the wheels turning in his head. for all his arrogance, he respects practicality. that’s something i’ve seen time and time again.

finally, he exhales, waving a dismissive hand. "hmph, fine. no seduction lessons. but if your… natural charm fails us, it will be your head, not mine."

"understood," you reply, relief hidden beneath a stoic mask.

he claps his hands once, summoning a maid from the shadows of the room. she’s new, younger than the others you’ve seen in his employ, younger than elaine, her wide eyes trying not to dart nervously as she approaches. "take her to griselda," he orders curtly.

the maid nods, gesturing for you to follow. as you leave lante’s office, you can feel his gaze on your back, heavy with expectation.

                                    ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

griselda’s chambers are a stark contrast to lante’s oppressive office. the room is bathed in warm light, soft tapestries hanging from the walls, and the faint aroma of blooming lilies fills the air. griselda herself stands by a long table, arranging a set of delicate teacups. her dark brunette hair cascades down her back, and her smile is so disarming and innocent it takes you a moment to catch the glint of mischief in her eyes.

"ah, you must be the new doll," she says, her voice lilting with amusement. she gestures for you to sit, her movements graceful, similar to her younger half—sister, "come. let’s see what we’re working with."

you take a seat, folding your hands neatly in your lap, "uuuh, miss griselda," you begin, a bit awkwardly.

"oh, no need for all that formality," she interrupts with a laugh, though her eyes study you like a hawk. 

"we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together this week. might as well skip the pretenses." damn, if only i remembered how she acted in the novel. i don’t think she had that many lines. 

she glides to your side, inspecting your posture, "straighten your back," she instructs, lightly tapping your shoulder, "chin up. you’ll need to project confidence, even if you don’t feel it. people can smell weakness, and they’ll pounce on it like horny dogs."

horny dogs? is she serious?! 

the next few hours are a barrage of instructions. griselda corrects everything, from the way you hold your teacup to the precise angle of your bow. her tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an undeniable sternness beneath it. you get the sense that she’s enjoying herself a little too much, though she never lets it interfere with the efficiency of her lessons.

during a brief pause, as she adjusts the fall of your cloak, griselda speaks again, her tone more conversational. "so, tell me about your old world. what was it like?"

the question catches you off guard. "why do you ask?"

she shrugs, a coy smile playing on her lips, "call it curiosity. you’re a fascinating puzzle, you know. and i do so love piecing things together."

you hesitate, considering how much to reveal. griselda’s kind demeanor is a thin veil over a calculating mind, and you’re certain she’ll twist any information you give her into something useful for her own ends. still, you decide to give in, enough to satisfy her without giving too much away.

"it was… simpler," you say finally. "there was a lot of politics, but i didn’t tend to engage myself with any parties. in my world, people were more straightforward about their intentions, not covering them under a guise."

griselda tilts her head, intrigued. "simpler doesn’t necessarily mean better. i imagine it must have been dull, no?"

you smirk faintly. "it had its moments. i’d watch the news or scroll on tiktok and nothing new would happen, so it got a bit boring. but i’ve adapted to this world just fine."

"oh, i’m sure you have," she replies, her eyes sparkling with amusement. she chooses to ignore the unfamiliar words that escape your lips, focusing instead on getting you to talk. "but you’re avoiding my question," she says lightly. "about your old world. you gave me just enough to satisfy my curiosity, but not nearly enough to satisfy me. you told me about politics and the news, but nothing about you specifically."

you meet her gaze. "why do you care?"

griselda tilts her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "because you’re… interesting, i admit. and because understanding you might help me make you improve. besides, you have a story to tell — i can see it in your eyes. so, go on. indulge me."

for a moment, you consider deflecting again. why does she even want to know? it’s not like it matters here. but something about griselda’s persistence wears you down. maybe… maybe it’s the exhaustion of the lessons — god, she’s just brutal. it’s been, like, five hours, leave me alone please.

"my mother died giving birth to me," you say, your voice steady despite the weight of the words. "it was just my dad and my two older brothers after that. they’re all quite famous in their respective fields. people from around the world adore them."

"what does your father do?"

"professional fighter. mma or something like that."

griselda listens intently, her expression unreadable. you continue, the words spilling out more easily now.

"a fighter… does he fight for money?"

"yeah." you notice yourself digressing and pivot to continue on with the story. "my dad was barely around, and my brothers didn’t want much to do with me either. i tried talking to them to see how they were doing, but they never responded—maybe they changed their numbers or something, i dunno."

griselda’s eyes soften. leaning forward slightly, her gaze remains unrelenting. "what did you want? to build something better for yourself?"

you hesitate for a moment. "yeah…"

griselda hums thoughtfully, sitting back in her chair. "you’ve been neglected," she says. "but compared to the children here… well, let’s just say you had it easier. your pain is valid. it just means you’re stronger than you think. and that strength is needed if you’re going to survive in this world."

easier? the word stings, but she’s not wrong. the children here, raised by a human demon, have endured horrors i can barely comprehend. still, how they were raised has nothing to do with me.

her words linger in the air as you meet her gaze. there’s no pity in her eyes, only a quiet understanding. for the first time, you feel a flicker of respect for her—not as an instructor, but as someone who sees you for who you are.

"thank you," you say finally, the words surprising even yourself.

griselda smiles, her usual mischief tempered by sincerity. "don’t thank me yet. we still have a lot of work to do."

and with that, the lessons continue. you shift your focus back to balancing the book on your head, forcing yourself to stand straighter, to take more deliberate steps. but your mind keeps drifting back to your conversation with griselda. it’s not like you trust her — not completely, anyway. there’s something about her that feels… dangerous. not in the same way lante does, but dangerous nonetheless. 

she’s too perceptive, too good at peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you were hiding beneath. she’s probably where roxana got her cunningness. i wouldn’t be surprised.

as if sensing your distraction, griselda snaps her fingers. "focus. if you can’t manage proper posture, how are you going to manage anything else?"

you scowl but comply, adjusting the book again. "you really think all this is necessary?"

