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writella · 5 months ago

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Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x reader smut #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x y/n smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fluff #twd fanfiction #twd smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic

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f1byjessie · 6 months ago

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HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81. [REWRITE]

he may not be a london boy, but you love him all the same, and you’re about to learn the hard way that loving someone can be a wild ride.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part one.

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yourusername me and london boy have made so many memories here together and i’ll cherish them forever ❤️. i love this sport and i love the people i've met in this sport. i'll always love it and them, but sometimes you have to take a step back and set your sights on new horizons. that said, neither of us will be competing in any events this year— endurance or otherwise. london boy will stay in richmond and continue to receive the best care possible from people who have grown to love him as much as i do, and in the meantime, i'll start looking to those other horizons.

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user wishing you the best of luck!! we’ll miss seeing you and london boy, but we know this decision wasn’t made lightly and we hope whatever you do will make you just as happy as riding does!!

user london boy lives a more luxurious life than i could ever hope

↳ user real like why am i jealous of a horse 😭😭

↳ user knowing how well these horses are treated? we should all be jealous

↳ user some of these horses have rain coats that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined… the day i learned that was not a fun day… 😔

user honestly only ever tuned in to watch you both

user the events won’t be the same without you!!!

user I’LL MISS YOU LONDON BOY

user take all the time you need to explore other options! you can love something and still get burnt out on it. sometimes taking that step away can be the decision that allows us to continue loving something instead of growing resentful towards it. do what you need to do to be happy! 🫶

↳ user this is such a good way to put it!!

↳ user THIS. i did competitive jumping for ten years and towards the end of that time i started seeing it more as a chore than the sport i used to be so passionate about. you absolutely CAN love something and still get burnt out on it. taking breaks is so important.

user i’m sure london boy will miss you but you do you girliepop! take a trip or go on an adventure!

user oh to be a girl riding her horse across the beach at sunrise 🥲

↳ user IKR?!? talk about dream life, she’s literally living out scenes that i’ve only ever seen in movies

↳ user it’s london boy’s world and we’re all just living in it

user wait does this mean no more horse content???

↳ user i mean she’s not getting rid of her horse or even outright retiring, she just won’t be riding competitively for 2023

user is she leaving the uk or smth?? bc she said other ppl will be looking after london boy?? i know nothing about horses guys i’m sorry

↳ user london boy will be staying at the stables as per her caption! he will be looked after by many trained professionals who will ensure he is properly fed, watered, exercised, and groomed each day! it’s actually very common for people to board their horses at a stable since horses often need large fields to graze and exercise in, and not a lot of people have big enough backyards or own property to be able to provide that themselves. whether she’s leaving the uk or not, we don’t know, but it definitely sounds like her training with london boy will be put on hold for the time being!

user miss girl we’ll always remember you and london boy as the greatest duo in endurance racing history

↳ user REAL REAL REAL

user does this have to do with her falling off a few months back??

↳ user it could, she did mention the encounter leaving her pretty shaken

↳ user yeah but the possibility of something like this happening is so high that a lot of riders have accepted it as an inevitable occurrence in their career

↳ user even still, that doesn’t change the fact that she could very well be traumatized or experiencing lingering side effects

↳ user guys!! speculation will do us no good!! if she wants to tell us, she will!!

user YOU KNOW I LOVE A LONDON BOY 🗣🗣🗣

logansargeant wanna trade one paddock for another?

There’s a sort of terrifying uncertainty that comes with breaking a long-standing routine.

It’s like a fucked-up sort of package deal— you stop following the methodized schedule you’ve meticulously upheld for years, and in exchange, you receive more time than you know what to do with and an overwhelming responsibility to fill it.

The only question is: with what?

The muscle memory lingers, and you suspect that it’ll take some time for your body to un-familiarize itself with a sleep schedule that you’ve religiously held on to for years, but there’s no demands to maintain any of it and that makes any sort of attempt at continuing to run through the motions feel entirely obsolete. You may instinctively wake up at the ass crack of dawn, but without the necessity of a horse relying on your punctuality to get him fed, watered, and turned out to the paddock, there’s nothing you can do beyond filling the morning with something until your internal clock catches the memo and decides to let you sleep in for once.

“You know, when I invited you to tag along with me,” Logan begins in lieu of a greeting when he opens the front door and sees you standing on the stoep of his apartment, clad in athletic wear and a pair of well-worn running shoes, “I was under the impression that we both understood that to mean the traveling to races part and not necessarily the pre-season training.”

“‘My dearest sister,’” you sarcastically quip back in a mockingly deep voice, feigning heartfelt sincerity and pressing your hand melodramatically to your chest. “‘How good it is to see you after so long! I would be absolutely delighted if you joined me on my morning run today.’”

Your twin brother shakes his head in exasperation, but through the facade of annoyance, you can recognize the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Honestly, Logie,” You pretend to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and add in a sniffle for extra flair, “you're too sweet. What would I ever do without you?”

“We saw each other a week ago at brunch,” he grumbles, reluctantly taking a step back from the door and allowing you to pass over the threshold into the warmth of the apartment and out of the winter’s frigid morning air.

“When?”

“Last Wednesday—”

“—did I ask? Oh! Boom! Gotcha!” You whoop out an exclamation of victory as you continue down the hall. “Gosh, I am four for four now. You gotta step up your game, Logie-bear, or this is gonna end in a miserable shut out for you.”

He heaves out a heavy sigh that carries with it twenty-two years of suppressed brotherly rage and the exhaustion that can only come from being reminded at every chance that he is, and always will be, a minute younger than you. “You're the bane of my existence, and I do sincerely hope you know this.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

You step into the small kitchen at the end of the hall. With the exception of a little potted cactus sitting on the windowsill— a housewarming gift from you— it looks nearly identical to how it was the last time you visited.

A month ago.

When he moved in.

There's a woven mat on the floor in front of the sink, an ashy green that contrasts nicely with the off-white cream color of the cabinets and laminate countertops. You can't really tell if Logan actually bought the mat, or if it came with the place, but it's cute nonetheless and serves as one of the few pops of color in the otherwise monochromatically beige apartment.

“I see that my cactus continues to reign supreme as the only individuality in this place,” you comment, glancing over your shoulder in time to see him appear in the doorway.

He shrugs at your words. “Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how busy you can get when you're preparing for everything you've ever dreamed about. No biggie.”

“Logan,” you turn to face him, “you'll do great. There are two other rookies on the grid—”

“And I'll be in the worst car out of all of them.”

“You don't know that,” you chide gently.

This side of Logan isn't unfamiliar to you— the anxiety and fear of failure. It's always existed, and you've known about it since the morning of his first kart race when he confided in you that he was so nervous he felt like he was going to be sick.

The insecurities surrounding his own skills have persisted and thrived with every new track, every new team, and every new series, and as you've grown alongside him you've found ways to challenge his self-doubt, but you've also learned to accept that there's only so much you alone can do.

You can debate it and challenge the self-deprecating thoughts all you want, but the voice in his head will always be there, no matter how quiet it occasionally becomes.

So you choose to drop the topic for now.

It's too early in the morning for an impromptu therapy session anyway.

You turn back around and scan the countertops until your eyes latch onto the container of pre-workout tucked away in the corner, nearly hidden amidst the mountain of vitamin and nutrient supplements.

“I thought it was part of Benny’s job to make sure you didn't have to use all this shit,” you comment, picking through the jars and eyeing them each with unapologetic distaste.

Logan reaches over your shoulder and plucks a packet of vitamin C tablets from your hand, “Sometimes these just work better.”

“Yeah, maybe if you don’t have a nutritionist being paid to quite literally curate a diet specifically to ensure that you don’t need to use these,” you gesture widely to the assembled mass of supplements. “But, last I checked, dear brother of mine, you do have a nutritionist— and a very good one at that— who would be horrified to learn you’re substituting real fruit for…” you squint down at the nutritional label of another one of the jars, but there’s very little that you recognize amidst the scientific jargon and long, five-syllable words, “little gummies that taste like fruit.”

He huffs, “Get your pre-workout or I'm leaving without you.”

“You wouldn't dare leave without me,” you grumble.

“I've done it before and I'll do it again,” he snipes, giving a brief yank on your ponytail and cackling when you swat behind yourself in futility.

There’s more he isn’t saying— there always is, nowadays— but you recognize the deflection for what it is. You want to claw him apart with questions and demand answers that bare every inch of his soul so you understand what he isn’t telling you and why he feels the need to keep it locked away even from you, but you know better than to keep pushing at something Logan clearly doesn’t want to talk about.

It makes you nostalgic for a time in your life when he’d sneak down from the top of the bunk bed after your parents had tucked you away for the night and slip under the covers with you, a well-loved stuffed bear hugged to his chest. He’d curl up beside you and you’d pull the blankets up to your chin and watch him with big, curious eyes until he’d whisper out into the darkness of your shared bedroom what he was worrying about.

More often than not it was a byproduct of a hyperactive imagination still plagued by the fears of childhood. Something about the space beneath your bed and— “What if there’s something down there? And the only way you can see it is by its glowing eyes? But what if it knows when someone is gonna look under the bed, so it closes its eyes so you can’t see the glow?” Or the curtains and— “You have to make sure they cover the whole window because what if you don’t and then something looks inside and it knows I’m not asleep and then it comes inside? I always hold really still and pretend to be asleep even when I’m not if the curtains aren’t closed.”

But sometimes it was about anything and everything else like the fox sitting in the bushes by the bus stop on the way home from school and whether or not it had water to keep it cool in the Florida heat, or the purple glitter pen Mrs. Moore used to grade his spelling test and how the girl sitting next to him had gotten her test graded with the green glitter pen, or— “I forgot my coat in Mr. Garrison’s class yesterday, and you went and got it for me and brought it to the car with you, and I didn’t say thank you, but I always feel bad when I leave my coat behind because what if it has feelings and felt really bad because it thought I was abandoning it, so thank you for getting my coat so it didn’t feel abandoned.”

But that was then and this is now.

You’re both adults, and you live in different apartments on different ends of the city, and you work different jobs that separate you by half the globe at times. There’s no more talk of foxes by bus stops or glitter pens, and certainly no more sentient coats with fears of abandonment.

When you look at Logan now, he isn’t wasting away, and really you owe it to him after you announced out of the blue a week ago that you weren’t just taking a break from competitive riding, but rather taking a break from riding as a whole. He didn’t press you on it then— still hasn’t pressed you on it despite having every right to do so. The least you can do now in return is respect the boundary he’s trying to set.

You mutter a few curses beneath your breath— words your mother would throw a fit over if she could hear you— and feign a scowl, but some of the tension in Logan’s shoulders has released and that's all you can ask for.

“If you leave me behind, I’ll leak a picture of your pathetic kitchen to the tabloids and let everyone tear apart your design choices,” you threaten, digging your knuckles into the tender spot of his arm where bicep meets shoulder and taking pride when he squirms away and beyond reach.

He flips you off. “You’re just jealous I have a cool cactus and you don’t.”

“Hey!” You give a lazy kick in his direction, but he sidesteps it easily with a laugh. “I gave you that cactus!”

“Tomato, tom-ah-to.” He flippantly waves his hand in your direction, laughing again at the indignant squawk you make. “Just hurry up and make your damn drink.”

As he makes his way out of the kitchen, presumably to grab his shoes, you unscrew the lid from the container and reach for the scoop.

Only to find it entirely empty.

“You asshole! There's nothing in here!”

Logan’s cackle echoes from another room.

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yourusername day 14 without london boy and i have officially succumbed to the boredom and willingly subjected myself to the presence of my arch nemesis (love you logie 🫶)

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logansargeant in my defense, you just showed up

user you could not PAY me to go out in this weather

user as a florida girlie myself, this is my nightmare

↳ user REAL

↳ user genuinely seeing this makes me so glad i live in a place where there’s no snow cuz yea, the view is pretty and all, but not even a gorgeous sunrise would make up for me freezing my ass off and having to wear seven layers just to keep the feeling in my fingers and toes

user i wish the most stressful part of my day was going for a morning run 😔

user calling logan her nemesis is so real i just know that man is a menace

↳ user the f2 clips of him and liam are proof enough

↳ user logan sargeant was a menace back in f3 💀 have you SEEN the prema videos with oscar and fred? bro is diabolical when he wants to be

↳ user i'm so excited for the chaos he'll bring to the grid this year

user the snow man is so cute!!

user “14 days without london boy” OH I AM ILL 😭😭😭

user ok but that view is gorgeousness

↳ user ikr?! winter sunrises are genuinely so pretty

user i’m still so confused as to why she isn’t riding anymore?? can someone pls explain

↳ user to be entirely honest, i’m not sure really what there is to explain. first and foremost, we aren’t owed any sort of explanation as to why she’s decided to take a step back from riding. it could be a personal decision, a career decision, or something else, but whatever it is we aren’t automatically entitled to it just because y/n has previously been very open and vocal about her and london boy’s training. second, she never actually said that she isn’t riding anymore. she said she’s taking a step back from competitive riding to focus on other things, and the “without london boy” part of her caption implies that she hasn’t seen him, but she could just be taking a prolonged break, or she could be focusing on something else that has prevented her from going to see him. but again, none of it is our business and she doesn’t owe us any further explanation to what she meant.

↳ user THIS THIS THIS!! as sad as i am to not have london boy on my feed, y/n is a grown adult with her own private life and we have to respect her decisions!! if or when she chooses to come forward about the specifics of her future plans and goals, then that’s great and i’ll continue to support her endeavors, but for the time being we all just have to be patient

user the selfie logan posted with you on his story was so cute!! 🥰

user she’s a runner she’s a track star

user i’ve missed the twin content!

↳ user me too!! i really hope that her taking a break from competitions (as much as i love london boy) will mean we get to see her actually going to more of logan’s races, especially now that he’ll be in formula 1!!

oscarpiastri if the rumours are to be believed, i look forward to getting to catch up at the races this year

━━ tags: @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @awritingtree @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel @lewisvinga @81vas @maih23 @thatoneembarrasingmoment @elz-xo @the-navistar-carol

━━ a/n: surprise! i've been working on this for a little while now (i got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so the time i've spent recovering has been spent polishing up the last few details for this first part) but here she is! as promised, the newly rewritten and revamped 'he likes my american smile'! i feel like i always say it, but the original genuinely holds such a special place in my heart because it was the first work i ever posted here on tumblr, so i'm really happy to take all that i've learned since then and apply it where i can in this new version. i really hope the changes and development is as loved by you all as it is by me, and that you all enjoy!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #social media au

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starkeyisthelastname · 6 months ago

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okay, in reality this is a very small moment between them, but it is different and gives everyone a little background on our favorite pornstar. they’ll get there I promise ⭐️

It had been like any other night the two of you had together. A few hours of nasty and brutal sex with him finishing by painting your insides white. It was hard to say why the two of you were falling for one another as the two of you had only been fucking and nothing else. Sure, both of you were very physically attracted to each other, but had yet to really learn anything else about one another besides each other’s sexual needs. He had been struggling within himself to try and get to know you more, not that he didn’t want to, but because he was scared of opening up to someone when everyone else in his life had burned him.

But as he watched you slide your shorts on, he blurted it out before he could take it back. “Do you, uh.. smoke?” He asked, scratching his head. He hadn’t had a normal conversation with a girl since maybe high school, and felt almost embarrassed that he didn’t even remember how to be flirty. He was so use to just bluntly asking a girl to fuck, and not caring about anything else, besides getting pussy, this was going to be hard for him.

You tried your best to hide the shocked look on your face as he asked the question, his normal response after the two of you fucked was usually ‘I’ll text you later.’ You couldn’t help but giggle softly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I’m not rolling.” You said, watching him let out a genuine laugh. Something that made you feel an overwhelming amount of butterflies.

Sitting on his couch and not fucking was something entirely different for the both of you. You had been wanting to get to know Rafe for a while now, but he seemed so closed off that you knew you’d get rejected. He had been defending you on social media, and making comments to you that you were his angel, and that your pussy was made for his dick, as well as the statement that stuck out to you, which was “What are you doing to me?”

“So, what made you get into the fucked up world of porn?” Rafe asked, blunt between his lips as he lit the end of it. It was a simple question, but something he had been wanting to know.

“Oh.. well. I started an Only Fans, kinda just for fun and to gain followers I started posting on Twitter. One of my videos went viral and I was contacted by an agent, asking if I’d ever considering to professional porn. Maybe it was a little desperate, but I love sex and never been camera shy.” You said with a shrug. It hadn’t exactly been your career goal, and you knew you wanted more one day, such as a husband and kids.

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle as he blew out a thick cloud of smoke. Your reason was so much more simpler than his, and it made him fucking terrified to even begin to his story. As he handed the blunt that he had rolled to you, his stomach dropped when he heard you ask the same question he had just asked you. Oh great..

“I love to fuck, and knew I had a big dick.” He said, nonchalantly. It was an asshole of an answer, he knew it. He just couldn’t seem to tell you how it started and how it led up to him being the way he was now. He hadn’t opened up to anyone about his past, and that was one big reason he was so brutal, because of the pent up hurt and anger he had. What you didn’t know was his cocaine addiction had gotten so out of control that he had stolen a large amount of money from his father to get more to fuel his fiend. He had gotten into porn industry at first for some quick money, he knew he was attractive, loved pussy and was well hung. It was his first scene filming with a well known female actress that had been in the scene for a long time that kicked off his career. He had completely dominated her, and the addicting feeling he got from treating someone so brutally during sex, was an entirely new high. He had traded one addiction to another, and he got paid real well, especially the more popularity he gained. At one time he didn’t know anything else but living off his wealthy father and once didn’t know what it meant to own things for himself. Now he had everything he could ever want. His own place, a couple nice cars, and a job he really did love. Or so he thought he did, until he met you. He didn’t know you if he was being honest, but knew there was something there than he wanted more of. Maybe even… needed.

No matter how arrogant he was, or how attractive, or how good he fucked, he was still lonely at the end of the day. His family had disowned him, meaning he had lost one person in particular he was very close to and that was his youngest sister, Wheezie. His friends he once had, had gone off to do things better such as become doctors and lawyers. He had lost everyone, and making the step to become close to someone again was very hard for him. He wanted it though, and the more he saw you, the more he kept thinking about retiring his name in the porn world.

You had always been good at reading people and watching Rafe sit there and think, you knew there was more to the story. More than anything, did you want him. Even if you didn’t know him well, you felt a connection that couldn’t be ignored. Handing him back the blunt, you took a small sigh. “I don’t think that’s the entire reason.” You said softly, being honest with him for the first time. “But maybe you’ll tell me more one day.” You hoped he did, because as addicted as you were to the sex, you were begging to break his wall down.

Rafe wasn’t use to someone calling him out, and if it were anyone else he would have probably snapped, but with you it was little boost of confidence he needed to start being more open with you. “Maybe my angel, but in due time.” His tone softer than usual. He was Rafe Cameron though, and a knowing smirk ran across his face. “Keep lookin at me like that, and I’m gonna fuckin rail you again.” He said, and despite the grin you knew he was being serious. Him calling you ‘my angel’ definitely had your pussy fluttering.

He wasn’t perfect, but it was a baby step in the right direction of him finally making you his girl.

#rafe cameron #pornstar!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron concepts #rafe concepts #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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linkspooky · 4 months ago

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YUTA WAS ALWAYS SELFISH

I was originally going to make this post the week the big twist with Yuta in Gojo's body happened, because of the massive subversion that it was. It was the kind of twist that made you question if everything you ever knew about the character was wrong. Namely, Yuta one of the most empathic sorcerers we see in the series - the character who seems to lack the selfishness of the other sorcerers that make up jujutsu society. The kid who fights with the literal power of love.