"it’s an order from father," she replies smoothly. "you’ll be surrounded by people who will judge you for every little misstep. one wrong gesture, one awkward phrase– and they’ll dismiss you as unworthy. is that what you want?"

"no," you admit. yes. it means i get more time to myself. but i’ll die if i screw this up. literally. the thought feels too depressing to voice aloud, so you keep it to yourself.

griselda continues to drill you on everything from posture to table manners to the subtle art of making conversation without revealing too much. it’s boring, but you can’t deny that she’s good at what she does. by the time the sun begins to set, you’re exhausted — not just physically, but emotionally.

[nyeddleblog]

A little piece of heaven [Part 5]

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Original Female Character x Logan Howlett. Summary: In Wade's timeline, Iris is his supernice upstairs neighbor. In Wolverine's, she's his beloved dead wife. A/N: This is a Wattpad Fic with an original character of mine that you can find here. Warnings: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers, kinda.

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 5: Tension.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. It didn't matter if it was a memory or dream. He saw her. He was haunted by her memory and this aggravating, irresponsable version of her felt like a punishment sent by god. Not only did he have to deal with her last words engraved in the back of his mind, always whispered in his ear, but he also had to manage not to cry whenever Iris did something so particularly Iris. He couldn't ask her no to be her.

Wade insisted on getting to know her better, but Logan didn't know what would be worse, if she was just like her, or if she was nothing like her. So the conflict in his mind was constant.

But, not only was she incredibly unpredictable; her relationship with Wade was puzzling. They were constantly flirting, touching each other, cuddling each other, hanging out, and his advances seemed genuine, yet she had no clue. Logan didn't understand if she was playing dumb, or if she was actually that fucking dumb.

And he didn't understand Wade's goal either. He would jolt awake at times, and he'd be there, surprisingly gentle with his soothing touch and his annoying, yet comforting jokes, like some anchor he rarely found in his past life.

Logan felt like an outsider then, sitting next to Wade in the couch. He saw Iris rest her head on Wade's knee, her hands tracing the test she was grading. It was the last one, then she'd take a shower and the three of them would go out to the shitty bar he'd been going to every night for the past week. He didn't truly know if he was okay with that.

"...And, another kid who's actually listening to me" she muttered triumphantly, leaving the tests with the rest of the pile. She stood up and offered them both a cute smile, "I don't know how I'm gonna be able to keep my job if they smell what I've been smoking, so can you guys keep the windows open while I get ready?"

Iris didn't wait for an answer, she left straight for a shower. An eerie silence invaded the room, tension building between them. He could feel Wade's eyes fixed on his hands, then on his tense shoulders and slowly rising up to his eyes.

"All good in that sick mind of yours, big guy?"

Logan let out something akin to a 'yes', avoiding his friend's eyes. He knew Wade knew it was a lie, but then again, they didn't become friends because he was one to open up. His gaze lowered, fixed on the red stain on one of the kid's tests, "Does she always drink and smoke when she works?"

He was judging her, that much was clear. Wade knew that Logan hadn't stopped comparing Iris to his dead wife since the very moment they met, so he just shrugged, "Wouldn't you if you had to bring work home every weekend?"

In Wade's defense, he wasn't told that the Iris he knew and Logan's late wife were the same person, he followed the clues himself. It wasn't like Wolvie would tell him his whole love story, or be very detailed about her character. He more or less told him her name and that she died in his arms. Wade figured it had to be his neighbor because she was obsessed with Logan before she even met him, and therefore he felt he owed no explanation.

"Relax, peanut. It's just a little weed and wine..." he shrugged, holding his hand out to point at the table "It's not like she doesn't give a fuck about them! She's been on this all day for a reason!"

Logan didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the red stain. He was still trying to keep his mouth out of snapping at him, or worse, out of agreeing. But Wade cared, he clearly did. He cared about her and he cared so much about him. Too much.

"You know, Luna Lovegood over there is actually really good at what she does..." he continued to defend her, "I mean, she's a bit of a space cadet, and I barely understand what she's talking about or why she uses the worst colors in existence, but she loves those kids, you know?" he then looked at the door and back at the grade, "In a totally admirable, non-creepy way..."

Logan finally didn't avoid his gaze, but stared right back. Wade opened his mouth to say something else, but he stopped himself when he realized that under all that annoyance, Logan didn't seem as opposed to his words as he usually was.

His eyes rebelled with a defiant glint and slowly traveled towards his mouth. The silence became suffocating then, specially for Wade who didn't know if this was actually happening and was fighting the urges to joke about it with all his might.

Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and rough, "Maybe she's not so bad."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. This was new territory for both of them, "I think... I think there's precum running down my leg..."

TAGLIST: @l3xi3luv @sagemastah @leobabbyyy if you want in or out of the taglist, let me know<3

[certified-sleep-deprived]

In the Club

Chapter 2: Revelations

Notes: I didn't really like the pacing towards the end, so I'll likely revise it at some point. Now that this two-shot is complete, I will be taking oneshot requests for this au! I am nowhere near done putting it to rest so I want to grace it with some one-shot requests! My inbox is always open unless stated otherwise : )

Warnings: mentions of blackmail, Agatha and Reader share the same shitty ex, brief mention of child death (Nicholas), Agatha might be a bit OOC

Wc: 5300+

You came back to the waking world slowly, and upon waking, you quickly realized two things:

One, you weren't asleep on the icy, concrete sidewalk with a massive hangover.

Two, you were in fact asleep in a bed that was in no way yours.

Your body lurched from the bed in a startle as you came to recognize that you can't identify where you are. This wasn't even a bed at all, or so it felt. What happened to–

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ellie”, says a voice from your left.

There was no time to dwell on anything as the silence in the room was broken by that all too familiar voice. It sounded like the enigma you met at the bar last night, but how could that be?