Was Yuta a monster to begin with and we just didn't see?

So ignore the clickbaity tagline, Yuta is one of my favorite characters I'm not going to start calling him a terrible person. Rather that Yuta is dismissed as a soft kid or a wifeguy, when he's actually more cunning and cutthroat than anyone gives him credit for.

If a sorcerer is nothing more than a con-artist, then if the talent for trickery he displayed in the Sukuna fight is anything to go by Yuta is a true sorcerer down to his bones. Yuta turning Gojo's body into a puppet seems like a massive twist, and almost out of character for Yuta who was so devoted to Gojo.

His earlier fight in the culling game even seemed to hint that Yuta was too soft and he didn't truly have the attitude to fight someone like Ryomen Sukuna who was the embodiment of a calamity.

These panels seemed like a prophecy that Yuta was doomed to fall short against Sukuna. That he could never live up to his title as the next Satoru Gojo, because unlike Gojo and Sukuna who can stand on the top alone Yuta clings to his loved ones.

Sukuna got to where he is by rejecting love. Sukuna is Sukuna because he's never needed anyone to satisfy him. So how can Yuta who needs to be surrounded by his loved ones at all time to validate him and tell him it's okay for him to be alive even compete?

However, even in JJK zero Yuta's love is questioned on whether or not it's as selfless and "pure" as it seems. To begin with, Maki calls him out early on for attracting bullies by playing the victim a lot. He pretends to be a good and innocent person put upon by his circumstances and bullies when really he doesn't want to help himself. Instead of standing up to the bullies he's always let Rika protect him and then condemned her for being a monster. He's let Rika take the blame for all the destruction, even though Rika is HIS cursed technique, created by HIS emotions, and is protecting him.

Yuta doesn't make any attempt to try to learn to control Rika, or even work with her, he just shrivels away in fear.

"You act like a good person, but it feels fake..." Yuta has always adopted the facade of a good person. He seems soft, socially anxious and withdrawn, even after he gains confidence as a sorcerer those traits don't go away because they're a part of his outward persona. Jung divides the psyche into two parts, the persona a mask that faces the world the parts of yourself that come out in your social interaction with people and then there's the shadow your repressed personality.

Yuta's shadow is a literal monster that declares her love for him and then expresses that love by violently destroying everything around him.

Yes, Rika initially contained the soul of someone else but Rika the curse was created by his technique, her power corresponds to his emotions, she comes from his shadow, and even after the real Rika passes on the Shikigami RIKA still remains completely under Yuta's control. Rika is Yuta, the embodiment of his twisted definition of love that would curse his loved ones to keep them by his side forever because he can't live without them. All of Rika's insane possessiveness? That's Yuta's too. Rika's violent overprotectiveness? That's Yuta.

How poetic is it really that Yuta and Rika are so codependent that Yuta's shadow, the other half of his personality is literally RIKA. Yuta cannot exist without love, and without someone too love, he's so terrified of being alone that he cursed Rika and then turned her corpse into a puppet after death. He uses his loved one as a weapon to fight his enemies.

If you think about it for more than five minutes Yuta's cursed technique and Rika has some seriously messed up implications, but it's hard too because as messed up as Yuta's love is it's still genuine.

Love is a curse, but in 236 Nanami speculates that sometimes curses can save people too, just like how Jujutsu Sorcerers use curses to fight and protect others.

So Yuta's love is a screaming, raging, overprotective monster, but it's also what give shim the motivation to fight ofr others. Yuta's love is a curse, but curses can save people too.

Yuta on the other hand isn't aware of his own darker nature most of the time.

The big twist in Jujutsu kaisen Zero is that just as Maki accused him of from the beginning, Yuta was playing the victim all along. He acted like Rika cursed him with her dying breath, but Yuta was the one who cursed her because he couldn't bear to live without her.

However, even this apology is a bit telling of Yuta's self-centered nature. He immediately turns everything into his fault and starts beating himself up over it. He doesn't look at anyone else's perspectives or that other people had a role to play. He deliberately ignores Rika's feelings on the past few years, which Rika is quick to point out for him.

This scene has a parallel later where Yuta ultimately, only thinks about himself first and foremost. In spite of wanting so badly to be surrounded by his loved ones, it's more about him loving them, and less about their feelings for him.

After all he's completely willing to commit a double suicide with Rika to protect his friends, ignoring the fact Rika doesn't want him to pass on just yet, and Maki, Inumaki and Panda wouldn't want him to disappear either. This scene has a direct parallel a year later in the fight against Sukuna when Yuta gives up his body.

Maki almost breaks character from her usual culling game arcs stoicity to fight and argue with Yuta to stop him form doing this, and Rika who one year earlier told Yuta to live a long life so she wouldn't have to see him on the other side so soon is reduced to screaming and sobbing while holding his dead body.

Yuta loves people, or at least he feels an intense amount of love for people, but he can be as self-centered as the other sorcerers we see in the story. Geto even points this out right away, that Yuta is selfish, that he's seeking self-affirmation first and foremost. He needs other people's approval, their love, to feel like he deserves to exist. He'll do anything to earn that love, and once he has it he'll do anything to protect it but it's ultimately for himself.

It manifests in Yuta's technique itself copy, which first and foremost requires Yuta to consume parts of his loved ones that can never be healed if he wants to keep their copied technique. Yuta gets stronger by literally eating his loved ones. We have canon confirmation that Yuta fed part of Inumaki's severed arm to Rika.

Yuta's cursed technique is to emulate the strengths of all of his loved ones copying them and making them a part of his oqn technique, because Yuta will take any shape and form in order to be loved. It's also the perfect technique for fighting as a part of a group, because someone like Sukuna will naturally assume that Yuta's technique STEALS instead of COPYING so he'll forget that the original still retains their technique.

Yuta's not only selfish and has a very selfish, overprotective love for others, but it's those exact qualities that make him an effective sorcerer strong in the area that Gojo is the weakest. Group coordination.

Gojo is in his element when he's alone, but Yuta is so codependent that he literally cannot exist unless other people are looking at him. His strength comes from the things he copies and takes from his friend, and he turned his loved one into a puppet to fight others. Is it really that surprising that this kid would willingly use Gojo's body as a weapon after death when that's literally what he did to Rika.

How telling is it that like Yuta learned that Rika was cursed by him, went so far to exorcise her spirit, and then after finally letting go after her spirit passed on he made a second Shikigami named Rika a few months later made out of the small remnants of cursed energy that Rika left behind as a gift after passing on. The dude is not over Rika, he's like, Geto and Gojo levels of not over Rika.

Yuta's cursed technique being the literal weaponization of his love and his loved ones makes him the best character for group coordination in the entire series. Yuta even adopts apsects of hakari's persona when making his plans against Sukuna since he decides to gamble at several key points in the plan.

Several of the key moments in the fight are all Yuta's plans, with some collaboration from Angel. He makes several bets too like Hakari would. The first being going to finish Kenjaku by himself and using both Todo and Takaba in conjunction to trick him. The second is the bet that he'd be able to make it back in time to rejoin the fight in case Higuruma's plan fail.

It was Yuta who let his own domain barrier down on purpose to let Sukuna think he had the victory so he would let his guard down and make it easy for Maki to ambush him. Something that also required perfect coordination between Yuta and Maki working in tandem with one another.

Yuta set up Hana to do one large jacob's ladder when Sukuna least expected it because he knew Sukuna would forget that his technique is COPY and not steal. He also made the biggest bluff which was leading Sukuna to believe that he fed Rika his last finger.

These aren't just good bluffs, they require near perfect coordination with your allies and taking several chances on them. Nobara might not have even woken up so the last finger / resonance Gambit was perhaps the biggest gamble. Maki and Yuta had to coordinate with each other well so Maki would be there when Yuta dropped the barrier. Yuta needed Takaba a relatively new and inexperienced sorcerer to survive against the threat that was Kenjaku, and he needed all of his allies to stay alive while he was prioritizing Kenjaku.

These are all plans Satoru Gojo would never have been able to pull off, because Gojo only ever relies on himself. If Yuta and Hakari had intervened in the Gojo and Sukuna fight then he would not have been able to go all out, whereas Yuta REQUIRES people collaborating with him in order TO GO ALL OUT.

This is Yuta. This is his strength. Yuta is nothing without love, so he takes on the forms of the people he loves and takes things from the people he loves in order to gain the power to protect him. Yuta copies everything from the people he loves, so is it really that much of a surprise that he'd become a monster just like Gojo.

In some ways, Geto and Yuuta were the same. Geto was too sincere. To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel. ’…that in a world like this, I couldn’t be truly happy from the bottom of my heart.’ To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in the curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality.

Love is a weapon for Yuta. Just like his curse technique can take any form, so does Yuta's love, and so does Yuta himself. Love always wins, and in order to do so Yuta will take any shape necessary, no matter how twisted.

Love is the worst curse of them all, and Yuta will become the worst monster of them all if it means protecting his love ones.

#jjk meta #yuta okkotsu #maki zenin #gojo satoru #yutamaki #rika #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen theory

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 9 months ago

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My brain is on fire same I can’t sleep and am thinking of this:

The way she writes about marriage/family/commitment through these different situations across the album is soooooooooo interesting.

You have a very intense first experience of it in “The Manuscript,” where it is first dangled in front of her/the narrator’s young, impressionable self as shorthand for real love in a situation that ended up being smoke and mirrors. She’s being told everything she wants to hear by someone who basically thinks it’s just foreplay. In the end, when it’s clear that the other person has no intention of actually making a life with her, it makes her feel used, but she forces herself to recalibrate and become the girl she thinks he and all the other hes want her to be. Easy breezy cool. But there’s a sense of loss in realizing those hopes were merely banter to the other.

You have the “grown up” version of it alluded to in “So Long, London” and “How Did It End?”, the years of putting in work to save a relationship and the “deflation of our dreaming leaving [her] bereft and reeling” leading to them “calling it all off.” The implication is clearly that they built a home together with plans for next steps at a point in time, but the commitment is shattered. (Obviously to me it sounds like marriage.) She’s bitter at spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately didn’t want to be there, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit it himself.

She felt like she did everything she was supposed to, but they were learning the right steps to different dances at as it were. Those dreams were at one point shared, but in the end they weren’t right for each other and she admits that, though bitterly (“I founded the club she’s heard great things about” eg the years she put in for him to help him grow up will end up benefiting his new lover, “but I’m not the one,” “you’ll find someone,” etc.). Mixed in with all this of her resentment of him wasting her youth (sacrificing herself at the altar), and his resentment of her for reasons less defined, and insinuations of betrayal in the shadows. The fantasy of the whole package disappears into the ether, yet she still has no answers as to how they got there.

Then in comes the wolf in sheep’s clothing in many of the rest of the songs, the one who promises her all those things she’s dreamed of since she was a kid instantly. After years of moulding herself to other men’s desires, someone comes in and tells her exactly what she wants to hear at the most vulnerable time of her life, as though the universe is answering her prayers, like some sort of cosmic payback for all she’s suffered, and it’s the most intoxicating drug of all. She’s gone from her wish for a family life feeling like she’s in a way being used for her body, to it being used as a chain to a relationship gone sour, to having someone put a metaphorical ring on her finger and tell her he wants to have babies with her, fuck those other guys.

In her grief and stupor, it’s too good to be true, which is exactly why she falls for it. But of course, it’s all an illusion, because this wolf is an amalgamation of the worst of all the men who came before him. He tells her everything she wants to hear not to make her dreams come true, but to make his. He takes the worst parts of these scenarios to make his move: he’ll stand by her, he’ll commit, he’ll do it out in the open under the spotlight’s glare (all things desperately lacking in her last relationship), but after he beds her he stabs her in the back in private and leaves her. He got what he wanted at the expense of her losing everything she wanted, this time as her world caved in seemingly for good. She feels like she gave up everything she thought she might have had for a chance that this is where the universe has been point her all along, only to be left broken for good (you represent the loss of my life as I knew it).

Then there are two sort of codas to this. In “But Daddy I Love Him” we get a sassier reimagining of “Love Story,” where the girl with the scarlet letter is mouthy and crass and tells everyone to go fuck themselves for cursing her in the first place, choosing her love above all else. And no, those haters can’t come to her wedding. Her daddy may have come around, but they sure can’t. Finally it seems someone is choosing her and will someday give her these things, and she’ll be able to show all the naysayers. (Also interestingly one of the more fictionally-veiled songs which ends happily vs the diaristic ones that don’t.)

Then of course there’s “So High School,” our first glimpse into what the future holds. Probably the only unabashedly happy (nay… electric?) song on the album, it’s all about reclaiming the buzz of youth (which is a whole other post) with a new lover. “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really, I’m betting on all three for us two.” It’s, er, a direct nod to a certain now-infamous interview, but again, she’s staking her claim on her future, if not certain then at least hopeful again. This time the prospect doesn’t come with a “but.” It’s not, we’ll be pushing strollers but actually you’re too young. It’s not, we had these dreams for our future but actually I can’t move forward. It’s not, I’m going to promise you a ring and a baby but only until my needs are met and then I’m out. It’s, I know what I wanted and I’m not leaving, and thanks to that now she stays too.

The album dealt with the theme not at all in the way I expected, but is absolutely fascinating.

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about Taylor lyrics #the tortured poets department #i have many thoughts #No brain power

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bwat5-blog · 22 days ago

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The Cost Of Humanity: The Price Caitlyn pays

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

The discourse around Caitlyn's fall from grace and eventual redemption continues to be all over the place. I honestly struggle to think of examples from recent media that can compare when talking about the complexity and humanity of her arc, yet people continue to paint her with their broad-stroke, virtue signaling generalizations. Things like this, are why I started doing this in the first place.

Because as much as I have come to love doing these deep dives, and these character analyses, and how I learn along the way and learn new insights from all of you, peoples determination in disrespecting such a masterfully crafted story that is so full of heart, and depth, offends me to my core. As I have said repeatedly throughout my posts like a grouchy nerdy broken record, GOOD STORIES MATTER.

This is not about ships, it is not about favorite characters, and it is not about your right to like, or dislike her character. If you feel questioned by this post, I am not questioning your opinion of a character, I am questioning your ability empathize and see the humanity in a twenty-four year old girl, who has had every pillar upon which she bases her perception of the world VIOLENTLY changed.

To that end, what I am discussing this evening is the cost of Caitlyn's mistakes regarding her assuming the role of Commander and what follows. This is not about how she redeems herself, although I have spoken on that and do feel they did a masterful job in achieving it. This is not a deep dive into her fall from grace, the causes, or rather or not I believe it was justified. This is solely to address the following tidbit of lunacy and all of its variations that are still floating around.

"So Caitlyn's arc is that she becomes a war criminal and gasses kids and goes full KKK and she gets to ride off into the sunset with Vi with the only consequence being an eye patch?"

Physical:

As the easiest of consequences to measure, let's take a look at the effects Caitlyn suffers to her body as a result of her mistakes. For this I will focus on the battle at the end of the show, although she is certainly wounded in various ways in the commune.

Maddie's Betrayal- We will speak more on this when I move to mental, but Maddie literally hits her in the head twice with a rifle stock. Concussions anyone? Skull Fractures?

Stabbed - Stabbed in the stomach with Ambessa's blade up to the hilt. Now I am not a doctor and freely admit that I know nothing about the severity in the wound in terms of placement. And in a world with shimmer healing and such things obviously we can't strictly hold to real world rules. But a simple google search suggested the following as possible long term complications of such a wound: " intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, intra-abdominal abscesses, bowel perforation, delayed bleeding from damaged blood vessels, abdominal hernias, chronic pain"

Kicked- Kicked square in the midsection with a knife in her gut. Seems healthy

Head slammed into concrete- Ambessa using her skull-crusher legs sweeps Caitlyn off of her feet slamming her head into the ground (Please Note: Caitlyn is shown clearly struggling at this point tremendously to rise)

Kicked Again- Once again kicked in the midsection with a knife in her gut

Ankle- Ambessa pins Caitlyn's ankle to the ground by force and kicks her leg out from under her before backhanding her

Headbutt- After dazing her with the backhand, Ambessa full on headbutts her with her mask on

Kicked yet again- This time completely off of her feet

Loses her left eye- Her sacrifice to stop Ambessa.

Returning to the stab wound- She did all of this with the knife in her. Tearing and exacerbating that wound.

This was one fight. Don't mistake me, Caitlyn has become an absolute warrior as the show has gone on and is an amazing fighter. But she twenty four, and only a short time ago was still very much in her sheltered life. Ambessa Medarda is a LITERAL WARLORD.

Mental/Emotional:

**I'm sure there are things I'm going to leave off of this. But this is just what I am thinking of in the moment. This is NOT a bashing on her list. This is what I feel the kind and courageous woman we know she always been is going to have to work through in the aftermath.**

Violet- Thankfully she and Vi have found their way back to one another. And while I love their reuniting, I don't think its unfair to suggest there is still quite a bit of healing ahead of them. Vi was not without blame in what happened between them (not justifying what Cait did to her at all, just that neither of them are perfect and were going through a terrible time). But ultimately Caitlyn has to make peace with the fact that she left the woman she loves crying alone in that chamber, and that that heartbreak sent Vi into a spiral that very easily could have killed her. When you add to that the loss of Vander, Isha and Jinx in Vi's life these are all things a woman like Cait is going to struggle not to blame herself completely for.

Zaun- The early show does an excellent job establishing that Caitlyn does not share the classist and oppressive attitudes of others in her social circle. But at her most lost, she bears responsibility for the full military occupation of Zaun, imprisoning its citizens, and likely the death of more than a few at the hands of the Noxians who Caitlyn allowed to be there . And that is to say nothing of the actions of the strike team, or that it is Vi's home.

Maddie- The woman she invited into her bed to distract herself from the loss of Vi, came as close as someone could have to executing her right then and there. Someone she never realized was a spy, prepared to shoot her the back of the neck. I think the trauma here is obvious.

Death Toll- The deathtoll and destruction of the war are going to weigh on her. They just are. It is clearly not actually all her fault, But as I have stated, and as anyone who pays attention will have seen, Caitlyn IS A GOOD PERSON. Yes, I'm sorry, I know some of you want to pretend otherwise because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But she is. And there is simply no way she does not feel the weight of the loss brought on in part by a woman she allowed to seize control.

Mental trauma from injuries- On top of the base physical component of her wounds, Caitlyn was quite nearly beaten to death. Speaking as someone who has been in a bad fight (nowhere near this obviously) it's not something you just forget. Not to mention the impact to her shooting which has been such a major part of her since she was younger.

I could go farther with all of this but you get the idea. Caitlyn is so.... so young. I and so many others have gone on at length detailing her arc, her grief, her trauma and all of the other components that make up this part of her story. I encourage you to read them if you are interested. This list of her suffering and of the suffering she will feel guilt for is not about what she does or does not deserve. As stated, that's not why I wrote this. I wrote this because as I stated in a much shorter look at this topic, you literally have to try to miss the consequences of Caitlyn's actions. You have to blind yourself in the name of being able to place whatever hashtag makes you feel righteous in condemning her character. If you want to say the reparations to Zaun were not fully addressed in the course of the show, okay I can give you that. But I would remind of you two things:

Caitlyn surrenders her family seat on the council to Sevika. For the first time as we understand it, the undercity now has a voice.