It should have freaked you out that this woman knew your name. Did you even tell her your name? It's hard to remember anything that came out of your mouth the previous night when you were intoxicated as fuck.

Sucks having low alcohol tolerance. Or so you assume that's the cause.

Once you look over to a semi-circle desk, the memories of last night start to come crashing down on you like a tidal wave all at once. Mind-blowing sex, meeting that older woman who utterly rocked your world… and, speaking of which, was in the chair at the very desk you were gazing at. The very woman from last night, who sat in the chair, looked upon your recently awoken form with a smirk that held some kind of malice.

Your confusion grew once you realized neither your phone nor your pocket knife were on you. This means she must have found your knife hidden in the dress. Shit. It wasn't looking good for you right now.

So many questions swirled in your head, like: what was going on, and just where in the world were you?

But there was another thought that plagued your distressed and frantic mind. Just who was this woman that rocked your life last night? She could be a cartel leader, a terrorist, or anything of the sort.

“Looking for these?”, calls her voice from the desk; a taunting call may I add.

From her hands are your phone and switchblade. Her face was lit up in a shit-eating grin and her eyes glinted with something more than immoral intent. It was more like hunger, but not the lustful kind.

This was the look of a predator cornering its prey. And right now, she was an apex predator, the wolf, and you were the meek, defenseless bunny at the mercy of the wolf's ensnaring jaws.

Her grin drops into a frown as she stares you down, one of her taut hands placing your phone down with a surprising gentleness. After putting your phone down on her desk, she twirls the blade in her hand like it were a pencil, a toy. Or even a puppet, and she was the master of puppets.

Your distress and confusion only increases once you see and feel one of your wrists are cuffed to the bed, which barely even passed as one; it was more like a futon than anything, hard metal pressing into your body. And the cuff wasn't even a handcuff; it was a ring of something purple and translucent.

Upon further survey of the room you're in, you realized it wasn't even a bedroom you were in at all; it was more like professional personal quarters. It was a circular, grey room that held a mini bar on the far side with a wide window that overlooked outside the room. Through the window, you could faintly see the silhouette of the set lights above the dance floor of the night club.

So that answered where you were. You were still at E11even; but, it didn't help to answer just what was going on. It also raised the next question of why you were still at the nightclub.

You attempt to yank your wrist from the bind on the off-chance that it was faulty, but to no avail, they wouldn't give away. Instead, a shocking pain enveloped your wrist and the purple cuff glowed faintly. A guttural cackle rips from the throat of the woman at the desk at your futile attempt to escape.

“Oh, that's cute! Don't bother, it won't budge. My magic doesn't like being fought against.”

Her venomous smirk returns and quickly grows back into that shit-eating grin, and she nearly mimics a Cheshire cat with how wide it was. It was mocking, taunting you with your captivity.

You were trapped, and this woman was merely toying with you. You should have known better than to let this happen. It's fucking Miami, after all.

She's had enough of twirling your switchblade in her veiny hand and stabs it into her desk with a ‘snap’ before standing up and making her way over to you.

“I'm surprised you haven't figured out who I am yet… sweetheart. You're a smart girl”, she says while playing off a faux innocent tone. Two of her fingers hook under your chin to force your gaze on her, and her wicked grin seems to widen more.

Maybe she'd be a good cast as Bendy with how wide she was grinning; it was unnerving and predatory.

Her nails dig in slightly to the soft spot under your jaw, and it sends an uncomfortable feeling through your tongue. However, her next words sent a shiver directly to your very core more than any nail digging into your skin can.

“Being at my mercy is a good look on you, Ellie. Maybe if you'd stop encroaching onto my turf, then this wouldn't have had to happen.”

Your confusion only grows at her words, but the way she says the word “sweetheart” gives you a feeling of deja vù. And lets not forget the fact she knew your name before when you had no memory of even telling her the night before. That's when the final piece of the puzzle clicks in place. This was the woman you have been fussing over (and admiring) for over the past four years.

The woman who fucked you last night was Agatha Harkness, your biggest rival. And now she had you in her clutches.

“You… but it can't be…”

Her cerulean eyes looked like daggers that could kill instantly, and her voice dripped with a tantalizing venom that could poison an army of a thousand men. She was an anaconda that had you in its suffocating coil, and there was no room to breathe. Your ankle was chained to a cinder block underwater with no escape.

You scoot back on the bed far as you can when she comes to kneel down at the bedside. Her hands yank you back by your thighs to the edge of the bed as she looks into your eyes, piercing your soul with her sharp pupils.

“Oh, but it is. Nice to finally put a face to the name, isn't it?”

A whiff of coffee seeps into your nose as she talks to you, her hot, humid breath fanning over your face. If it were any other scenario, you would have found it enticing. But right now? You were fearing for your goddamn life.

You swallow hard as you try to find your next words, choosing carefully as to not dig yourself a hole. It's not like you held any power in this situation at the moment, anyway; Agatha was the one calling the shots.

“You can take off that ridiculous wig, now. I obviously know who you are.”

Her voice calls out like it's an accusation, like you were a villain (I mean technically you are). Shaky hands find the wig and the net you've had on all night and they guide them off of your head, spilling your actual hair down past your shoulders. It was like an angel's halo, graceful and angelic. A stark contrast from who you are. Turquoise waves flowing along your back pictured you as a graceful figure.

“What do you want from me? And what are you?”

Your voice quivers with terror, because there was no knowing of what Agatha would do to you. What is her motive? Why would she fuck you in a dingy closet just to do… whatever the fuck this was the next morning. Was it even morning? You couldn't care less for the time of day right now. All you can focus on is what she planned to do with you.

Her voice comes in a throaty rasp, “I'm so glad you ask, sweetheart. I'm going to blackmail you into giving me all of your assets; nightclubs, garages, safehouses, etcetera”. She withdraws her hands from your thighs and stands up from her kneeling position, rubbing her sore knees from the hard floor.