This show is not the end of the story. From the beginning Arcane has been our door into this universe, not out of it.

Listen folks, I'm not actually crazy. I understand it's a tv show. But as I have and will always continue to say, good stories matter. There is a reason fables and epics stretch back throughout our history as a species. Yes, of course for entertainment, yes of course to impart lessons or wisdom. But that belief that we can conquer our own darkness, that we can stand in the breach against those who would bring death to the innocent, and that can find redemption, these beliefs and many more have guided the best and worst parts of us for all time.

As always, thank you so much to any of you who take the time to read the rantings of a lunatic. I cannot express to you all the joy I have felt engaging in this community and celebrating this epic tale. I can't wait to see what they have for us next. Until next time, keep standing up for the stories that stay with us.

#arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 1 #arcane #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #media literacy

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nadvs · 2 months ago

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hard to ignore (two-shot) (part two)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

content warning parental abandonment

» part one

» masterlist

Zach gets you and his daughter box seats for his next home game.

It happens to be on your first day back at work after his family leaves and he jokes that sooner is better than later, not only because his team might get knocked out of the playoffs, but also because Ella could change her mind about wanting to come.

The private space overlooking the stadium is small, only a handful of other people there, as the late afternoon sun shines over the rich green field.

You learned that Zach is a major league soccer player minutes into meeting him. You knew he had an unusual life and a certain level of notoriety as a professional athlete. But seeing the crowds filling the seats below you makes it real to you.

The music and the announcer’s voice boom through the stadium, fireworks going off as players rush the field. All this craziness doesn’t match the man you know. Zach is kind and humble and beneath his silly sense of humor, he has a gentleness to him that you’d never expect from someone whose last name is sprawled over fans’ jerseys, who’s getting cheered for so loudly that it’s deafening.

Ella excitedly claps when her father appears on the stadium screen, his face hard as he jogs under the bright lights. You gaze ahead in awe, unable to believe that this is the world he lives in when he’s not at the house, running around with his daughter, thanking you for everything you do.

After the game ends in a draw, you take Ella home in time for dinner. As you drive, wipers cleaning away the drizzle that just started to fall, she excitedly rambles about the experience from the backseat. You smile to yourself, glad that she enjoyed herself and proud that you’re the reason she went.

As usual, Ella slips out of her chair with a mouthful of food when she hears the front door open halfway into dinner. You watch her dart out of the dining room, listening to the huff Zach lets out every time his daughter roughly launches herself into his arms.

“That was so cool!” you overhear.

“Really?” he says. “You didn’t get bored?”

“Um, it was kind of too long,” she says, “but I had pictures to color.”

“Appreciate your honesty,” Zach replies with a laugh.

They round the corner to enter the dining room and when Zach’s eyes land on you, your heart does a somersault.

“Hey,” he says to you, nervous.

“Hi,” you reply. “Thanks for the fancy seats.”

“They were alright?”

“Good enough for two princesses,” you tease.

“Princess ballerinas,” Ella corrects you as she sits down again.

“Right,” you say. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that we’re princess ballerinas now.”

Zach mirrors your smile, loving the feeling of sharing a moment like this with you. You stand to clean your plate and it reminds him of what his mother said a couple of nights ago. That you look at him the same way he looks at you.

He hopes that it’s true, because he can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s a little embarrassed that you saw him in a match. He’s always loved soccer, but he never liked how much attention is on him as a major league player.

“Maybe you should wait out the rain,” Zach says to you. “It started coming down hard on my drive home.”

“Good idea,” you say, happy to spend more time with him.

The rest of dinner consists of Ella happily chattering with you and Zach. As she clears her plate, Zach’s phone buzzes on the table top. His lips purse in worry at the notification, and then he shows you the severe thunderstorm warning message on his screen.

“That looks bad,” you say. “How long is it supposed to go on for?”

“It says into the early morning,” Zach answers. “Do you want to crash here?”

“I’m sure I could make it home,” you say. “I’ll just drive slowly.”

Zach’s lips part, and then he closes his mouth, simply nodding.

“What?” you chuckle. His eyes dart away.

“Just worried about you,” he admits. You huff an endeared laugh.

“Fine. I’ll sleep here,” you decide.

He sighs a breath of relief and says, “Thanks.”

Zach takes Ella to bed and you settle on the couch, glad you already have everything you’ll need in your overnight bag in the guest room. You eventually hear his footsteps coming down the stairs over the sounds of the television and the rain hammering down on the roof.

He sits on the other end of the couch next to you, so far that a person could easily sit between you. It’s typical Zach, never getting too close to you. The only time he’s ever touched you is when he shook your hand before your interview half a year ago.

“She fell asleep while I was explaining what offside means,” he says with an adorably puzzled expression. “Trying not to be offended.”

“I can’t believe she’s actually interested in soccer,” you say.

“Ouch.” Zach puts his hand over his heart. “Okay, I’m offended now.”

“I mean because you said she never cared before,” you laugh.

“I asked her so many times if she’d want to come to a game,” he huffs. “But you suggest it once and she’s immediately in. She always listens to you.”

“Not when I’m trying to convince her to leave the park,” you say. He chuckles. “Can you believe she’s starting kindergarten soon?”

Admittedly, Zach’s concerned about it. In less than a month, Ella will be going to school and he never was one to have much anxiety before he became a father, but all he does now is worry. He doesn’t want any teachers or kids to be harsh with his little girl. She’s already been through enough.

“She’ll be okay,” you say.

“What?”

“You have that worried look on your face,” you tell him. “She’ll love school. I’m sure of it.”

“You can read me pretty well,” he says, smiling. You shrug timidly, thinking back to how quickly he’d noticed something was bothering you on the night of Ella’s birthday.

“What?” he asks.

“It goes both ways,” you admit. “You saw right through me after the party.”

Zach’s jaw tightens, the playfulness between you replaced by a fragile air. He takes a breath before speaking. He knows he needs to have this conversation with you.

“Do you feel better about what she said?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. Now that you’ve had some time to process, you’re okay. “How about you?”

“Well,” he begins, nerves tightening in his stomach, “it wasn’t easy to hear. Ella shouldn’t have to wish she had a different mom. Jade should be here for her.”

He’s never said her name. He’s never looked like this before, his eyes avoiding yours, hand trembling a bit as he scratches his jaw. You can tell this is hard for him to talk about. But he’s choosing to do it with you.

“You said ex-wife that night, but she was never my wife,” Zach admits.

“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know I haven’t told you much. When we talked that night, it reminded me of just how much you don’t know about it. I just… I hope you know that you’re… you’re so much more than Ella’s nanny. You’re our friend. And you’re obviously a mother figure to her. And it feels weird that you don’t know what happened.”

His words sink into you, every syllable having an effect on your heartbeat.

“What happened?”

“Ella was a surprise,” he tells you. “Jade and I were dating in our senior year of college when we found out she was pregnant. And then I got scouted and we graduated and everything was happening so fast, but we were happy and… I stayed happy and she didn’t.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, looking at him as his eyes stay trained off of yours.

“We broke up a few months after Ella was born. But we were both sure we could handle co-parenting. She stayed at home while I worked. I could see she didn’t like it, though. She wasn’t a bad mother or anything. She just wasn’t very… affectionate with Ella.”

Your chest tightens. It’s painful to imagine Ella wanting love and not getting it.

“I don’t know. I thought she’d eventually feel how I feel about being a parent. I tried everything,” Zach says, remembering how he’d encouraged Jade to go to therapy or take time away or work while they hired help. It was like she was stuck in her unhappiness. “But then she left and… that was it.”

He finally looks at you and the tenderness in your eyes gives him a breath of fresh air. It’s what you do. Just by being you, you give him the push to stay hopeful that he and his daughter will be okay.

“We weren’t in a good place when you came. But you made things so much better,” he says. “You do an amazing job taking care of her. I really appreciate it.”

Your eyes light up, the smile on your face gentle.

“Thank you for saying that,” you say. “And thank you for telling me the full story. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Zach sighs now that the weight of reliving it is gone.

“I really do love her. I meant it when I said it.” At this point, you’re sure you love him, too, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. “And I feel lucky to get to watch her grow up. This doesn’t even feel like a job to me anymore.”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you don’t want the pay?” he says. You find relief in his joke, tossing your head back with a laugh. “Seriously, though, let me know if you need me to keep things the same while you’re part-time during the school year. I don’t mind.”

“Wait, are you offering to pay me for hours I’m not even working?” you chuckle. “Zach, no. I’m good. I have other things lined up. But thank you.”

“What? Everyone knows you should always accept free money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say. “How do you even have the energy to joke around right now? I just watched you run around for ninety minutes.”

Like always, Zach blushes when you bring up his job. He’s intense and focused on the pitch, but he’s different when he’s at ease at home.

“There’s a break in the middle,” he replies.

“I stand corrected,” you say. “So, how’d you get into soccer?”

Your conversation quickly and easily drifts into topics you hadn’t explored before, the storm raging outside as you learn more about him and he learns more about you. He’s still on the other end of the couch, but soon, his arm is resting against the back of it, his hand inches away from you as you sink into the soft cushions, beaming at each other as you talk.

You don’t want to stop, but eventually you can’t stifle your yawn, prompting Zach to check his watch.

“Jeez,” he says. “Ella went down three hours ago.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up. “That flew by.”

Zach knew that the more he learned about you, the more of a goner he’d be. It feels like he just went on the best date of his life and all he did was sit on his couch and talk.

There’s something between you and he hopes that it’s not just his infatuation misguiding him.

────୨ৎ────

You were right. He had nothing to worry about. Ella’s more than happy at school. It’s only a week into the year and she’s already naming all her new friends when Zach picks her up Friday afternoon.

Her first dance recital is tonight and he’s looking forward to seeing you and his family there. Ella had even mentioned that her other grandparents could come. They were elated to get the invitation.

And of course, when he arrives at the studio that evening, you’re already there, reliable and steady like you always are. You greet him and his family warmly and introduce yourself to Jade’s parents.

It feels wrong to hear you refer to yourself as Ella’s nanny. You’ve been in his life for eight months now and you’ve nestled your way into his soul so deeply that he knows you’ll stay with him forever.

He’s been grappling with this since he first realized he had feelings for you; this bothersome sense of wrong. He can’t pursue you. Technically, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it, he is your boss. He pays you to take care of his child. If things went sideways, it could push you to leave.

Although he’s never felt this much love for a woman in his life, it’d be selfish. He can’t do it to Ella. He didn’t even want to date other women when Jade was still around simply because it could confuse his daughter.

But you’re different.

His thoughts are interrupted when you look at him, pulling him out of his haze.

“I saved us seats,” you tell him.

Zach’s sitting between you and his father when the recital starts. Eventually, Ella drifts across the middle of the floor between the other dancers.

“This is the part she’s nervous about,” you whisper to him, recalling how she’d told you that this part in the choreography makes her trip sometimes.

You watch her hop sideways, focused as the music grows faster. You’re so on edge that you don’t realize your hand slips into Zach’s, squeezing nervously. She lands her last skip and rejoins the group. You let out a sigh of relief. Then, you look down, seeing your fingers wrapped around Zach’s.

“Sorry,” you say, trying to laugh it off as you pull your hand back. “I think I’m taking a five-year-old’s dance recital a little too seriously.”

Zach can only offer a tight smile. His team’s inching closer to advancing to the championship semi-finals and the pressure has never been heavier, but even that hasn’t affected him like the tension he’s feeling right now. His whole body is on fire from your touch, and it won’t go away.

When the recital comes to an end, Zach leans closer to you to murmur over the applause surrounding you.

“You going out to dinner with us?” he asks.

“Do I have to?” you quip.

“What, you got a date or something?” He worries that the joke was too much. Too flirty.

But you laugh and say, “I haven’t had a date or something in forever. Yeah, I’ll come.” Although it’s hard to believe that a woman like you is single, he’s glad you are.

The eight of you sit in the busy restaurant, making conversation. As Zach expected, Ella insisted she sit next to you. You have endless patience for her, listening to her talk, answering her questions, letting her pick off your plate. He would move mountains for his child. He can tell you’d do the same.

Zach picks up the bill and you all say your goodbyes to Jade’s parents, who insisted they didn’t need to stay the night. Before you head out, you tell his family it was nice to see them again. He can tell you’re a little surprised when his mother pulls you in for a hug, but you kindly return it.

Connie obviously appreciates everything you’ve done for her son and granddaughter. Zach tries not to daydream too much, but he likes imagining being your boyfriend and telling you that his mom called that you’d become something one day.

When you say bye to Zach, your gazes meet like you’ve been waiting for a private moment for ages. Things changed on the night you stayed over. You went from friends to a gray area of something more, neither of you acting on it but knowing it’s there.

Only an hour after Ella falls asleep, Zach’s parents and sister turn in for the night, tired from their drive in. Zach is too wired, silently sitting in his living room, his tea not having its usual effect of soothing him.

He goes through his camera roll, wishing he could go for a drive to relax, but not wanting to leave his daughter in case she needs him. He stares at a photo his mother took of you and him and Ella earlier tonight after the recital, Ella’s hair frizzy from all the jumping around she did.

His smile is wide and so is yours and you look like more than just someone he hired to help take care of his daughter. You look like a family.

He opens your conversation and sends you the photo. It’s nearing 10 p.m. and he’s not sure if you’re already asleep, but you respond a minute later: Aw I love this. Thanks :) How’s your night going?

Zach responds: Good… but everyone’s asleep and I’m still wide awake. Yours?

You reply: Is your tea not working?

He smiles to himself and texts back: Not this time.

You text: I’m kind of wired, too.

How come?

Not sure.

He replies with a joke: Could be Ella’s fault. I saw her eat a lot of your dinner. It’s probably hunger keeping you awake.

Once again, his mind drifts to the way your palm felt against the back of his hand tonight. Then, he hears a door open upstairs. In case it’s Ella, he quietly rushes up the stairs to run into his mom, who’s leaving the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he whispers when he startles her. “I thought Ella woke up and I didn’t want her to think I was gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll be deep asleep until the morning,” Connie says. She notices he’s still in the clothes he wore to the recital. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’d go for a drive, but I–”

“If she wakes up, I’m here and if she needs you, I’ll call. Go. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go for a drive,” his mother insists. “She’s okay. I promise.”

Zach considers it. With work and Ella and you, his mind has been sort of chaotic. A drive, even a short one, will give him some relief.

“Thanks,” he finally says, giving his mom a grateful smile.

The streetlights plunge him in and out of darkness as he drives through town. When he got in the car, the impulse to go see you seemed ridiculous. With every minute that passes, it feels less and less silly.

Zach eventually pulls over and looks at his phone, staring at the text message he sent you ten minutes ago. How could he even ask to come over without coming on too strong or crossing a boundary?

He’s not sure if he believed in signs from the universe before, but when you text him right when he’s considering if he should text you, he takes it as his answer.

Nothing is ever her fault. But now I’m having a midnight snack lol. Are you still awake?

He replies: Yes. Just driving around. Do you want company?

He’s nervous as he waits. But then you send him your address.

Minutes later, you open your door to gentle knocks, heart skipping when you see him. At this point, being apart from Zach is starting to hurt. You lied when you texted him. You know exactly why you’re wired. It’s because he won’t leave your mind.

“Hi,” he says, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Kind of crazy that you’ve been to my house a million times, but I have no idea what your place looks like.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “You need to see it that bad?”

“I think it’s what’s keeping me awake.”

You laugh, stepping back, inviting him in. Zach’s eyes travel over your apartment, taking in every little piece that you’ve put into it. Being here is more intimate than he expected. And then you shut the door behind him, thickening the tension, both of you now sharing complete privacy in a way you never have before.

“Is that an Ella original?” he says, pointing to a drawing stuck on your fridge.

“Yup. That’s me and her and the castle we live in,” you tell him. You lead him into the kitchen as you gaze at the bright crayon marking the paper. “And that’s her horse. She was very adamant about it being her horse. But I can pet it if I ask nicely.”

He laughs and gazes at the drawing, touched that you’d keep something his daughter made up on display. Even when you’re not at the house, you want to be reminded of her.

“Where am I?” he asks in mock offense.

“I’m sure she meant to include you, but the horse took up too much space,” you explain, looking over your shoulder up at him. He’s inches away from you, towering above you. You’re so close to him that you can see the stubble growing over his jaw.

“The tutus are a nice touch,” he says, pointing to the pink skirts drawn on both of you. You laugh and turn to face him all the way. You clear your throat, smitten that he’s really here.

“She was great tonight, huh?” you ask.

“She was.” Zach’s smile is bright, the same way it always is whenever he talks about her. “And she wanted all the grandparents there.”

“I think that’s progress.”

“Me, too.” He exhales. “It was an almost perfect night.”

“Almost?”

“My hand still hurts,” he mumbles, face pinching as he looks down at his hand.

“Listen…” you say with a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stressed.” Zach laughs and it takes everything in him not to hug you. “Was it really that bad?”

“So bad,” he teases, flexing his hand. “You’re too reckless.”

“Reckless? Is that what you think of me?”

Zach cocks his head, staring down at you with a look that burns through you, and soberly says, “No. It’s not.”

His gaze drifts over your face, taking you in slowly. You think back to the first time you saw those eyes, sad and distant. Comparing the way he looked that morning to how he’s gazing at you right now is like comparing black and white.

The light atmosphere has quickly been replaced by a somberness hanging over both of you. Your heart is thumping against your chest. Hard.

“What, then?” you ask.

How can he even find the words to describe how you make him feel? You fit perfectly in every way. You settled into his life like there was always a place waiting just for you. Even tonight, when you grabbed his hand for only a moment, it felt like he was born to be touched by you.

You’ve brought light to his life. He always looked forward to coming home to his daughter, and now he looks forward to coming home to you, too. And having to continue to live like this, acting like his heart isn’t completely yours, is torture.

“I think you’re…” Zach’s tone is low, lids dropping as he looks at your lips before he speaks again. “Perfect.”

Your breath catches. You’ve been able to keep yourself away from him for what feels like ages. You’re not sure you’ll have the strength for much longer. This is the moment where everything can change. You know you both feel it.

“Should I not be here?” he says quietly.

It’s his way of making sure you’re okay. That you want him to be here as badly as he wants to be here. That even though maybe this shouldn’t be happening, you have faith that it will only bring you both joy, and you don’t need to consider the risks because you’ll never have to face them.

He looks so painfully unsure that you long to comfort him. Your hand finds his and he laces his warm fingers between yours the instant he feels you. He exhales slowly, never having felt so vulnerable before.

Too much is on the line. He’s only thinking of himself right now. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have given in, he shouldn’t have–

“Stay,” you whisper. Your simple word untangles the knot in his chest. You step closer to seal the distance that remains between you. His eyes finally drift back up to find yours.

“I can’t help how I feel about you,” Zach murmurs. “I don’t want to mess up how good things are, but I just…”

He trails off into silence, sighing shakily.

“I know,” you say. “Me, too.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says with a note of pity. You breathe a sad chuckle.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you here.”

Zach’s grip on your hand tightens, his heart feeling like it’s just been put together after being fractured for years. His lips part and while he doesn’t know how to say how much your words mean to him, he knows how to show it.

He leans closer, cupping your face, capturing your lips with a soft and impatient kiss. You dissolve into bliss, eyelids fluttering closed as his hot mouth presses against yours, head swimming, body buzzing.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, eyelashes overlapping as you kiss deeply, hungrily tasting each other in adoration. His arms circle around you and surround you in warmth.