“I'm going to have so much fun pulling you apart.”

A veiny hand of hers –which you were still VERY much obsessing over– makes an odd motion and the bind that holds your wrist to the bed frame disappeared. That's when you see the same color purple in her hand and irises.

What the fuck?

She is foolish to do this, you think. Does she not expect you to fight back? It didn't matter what she was at this point.

“I bet your pussy still tastes as good as it did last night. Shame I won't be able to enjoy it once I'm done with you.”

She must not have put much thought into her action, because when you jump up and push and pin her against her desk, her expression changes to one of pure surprise.

Despite the few inches of height she has on you, your body keeps her pinned against the desk, the refined wood digging into her ass the more you press her in. She could use her magic and bind you again, but she wanted to see how this would play out.

“This really is something, Agatha. You take advantage of my feelings and you fuck me in a closet just for… what?” your voice was laced with accusation, but also… hurt?

Agatha's eyes soften for a moment, but they quickly take back their cold mask. No, no, no. This wasn't how it wasn't supposed to be. She isn't supposed to go soft on you! Agatha Harkness did do soft. She was a woman of power and anonymity, feared by many. But your sad, pathetic, and gullible face made her feel otherwise.

She wasn't some softie who crumbled for any woman she fucked. Especially when that woman was her biggest rival, but she still listens anyway as you continue on your ramble.

“I thought… I thought we might have had something. Last night was probably the best night of my life since I escaped prison, and since I met my best friend. Even though I didn't know who you were at the time, I still felt something. I haven't felt this way since… since my ex. I haven't felt like this in a long time.”

You slowly back away from her, your body retreating from hers, unable to bear her gaze as she looks upon you in what some may think as a new light. Her once sharp eyes are now soft, and full of unrecognizable emotions that swirl in those captivating pools of cerulean.

For the past four years since you've encroached on her (your) turf, she was convinced you were just a pest, a bug in her way that needed to be squashed. You acted like you owned the place, at least to her. But looking at your feelings now being bared open to her and your insides vulnerable, Agatha couldn't help but feel, as dangerous as it is for her, empathy.

She's feeling empathy.

Empathy! For you of all people! Wow, has she fallen that low? Has the infamous witch-turned-crime-boss gone so soft?

Just maybe.

But the way you were acting…? It reminded her of herself in a way. You reminded her of when her mother and her coven tried to execute her. And also when she went through her terrible separation with Rio. You're so vulnerable, so raw. You were like a wildfire ready to spark, like she was once upon a time.

She couldn't deny what she felt in that closet the night before when she gave you those mind-blowing orgasms. It was more than just sexual attraction, as much as she wouldn't like to admit it. As much as the sex was amazing, she felt a different pull. She felt something more, but it wasn't something she could put into words; at least not right now. It was something she needed to show you, and she had an idea how she wanted to do just that.

She slowly approaches you and her hand finds a gentle perch on one of your shoulders as a means to get your attention, but to also ground you back to earth.

As you looked up into her eyes, gone was the conniving, cunning witch from before. Here was just a woman who was as misunderstood as you were; a woman forced to become the villain.

Her fingers hooked under your chin once more, but this time gentler. Her own luring, cerulean depths searching those brilliant eyes of yours, and all she finds is trepidation and helplessness.

It unnaturally pained Agatha to see someone so much like her, so much broken like she is. She didn't think she would be this taken away from someone who is just like her. The witch knew there was something more to you, but she couldn't tell what it was.

Before she knew it, her mind was made up.

She couldn't go through with any plan to hurt you and break you more, as much as it originally would have satisfied her hunger. There's something deep in her chest that is preventing her from doing so, and it irks her to the bone; because what was it about you that halted her?

Nothing prevented her from escaping the toxicity of Rio's dark embrace, so what was so special about you, a mere mortal woman, that was nearly bringing Agatha to her knees? She doesn't think she'll ever know, you're the only enigma in her life of chaos that she has yet to crack. But you were like a diamond. Uncuttable.

Her voice eventually cuts the overbearing silence in the room like a knife,

“Come, Ellie. There's something I need to show you.”

Her pointer finger makes a motion for you to follow her out of her quarters. Almost as if they were on autopilot, or even under an outside force's control, your feet followed in step behind hers. It's not like you had much of a choice in the matter anyway.

Before you go to the elevator, you grab your phone from her circular desk, but not your switchblade. Something, an instinct maybe, was telling you she meant no harm. And you'd be a fool to not trust your instincts, because when have they failed you before?

Agatha"a heels click against the concrete floor of her quarters as they zero in on the elevator, and your own heels click in rhythm behind her. She presses the button to the garage and the elevator doors close behind you both; and in a way, it feels like you're sealing your fate. Fate of what? You don't exactly know yet.

The elevator ride was tense and quiet, but the ride in her purple McClaren would be a short reprieve of what was to come.

When you both arrive in her garage, she steps out of the elevator and approaches her McClaren in question with grace. Although, there must have been a funny look on your face because she catches your gaze and makes note of it.

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Her words make your head perk up and you shake your head with a light chuckle.

“Sorry. I just never took you as a person to drive a McClaren. I always assumed you would drive a Ferrari or something.”

A small smirk lights up her face as you slide in the passenger's seat.

“You'll find I'm full of surprises, sweetheart.”

The supercar roared to life and the tires scraped against the asphalt as they peel out of the nightclub garage and into the route ahead.

Miami's streets buzzed by as the crisp early morning air of the ocean filled your nostrils. It was like last night, but this time around, the air is filled with something different.

When it was you and your friend, it was filled with a serene sense of companionship, nothing more. But now? The air was filled with a comfortable… intimacy? No, not that. Familiarity, maybe? Whatever it was, it should feel wrong, especially seeing as who occupied the car with you. But it didn't.

It felt right.

There was something about the older woman's presence that was starting to calm you. Ironically it should do the opposite, but it doesn't. Maybe it's the breeze coming off of the ocean that's calming your senses instead of her presence.

Agatha's veiny hand grips the steering wheel and the other rests gently upon the center console of the car.

Every now and then in the drive to wherever it was she was heading, her eyes flicker to you in the black leather seat beside her. In the soft light of the streetlamps, she was able to admire your beauty. The contours and dip of your face are illuminated in the soft street light and she is completely enamored. Your dyed hair blows in the wind, framing your strong jawline, and your eyes seem to have gained a new glow to them.

She couldn't have been more fucked up over you.

What she didn't know, is you were just as fucked up over her as she was you.

The way her long, brunette waves flowed behind her in the breeze as she drove through the streets captivated you. Her cerulean eyes seemed to illuminate the darkness in the early morning, or was it just the street lamps? Whatever it was, they still ensnared you and were pulling you in.

And the way the perfect chisel of her nose

scrunched up every now and then as the salty stench of the Atlantic Ocean reached her senses. She was something akin to a goddess in your perspective.

You break out of your trance of thoroughly observing Agatha when you notice she's leaving the city altogether and going to the outskirts. But for what? Or should you say where. Your head lifts see her still focused on the road.

“Agatha? Where are you taking us?”

Her head turns slightly as if to acknowledge you spoke before she speaks herself.

“You'll see. Just hold on.”

Her raspy voice was surprisingly tender and full of reassurance.

The rest of the ride goes on in a comfortable silence. Her hand finds your thigh and it gives a gentle squeeze of reassurance as her McClaren approaches an old, abandoned observatory. Your curiosity is piqued. Why would she take you to an observatory?

As the car comes to a crawl in the parking lot of the observatory, you can't help but break the silence with a little sarcasm.

“So you want to show me… cobwebs? I don't get it.”

Her lips part in a soft chuckle and she shakes her head, seemingly amused by your words.

“Not exactly. Come on.”

A hand finds your upper back and gently guides you along into the observatory. There are old displays littered about in the abandoned space that feature the constellations and planets. So it must have been a public space observatory once upon a time judging by the displays.

Agatha starts to make her way upstairs and looks behind her to see you're still at the bottom of the stairs, looking unsure to follow. The witch's expression softens and she extends a hand out to you.

“I won't bite. I need to show you something.”

A gentle smile graces her face as you accept her hand and she leads you up into the main observing area. It's pitch dark as the dome isn't open, and probably hasn't been in a long time.

“Agatha, why are we in a pitch black observatory?”

She doesn't answer, but her hands illuminate with the same purple energy that was around your wrist earlier in her quarters. You hear a rusty creaking before the dome starts to slide open, revealing the night sky in all of its glory.

Being somewhat far away from Miami, the light pollution doesn't reach the observatory, so you can see every little star that lights up the sky. There's so much that the night sky holds, and it's always fascinated you in some way.

Your mouth is agape as your feet take you to the railing of the dome, with Agatha trailing behind you.

“I've never seen so many stars in the sky. They're so…” You trail off.

“...beautiful? Yes. Yes, they are.” She braces her arms on the railing and lean forward, putting her weight on them to gaze upon the stars with you. In her eyes, the true star was right next to her. That star was you. Your orbit was powerful and magnetizing, and she couldn't break away.

Eventually, you are the one to bring up the elephant in the room.

“What made you change your mind about me? Why not just blackmail me like you intended to?”

She knew this was coming, but she wanted to delay it as long as possible. But now, there was no more escaping it. So with a heavy sigh, she pours her thoughts.

“You remind me so much of myself once upon a time. Cursed by the world you lived in for who you are.”

The answer was short, but it already revealed to you that she wasn't the cold witch through and through like originally thought. This woman had gone through a great deal of pain in her life, too. You could see it in her eyes; those troubled, cerulean eyes.

“Before you ask about the whole magic thing, I'll just tell you straightforwardly: I'm an ancient witch from Salem.”

Agatha turns her head to look at you and gauges your reaction. A huff escapes you before you speak again,

“Is your name even Agatha? Or was that a lie?”

You turn your own head to look her straight in the eyes. The soft moonlight casts the perfect shadows over both of your figures. It was an ethereal sight. Sharp shadows contrasted by soft light, the perfect mix.

“I didn't lie about my name. My name is in fact Agatha Harkness.”

You shake your head and turn your gaze back to the stars.

“How are you a witch? I thought witches were a thing of myth and legends passed down in campfire stories?”

Agatha shifts slightly closer, but not too much to encroach in your personal bubble.

“What you've likely heard about witches are myth and legend. ‘A group of old women poisoning the youth’ and all that bullshit. But that's not what we are.” She fully turns her body to face you, leaning one arm on the dome railing. You silently urge her to continue by a small nod.

“I was born into a coven of powerful witches back in the late seventeenth century. I grew to be the most powerful of them all, and that's what they feared me for, my power. So, they tried to kill me, but it backfired when I absorbed their magic one by one.”

There was a slight shock evident in your eyes, but it was not a surprise.

“I guess I shouldn't put it past you to do something like that. So what, you're like three hundred something years old?”

Your body mimics hers and you lean your weight onto one arm that's pressed against the railing.

“Almost three hundred and fifty,” she grins.

The breath is nearly knocked from your lungs as she tells you this. Damn, she really has been around for a long time.

“Jesus christ. Almost three and a half centuries and you don't even look fifty.”

She shifts her stance slightly when it gets uncomfortable from standing so long.

“Thank you. I haven't really aged in three hundred years. Not even when I had my son.”

Your interest is piqued further when she mentions having a son. Agatha must have noticed the look on your face after she said something because she looks reluctant to talk now. A gentle hand of yours finds hers in a comforting squeeze.

“You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to-”

“-no. It's alright, it's just… fuck.” She doesn't meet your tender gaze as she builds up the balls to reveal this part of her life to you.

“I had a son around the time I was eighty, but mind you I obviously didn't look eighty.” She clarifies.