He lets out a short, almost silent moan against your lips, relieved and assured and grateful that you want him this badly, too. Everything about this feels right. He’s where he’s supposed to be, standing here, kissing you, baring his soul.

You’re breathless when you eventually pull away, eyes slowly opening as he tilts to plant a lazy kiss on your forehead, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“I kept telling myself that I can’t like you,” he says against your skin. “Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

You exhale a contented sigh, afraid that you did actually doze off and that this is all just a dream.

“I think I do,” you reply.

Zach’s laugh is breathy, leaning back just enough to look at you. He’s in awe, his lips tender from pressing against yours, his knees weak as he holds your face in his hands. Now that he doesn’t have to hide it or force himself not to stare, he lets himself drown in your eyes.

He brushes his lips against yours again and you smile under the kiss, placing your palm over his hand.

“Is this the hand I hurt?” you tease, gently squeezing.

“Ow,” he playfully winces, making you laugh. You nuzzle your cheek against his palm and smile up at him.

“You sure you like me?” you say. He’s sure he loves you, but it’s too much, too soon to say at this moment. “You know you can’t afford any injuries right now.”

“Worth it,” Zach plays along.

“I keep wanting to ask you about work,” you say. He hasn’t spoken much about playoffs, but you did a little research on his team’s standings. “How has it been? Are you stressed?”

“Pressure’s on, but I’m fine,” he says simply. Your words won’t find you at first. It’s sort of unbelievable how he doesn’t ever flaunt his success, not even a little bit.

“That’s it?” you laugh.

“What?”

“Your team could go to the finals and you’re just fine?” you say.

“How’d you know that?” he says, his heart warming.

“Had to look it up. Not like you’ll tell me,” you quip, pulling away, his hands falling off of you. Zach chuckles, following you into your living room.

“Are we fighting already?” he asks.

“We won’t be if you tell me why you get all cute and shy whenever you talk about your job,” you say, settling on the couch.

He sits to face you, his knee bumping yours. You love that he’s as close as you want him to be, instead of keeping a distance like before. He finds your hands, holding them in his.

“Just a second,” Zach mumbles. “I need to process that you called me cute.”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle against his chest.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. “We talk about my job all the time.”

“Oh, come on. Because we have to. That’s the whole deal.”

“Is it?”

Zach sighs, kissing the top of your head, loving the way your body slightly shakes with your laughter. You sit up again, looking down as you interlace your fingers with his, playing with his hands as you wait for him to speak.

“I love soccer,” he says, “but I never expected I’d be good enough to go pro. And somehow, I did and all the attention that comes with it is just… it’s not me. I’ve never been the loudest guy in the room. Never wanted to be.”

You nod. You could tell soon after meeting him that while he’s confident and loves to joke around, he’s not one to demand the spotlight.

“And now the more attention I get,” he continues, “the more people might want to know about me and I’d rather keep Ella safe and give her a normal life.”

He scratches his cheek, uncertainty flashing on his face.

“And… I’m not exactly proud that I’m not working a normal job. I’m always thinking that maybe it’d be better for Ella if I had a nine to five, but the pay is great and I can’t play forever, so I just want to save up as much as I can for her. Then I’ll find something more steady.”

You're sure you’ve never met a person this humble. It’s nice to know what goes on in his head after having wondered for so long.

“Will you still even need a nanny then?” you ask lightheartedly. Zach purses his lips as he nods.

“I will if she’s you.” You smile as he pulls you in, holding you as your cheek rests against his shoulder.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you shouldn’t be proud of,” you tell him. “You’re an amazing father.”

“You don’t know how nice it is to hear you say that,” he admits. The worries that he’s being selfish have been gnawing at him for a long time. He’s always concerned he’s making the wrong choices for his daughter.

“I think it every time I see you with her. I know you said she was a surprise, but you treat her like being her dad is all you’ve ever wanted.”

Zach leans to kiss your forehead over and over again, palm gently pressed on your cheek, like he’s making up for all the times he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t. You start to giggle under all the kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Speaking of,” you say, “I’m sure you’re thinking it, too, but we should keep acting like we’re just friends when we’re around our boss.”

He breathes a chuckle, nodding as he looks down at you lovingly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’ll take it slow. She’ll be so happy when we tell her.”

“You think so?” you say, your heart blooming from the certainty in his words, from the way he unabashedly intends on being with you and telling his daughter.

“She’s always asking me if I like you.” Truthfully, Ella asks if he loves you, but again, he doesn’t want to use that word until he’s sure you’re comfortable with it.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She actually asks if I like you yet. It’s like she knows it’s inevitable.”

You realize that the way you’re wrapped up in each other does feel like it was always inevitable. You know that your heart would never have been able to resist him. You’re glad he feels the same way about you.

────୨ৎ────

A week after the night in your apartment is the semi-final. You’re sitting in the living room playing with Ella with the game on in the background. She’s partly interested, whereas you can’t ignore the ball of nerves sitting deep in your stomach.

Zach’s been opening up more about his job when you get time alone, admitting that the pressure can give him tunnel-vision sometimes. You’ve taken on the workload as much as you can so that he’s not too stressed.

You’ve kept things the same when you’re around Ella and you’ve already determined that if she asks why you’re so invested in what’s on tv, you’ll simply say you grew an interest in soccer after the home game you both attended. But she’s too busy playing with clay to care.

The first half ends with no goals scored. You set up an afternoon snack for Ella, letting her help, your mind elsewhere as you imagine Zach in the locker room, wondering what his coach is telling him and what he’s thinking about at this moment.

Five minutes after half-time, the opponents score. Your heart sinks. Twenty minutes later, Zach scores. You have to stifle how loudly you want to cheer.

Then, the game goes to penalty shoot-outs. Zach had told you how much he hates when a game comes down to that. It’s a nail-biting few minutes, but Zach’s team wins, securing their spot in the finals. In his next game, his team could take the cup.

Right before dinner, you and Ella change into the jerseys you’d secretly bought a few days ago. Zach already told you that even if his team wants to celebrate a win together, he’d prefer to see you two, so you know he’s coming straight home.

He steps through the front door to see you in his team’s jerseys, rushing to give him a hug. Your arms are around his shoulders while Ella’s are around his hips, both of you excitedly cheering. Zach’s heart has never felt so full.

“So, I take it you watched it?” he mumbles into your hair, reveling in the familiar aroma of your shampoo. It takes everything in you not to kiss him when you pull back.

“You did amazing,” you tell him.

“Daddy, do cats ever come to your games?” Ella asks.

Zach looks at you, puzzled.

“There was a commercial with clips of animals crashing soccer games,” you explain, laughing. “It’s a valid question.”

“I haven’t seen any,” he tells her, kneeling to meet her eyeline. “But I hope we get one so I can tell you all about it.”

“Could we keep it?” she asks.

“If a cat comes onto our field and it doesn’t have an owner, sure, we can keep it,” he says. She jumps excitedly, then runs off to play. Zach stands up again, grinning at you.

“Don’t let her watch any more matches,” he says. “If a cat shows up, I’m done for.” You laugh, crossing your arms simply to keep yourself from touching him.

“Congratulations,” you say. “I know you don’t like the attention, but you deserve it.”

“Thanks.” He looks down at your jersey. “It looks great on you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to show him the back. It’s his last name and number. He almost can’t believe this is really happening, that he met someone like you who cares about him this much.

“Better on you, I think,” you say.

“Impossible.”

You face him and he gazes at your lips in the way you know means he wants to kiss you. In the few private moments you’ve had since you confessed your feelings for each other, you’ve shared warm hugs and sweet kisses. You can’t wait until you don’t have to hide your love for him anymore.

“Dinner in twenty,” you tell him. “I bet you worked up an appetite.”

Zach’s legs are heavy as he trudges up the stairs, partly from fatigue, but mostly because the last thing his body wants to do is be away from you.

────୨ৎ────

Zach’s family drives in to watch the championship game at the house. You weren’t all that nervous around them before, but now that you and Zach are privately dating, you’re eager to impress them.

He had mentioned to you that he hadn’t told them about you yet, but he’s hoping to the next time he sees them. He also told you how his mom had a suspicion about you two, which makes you hope you’re not too obvious.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since you decided to date, but every moment you get alone with Zach isn’t long enough. You knew he was kind-hearted, but now that he’s not holding back, he showers you with affection and compliments, reminding you of how much he appreciates you every day.

Just like it is with Zach, it’s easy with his family. You talk and snack and take turns playing with Ella while you watch the game. The game starts off as promising, but unfortunately, the final ends with a loss for his team.

“He did tell me they were kind of the underdogs,” you say to his family sadly, watching the screen. “I still think it’s great that he got this far.”

The stadium he’s playing in is hours away and he won’t be getting home until after midnight. You spend the rest of the evening with Zach’s family, wishing you could see him and give him a comforting hug.

When Zach gets to the locker room, dejected and disappointed, he checks his phone to see a text from you. I know it’s not how you wanted the season to end, but you played an amazing game. We’re all so proud of you, no matter what.

It’s ten minutes past midnight when you hear the front door open. You’ve been sitting in the kitchen, staying awake on your phone after everyone turned in for the night. You turn on the kettle you already filled with water and find Zach in the dim hallway, meeting his eyes with sympathy.

“You’re here,” he mumbles in surprise. You only close the distance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly.

“Wanted to see you,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he admits, kissing your neck. “This feels good, though.”

“I’m making you some tea if you want it,” you tell him, “but if you’d rather go to bed, I get it.”

“Tea sounds good.” He pulls back, stroking your cheek. “You’re really proud of me? Even though I’m a total loser?”

You half-chuckle, nudging him.

“Never call yourself that again,” you say.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stop ‘accidentally’ making too much food,” you joke, earning a chuckle from him.

You settle in the kitchen, reminded of the first time you sat together like this all those months ago to plan Ella’s birthday party. Now she’s halfway to six years old, growing faster than you could have ever anticipated.

After you put the steaming mug of tea in front of him, Zach puts his hand over yours, squeezing.

“I tried to be positive but I saw it coming,” he admits to you. “They were the stronger team. We’ll just train harder and hopefully get them next year.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way,” you say. “Just don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You’re not a loser.”

“Baby…” Zach breathes a chuckle. “Being with you makes me feel like I’m always winning. It sucks to get this far and to put so much work in just to lose, but knowing you and Ella are waiting for me at home… That's what my life is really about.”

You stare at him, awestruck, heart beating so hard that you can hear it in your ears.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon to say, but I’ve loved you for a long time.”

You bite your lip, giving into the urge to lean closer and kiss him. When you pull back, palm resting on his cheek, you smile.

“I love you, too,” you say. “It’s not too soon.”

“Phew. I was more nervous about telling you than I was about the game,” he says. You laugh, pinching his cheek.

“Stop being so cute,” you whisper.

“I can’t help it,” he quips. “I didn’t forget how you said you haven’t been on a date in forever. What do you think about tomorrow night? Ella will stay with my family and you and I can go out for dinner.”

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. You chat a little longer before you head home.

When Zach tells his mother he’s taking you out for dinner the next morning, she’s overjoyed to hear that you’re an item now and throws in a few ‘I told you so’s. When the evening rolls around, he tells Ella he’s running some errands and instead drives to pick you up from your place.

Sitting across from you at a restaurant on a real date feels like a dream. He holds your hand on the table and nudges your knee with his every so often, unable to keep his hands off of you like usual. It’s like talking with a best friend, the conversation flowing so naturally that he refuses to believe he’s only known you for just shy of a year.

When he drives you home after dinner, you lose track of time kissing him goodnight.

────୨ৎ────

You and Zach had discussed that today would be the day. Now that you’ve been together for over eight months, he’s ready to tell Ella.

It’s a Saturday and Zach’s making lunch while you and Ella set the table. Long gone are the days of spending just a few minutes together, one of you arriving at the house while the other one gets ready to leave. The three of you are almost always a unit now, settled into a routine.

After lunch, you leave as planned so he can talk to her one-on-one. Zach finds Ella drawing on her bedroom floor after he says his goodbyes to you and knocks on her door.

“What are you drawing?” he asks.

She holds up the paper, three figures under the shining sun. When he asks if that’s you, him, and her, she happily nods.

Zach settles on the floor, watching the way she colors in the yellow sun, her legs kicking in the air. He’s seen a change in his child. There’s no doubt about it.

While she was always a happy kid, she’s grown to be much more expressive and affectionate since you stepped into their lives. You bring out the best in her. The best in him, too.

He tries to force down the tears that come up every time he looks at his daughter and thinks about what happened a year ago. She’s too small to have to know the pain of abandonment and betrayal. He pushes away the thought.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Zach says, clearing his throat.

“Do you want another bracelet?” she says.

Zach smirks, looking down at the beaded bracelet on his wrist that she made for him a few days ago. She made you a matching one that you always wear, too.

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy,” he says. “But that’s not it.”

He says it exactly as he rehearsed, telling her how happy you make him and asking if she’s okay with you being his girlfriend. When she grins up at him and asks if that means that you can move in with them, he chuckles, tears pricking his eyes.

Zach always felt like he needed to make up for the love Ella’s mother wasn’t giving her. Now, there’s nothing to make up for, nothing missing. He wishes the circumstances had been different, but he knows he’s lucky that he met you.

He was sure soon after he got to know you that his daughter would grow to love you. Deep down, he was sure that he would grow to love you, too.

────୨ৎ────

It’s past nine p.m. when Zach gets home from training. Now that he’s in the midst of playoffs again, he doesn’t get as much time at home anymore, but he takes it in stride.

When he can’t find you on the main floor, he tiptoes upstairs in case you’ve fallen asleep putting Ella to bed. Sure enough, she’s snuggled up next to you, both of you snoozing.

It’s been a month since he told her about your relationship and somehow, she’s grown to love you even more now that she knows you love her dad. Zach wonders if Ella can see how much happier he is these days. He tried to hide how empty he felt before, but maybe she caught on.

He’d rather not know. He’s rather not think about the past at all, really. Because right now, as he gazes into his daughter’s bedroom to see you hugging each other in your sleep, he knows he’s looking at his future.

(the end) (continuation blurb)

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#zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader

361 notes · View notes

pennyellee · 1 month ago

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, coercion, psychological manipulation, death, implied murder, mentions of cancer, strong language, misogyny, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, verbal confrontation, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, "falling" from a horse, (partially fictional) lobotomy description, traditions of the clan, pledge, intimate themes, physical violence implied, psychological conflict, oral sex, fingering, handjob, vulnerability (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 18,8K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous coz this one was a hard one ya know. I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all. I still haven't decided whether I will write two endings or not. The ending that I initially intended prolly won't be fancied and I definitely scrapped the open ending, but you will never know coz I won't tell ya more.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. You can finally sleep in piece babies. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come soon after this chapter, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [what a promo] will come around as soon as I’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas coz that shit - well damn, just damn.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it almost right after it was finished coz that shit is looooooooong this time. I LOVE YOU BECCA 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list previous

seele (n.) the soul, inner essence, or spirit

Her mind was constantly occupied with thoughts she wished to speak loud, but couldn’t. She wanted to warn, to tell the young souls that their minds were poisoned. Y/N’s heart was heavy in her chest each time she lay in bed next to him, letting him pull her close and hold her for the entirety of the night. And far the biggest sacrifice and risk she had to make was giving him her body when he desired her. At least partially. He was pacing things slowly at first- step by step.

She never thought that in order to set herself free, she would have to give herself up first. However hard it was breaking her heart that she had to stoop so low in order to turn her life on a different path, had to be endured, sucked in.

She never understood what made her body so weak for him. Why did her mind scream for her to run even as her body yearned to be touched?

Yoongi’s hands moved over her body, igniting a fire that burned deep within her. She was supposed to feel like she was suffocating, drowning in the sea. But she could not let herself fail—not this time.

His fingers traced the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was gentle yet still so possessive. Yoongi’s lips brushed against her earlobe, and his warm breath reached the softness of her skin.

He leaned in, his lips capturing hers once more, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. Y/N moaned, her body arching against his as he pulled her closer, his hands moving to cup her breasts.

He squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending sparks flying through her body. Y/N shuddered, her hips grinding against his, her arousal building with every passing moment. His hands moved to the button of her skirt.

He popped the button, his fingers slipping inside to caress her warm, wet flesh. Y/N gasped, her body shuddering under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing over her clit.

Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal building with every single moment. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb circling her clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of her wet, pulsing core.

Y/N’s body shuddered, her orgasm building, her mind spinning with pleasure, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, sending her over the edge.

Y/N cried out, her body arching against Yoongi’s as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Yoongi’s fingers never stopped, his thumb still circling her clit, prolonging her pleasure.

As she came down from her orgasm, Y/N felt Yoongi’s fingers slide out of her, his thumb pressing one last time against her clit before moving away. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers.

Yoongi’s kiss was deep and intense, his tongue dancing with hers as their naked bodies pressed against each other. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, his desire for her clear. But he knew that she was not ready.

“I need you.” His voice was husky with pleasure and selfishness. Yoongi pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire.

“You are so fucking beautiful—” His eyes never left hers when he lowered down to lay soft kisses on her lower abdomen.

“—And so fucking mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at Yoongi’s words. She could feel his warm breath against her skin as he continued to kiss her abdomen, his lips leaving a trail of heat and desire.

“Yoongi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto her most intimate parts. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N gasped at the sensation, her body arching against his as he explored her most sensitive areas. His tongue was warm and wet, his touch gentle, seductive. This only happened in one of her dreams and never did she imagine this would be once a reality.

As he continued to pleasure her, Y/N felt herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. Her body trembled with pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the peak.

With a loud cry, Y/N came again, her body shaking against Yoongi’s as he continued to pleasure her. As she came down from her orgasm, Yoongi slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, her fingers digging into his skin. He reached down and began to undo his pants, his erection springing free, swollen with need. She knew what he expected of her, hence it was easier to just accept it and be done with it.

“Can I? —” She asked, her voice trembling. She needs him to think she wants him just like he wants her. His eyes closed before he spoke with a husky voice.

“Please—” he choked out. He reached down and began to guide her hand onto his shaft, his fingers wrapping around hers to show her how to stroke him, feeling the heat and hardness of him. She could feel his pulse beating beneath her touch.

As she began to jerk him off, Y/N felt a some twisted sense of power and control. She could see the desire in Yoongi’s eyes and feel the need building within him. She increased her pace, her hand moving up and down his shaft in a rhythmic motion. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as Y/N continued to pleasure him. His eyes locked onto hers.

“Dove,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel his body tensing, his need for release building. With a final stroke, Yoongi came, his orgasm washing over him hard, spurring the hot semen on her hand.

He did not last long, how could he when it was she pleasuring him?

The wedding of her sister was coming dangerously close, days went by rather quickly when there were no fights to fight or battles to win.

“Did you think of a gift for your husband, my dear?” An elderly female voice echoed on the terrace as she was sipping her tea. It was still not the warmest weather but the snow was by far almost gone and the sun was peeking through the white clouds. It was a perfect day to ride a horse.

“A gift?” Y/N squinted her eyebrows, not having a single clue as to what her mother was referring to.

“The day of his birth is arriving soon.” The younger female almost choked on her herbal tea, she still kept drinking as Yoongi might be taking the activities in their bedroom slow for now, she does not know when he will stop being patient. The herbs will kill any seeds that could be planted in her womb.