“Anyway, I loved him to death. Quite literally, unfortunately. I tried to push off his inevitable demise by pleasing death herself, but I couldn't do it for long. She took him while I was sleeping one night and I'll never forgive her for that. All I wanted was more time.” Her voice breaks off in a sob, and that's when you see it.

There are actual tears streaming down the witch's face as she reminisces on the painful memory of her son. Earlier, you would have played it off as an act to deceive you, but now? Now you could tell that it wasn't an act. This was simply a woman who had lost so much.

You couldn't help but pull her into a gentle embrace. It wasn't an act of pity, but one of understanding. Her sobs were muffled into your neck while her tears stained your shoulder. Your arms were gently wrapped around her back while hers were gripping for dear life around your waist.

She needs this. She needs someone who understands what it's like to lose. And now, she has someone. She has you now, and she wasn't letting go. By the looks of it, you didn't want to let go either.

Of all people, the two of you know what it's like to be dealt the worst cards in the deck.

You: imprisonment for six years, betrayed by your ex.

And Agatha: coven tried to kill her, lost her son to her ex.

You were both dealt the Three of Swords.

This actually reminded her of something you had said earlier in her quarters in the nightclub. She pulls away just enough to see your face. Her face is stained with her tears, and her eyes are all red, but she quickly composes herself before bringing her next question to light.

“How did you go to prison?”

It was said softly, but those words still held so much weight to them. She could feel the way you started to tremble in her arms and her fingers started to card through your hair in a calming matter.

“It's alright. I didn't mean to dig up an old wound. I'm just trying to wrap my head around how someone like you got caught.”

While your head rests against her shoulder, you contemplate your moves. Does she deserve to know? Would it benefit anything going forward? Maybe it wouldn't hurt if at least one other person knew. You take a deep breath to steel yourself for the conversation ahead.

“We were pinned down. A job went wrong and we were trapped. I suggested we could maybe escape on the train, as it would be our only choice, but she went and opened the door for the police and turned me in. My own girlfriend.”

There are tears of your own flowing down your face and staining her blazer. But the words that come out of your mouth next, are the ones to fully shatter her exterior.

“When I find Rio Vidal, it's the fucking end for her.”

She falters and staggers slightly, so you lift your head to look at her with concern swirling in your eyes. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see the concern… maybe shock?

“Did you just fucking say ‘Rio Vidal’?”

You take a step back for every step she takes forward. The anger in her voice was palpable, but it didn't match her eyes. There was something else swirling in them now, but it was unrecognizable.

“She's the one who took my son from me.”

The witch advances on you further until your back hits the dome railing. Your hands grip onto the rail behind you, but hers come up to cup your face. It was so gentle and tender like a butterfly's wing. At first, the act made you flinch as you were expecting her to be much more violent, but she wasn't.

Her eyes gently roam over your face, taking in every minute contour and dip of your face like it'd be the last time she'd see you. A hand brushes a strand of hair from your face and trails down your jaw, the woman's face just a couple inches from yours.

“You and I really aren't that different, sweetheart.”

The way she says ‘sweetheart’ now compared to earlier has changed. Earlier, it was full of mockery and tease; but now, it was full of affection and… love.

Now you can place the look in her eyes. The way she's been looking at you since you both left the nightclub, was full of love. Her thumbs rub circles on your cheekbones as her breath ghosts over your lips.

This was a tender and intimate moment, and she wasn't looking for it to break anytime soon.

“We both know what it's like to lose to our ex.”

You lean into her touch, and your eyes flick down to her lips before back up to her eyes that had caught your shift. Agatha watches as you lean in slightly, your nose brushing hers, but she gently stops you with her hands still on your face.

“How about we show her we're a force to be reckoned with, you and I?”

She takes a deep, ragged breath to center herself.

“We could show her that she should have never fucked us over in the first place.”

Her lips now just barely graze yours as she searches your gaze desperately.

“Say yes sweetheart. Please.”

It wasn't just revenge she was asking you for, you could see it. The way she tenderly holds your face just out of reach from her own. You both were screwed over by the same person, and now, it felt only right to go after her. So you didn't answer her plea verbally.

You answered it with a kiss instead.

The witch gasps into the action, but quickly melts into it once she realizes this is a confirmation of you being on her side. It couldn't have thrilled her more to know she could now set a plan into motion to get the revenge she desired on Rio, and now having an accomplice to that plan. She will now have you by her side with a common goal.

The kiss, which started tender and affectionate, quickly turned to desperate and full of pent up desire. Your tongues collided in a fierce tango of fire and passion. She tasted like coffee with faint traces of you from a few hours ago in that closet.

Agatha broke away, her pupils dilated and her breathing ragged. She gave her bottom lip a little lick before speaking of whispered promises.

“I'll give you everything, Ellie. I won't let you go so easily. We're in this together.”

And you found that you didn't want to ever let go of her either, because she was right. There was nothing you two wouldn't do from this moment on.

The stars would never go anywhere, because you had someone who would fight tooth and nail to bring them to your hands.

[missmarveledsblog]

Hand on Heart (Jake Seresin x Singlemom!reader) chapter 7

Summary: While Jake is coming to terms with the strong feeling building , y/n is trying to make sense of her own while showing she was ok , only when everything become to real well it hard to ignore it all

warning: some angst, allusions to shitty childhood and toxic parents, Jake coming to the rescue in more ways than one , some goofy humour , some feels , not proofread also written on my phone so if there is error let pretend there isnt ok 👀

previous part

Why was it so difficult , it shouldn’t be  this wasn’t the first time she was this close . Yet she was forcing her eyes to look at the screen in front of her and stop staring the man , her friend who was here to comfort her . She tried to remind herself of the play boy thing but even she was starting to doubt that or maybe he was just like that with friends … but he didn’t do that for the other right? . 

“ hey whats up don’t tell me your bored after defending the hell out of this so called masterpiece “ he chuckled. 