Y/N’s mind raced, her fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain cup. The bitter taste of the tea was a stark contrast to the sweetness she was expected to embody. The idea of giving a gift to the man who had taken everything from her felt like a cruel joke, a twisted irony that only deepened her resentment.

“A gift,” she repeated, the words almost foreign on her tongue. Her mother’s voice, though soft, held the weight of generations of expectations, yet Y/N could sense some undertone, a message to be conveyed. Expectations that Y/N had always felt burdened by, but now they were suffocating her, pressing down on her like a relentless tide.

“Yes, a gift,” her mother continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Y/N’s eyes. “Something meaningful. You must show him your gratitude, your… affection.” She hesitated on the last word, perhaps sensing the tension in her daughter but brushing it off as the nerves of a newlywed. After all, this was the life she had been groomed for—submission, obedience, and silent suffering disguised as devotion.

Until she got the taste of freedom.

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind already drifting away from the conversation. Her mother’s voice became a distant murmur, drowned out by the rush of her thoughts. How could she possibly give him something meaningful when every part of her being still wanted to run away from him? When every night she spent in his arms felt like a betrayal of herself?

The sun’s warmth on her skin felt almost mocking, a false promise of comfort in a world that had turned cold and unyielding. The thought of his birthday, of celebrating the man who held her captive in a gilded cage, was almost too much to bear. She felt her resolve slipping, the carefully constructed facade of the dutiful wife threatening to crack.

But she couldn’t let it break, not yet. Not when she was so close to finding a way out. She had sacrificed too much, endured too much, to falter now.

“I’ll think of something, Ma” Y/N finally replied, her voice calm, betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Her mother smiled, satisfied, and turned to gaze out at the garden. Y/N understood her words clearly. She followed her gaze, but all she saw was the vast emptiness that mirrored her own heart.

Her eyes narrowed down to her younger sister, watching her mount a horse, Taehyung by her side just like he had been for the past months. Her father is not nor never will be happy with both hers and her sister’s elopements, not that it’s going to matter soon.

The sight stirred something bitter in Y/N, a pang of resentment mixed with a twisted sense of protectiveness. She spent days and nights wishing she could reverse Xiaoli’s fate.

“She has changed,” her mother spoke again. Y/N’s eyes closed whilst she breathed out a loud sigh.

“She has, indeed,” Y/N muttered back. If she can call prefrontal lobotomy ‘a change’, then yes, Xiaoli has changed very much so.

“Why can’t you be happy for her?” Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent, grated against Y/N’s nerves like sandpaper.

“Are you happy for me, Ma?” Y/N countered quickly. The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, like the tense silence before a storm. Y/N’s mother hesitated, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her poise. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them, but it was gone before Y/N could grasp it.

“Your happiness,” her mother began, carefully choosing her words, “has always been… complicated.”

“Complicated,” Y/N echoed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. It was a diplomatic way of saying that her happiness had never been a priority. In their world, happiness was a luxury, often sacrificed for the sake of duty, appearances, and survival.

“Do you think I do not know?” Y/N continued, her voice low, edged with the frustration she had suppressed for far too long. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you and father always looked at me with a kind of pity? As if I’m some tragic figure in a story you would rather not tell?”

Her mother’s face remained impassive, but Y/N could see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap. “I have always wanted the best for you,” her mother said, but the words felt rehearsed, as if she had said them a thousand times before and had long since stopped believing them.

“Then tell me, Ma,” Y/N pressed, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “what is the best for me? Is it to be locked in a marriage where every night I lose a piece of myself? Or is it to watch as my sister being expe-” Y/N stopped herself from slipping such information out.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized how close she had come to revealing the unspeakable truth. She quickly clamped her mouth shut, biting back the words that had almost spilt out. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but Y/N forced herself to remain calm, to steady her racing heart.

Her mother’s gaze bored into her, searching for the secret Y/N had almost exposed, but Y/N refused to let it show. She couldn’t afford to slip, not now, not when everything was hanging by such a fragile thread. But her mother’s finger that softly tapped next to her ear told her that she knows more than she shows. They are listening. They always do.

The elder woman sighed just like her daughter a few moments ago. “You started to look happier these past weeks, I just thought that maybe, just maybe you’ve found your peace in your life.” The older woman continued the conversation like no other message was sent her way.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes, afraid of what she might see reflected there—pity, disappointment, or worse, a recognition of the truth Y/N was so desperately trying to hide.

Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only served to remind Y/N of how disconnected she felt, and how far she had drifted from the person she used to be. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. Real happiness. And I want that for you, more than anything.”

Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, choking back the bitter retort that threatened to spill out. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when every day was a battle to keep herself from falling apart, to protect the one person she had left in this world.

“I am trying, Ma,” she said instead, her voice barren, trying to find some semblance of peace, some way to reconcile the choices she had made. But that peace seemed as distant as the stars, something she could see but never touch.

Her mother gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You have always been so strong, Y/N. I know life has not been easy for you, but you have survived so much. I just hope that one day, you will not have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Her mother’s words were well-intentioned, but they felt like salt in a wound that had never fully healed. She wanted to tell her mother the truth, to explain the depths of her despair, the weight of the secrets she carried, but she could not. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

So instead, she buried the truth deeper, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She would have to continue pretending, for now, until she could find a way out—if there even was one.

“Nonetheless, do well to remember something for me—” her head turned to face her mother once more, awaiting what else she could possibly say to her.

“You are the queen here, child.”

Y/N did not understand her mother’s words at the time, but she recalled their reunion all those months ago, hearing her say those words again.

Be a queen.

“He is getting better—” his voice resonated near her. She did not turn to face him until the chair next to her made an uncomfortable noise. He was far too busy today, busier than usual. He greeted her mother with respect each time.

Her mother is not the enemy here, nor she ever was. Yet, she is being watched with such precise carefulness by all the Min worshipers, maids, soldiers - everyone. Wang Zemo was the unspoken enemy that her husband is secretly planning to eliminate.

They are not speaking about that sensitive subject, yet Y/N knows that it is going to happen no matter what she thinks about her father. Unless—

“How do you feel today?” he asked.

She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching for any sign of the concern she had grown used to. But today, something was different. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his gaze, a flicker of something she could not quite place.

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease growing inside her. “Just a bit tired from last night’s work.”

“There is a jewellery showroom I would like to visit with you if you feel well enough—”

The jewellery store was a haven of elegance, with its sparkling displays and refined ambience. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, each piece of jewellery capturing a moment of beauty and grace. Today, however, an air of tension hung over the store, palpable even among the glistening gems and polished glass cases.

Y/N could sense all the stares angled at them, all the whispers were heard by her ears, yet Yoongi remained unbothered. She on the other hand felt uneasy by such attention. After all, it is not every day they welcome such a powerful man in their store. Such a dangerous man.

She sensed something was amiss, her own worries momentarily forgotten as she watched the store’s manager, conversing in hushed tones with an unknown man.

“Why are we here?” She asked him with a sudden turn he did not expect. His demeanour was unreadable, as always, but she hoped for some clarity in his response. Yoongi looked at her, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Your Eomma said you would fancy a new set of pearls like hers.” He smiled softly, caressing her cheek with his right hand, Y/N sensing the balance of warmth of it and the coldness of his rings he had worn.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. “But my birthday is not for another month. Why so soon?”

Yoongi chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease the tension in the room just a bit. “Consider it an early surprise. You can wear them at the wedding—”

“Your birthday is coming, we should talk about that instead—” she interrupted him, her tone still possessed a mix of frustration and confusion. Why would they talk about her birthday which is not for another month?

Yoongi’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced around the store, his eyes momentarily clouded with concern before he masked it again. “I just wanted to do something special for you, that is all. You have been doing so well, Dove.”

By doing well means, no tantrums, no screams, no broken vases thrown his way and they are living as a husband and wife, not just in the name. It was his way of acknowledging the fragile peace they had managed to maintain, the delicate balance that kept their world from shattering. He was selfish enough to consider himself making progress with her.

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “What would you fancy for your birthday?” She asked carefully.

Yoongi paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He chuckled a little before he leaned down to press his lips softly against hers for a moment, his hand slipping down to her belly.

“You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking… about something we already talked about—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Her gaze slipped down to his large hand on her belly, awaiting the worst.

He took a breath, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes, while his forehead rested on hers. “I know I said that it will not help anything, but I would love to have—”

“Not here—” she said way too quickly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Let us not talk about it here, okay?”

His expression shifted, understanding, but a bit sad as his first thoughts led him to rejection.

“I am sorry, this is not the right place, —” he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper as if he feared that even speaking about it might attract unwanted attention. “But I want you to know it is on my mind, Dove.”

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a conflict brewing within her. The idea of a child, of a future that seemed so distant.

“Can we talk at home?” She asked carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased, she wanted to talk about it, and his heart started to beam.

“Deal. Let us just find you those pearls for now, hm?” A little peck on his lips was enough confirmation that she was more than ready to pick up some jewellery and leave.

As they moved through the store, the vibrant displays of jewellery momentarily distracted them from the weight of their conversation. Y/N couldn’t shake the thought of Yoongi’s words, though. She knew she needed to play her role. However, she was not ready to make such a big sacrifice for the taste of freedom. She had a different scenario in her head.

“What do you think about these pearls?” She gestured towards a stunning strand that caught the light just right, reflecting an array of colours.

Yoongi’s gaze followed her gesture, and he leaned closer to examine the pearls. “They are beautiful. They remind me of you—classic and timeless beauty,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

She laughed softly, the tension of their earlier conversation easing. “You just say that because I am wearing a white dress.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I mean it.” He smiled at her, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her with the hope that perhaps when they returned home, they could explore the depths of their future dreams together. Perhaps.

The private dining room was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The large table was set with an assortment of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.

Y/N glanced around, taking in the sight of the family gathered together, a rare moment these days when everyone is put to work. Each member of the family had a role to play, each one integral to the operation and survival of the Min clan.

She and Seokjin run around the hospital doing what they can to heal and help those in need. These past weeks were especially busy after several raids on the warehouses the Min clan owns.

Taehyung worked his magic, covering every single trace that would make the whole syndicate fall.

Jungkook, seated beside Jimin who has been running the hotel perfectly, took a deep breath. “The Min soldiers are ready. We have increased patrols around the warehouses and fortified our defences. I have got the best man on it, Yoongi-hyung. We will not let anything happen again like last time.”

“Yoongi nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We cannot afford any more breaches—”

Jungkook nodded firmly. “I will.”

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his usually cheerful demeanour replaced with a hard edge. “I have been tracking down leads on who’s responsible for the raids. We have collected some old debts and sent a clear message.”

“It has been happening way too often lately,—” Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the whole table.

“It is the peak of the trade season, innit?” Yoongi mused out loud. Not bothered by that at the moment, he knows he can rely on his men. His wife sticking the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to eat from the barely filled marble dish bothered him more.

They have yet to return to their conversation but that is not what occupies her mind now. Yoongi yet again wondered whether her silence meant that she was considering what he said or being tortured by that thought.

“How are things over at the sanatorium?” The right-hand man raised the question when he cleared his throat, hoping to get the young Buin to talk about the sector that was entrusted to her. Under the watchful eye of Doctor Kim Seokjin.

Yoongi, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her with a small smile. Despite the tension of the past weeks, moments like this reminded him of why they fought so hard. He reached under the table, finding her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a gentle, almost tender gesture, he picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate.

“We have zero deaths so far, thanks to—” Seokjin’s voice became a blur when she noticed his hand squeezing hers.

“Eat up, Dove—” Yoongi said softly, ignoring Seokjin’s report, his eyes filled with concern. Xiaoli looked around the table with wide eyes, still getting used to the boisterous dynamics of the group.

“Are you feeling fine, Unnie?” She pried, eating a piece of kimchi while doing so. “You have been working a lot lately.”

“Just peachy, pumpkin,” Y/N replied with a bright smile, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. She noticed the way Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly at her response, a subtle reminder of their shared worries, but she chose to brush it off.

Hoseok, sitting across from her, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Peachy? You have been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin—” he expressed his concern.

“And I love working—” Y/N began, her voice light, but she was quickly interrupted by Jin, who feigned horror.

“Yes, yes and yes, that does not change that you should take a little break.” Jin insisted, his tone dramatic as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Oh shut up, you do need me, Dr Kim.” Y/N shot back playfully, her smile growing wider as she tried to lighten the mood.

“Touché,” Jin replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But that does not mean you should work yourself into the ground. You are not invincible, Buin.”

Jungkook leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for our favourite sister to pass out in the middle of surgery because she did not eat breakfast!” He noticed. Of course he did.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I can manage just fine. I am not collapsing anytime soon. I promise!”

“Not with that attitude,” Namjoon said, leaning back with an amused expression. “But let us not test the limits of your endurance, okay?”

“Eat up, Dove. No more arguments,” Yoongi said firmly, though his voice softened at the end.

Y/N looked at the fish, then back up at him. “I will, but you all need to stop treating me like I am fragile, at least I am not that fragile anymore—” her voice fell down at the end of the sentence.

Nobody forgot, even though it seemed like they did. The scar on her neck is yet to fade and smooth into her skin. Before she managed to slip to those thoughts, Jimin’s voice echoed through the room.

“How about a spa day, girls?” Y/N chuckled lightly, glancing around the table, endorsing that kind of domesticity. But when she looks at her sister and sees a woman she never was before, it makes her heart ache.

October through November 1938

Fresh off the boat from China, her wide-eyed innocence was observable by many others. The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of leather and sweat as she walked through the stables, admiring the majestic kladrubers behind the iron bars. Reaching through them, her hands deftly brushed against their sleek coats.

She came here to forget about all the screaming that was happening behind closed doors of the room that was “politely” offered to them. Her father wanted to come home, with her sister preferably, but the young Korean Kkangpae just had to be so madly in love with Y/N that he was not willing to let her just go. At least, that is what Xiaoli observed from behind the scenes.

The younger sister did not know how it came to this nor what was his business with her father, and she will most likely never know the whole truth nor she will remember. She was not like her sister Y/N. Xiaoli knew very well that she must marry a wealthy mafia lord, a strong ally to her father at best. Hence, she made her peace with it since the first time she bled and became a woman.

The time was ticking and knowing that Y/N got to get higher education shifted the focus on her instead. Xiaoli was moulded to be the perfect, obedient and dutiful wife Y/N would never become. Not because she was not capable but because her sister had different ambitions. Ambitions that Xiaoli believed would kill her and many others. And once, she understood them. That proved to be no longer the case.

Y/N wanted to be a doctor, she wanted to help people, heal people and Xiaoli understood that was the persona she grew in.

She admired her sister for her strength and resilience. It would not take the man her sister is engaged to a second more to charm Xiaoli - in the right circumstances. He was handsome, successful, and certainly very intelligent as he managed to put the whole Triad on their feet by swaying Y/N.

The scar made him even more intriguing in Xiaoli’s eyes. There was something about the respect that vibrated through the room once he stepped in. She was not allowed to attend the meeting or meet her sister that day, and per her mother’s words, ‘it would only hurt her seeing you’.

Well, it definitely hurt Xiaoli. They spent very little time together these past years and she missed her dearly. The happiness and pride she felt on the day Y/N finally graduated was short-lived; their aunt passed away and even she was not stupid enough to not realise what it meant.

Sitting at the breakfast table in their family mansion back in Hong Kong, a rageful scream reverberated through the walls. The news that Y/N took the chance and ran for the hills.

“She barely reaches your chin, how come you were not able to stop her!”

The echoes of the scream seemed to linger in the opulent dining room, bouncing off the intricate wooden panelling and crystal chandeliers.

Xiaoli’s mother stood at the head of the table, her face twisted with fury and disbelief. The usually composed matriarch of the family was unrecognizable, her controlled demeanour shattered by the news of Y/N’s escape.

Xiaoli’s father, Wang Zemo sat in his chair with a deep frown etched on his face, his hands clenched into fists. He was a man of few words, but his silence was more intimidating than any outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating, each family member drowning in their own thoughts and fears.

The Lieutenant stood at the door frame to the dining room they were gathered in. Trembling under Wang Zemo’s hard glance.

“We did not think she would go that far,” he muttered, his voice shaky, afraid to lose his head. What he meant is that they trusted her sister to not do anything like that.

Xiaoli’s heart ached back then. She knew Y/N had been unhappy with the arranged marriage, but she hadn’t realized the depths of her despair. She admired her sister’s courage to defy their parents and the entire Triad’s expectations, but she also feared for her safety. Running away from such powerful families was no small feat, and the repercussions could be deadly.

“Stupid girl—” Wang Zemo scoffed at his oldest child’s incompetence to meet the expectations.

“She jeopardized everything!” Wang Zemo repeated, his voice rising with each syllable. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure.

Xiaoli’s mother placed a calming hand on Wang Zemo’s shoulder, though her expression was one of thinly veiled panic.

“We need to stay calm,” she urged, her voice steady but strained. “Anger will not bring her back.” Wang Zemo shook off her hand, standing up abruptly.

He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done to find her?”

The Lieutenant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We have mobilized all available men. We are taking every possible lead, and every contact she might have. But... but she has been very careful, sir. It is almost like she planned this way ahead..”

‘Of course she did,’ Xiaoli thought, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow for her sister. Y/N had always been meticulous and determined. She would not have run away on a whim; she would have made sure she had a solid plan.

“Not good enough,” Wang Zemo growled. “I want results. And I want them now—”

“Your fucking failure reflects on all of us!”

Xiaoli could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to show any weakness. She had to be strong, for her sister and for herself.

Xiaoli’s mother flinched at the vulgarity, her mask of composure slipping for just a moment. The Lieutenant’s face turned a shade paler, and he nodded vigorously, desperate to appease his furious boss.

“Father,” Xiaoli spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. “Maybe we should consider why Y/N ran away. Forcing her back might just not be the answer.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes snapped to her, his expression one of disbelief mixed with anger. “Are you questioning me, Xiaoli?”

“No, Father,” she said quickly but then gathered her courage. “I just think... there must be a better way. Y/N is smart. She would not do this without a good reason. Maybe we should try to understand her, rather than just bring her back by force.” She rephrased herself.

A heavy silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Lǎodà’s reaction. He stared at Xiaoli for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm but dangerously low.

“You do not have the same sinful intentions as your sister, daughter, right?”

“Of course not.” She forced a smile.

The conversation ended before it managed to even start. Xiaoli’s voice was never heard once she spoke up, and the most devastating was that not even her older sister could advise their father or her mother. The only woman that the hot-headed Wang Zemo ever listened to was their dear auntie, but she is no longer here to prevent him from the madness he is planning to do.

There is no one to make Wang Zemo see reason anymore.

The warm sun filtered through the slats of the stable, casting playful shadows across the hay-strewn floor. There he stood, at the very edge, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. His strong form bent over one of the kladrubers, grooming the horse with gentle precision. Xiaoli quietly watched him from a distance, adored in tailored high-waisted trousers, in a rich earth tone, paired with a fitted, button-down shirt. His choice of leather riding boots suggests functionality and style, perfect for a day at the stables.

Xiaoli’s heart raced as she observed Kim Taehyung’s deft movements. She admired not just his looks but the quiet confidence he exuded—a stark contrast to the chaos of her family. His demeanour and interaction with his brothers.

They have been talking.

Matter of fact, they have been talking daily. Sometimes from far away, it felt like they were talking more than casually. Xiaoli cherished the moments she spent with Taehyung, often finding solace in their conversations at the stables, sun room or dining hall.