“ no it’s still good just i’m hungry “ she lied wondering was his voice always that sexy . 

“ javy  got us burgers they should be here in twenty “ he laughed and she bit her bottomed lip ignoring how the touch made her skin come alive , she was upset was all  or what she kept telling herself. 

“ What time is Belle coming home at?” he asked. 

“  benny fucked up the flights so  gonna be the afternoon “ she rolled her eyes. 

“ I can't wait to see her , it’s too quiet here” he teased. 

“ i can be noisy snake and ladders “ she got up and headed to the kitchen . “ want a beer? “ she called . 

“ yup” he called back . “ i sure hell need one “ he muttered ignoring how hot his skin felt . this wasn’t like him reduce to flushing at  silly remarks  like a puberty ridden boy  popping boners all cause of pretty girls paid him attention . “ pull it together “ he scolded himself 

“ i appreciate you  keeping me company  tonight “ he looked up to see her handing him the beer . “ it means alot but i hope i ain’t cramping your style “ . 

“ cramping my style “ his brow raise and an amused grin on his face. 

“ you know the whole lady killer thing you got going on , you know what i mean asshole “ she laughed , her head thrown back  he love seeing her like this , happy and herself .  

“ nah it’s not as fun as you make it sound like “he shook his head. 

“ what sex is boring” she arched her brow. 

“  meaningless sex after awhile is , not at the time but after” he admitted a truth he never thought he would be  saying out loud . but sure as shit did he mean it . 

“ sound like you want a connection “ she smiled softly her cheek laying on the arm that was propped on the back of sofa . 

“ guess i am “ he didn’t know how or why it happened as he leaned forward suddenly he was doing the same almost studying her face  every single part  lost in the action to see her doing the very same time , like he was moving more forward , he was close so close  yet the doorbell ringing snapped whatever trance the  two were in before she was rushing off of the chair and heading off. the soft giggle and door closing she held the bag up almost awkward smile on her face as she looked back . 

“ the burgers” 

“ good i'm hungry “ he nodded sadly knowing he was so close and so far all in one breathe. the rest of the night was back to normal neither bringing up the almost moment , not knowing if it was just them or something that  was pulling them to each other.  it was like the universe was calling to them both and them refusing to see it .  talking away  to the point when he leaving , his hug lingered  , his steps slow almost hesitation  in the movement before sucking it up and getting  in his   truck and driving home  . His  mind trying to separate  his wishes from reality , did he image it or did he actually  nearly kiss the  woman he couldn't get out  since he's first laid eyes on her.  it had to be some hypnosis  of some form  , how it was impossible to even fathom it all  seemed nuts , crazy  , it was something himself before her would of laughed at yet it was happening and he didn't know what to do . this wasn’t  like all the others , he knew that  a quick fuck and goodbye would help cure it all. yet his cocky ego was no where to be found only some part of himself he didn't recognise , a vulnerable almost afraid side that would bare himself to this woman and it end badly so maybe keeping it inside , keeping himself from acting and it would pass would be  the right call because he did not want to lose two people who became a fast and sure part of his life .  he could suck it up right? . 

she barely lifted her head from the pillow and already she felt it coming . that sick gut wrenching feeling of knowing she would see him , was she ready   to stand face to face with beau simpson … not even a little bit . she was raised better than  that , her grandmother raised her strong and resilient . she could  be civil , she could do this . mainly because one she just got here , two moving wouldn't  be good for belle and three she  liked it here so  her maybe (definitely is) sperm donor was not going to mess with that , it wasn't going to mess with her life .  she went through her life of messy parental drama that she wasn't  going to let it dictate  her adult one too.  a stretch and yawn as she headed  to grab a shower , knowing jake was probably on his way giving the new sort of routine the two had not that she minded one bit. just like she predicted the moment she got dried off and into her overalls the doorbell rang and she was opening the door  there he stood the tray of coffee in one hand and bag filled with food in the other . 

“ Why are you dressed? “ his eyebrows furrowed as he followed her down to the kitchen .

“ can't go work naked i mean i want mav to look at me differently but not too differently “ she teased taking two plates out for the food .  “ Look, a dad abandoning me isn't  new  so I'm not gonna hide away” she shrugged even though the world made her stomach twist and feelings pushing down . 

“ if you wanna go home at any point tell me or mav ok “   he sighed knowing it was useless  even if he thought it was a bad idea .  He hoped that Belle would be home earlier than scheduled knowing one that her mama missed her and two so did he and the dagger squad plus belle could take her mind off of every as well as her big brother that was for .   he could tell she was off no matter how much she pretended it didn't . that strong unbothered  front showing cracks before the facade of being ok showed once more. when they left out her front door instead of carpooling she hopped into her own car  so he got in with her, leaving his truck in the driveway even waving to her neighbours as they headed out . 

“ i don't need a babysitter gameboy” she  rolled her eyes . 

“ I ain't babysitting nectarine” he shot back . “ that's nats job “ he chuckled as she whined. 

 “ I'm ok really look its shitty  , it is  and it sucks but  i ain't gonna cry over a repeated situation , i don't want to be babied"she sighed . 

“ ok but if it gets too much ?”  he asked. 

“ i will tell mav.. and you “ she rolled her eyes as they pulled   into the car park ... somewhat satisfied he got out of her car , heading into the base. The first sign was her greetings. they weren't cheer filled greetings more half assed ,  force just like the smile on her face . it didn't quite reach her eyes and then when her eyes landed on beau simpson she froze , visibly froze  in her spot before he wrapped his arm around  her off shaking his head when he saw the man was about to move towards them .  