They would talk about everything—his aspirations, her dreams, the horses they adored. He shared stories of his family’s dynamics, highlighting the playful banter with his brothers, while she opened up about the weight of her own familial expectations, carefully steering the discussions to remain light-hearted. But he noticed her dissatisfaction.

Taehyung looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face, instantly lighting up his sharp features when he saw her standing near him.

“Hey there, angel” he said, his tone inviting, “Want to help?”

Xiaoli nodded, her pulse quickening. As she moved beside him, the connection sparked an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something about him that felt safe, a reprieve from her tumultuous life.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the grooming brush at the same time, and Taehyung chuckled softly.

“I don’t bite–”

Xiaoli’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, feeling an ease she had not known in ages. The playful banter continued, their laughter echoing softly against the stable walls, and for a moment, the weight of her family’s expectations and her father’s wrath slipped away.

“Would you give me the honour to accompany you riding today, angel?” Xiaoli hesitated, glancing down at her hands.

“I wish I could, Taehyung-sshi, but I cannot today—” Taehyung’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with understanding.

“What is the matter, dear?” Xiaoli bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“It is just... my father’s been on edge lately, and I don’t want to risk making things worse. Truth to be told, he is not very keen on spending my leisure time with you.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed with concern, and he took a step closer, his voice softening.

“I do not fancy your father either, but he also does not fancy any of my clan.”

Xiaoli nodded, understanding the unspoken tension that simmered beneath their lighthearted exchanges. “I know, but that makes it all the more complicated.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, regardless of what he thinks. Life is too short for shadows.” He mused.

“I know—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Spend it with me.”

He said softly but rather abruptly, closing the distance between them. Her eyes searched for any signs of foul play but found none. Her breathing became shaky and her mind started to spin around all the scenarios that her father would be starring in as the villain. Xiaoli’s heart raced at his words, caught between desire and duty.

“What?—” She asked, shocked. Xiaoli took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on her chest.

“Taehyung, I appreciate how you feel. I truly do. But I must be honest with you.” He tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“I think of you as a friend, someone…someone I can confide in, but…but nothing more,” she continued stammering, although her voice remained gentle. “With everything going on, I need to focus on my family and my responsibilities. I thought you understood that–”

Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, masking his disappointment and internal anger.

“Friends it is.” He said through gritted teeth. The moment hung in the air, tinged with unspoken emotions, yet Xiaoli felt a bittersweet relief wash over her. In a world where love could be both a luxury and a burden, she valued the connection they shared, however fleeting it was.

Unfortunately for her, Kim Taehyung’s intentions are rooted far too deep to be classified as friendship.

“Tomorrow, we shall go take this boy for a ride, what you say, angel?”

Taehyung’s voice dripped with a charm that both thrilled and unnerved her.

Xiaoli hesitated, a flicker of unease creeping into her heart. “I—”

“Come on, it shall be fun! Just you and me,” he urged, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.

She took a breath, sensing the weight of his expectations.

“Of course–”

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet ticking of a clock echoing in the background. She had written to Y/N again. Despite everything, despite the unspoken rules the Korean Kkangpae established - as per Taehyung’s words.

She had a strong feeling that something was going to go down the hill, and she expressed this in her plea letters to her sister who is being held in a place called the Sanctuary. Nobody ever knew where this place was hidden. Hidden from all those who wished for the downfall of the Min empire the scarred leader was extending slowly.

The words flowed onto the page, frantic and desperate - whatever happens, I shall not be able to control it. I feel like the choices will be taken away from me, dear sister.

But as she folded the paper, her heart ached. She had no idea if she could send it. No idea if she would ever be able to.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and before she could even respond, Taehyung entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. His sharp gaze immediately fell on the letters.

“We have talked about this, Xiaoli, you know that that is forbidden,” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too calm. The Taehyung she was seeing now was different from the one she met when she first laid foot onto the Min grounds. He has changed, and it was her rejection that led him to show his true colours to her.

Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. “I just wish to tell her I miss her,” she whispered, almost pleading. His hands quickly unfolded the paper she had laid in front of her, reading the words. That is when Xiaoli knew she was destined to be doomed.

“She is my sister, Taehyung. I cannot just abandon her like this.”

“You can,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And you will for now. She needs to adjust to her life as Buin of this clan.”

Xiaoli’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the mention of Buin, the title that now belonged to her sister, the role that would tether Y/N even deeper to the Kkangpae.

“I can see that you are continuing this insanity that your dear sister exhibits too. Disobedience must be running in your family, but we shall change that soon.”

Taehyung stepped closer, his presence engulfing her, the scent of his cologne overpowering the faint smell of the letter’s ink. His fingers brushed the paper on the desk, now crumpled and discarded, and Xiaoli’s breath hitched at the coldness in his touch.

“What are you talking about again Taehyung? I thought we were done speaking about this topic.” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thickening with the tension between them.

“I shall see you in the morning, and I hope that a good sleep will bring you to your senses.” He said, his voice lowering, a cold warning hanging in the silence. Xiaoli’s heart raced, a wave of frustration and helplessness flooding through her.

“I will not let you break me. No is a no—” she raised her voice when he was about to leave the room. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down.

“Nor will you break my sister, mark my words Kim Taehyung, and be sure to tell them to that leader of yours.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Taehyung’s lips curled into a cold smile.

“You love me, Xiaoli. You do—” his bold and explicit words sent a tidal wave through her body.

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can live without the weight of that foolishness.”

“Good morning, angel.”

Truth to be spoken, Xiaoli was afraid to not come and a part of her knew that he would have his way nonetheless. Today, she was determined to put an end to Kim Taehyung's attempts to groom her.

Before she could reply, Xiaoli felt his lips brushing against hers, soft yet demanding. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection, the lingering tension of unspoken words. She found herself responding,telling herself, just this once, curiosity mingling with a twinge of fear. She did not understand what was happening. Did she not make her standing in their relationship clear last night? His vulgarity shocked her.

The air was crisp and cool in November, a hint of frost glimmering on the ground as Xiaoli and Taehyung stood close in the stable, the warmth of their earlier kiss lingering like a sweet echo. The horses shifted in their stalls, unaware of the tension that had just shifted between the two of them.

The next moment, she was observing his muscular hands saddling the horse for her, still not understanding what happened. Too shocked to speak, to even comment or reply good morning to him.

Taehyung’s posture was relaxed, but beneath the surface, an insidious obsession twisted within him. He guided his horse closer to hers, a gleam in his eye that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath his charming façade.

“Have you thought about my proposal, my beloved?” He asked, curious. His proposal was rather sudden and the change in him very obvious. He was not hiding his feelings for her anymore. At least that is how he perceived the situation.

“Taehyung,-” she called out softly, watching as he approached, his breath misting in the cold air. His usual confident stride seemed tempered by the season’s sombre beauty.

“I am not sure if I can fully embrace this. I told you so–” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. He lifted his eyesight to meet hers. Taehyung, mounted on his sleek black horse, maintained a close pace beside Xiaoli, who rode a chestnut mare. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of hoofbeats crunching through the snow.

“Do you feel that?” Taehyung asked, his breath visible in the frosty air. “It is as if the world is ours alone.”

Xiaoli glanced at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “Nature is certainly beautiful,” she replied, the thrill of the ride mixing with the tension that still lingered after their kiss.

“Just like you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making her heart race. “I want to share moments like this with you forever.”

“Taehyung…” She whispered, her disapproval evident in her voice.

“Xiaoli, beloved—” he said, voice smooth yet edged with intensity, “imagine a life where you belong to me, where no one can take you away. You would never have to worry about your father or anyone else. Just us.” His smile was wide, but there was a predator’s hunger behind it.

“Did we not share good times together, angel?” She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Taehyung, this is not what I want. I already have obligations—”

He interrupted, his tone sharpening.

“I can become your obligation, would you not fancy that over marrying a stranger?” He stressed out.

“We have our lives, our families, and that kiss—”

“Was it not real, my dear?” he interrupted, a spark of frustration flashing in his eyes.

“Uncalled for!” She raised her voice.

“You cannot just kiss me, Taehyung, we talked about us being friends just yesterday, did we not?” she said, trying to find the right words. Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of her words.

But as they rode deeper into the woods, Xiaoli could not shake the feeling that something had shifted—not just between her and Taehyung, but within herself. The kiss replayed in her mind, its intensity causing her to question her feelings.

The snowflakes swirled around them, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike. But beneath the surface, Xiaoli knew this was not going to end well for her.

“Is this yet another strategic move of your Kkangpae?” She blurted out. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense.

“And if it is?” he cut in, anger and hurt lacing his tone. “I am offering you everything, and you are turning me down for what? Some semblance of duty?”

“The future I want does not include you!” she cried, her voice trembling. They cannot be friends, she has decided that it will be better to lose him than fall in line. The reality of their situation hung heavily between them, each word slicing deeper than the last.

“You do not have to part with your sister ever again!” Her mind stops for a fleeting moment, thinking about this for some peculiar proposal.

“You think this will make me fall in love with you, do you not?” she spat, the bitterness on her tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

His lips curled into a cold, controlled smile, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Love,” he murmured, getting closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Love will come, in time. Whether you want it or not.”

Her body tensed, every fibre of her being fighting against the reality of it all. This is not love, she thought, her mind screaming with the agony of the truth.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, a mix of desperation and determination flaring within them. “You do not even know what you want yet, Xiaoli. You are running from a feeling that can change everything–”

“You make me feel alive,” he continued, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Taehyung, I cannot—” her tears spilt over, her voice losing its power.

“Just trust me,” he urged, his fingers brushing her arm. “Give in.”

“What are you—”

In a swift motion, he pushed his horse forward, pressing against her side. Xiaoli instinctively jerked her reins, trying to regain control. The sudden jolt sent her horse rearing back, and she lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain exploded in her head as it connected with the earth, a sharp crack reverberating in the stillness around them.

Taehyung dismounted swiftly, panic lacing his features for a fleeting moment that luck was not on his side, that she fell harder than he wanted her to. But before you could blink it was all replaced by a chilling calmness.

“Everything shall be alright, my beloved. I shall make it all better,” he murmured, his voice soft yet chillingly possessive.

“I love you.”

The world spun into a blur of pain and darkness, Xiaoli’s last coherent thought was the cold touch of Taehyung’s hand, his voice a chilling promise in her ear.

When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the snowy forest. The room was sterile, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics. Her body felt restrained, bound to a cold, metal table. Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to move, but the restraints held firm.

Blinking slowly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, the sterile white walls closing in on her. Kim Seokjin, one of the seven, stood at the foot of the bed, his face an unreadable mask. Dressed in a pristine white coat, he exuded an unsettling calmness. The tools of his trade lay meticulously arranged on a nearby table.

Xiaoli knew that he was the family’s doctor, but she did not understand what she was doing in his practice.

“Doctor Kim... what am I doing here?" Her voice was a fragile whisper when she addressed the older male, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He approached her slowly, his eyes cold and clinical. “There is no need to be afraid, dear. I will make it all better for you now.”

Strapped to the bed, Xiaoli’s attempts to move were futile. Panic surged through her veins as Seokjin prepared the instruments, his movements deliberate and precise. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the horror of her situation sinking in with every passing second.

“Is this what you did to your fiancée?!” Xiaoli remembers the talks of the young female kicking and screaming any moment she had the chance to, just to make it harder for Doctor Kim in public, making everybody know that she was here against her will.

Seokjin paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stoic face. For a brief moment, his eyes softened, memories perhaps surfacing in his mind. But the moment was fleeting, replaced quickly by his professional detachment.

“Her thoughts were just as confused as yours,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But in the end, it was necessary. For her, and for us.”

The drastic change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed, yet everybody chose to ignore that, calling it her “enlightenment.”

Xiaoli’s heart raced faster, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, please. You do not have to do this. I can... I can leave. I shall not tell anyone that this ever happened.”

“You would leave your dear older sister here when we are offering you life within our ranks?”

His words struck a nerve, the mention of her sister pulling at Xiaoli’s deepest fears. “My sister…,” she stammered, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t abandon her, but she couldn’t accept this twisted fate either. Y/N would want her to fight this.

Seokjin’s eyes hardened, his patience thinning. “This is not a negotiation, Xiaoli. Your sister is safe, and she will remain so as long as you comply.”

In that unfortunate situation, Xiaoli did not know that there was no way that they would do something to Y/N, how could they? She ought to be the queen of them all. They cannot risk it going the wrong way.

A sob escaped her lips, the weight of her predicament crashing down on her. “Please, Doctor Kim. There must be another way.”

“You sound just like her. Your pleas are almost identical—” Seokjin’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“There is not. This is for your own good and for the good of the family. You will understand in time that Taehyung-sshi is the best thing that could ever come your way, child.”

Xiaoli’s tears flowed freely as Seokjin moved closer, the cold metal of his instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Her mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the reality of her situation was inescapable.

“Please...,” she whispered one last time, her voice breaking.

Seokjin’s hand rested gently on her forehead, a mockery of comfort. “Hush now, Xiaoli. It will all be over soon.”

As the procedure began, Xiaoli’s cries echoed in the sterile room, a haunting symphony of despair. “Please...,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I cannot do this.”

Seokjin approached her with a syringe in hand, his expression one of detached professionalism. The needle glinted ominously in the harsh light, a harbinger of the nightmare to come. “This will help you relax,” he said, his tone clinical and devoid of empathy.

Xiaoli’s heart pounded in her chest as the needle pierced her skin, a sharp sting that quickly gave way to a spreading numbness. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting and swaying as the sedative took hold. Despite the fog settling over her mind, the panic continued to surge through her veins.

As the sedative dulled her senses, Xiaoli’s thoughts became fragmented, and disjointed. Memories of her childhood with Y/N flashed before her eyes, moments of laughter and love now tainted by the fear of losing herself. She tried to cling to those memories, to hold on to the essence of who she was, but they slipped through her fingers like sand.

“Why are you even doing this?” she managed to murmur, her voice slurred by the sedative. “Please... I will do anything...”

“Because you were not ready to accept his love and the love of this clan, my dear,” Seokjin replied, his voice eerily calm. Xiaoli’s thoughts grew increasingly disjointed, a chaotic jumble of fear, pain, and fragmented memories.

Seokjin’s voice broke through the haze, a steady drone that contrasted sharply with the chaos in her mind. “You will be better soon. You will see things clearly and understand your place.”

“Pray for your sister to not need this.” Xiaoli’s mind shut down in a desperate bid for self-preservation. The last thing she saw was Taehyung’s face, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession before everything faded to black.

Her head was secured tightly after she lost consciousness, Seokjin carefully lifted her upper eyelid, exposing the soft tissue beneath. The point of entry is the thin, bony orbital roof, a structure that protects the eye within its socket. He is trying to do this without having to opt for the leucotome method.

Inserting the slender leucotome, just above the eyeball he severed the white matter fibres of her prefrontal cortex, methodically disconnecting the very essence of her thoughts and emotions, enough to just reorganize her persona into something she was not. Less capable of resistance, less capable to decide for herself.

“This better work, Seokjin, I cannot lose her.” His words cut through the air, a desperate plea as his gaze fixed on Xiaoli’s still form. She had to come back as the woman he wanted—obedient, loyal, bound to him in every way.

Nobody would ever notice. After all, Xiaoli was never opposed to being a wife of a high profile mafia member in comparison to her sister.

Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears—all of them slipping away, restructured, reshaped. The woman Taehyung had demanded would emerge from this, but at what cost?

Xiaoli would no longer fight him. She would no longer question him. In time, she would look to him, and him alone, for purpose.

Her body would heal; the bruising would fade, and the scar on her scalp would eventually blend, after all, everybody will think that it needed to be done after her unfortunate fall from the horse.

“If not, I will do it on the other side too, but that is risky” Seokjin murmured, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Doing it with only one side was just as risky. The woman she had been might not return, but the woman Taehyung desired most certainly would.

“Why?” Taeyhung voiced.

“You do not want her to be a vegetable, do you?”

Xiaoli, the girl who would fight for her sister to be free of the notorious Korean Kkangpae Min, would cease to exist.

The rest would simply be a matter of time.

The next time she wished to write to her sister, innocently, Taehyung’s hand shot out, swiftly taking hold of the letters and ripping them from her grasp before she could finish her sentence. The paper fluttered to the floor, torn and lifeless.

“You cannot write to her, Xiaoli,” he said, each word deliberate. Xiaoli could not shake off the familiarity of this moment. As if she was reliving something from before.

“You belong here now, with me, love. You owe everything to this clan. To me.”

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that still fought to resist. “Alright, I understand.”

“She is safe,” he said, his voice cold and final, “and if she is to remain so, she will need to embrace her new life, just as you will. You will have no more distractions, no more ties to the past. Your sister will adjust, just like you did.”

She was a shell that smiled when expected, nodded in approval when necessary, and followed Taehyung’s every command without question. She was no longer a woman who sought freedom for her sister, who fought against the weight of the world. No, she was now simply his—his to guide, to possess, to mould into the role that had been chosen for her.

The pain of her sister’s struggle was no longer her burden to bear, not when she had been given a new, more fitting role to play. She belonged here now, she understood that—at least, she told herself she did. The clan had welcomed her with open arms, and Taehyung’s presence was both commanding and comforting. He was the anchor to her existence now, and she had no choice but to submit, for it was the only life she had left.

The day of their wedding arrived, the final step in the transformation of Xiaoli into the woman she had been shaped to be. The air was thick with anticipation, the ornate halls of the family compound dressed in rich colours, the scent of incense mingling with the opulence of the setting. Guests, powerful men and women from every corner of the clan gathered in hushed reverence, all eyes on the bride as she stepped into the room.

The silk fabric, lustrous ivory, was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light, each thread whispering secrets of elegance and heritage. Her attire was simple yet breathtaking—a testament to timeless beauty. Even though it tinged Y/N with sadness that her sister chose to wear a Korean wedding dress instead of showing off their culture. It seemed that they even took the country out of her too.

The ceremony was a blur, just like everything else. The vows, the prayers, the promises—they all felt distant, detached. There was no room for anything more. Not when her thoughts, her emotions, had been so carefully erased, so perfectly reshaped to fit this role. She loved him, because she was told to do so.

As they left the altar together, Taehyung’s hand around hers, there was a finality to the moment that left her breathless. The gold band on her finger, heavy with meaning, designed with filigree — an oval, dark red ruby sat at its centre, glowing with an almost ominous warmth.

She glanced upon her sister sitting next to her husband once the ceremony was almost at its end. Her hand was sliced with a knife, Y/N, now the Min Buin, watched in silence, her expression unreadable. Xiaoli saw only the coldness of a woman who had embraced her new role.

She recited her pledge of loyalty to them and Y/N could not help herself but sigh. She could not reverse Xiaoli’s fate. The girl she knew was long gone and the woman she became was not who Y/N knew. Although, that will not make her love her less.

Her gaze flickered to Xiaoli, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Xiaoli’s bloodied trembling hand remained pressed against Y/N’s belly, a symbol of sacrifice, for what was to come. Y/N looked at her for a long moment before her hands gripped Xiaoli’s to reassure her for the last time that she was here. Min Yoongi’s watchful eyes did not miss this slight change in both of them, but for now, he is determined to let it slip.

“Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min.”

“Lǎodà Wang wishes to speak to you, Min Buin.” Y/N has set down the cup of her today’s dose of the herbal tea and breathed in, frustrated. She sat there for a moment longer, staring at the delicate ceramic cup.

“You can tell him what you usually do, Xiu — he can schedule an audience with me whilst my husband is present—” she began. Her voice was steady, but tinged with the faintest thread of frustration as she glanced at the delicate ceramic cup in front of her. The soft scent of the herbal tea filled the air, but it couldn’t soothe the growing unease tightening in her chest.

Xiu was her father’s maid since she was a child, hence she hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “Min Buin, this matter seems urgent. Lǎodà Wang insists on seeing you alone.”

“I have no interest in seeing him alone, Xiu—” She had kept her distance from him ever since her marriage to Yoongi.She did not protest when his command was to limit the interaction between the father and the sisters.

“I must insist, Min Buin.” Xiu repeated, her voice calm but firm. It was rare for Xiu to speak with such authority, but there was something in her demeanour that suggested the urgency of this matter was not to be ignored.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her thoughts spinning. “Alright, tell him to meet me in Kkangpae’s office. Off you go.”

Xiu bowed her head slightly, her expression unreadable, and then turned to leave the room without a word. Y/N watched her go, her mind whirling with unease. The mention of Lǎodà Wang was enough to unsettle her, but the insistence on meeting alone only deepened her suspicion. There was something off about this, something she couldn’t quite place.

Once Xiu disappeared from her sight, Y/N rose from her seat and walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the hotel.

Why now? Why is her father so desperate to speak with her alone?

Xiaoli and Taehyung have been wed and there is no tie to him now. As a matter of fact, he can set a sail back to China, anytime now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away.

She moved to gather herself for the meeting with her father. The weight of everything she had set in motion was starting to press on her, but she couldn’t let it show—not yet. She needed her mind sharp and clear, and she had no time to waste. But Y/N could see the sharpness in her sister’s eyes as she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration and unease was evident.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this now?”

Y/N finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. She studied her sister for a moment, taking in the subtle shift in Xiaoli’s demeanour, the way her posture had become more rigid as if she too could feel the weight of the coming confrontation. Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you?” Xiaoli hesitated, but nodded, solemnly.

“I can come with you,” she suggested. Y/N’s gaze softened for just a moment.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady. “This is not your burden, Xiaoli.”

Xiaoli nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “But it is, innit?” She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a murmur. “This is everyone’s fight. He has always been able to divide us,—”

The truth of it was there in her words, but she refused to acknowledge the vulnerability creeping up her spine. She could not afford to waver.

“Everything will be okay, pumpkin—” Y/N gave a final, lingering glance to her sister.

“—Ha-sun?” She called. The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the door creaked open revealing the young maid.

“Min Buin?”

Y/N didn’t turn immediately, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling grounds below, though her thoughts were far from the peaceful view.

“Get me Jeon Jungkook, armed.” Ha-sun’s eyes widened slightly at the command, but she nodded quickly, understanding the gravity in Y/N’s tone.

“And call for Kkangpae Min, say he needs to return at once.”

Without a word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

The situation when Xiaoli and Taehyung got engaged was already volatile, but this—this felt like something else entirely. The tension was palpable, thick with layers of unspoken threats and promises.

Y/N moved toward the door, ready to face her father, Xiaoli’s voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait,” Xiaoli called out, standing up from the chair where she had been sitting. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she eyed her sister’s outfit.

Xiaoli walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously wearing trousers?” she asked, her tone dripping with incredulity. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her patience already stretched thin.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Xiaoli crossed her arms, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “It is just… you are about to face the wrath of Lǎodà Wang, and you are wearing pants? Is it not a little… aggressive?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she straightened her posture, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness.

“I am about to go confront the man who ruined our lives for years, Xiaoli. Trust me, these pants are the least of his problems.”

“What does a father have to do to see his daughter here?!” Y/N’s jaw tightened.

“I assume you have a reason for requesting to be in my presence.”

The air was thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and leather mingling with the faint traces of Yoongi’s cologne lingering in the corners.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, the shelves packed with legal documents, expensive liquor bottles, and the occasional framed photograph of her and the Min clan family men. But tonight, it was the man in front of her that commanded all her attention.

Her father, Wang Zemo, stood at the far end of the room, facing the large mahogany desk where Yoongi usually worked. He was still as imposing as ever—his tall, broad frame overshadowing the delicate space, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite read.

He turned to face her short form only for his eyes to narrow with disbelief.

“What is this?” His voice was sharp. Y/N met his gaze, standing her ground, confused at what exactly her father was referring to.

She stood in the doorway, an almost ethereal figure, wearing a beige, floral-print qipao with short sleeves and a high collar. The delicate embroidery on the fabric caught the light, its intricate petals whispering a grace that felt both foreign to her now but still strangely familiar. Her wide-leg, high-waisted brown trousers fell to her ankles, the fabric swaying as she shifted. Dark-coloured heels clicked lightly on the floor, sharp and deliberate. There was something about her—bold, beautiful, yet undeniably out of place.

“What do you mean?” She asked him, playing confused.

“Are you wearing goddamn trousers, Y/N?!” The air was thick with the weight of her father’s fury. Y/N felt the sting of his words, the disbelief in his eyes cutting deeper than she expected. Seems like Xiaoli was right after all, it did anger him.

“Yes, Father,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the sharpness in his tone. “I am wearing trousers.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered toward the desk, where Yoongi’s chair was empty, his absence adding to the heaviness in the air. She felt the weight of her father’s presence pressing on her, but she refused to let it show.

There was no longer any room for fear. She was no longer a child, nor his pawn.

“You are a woman, Y/N.” Y/N stood firm, her heart racing. Breathing this moment through, she was trying to calm herself. She cannot screw this up.

“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder of my gender, Father. I almost forgot. Now, could you please enlighten me on the real reason you wanted to have this delightful conversation in the first place?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened as Y/N’s words cut through the air with a little bit of sarcasm. Her father didn’t immediately answer. The room seemed to grow smaller with each second.

“You have not once bothered to seek me out, child.” Wang Zemo finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

“You have not exactly made yourself approachable,” Y/N retorted, her voice sharp when she touched her shorter perfectly styled dark hair.

Wang Zemo took a step forward, his expression darkening.

“Knowing your husband plans to eliminate my existence. You think I would be easily approachable?—”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face impassive. “I do not know what we are talking about.”

“Let me rephrase that, child,” he spat the words, “I have information that could dismantle the foolish scarred boy’s entire empire as I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his words. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that you have not fallen into the role of obedient little wife out of love for him, am I wrong?” he said, sloping down to sit on the lowered sofa. Y/N’s eyes followed his movement with disgust.

“Fix me a drink, child, would you, please.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides but moved to the table where Yoongi stored his high-quality whiskey they started to produce just after they got married. “You haven’t answered my question, Father. Why are you telling me this?”

She did not want to get that close to her father, but there was something in his eyes that she could not decipher when she handed him the crystal glass.

“Your Aunt was not aware of Yoongi’s intentions to marry you.”

Wang Zemo expected her daughter to cry, scream and curse at the man he loathed so much. But none of that happened.

“He saw an opportunity to solidify his power and took it—” His eyes narrowed, studying her. He took a long sip of the whiskey, savouring the taste after receiving zero acknowledgement from his daughter before he spoke.

“You fucking knew!” He shouted, not spoke. His face contorted with rage and Y/N started to think if she ever saw her father calm. Y/N’s gaze remained steady, unflinching.

“I knew that, yes,” she replied calmly, not invested in the subject at all anymore.

Wang Zemo’s anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “And you still went through with it?”

“I never had a choice in this, did I?” Y/N’s expression softened, but only for a moment.

“You could have come home with me that day—” He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.

“I wanted better for you,” he said quietly.

“And I wanted to be free,” she countered. “But we do not always get what we want.”

Y/N watched her father, seeing him not as the invincible patriarch she had once feared, but as a man weakened by time and circumstance.

“If that is all you wished to say to me,—” She dusted her trousers standing up, reading herself for the inevitable.

“I have orchestrated the raids on Yoongi’s warehouses. I have been systematically weakening his operations.”

He said, very calmly after he took a first sip of his drink.

“I did it for you.”

Rage and fear clashed within her, but she kept her voice steady. “What a lovely early birthday present,-” She mocked him.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, leaning back, the drink sloshing slightly in his hand. “For our family and for you, you are ready to finally leave, are you not?—”

She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow washing over her. “You think this is helping me? You think this chaos is what I need?”

A violent cough shook his frame, and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, Y/N saw the dark stain of blood. The sight sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. That is her que.

“You are ill,” she said, her voice softer but no less guarded. Wang Zemo looked at her, a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability in his eyes.

“Colon cancer, they say.” Wang Zemo’s laugh was bitter. “That boy is never going to lead my men. Let me make that clear.”

Wang Zemo’s words hung in the air, his bitter laugh echoing in the room. Y/N’s heart pounded as she processed his statement. The implications were immense, the threat unmistakable.

“Father,” she began, her voice steady but edged with urgency.

“He has taken you from me,” Wang Zemo interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. Y/N’s eyes widened hearing this nonsense.

“He has poisoned your mind, turned you against your own family.” His eyes flashed with anger, but his coughing fit cut him short. Blood speckled the handkerchief again, a stark reminder of his fragile state.

“I want you to end him, Y/N” Wang Zemo reached out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. She pulled her hand away, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

“No, Father. I will not be a part of your uncalled for vendetta.” The moment hung between them, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists. “You are blinded by your hatred. I have no clue why you were seeking this conversation to happen, but it is clear that you are not in the right state of mind, so let me remind you of what father you have been.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but another violent cough seized him. Y/N took a step back, her heart a tumult of emotions—pity, anger, sorrow.

“You were never there for me,” she continued, her voice steady but charged with years of suppressed pain. “All my life, you used me as a pawn in your endless power games. Do you think this is about loyalty? Family? No, Father, this is about control. You never saw me as your daughter, only as a tool.”

Her father’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.

“You have hired the best tutors in the world to teach me all the proper ploys of how to be a perfect wife, —” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained unwavering.

“You made sure I could speak five languages, play the piano, and host dinners that would impress dignitaries. But did you ever once ask me what I wanted? Did you ever care about my dreams, my desires?”

“No, it was Auntie who did. Letting her send me to study was the only good decision you have ever made in your life!” Wang Zemo’s breath grew shallower, his complexion paling. But Y/N pressed on, refusing to let him off the hook.

“You orchestrated my marriage to Yamamato as a business transaction and when it did not work out, you were forced to accept this union instead. But I am no fool, Father, you did not care about my happiness then, and you certainly do not care now!” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

“You have hit me numerous times when I was a child,—” Y/N continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her suppressed pain.

“You did not care if Ma would die in labour, all you cared about was an heir to your throne.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I did what I had to do for our family. For our legacy. For your strength!”

“Please, do not force yourself to believe such a fairytale. No father, you only care about your alliances and power. And now, you expect me to betray the man who has shown me more kindness than you ever did?”

“I will kill that kindness of yours. He will become a nobody to you. He is putting thoughts into your head!” he spat out.

Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her father, a man who had caused her so much pain yet still sought to manipulate her until his last breath. She knew she had a choice to make.

“You did not even visit Auntie when she was dying. Who the fuck are you?” His mouth opened, but the words seemed to get stuck, tangled in the reality that was slipping away from him.

“You were never my father—” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the words more final than she had ever intended. They carried years of hurt, of unspoken resentment, and of a truth she had been too afraid to acknowledge until now.

“Then why are you still here talking to me?” he spat, his anger rising, even as his body weakened. “If you despise me so much, why haven’t you walked away?” Y/N’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t reach her anymore, not with threats, not with manipulation. She had outgrown him.

“Because I want to be the last thing you will ever see.”

Y/N’s voice was cold, each syllable a sharp strike that left no room for misinterpretation. Wang Zemo’s eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. The power in the room shifted as the finality of her declaration settled over them.

“What have you done?” his tone lowered now, as if the weight of the question had finally struck him.

“Nothing,—” Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, at least. But I am the niece of my aunt, am I not?” Wang Zemo’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he rasped, his voice a warning. Scanning the crystal glass with his dark eyes, “You have done nothing with it. You are playing games.”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Y/N’s smile deepened, though it was anything but warm. “But you… You have done more than enough to seal your own fate.”

Wang Zemo’s hand gripped the arm of the chair as if the world was slipping from his grasp. His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign of weakness, some flicker of the daughter he once knew. But there was nothing.

“You cannot do this to me, not you—” he rasped, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man who had finally realized the price of his ambition. “You are my blood… You owe me.”

“I do not, but I will help you understand, now—” Y/N’s voice was steady, her words slicing through the tension like a blade.

“You will regret this! I was your ticket out of here!” Y/N’s gaze remained unflinching, as cold as the steel in her voice. She stepped closer, her presence a stark contrast to his fragile state, standing tall and unshaken. The difference between them had never been clearer.

“I would not care what happens with you, but it seems my husband does care, as you ought to set an example for the other clans.”

“This is foul play!” The gun trembled in his grip as he pointed it toward her, the barrel glinting in the dim light. His fingers curled around the trigger, the same fingers that had once held her as a child, now threatening to take everything from her.

“I was your father," Wang Zemo rasped, his voice cracking,”I am your father!” Sweat slicked his forehead, "and you will learn that I can still control you."

Y/N sighed. Her chest rose and fell as if the weight of everything she had just unleashed was pressing down on her. She had always carried this burden, this gnawing needs to free herself from the ghosts of her past, or at least one of them.

“I will not go quietly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If I must die, I will take you with me.”

“Right,—” she began.

“I will give you the courtesy and explain what will happen once you pull the trigger.”

Wang Zemo’s hand shook, the gun wavering slightly in his grasp, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. His eyes locked onto Y/N, desperate for any sign that she still cared, still feared him. But there was nothing—no hint of hesitation, no flicker of remorse. She stood there, unbroken, unwavering, her presence almost suffocating in its certainty.

“To begin, if you would have colon cancer, you would shit blood not cough it.” Wang Zemo’s face contorted with confusion. Her statement was so cold, so clinically delivered, that it sent a ripple of unease through his body.

“Now, if you decide to pull the trigger and God gives you the blessing of killing me—” Y/N continued, her tone now a chilling blend of indifference and precision “Yoongi will let you die the most painful and slow death he will think of.” Her gaze flicked downward to the gun in his hand, then back to his face.

“No, it will not be a quick, merciful death, Father. It will be something far worse—a lingering agony that mirrors the suffering you have caused so many others.”

She took another step closer, her voice lowering, a deadly quietness to it now.

“Now, the moment you fire the bullet, Jungkook will be here in seconds to save me, not you Father. Which brings us to — how do you feel?” Her voice lowered, venomous and precise “Is your heart slowing down already?”

His hand shook violently, the weapon trembling in his grasp, as he tried to process the suffocating inevitability of her presence. She took another deliberate step forward, and Zemo flinched, instinctively trying to recoil. But his body betrayed him, frozen by the terror of what her words meant.

“I am not afraid of you!” Y/N was not sure whether he was screaming at her or at death itself, but she answered for both of them.

“No, Father. You are not afraid of me. But you will be. You are drowning in your own failure, suffocated by your own decisions. And in those final moments, when your body betrays you and the darkness takes you, I want you to think of me. I want you to remember everything you have done to me, Xiaoli and Ma — every mistake, every cruelty. And remember that I am the last thing you will see.”

The words hit him with the force of a blow, and his chest tightened, each breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, his pulse racing as his mind struggled to catch up with the impossible reality Y/N was laying out before him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his fingers trembled, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second. His heart hammered in his chest, a staccato rhythm that felt far too loud in the heavy silence. He could feel the walls closing in on him, suffocating him.

And then, a flicker of fear—a glimpse of his own mortality—crept into his mind, deeper than any threat he had ever made. His body was betraying him, and the weight of it crushed him.

“You will go down, no matter what choice you will make.” The gun still shook in his hand, but he felt a strange calm wash over him, a resignation that he had not expected.

His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and violent, each beat a forceful thud that seemed to rattle his bones. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, searing like fire, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His head swam with dizziness, his surroundings distorting into a tunnel of panic and suffocating pressure.

His grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but his fingers felt weak and unsteady, struggling to maintain their hold as the world spun around him. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crushing weight that made it harder to breathe, and harder to think. His pulse quickened, each beat faster than the last, pounding in his temples, in his throat, until it felt as though it might burst.

His vision flickered, darkening at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow, his skin clammy as if he were sinking into the very depths of despair. His mind, once sharp and calculating, was clouded by the chaos of his body betraying him.

“You think you are clever, but you are just a wife of your husband, a mere woman!” Those last few words felt all too familiar to Y/N, but this time, she did not falter.

“Women like you do not rise, they only serve men. You think you are the queen?! What is a queen without her king?!”

“You have never been worthy of my respect, Father,” she said softly, the venom still present but tempered with the quiet certainty of someone who had finally reclaimed their power.

“And you will not be in death either.”

His finger trembled on the trigger. The finality of it felt overwhelming, and suffocating, but there was no turning back. With a final breath, Wang Zemo attempted to pull the trigger. His hands were too weak to even handle the luger pistol as it went crashing to the ground with a loud thud, just like his crystal glass of whiskey, his body followed. The sound echoed through the room, alerting the young man standing right outside of the room.

The man who had once towered over her now crumpled at her feet, the gun useless at his side. She made no move to comfort, no gesture of sorrow or regret.

Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets, her shoulders square, as she slowly crouched beside him. His breath still came in shallow gasps, each exhale a reminder that time, for him, was running out.

Her lips curled into a faint, cold smile.

“Nonetheless, I am Queen, and Queens do not bow, Father. They conquer.”

Y/N did not flinch. She did not need to. The man before her had already destroyed himself, in mind and in body, long before this moment had the chance to happen.

The door swung fully open, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the man she was supposed to call her endgame. Behind him, Jungkook’s sharp eyes flickered between Y/N and the wreckage of her father.

Yoongi’s gaze swept over Y/N, and then to her father. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with the steely composure he had mastered. His dark eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

“Are you alright, Dove?”

A strange calm settled over Y/N whilst she was watching her father slowly die.

“I am good,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, “but he is not.”

Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern but also admiration.

“Did you poison him?” Jungkook’s voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“No,—” she said softly, “I just made him think I did.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. When he got an urgent call to one of his warehouses where he was personally overseeing the shipment of Min whiskey with hidden snow in the bottles, he did not expect to come back to the hotel to this scenery. His mind raced through the events of this day and nowhere not even close to this, he thought that his wife would eliminate Wang Zemo on her own. That was not the plan.

Y/N knew that his father was sick for a while, but what she also knew was the hereditary condition of a weak heart that flows in their family. It was a silent killer, a ticking time bomb that Y/N had learnt to exploit.

First, she made him think that she had poisoned him, his panic was almost immediate. She exploited his fear and turned it into a panic attack which his heart condition could not handle for a long time. His belief that he was poisoned triggered a fatal heart attack she had anticipated - hoped for. She exploited his psychological vulnerabilities to bring about his end, ensuring that the autopsy would say died of natural causes.

Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to admiration.

“You used his own mind against him.” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze locked on Y/N, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in her. She had done what was necessary, what was ruthless, but ultimately, she had done what needed to be done. For him. That is what he ultimately believed, she did it for him.

“He knew you were planning to kill him.” She wasn’t looking for approval or some sort of acknowledgement. She did it for herself. For Xiaoli. For her mother and little brother. The world will be at least a tiny peace better without her father.