The dagger squad knew something was up , they knew something happened with the cyclone but not to the full extent only drawing their own sort of conclusions .   each wanting to comfort her in some way and yet not knowing what to say without upsetting her more.  Mav could see throughout the morning of her watching the entrance every now and again or during lunch how she walked in her head low. Nothing like the woman who walked in like life itself , no she was almost making herself so small , hidden away from everyone . His heart hurt for the young girl  , a small amount of time she certainly made a big impact in their lives that was for sure . Then  he looked down at his phone , maybe breaking rules and laws wasn't a good thing to do but when it would help  he didn't mind.  a small smile on his face as he headed out the cafeteria . while she ate she could feel their eyes on her , each mouth opening and closing something and nothing to say all in one .  

“ ask , i know y'all  wanna so go “ she looked up as they suddenly   found their food very interesting except nat  who wanted to get to the point . 

“ was he inappropriate with you?” .

“ not in the way your thinking , he maybe my dad  my mama said he is but then again she also said ny dad is my dad so i cant really confirm her word on things” she watched each and every fork fall . “ you where there why you surprise , even punch his ass “ she looked at jake . only for rooster to choke on his drink . 

“ you punched cyclone are you crazy “ javy hissed. 

“ it ok i warned him not to do anything “ she waved them off . 

“ ok back to he might be your father what the hell” nat whispered. 

“ yeah apparently when he was stationed in texas  he and my mom had a fling while my maybe , maybe not father was on a bender and well then he watched me grow up til i was a child without thinking hmm that could be mine or he did and just didn’t care “ she hummed.  as they all looked back at their superior than looked at her   a couple of time but just as she went  to stop them something else gained her attention . 

“MAMA , MAMA  “ The little voice that made her hardest days the brightest as she turned  to see her big brother and the light of her life standing at the entrance of the cafeteria .  right there and then the woman before the massive secret , before her world was shifted . The bright happy cheer filled smile they new and loved . 

“ Belle “ rooster cheered . 

“  back of turkey  i will fight you “ she  warned getting up from her seat as the man gulped and her friends laugh .   rushing up gaining the toddlers attention but not only the toddlers attention . 

he felt her heart fall into his stomach , the moment he saw Benny standing at the doorway with a small child , he knew who it was straight off the bat .  the mini version of y/n calling out for her . how he wanted to be able to enjoy the reunion and yet the fact of being a grandfather being all too real . The fact he had missed out on so much made the guilt rise more and more and yet he was stuck to the seat. Beau Simpson never claimed to be perfect but in that moment right there and then he felt lower than garbage  for ignoring and not doing the right thing all those years .  It took all of him not to crawl to her and  her daughter on his hand and knee begging for forgiveness , to catch up to make up for everything he missed out on . he kept himself stuck to that chair like the rest of the people in that cafeteria  . he was  stuck being a bystander in the scene instead of a participant. he had to make it right , he had to find a way to be in her life  and he was ready to go through hell and back if that was the case. 

Just that little smile , the feeling of her little body in her arms  was what she needed, what made her centered. It was also what made her aware of the mess of the situation  , another thing she was going to have to explain to her daughter once she was older. when it really felt real and made her hypersensitive to her  surroundings . She could feel an audience , feel his eyes and belle was there . that sinking feeling making her rush out with  her daughter in her arms  from the peering eyes and worried looks . not a moment of hesitation , not a second passing before Jake was out of his own seat and rushing after her . It didn't matter nothing in that moment, only the fact that she was ok . 

“ Just friends my  ass “ Benny smirked before walking over to the one man he did have a problem with . “ Sir, I would like to speak to you,personal matter, maybe tomorrow at the hard deck i believe it's called, ” he said as Beau nodded before making his own exit in the direction to find his little sister. 

she was sitting in the her car belle on her lap , feeling more herself , more free of his presence . she wasn't in his view hell she made it her sole goal to  keep her daughter out of the  her own parental messes , her mom nor father could she even call him that  now have met belle and if she could keep it that way. just because she grew up in their messes it was never going to be that way for belle , she made that promise that day in the hospital when she first held her daughter in her arms . 

“jake” the little voice giggled only for Y/n to see the blonde smiling down at her daughter . 

“ i wanna go home “ she finally said . 

“ ok let get you girls home “  

“ y'all wait for me  would be nice” she could hear Benny calling making her realise she completely forgot he was there.  “ you ok peach” he asked softly taking no offense knowing she was going through to much and putting on too brave of a face . 

“ I wanna go home” that voice was so small , so vulnerable, something she never showed to anyone other than her brothers. 

“  sit in back with belle , hey you not gonna get in trouble for heading off base” he turned to the blonde . 

“ nah i already talked with mav he cleared me to leave at any time” he shrugged . it wasn't a complete lie  , he waited til she was completely busy before talking with the captain. Honestly, permission or not he was willing to break rules , she was worth breaking rules if it meant she was ok .  The fact he was so happy to see Belle to know what he was feeling wasn't going to go away soon  or maybe at all .  no he knew there and then those two had his heart , he knew he had to tell her at some stage but now wasn't that time  , he could put his feelings aside for now they  in his mind were not important not now when she  needed him , needed her friend . 

 the relief  she felt even more so when they walked into  her home , her safe space .  she notice as they walked in how perfectly he fit in that space how even when she thought she was going to break each and every time Jake seresin held her up and kept her grounded . how much Belle was excited for the man to be around as he carried her into the house while Benny was looking at his sister , almost seeing a gaze he hadn’t  seen in a long time but he knew it a long time ago . 

“ain't that a funny thing” he chuckled .

“ what ?” yet she didn't look  his way not once . 

Taglist : @zara-aliza08 @stoneyggirl2 @lyn-js @emma8895eb

“I never thought I see it again, that look I only ever saw growing up when she did anything from cooking dinner to helping with homework “ he explained, making her turn brows furrowed in confusion at the nonsense .  “  yeah like the way grandpa used to look at grandma, the look of true love” he pushed her gently making his way into the house looking, giving himself a tour while she stood in shock and realization that only added to her jumble messy mind. Her eyes shot to the blonde and a gasp spilt from her lips, she was falling for her new friend and she was falling hard. 

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