“Well, it looks like I have missed the party,” She hadn’t heard him approach. Namjoon’s voice resonated the room, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of reluctant approval.

Y/N didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to. She knew Namjoon well enough to understand that his words, however casual, were never without layers. He wasn’t just commenting on the spectacle of her father’s death; he was acknowledging something deeper. Something far more dangerous.

“Did you?” Y/N’s voice was cool, and smooth, as she turned her full attention to him, her eyes sharp with intent.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from her to Yoongi, and then to Jungkook, who was still processing the events unfolding before him.

“I suppose I did,” Namjoon said, his tone tinged with dark humour, “this is far more elegant than what we would do,” his eyes flickered to Yoongi and she arched her brow. Y/N was not enlightened into Yoongi’s plan with her father but that did not matter to her - the outcome is the same. Today, she would sleep soundly. Because her most intrusive thoughts are becoming reality.

She knew Yoongi’s eyes were on her, studying her every movement, every nuance of her demeanour. He had expected her to break down—expected her to show some sign of regret, or at least the weight of the moment to sink in. But Y/N had made peace with this long ago.

“I did not expect you to be this calm,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost cautious.

“I buried him a long time ago.” The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

Jungkook, who had been silently absorbing the entire scene, finally broke his silence. His voice was quieter, less sure than usual.

“So, this... this was not part of any plan?” He looked to Yoongi for confirmation, still processing the revelation that Y/N had acted independently, that she had outmanoeuvred them all.

Yoongi met his gaze briefly, a subtle tension in his features, before turning his focus back to Y/N.

“No. It was not the plan.” He said it with finality, though his words seemed to hang in the air with an unspoken understanding. There was no anger in his voice—only a sort of resigned acceptance.

Namjoon, however, seemed to find something else amusing in the air. His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking over Y/N as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes paused at the hem of her outfit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, his eyebrow quivering upward. “Are you... wearing trousers?”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, and for a split second, it almost felt like she was in the middle of some twisted dark humour comedy.

“You must be fucking kidding me” she muttered.

“That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung said, a hint of a smirk on his face. Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation at Taehyung’s comment, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. Namjoon nodded in agreement.

“I knew she had it in her,” the right hand man said, almost to himself. Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative.

“Is she alright?” the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I checked on her earlier, she seems oddly calm—-” Jimin, still thinking about the moment he arrived at the scene, spoke up to answer the question.

“It is almost scary how composed she is.” Jungkook, who had been pacing, finally stopped and faced the group.

“If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath.”

The room fell silent as the gravity of Hoseok’s words sank in. Jungkook clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

“We should have done something sooner,—” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.

“Well she was just faster than us, and apparently, Xiaoli and her mother knew,” Yoongi added, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

Just how much these women hated that man?

“Did she tell you that?” Yoongi shook his head but recalled the lack of emotion her mother showed when they told her that her husband had passed away from a heart attack. Nor did Xiaoli shed a tear for her father, but in that case, it’s different.

Jungkook’s expression softened slightly, his concern for Y/N clear. “We need to make sure Y/N is okay. She has been through enough by now.”

Taehyung’s smirk returned, albeit more subdued. “That wife of yours is tougher than any of us gave her credit for though.”

“So what now?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room. His gaze swept across the group, seeking answers, or at least some clarity.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, thinking of what his wife had just done for him and their family. This was huge in his head and he could not get it out of it.

“As I know her, she will ask for something in return, or use this in whatever negotiation.” Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his expression serious.

“She took control, and she knows that.” Hoseok frowned at Yoongi’s words, stepping closer to the table where the group had gathered. Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze, his jaw tight.

“Do you still not trust her, Hyung?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

“Her behaviour has been odd lately, let us start with that—” the right-hand man spoke up, taking the crystal glass of whiskey into his hands. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, it seemed like Yoongi might not respond.

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping on the table, a rhythm that matched his thoughts.

“I trust her,” Yoongi said, his voice low but firm. “But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger—” Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple.

“She took down her own father, for God’s sake.” Hoseok raised his voice. “She is devoted to you.” Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he met Hoseok’s eyes.

“That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure,” Yoongi said slowly, each word measured. “But I get Namjoon’s suspicions of her, she did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—”

“Maybe she is playing us all.” Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Playing us all?" Yoongi repeated his tone low, almost mocking. “You think Y/N is playing us?”

“She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

Y/N gave it a few days after the funeral to ask Yoongi for a favour. That well he knew her, she had to give him that. Y/N stands by the door, her posture stiff, but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s been holding this request for days if not since they were married.

“What is wrong, my love?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to address her so gently, not now, not after everything that had happened. But she couldn’t hold this in any longer. She had waited long enough.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had rehearsed these words in her head for days, but now that she was here, standing in front of him, they felt like a foreign language.

“I…” She started, her voice faltering, but she steadied herself. There was no urgency in his voice when he spoke next, but something in his gaze suggested he already knew this was coming.

“Go ahead, Dove,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

“I need you to allow my mother… and Bo Cheng… to travel to Maryland,” she said quietly, her words falling heavy into the room. “To Diayu. They need to be there. To… to live a life I could not.”

Something in the stillness between them made her heart beat faster as if he was expecting her to ask of this. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Yoongi didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on her with a patience that felt like it was pushing her to continue, to reveal more than she wanted to. Her hands tightened at her sides, and she took a shaky breath.

“I do not think you need them to be here anymore—” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her hands before returning to her face, his gaze still sharp, analyzing every movement, every word.

“Bo Cheng can grow up without knowing what was supposed to be his—” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture remaining calculated and composed.

“He is still too young to remember-”

“Are you not going to miss having your mother near, Dove?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the question, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze flickering down to her clenched fists. She had expected him to ask something like this, but hearing the question out loud—direct and sharp—was a different kind of pressure.

She had never imagined a time when her mother and Bo Cheng wouldn’t be part of her life, but what Yoongi was proposing... it wasn’t about them. It was about her.

“They can come and visit at Christmas time or Chuseok, innit?”

“Christmas time or Chuseok?” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though the sharpness in his gaze never faltered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she steadied herself. She had to hold on to this. If she let herself waver, even for a second, she feared the price would be too steep. The price he would demand would be too high.

“It is enough,” she said, her voice firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. “They can come and go. They can live their lives far away from here. But I need you to make sure they are safe.” Her eyes met his, unwavering for a brief moment, before she quickly looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of her own words had just begun to settle in her chest.

“You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?”

She had always known how far his control could reach, but hearing him speak it so plainly… made the reality of it hit harder. She swallowed, her throat dry, and for a moment, she said nothing. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming his words outright, but the truth was already in the silence between them.

“Perhaps—” she murmured. Yoongi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“Perhaps?” His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “You still do not believe in my love for you, or do you, dove?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again, afraid of what she might see in those dark eyes of his.

“I trust you enough to keep them safe for me,” she said quietly, the words escaping her before she could stop them. It wasn’t a lie. She had to believe it because, without that belief, she would have nothing left.

Yoongi stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. The space between them seemed to shrink, his scent and warmth now consuming the room.

“But you still fear that I will take it all from you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. “That I will use them to make you obey—”

His words hit too close to the truth. Too much of her had been shaped by the fear of losing control, of being at his mercy again.

“I—” she started, but her throat went dry, her voice unable to carry the weight of the admission. She wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not like this.

“You are right to be afraid, Dove,” he said softly, his voice smooth and almost soothing, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will.”

His thumb brushed across her skin, and Y/N felt herself fighting the urge to pull away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had made her request, and the words had already been set in motion.

“Here is the thing, Y/N,” Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. “I needn’t to. I already got you, have I not?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew exactly what he was implying, what they both knew.

“Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—”

“Answer me, dove.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

“I just need this one thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

“Answer me first.” His gaze bore into her, unwavering, demanding. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to admit her fear, her dependence on him.

“Yoongi, please,” she repeated, her voice trembling. Y/N closed the distance between them, her eyes locking onto his. She reached up, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable.

“I will do anything—” she desperately whispered, but the words caught in her throat. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could lose her nerve, he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more intense. Their tongues collided, each seeking to claim the other’s. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. Yoongi’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as if he could never get close enough. Y/N’s hands shook as she cradled Yoongi's face, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in soft, ragged puffs. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of vulnerability.

“We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jewellers,-” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, the mention of the conversation from before bringing everything back into focus. She had known this was coming, the weight of his demands still hanging in the air like an unspoken agreement between them.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands still trembling against his chest as she steadied herself.

“You asked me what I want for my birthday,” he said slowly, his voice laced with a quiet edge. “But you did not hear me out when I said what I needed. What I want.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been ready for this. Hadn’t thought he would be so direct, so blunt.

“I know what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling inside her. “But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—”

“No.” His grip tightened around her, his fingers pressing into her skin. “You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time.”

There it was. He wasn’t going to let her walk away from this. The strings were already attached, and now she was tangled in them. His lips brushed against her ear, and his voice was a dark promise as he continued.

“You said you would do anything. Anything, dove.” He paused, his lips trailing to her neck. “You want them safe and away? I will do so—.”

She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”

His response was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words sent a shiver down her spine.

She always knew what he desired, although, for her sanity, she rather chose to not wander into those waters, not even think those thoughts. She was not ready to answer him. She was not ready to be confronted by him so bluntly. But there was something so mundane in Yoongi’s eyes when he said the word

“A child.” .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ❝𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneybunny - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile - @catlove83

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theonottsbxtch · 27 days ago

Text

SUMMER OF LOVE | CS55

an: i can’t remember how this idea came to me but me and rhi ( @iimplicitt ) were losing our minds at this concept eheheh

wc: 4,2k

"Have I ever told you about the summer I fell in love?"

Her voice was soft, her words carrying the weight of a memory so vivid, it might have been yesterday. Her grandchildren, sprawled on the living room floor with curious, wide eyes, shook their heads.

"Nonna had a romance?" one of them teased, the youngest, her freckles scrunched with disbelief.

She smiled, the kind of smile that knew things, and reached for the delicate chain around her neck. Dangling from it was a small, sea-glass pendant, its edges smoothed by the tides of time.

"It was on the Amalfi Coast," she began, her voice faraway now, as though the waves themselves had come to pull her back. "I was young, too young to know better. And his name was Carlos."

The room seemed to fall silent, except for the soft clink of rain against the window.

"Was he handsome?" one of the older grandchildren asked, leaning in.

She chuckled, low and warm. "Handsome doesn’t quite cover it. He was... larger than life. Carlos had this way about him—like the sun rose just to warm his skin, like every room he entered belonged to him." She paused, her gaze slipping past them, beyond the room. "But that was the summer I learned something important. The things that seem too perfect are usually hiding something."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then she leaned back in her chair, and the spell broke, just enough to let her voice return. "But it was still the most beautiful summer of my life. Let me tell you how it began..."

The summer of straight out of university unfurled like a dream. She had just turned twenty-one, brimming with the kind of naive hope that made her believe anything was possible. She and her best friend, Emilia, had spent months scraping together every spare coin, renting a modest villa just outside Positano. The place was small, with paint flaking from its whitewashed walls and shutters that groaned in the evening wind, but the terrace was draped in bougainvillea, and the view—a vast, shimmering stretch of the Tyrrhenian Sea—was worth every sacrifice.

That was where she first saw him.

The morning had been spent on the beach, lying on striped towels under the relentless Italian sun. By early afternoon, their shoulders were warm and pink, their hair damp with sea salt, and they’d wandered into a small harbor café for spritzes and shade.

She wore a yellow sundress Emilia had insisted she pack. “It’s perfect for you,” Emilia had said that morning, tying the straps just right. The dress clung to her lightly tanned skin, and for the first time in a while, she felt... beautiful.

And then he walked in.

He wasn’t just handsome—he was magnetic. He had the kind of presence that made strangers turn their heads, as if sensing something larger than life in their midst. Carlos wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt and tan trousers that looked effortless, but the real allure was in the way he carried himself. As though the summer sun and the breeze off the water were his alone.

“Who is that?” Emilia whispered, wide-eyed.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart was thudding in her chest, her eyes fixed on him as he strolled to the counter.

Carlos ordered a coffee in fluent, easy Italian, exchanged a few words with the waiter, and smiled—a slow, devastating smile that seemed to brighten the whole café. He didn’t look at her until he turned to leave, but when he did, their eyes met briefly. Just a glance, quick and electric.

That evening, the village square came alive with music and laughter. String lights twinkled above the cobblestones, and the air smelled of grilled seafood and wine. She spun under the lights, her sandals kicking up dust as Emilia urged her to dance. The world felt infinite, golden, and free.

She didn’t notice Carlos at first. But then, in the middle of a spin, she felt a hand catch hers.

She turned, and there he was.

“Carlos,” he said simply, as if introducing himself was the most natural thing in the world.

“May have to wait for that,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.

He smiled again, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could go wrong. She couldn’t have known what lay ahead, couldn’t have guessed that something so dazzling could carry the weight of a secret. All she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she felt utterly alive.

Carlos didn’t let go of her hand right away. Instead, he led her toward the edge of the square, where the noise of the festa softened into a hum and the scent of lemons hung heavy in the night air.

“Are you visiting Positano?” he asked, his what seemed to be a Spanish accent lacing his words, smooth and melodic.

She nodded, trying to steady her voice. “Yes. Just for the summer.”

His dark eyes lingered on her, studying her as if committing every detail to memory. “Then I’m lucky to have met you. Summers go by so quickly.”

She smiled, feeling both shy and bold under his gaze. “What about you? Do you live here?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, his curls catching the light. “I’m only passing through. A few weeks, maybe less. Work, mostly.”

She tilted her head. “Work? On the Amalfi Coast?”

Carlos laughed, a low, rich sound that made her pulse quicken. “Not a bad place for it, is it? I’m… well, it’s complicated. But let’s not talk about work.”

“Alright,” she said, her smile widening. “What should we talk about, then?”

Carlos stepped closer, his voice soft. “Tell me about you. Why did you come to Positano?”

She hesitated, not sure what he wanted to hear. The truth felt almost too simple. “It’s beautiful here,” she said after a moment. “And I wanted—no, I needed—to feel something different. To get away, to see more of the world before...”

“Before what?”

She laughed nervously. “Before real life starts, I suppose.”

Carlos nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I understand that. Sometimes it feels like we only have a little time to be free, doesn’t it?”

The words settled between them, heavier than the moment called for, but she didn’t mind. She felt as if he saw right through her—past the yellow sundress, past the carefree dances under string lights, straight into the part of her that had always craved something more.

He offered her his hand again. “Dance with me.”

She hesitated, glancing back at the crowd in the square. “There’s no music here.”

Carlos smiled. “Do we need it?”

Before she could answer, he spun her gently into his arms. The world seemed to narrow around them, until it was only the sound of her breath and the quiet rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. He moved with an ease that matched the confidence in his smile, leading her as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and for the first time in a long while, she stopped thinking. She stopped wondering what came next, or what was expected, and let herself fall into the moment.

For the rest of the night, Carlos stayed by her side. They wandered through the winding streets of the village, talking about nothing and everything, until the festa died down and the moon hung high over the cliffs.

At her villa, just as the horizon began to blush with the first hints of dawn, he paused at the gate.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said, his voice low.

She hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but the intensity of his gaze unnerved her, as though she were stepping into something she didn’t fully understand. Still, she found herself nodding.

“Tomorrow?”

Carlos smiled, and for a moment, he looked almost relieved. “Tomorrow,” he said. Then, with one last lingering glance, he turned and disappeared into the pale light of morning.

She stood there for a long time, the stone of the villa cool beneath her palms, wondering how it was possible to meet someone who made the rest of the world feel small.

Over the next week, Carlos became a constant presence in her life. He seemed to know exactly where to find her, whether she was perched on the terrace with a book or wandering through the narrow streets of Positano. Every day, he’d appear with that same easy confidence, carrying two gelatos, or a bundle of lemons he’d picked from a nearby grove, or a suggestion for some new adventure.

They swam in hidden coves where the water was impossibly blue. They hiked to quiet hilltops, where the sea stretched endlessly beneath them. They danced again in the village square when another festa lit up the night, and Carlos spun her so wildly that she laughed until her ribs ached.

Emilia noticed, of course. She watched with a smirk as Carlos whisked her away each day, teasing her endlessly when they returned.

“I like this for you,” Emilia said one night as they lounged on the villa’s terrace. A bottle of wine sat between them, the remains of dinner scattered on their plates. “You deserve a little romance.”

She smiled, swirling her glass. “It’s more than a little, isn’t it?”

Emilia raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “It feels… big. Like I’m living in someone else’s story.”

Emilia grinned. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

As the week went on, she found herself looking forward to Carlos’ visits more and more. She didn’t just enjoy his company—she craved it. The way he made her laugh, the way he seemed to really see her, the way his stories always hinted at some grander, more mysterious life just beyond her reach.

And then, on the last evening of the week, as they stood on the terrace overlooking the sea, Carlos said something that caught her completely off guard.

“Stay,” he said simply.

She turned to him, startled. “Stay?”

“For another week,” he clarified, leaning against the railing. “Don’t leave tomorrow. Stay here, in my villa. Let me show you more. One more week—it’s nothing.”

Her heart fluttered at the way he said it, so casually, as if the world would bend to make it happen.

“I can’t just… stay,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Why not?” Carlos smiled, leaning closer. “Your life will still be waiting for you when you leave. But this—” he gestured to the view, to the stars scattered over the sea—“this won’t wait.”

When Carlos finally left that night, she found herself pacing the villa, unsure what to do. She turned to Emilia, who was stretched out on the couch, flipping through a guidebook.

“So,” Emilia said, not even looking up, “what did he want?”

She hesitated. “He asked me to stay.”

Emilia sat up, her eyes lighting up. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” She chewed her lip, pacing again. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I like him—”

“You like him?” Emilia interrupted with a laugh. “Chica, you’re practically glowing every time he walks into a room. Let’s not downplay it.”

She sank onto the couch beside her, covering her face with her hands. “I think I’m catching feelings for him,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

Emilia’s grin softened into something kinder. “Good,” she said. “You should. Isn’t that the whole point of a summer like this?”

She peeked through her fingers. “But what if it’s a bad idea?”

Emilia shrugged, pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “Then it’s a bad idea you’ll never forget. But if you don’t stay, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened.”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, staring out at the night. The stars felt closer here, the world smaller and brighter. She could already imagine what one more week with Carlos might feel like—the laughter, the late nights, the way her chest tightened every time he looked at her.

Emilia nudged her. “So? What are you going to do?”

She smiled softly, her decision already forming.

“I’m going to stay.”

Her extra week in Positano felt like stepping into another world, one that existed just for the two of them. With each passing day, Carlos became more ingrained in her life—guiding her to places tourists never found, introducing her to the quiet beauty of sunrises on the cliffs and the music of waves crashing against hidden coves.

They spent hours talking, laughing, and sharing pieces of themselves. He told her about his childhood, how he’d grown up by the sea but had spent most of his adult life in cities that never seemed to sleep. She told him about her love of art, her dreams of finding a life that felt as vibrant as the colors on her canvas.

The days blurred into golden afternoons and soft evenings, and each moment with Carlos felt lighter than air.

But it was the night before her second departure when everything changed.

They were sitting on the terrace of the villa, the stars bright and close overhead. The wine they’d been sipping was nearly gone, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and bougainvillea. Carlos had been quiet, uncharacteristically so, leaning back in his chair as if lost in thought.

She reached over, brushing her fingers against his hand. “What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Nothing worth troubling you with.”

She laughed, light and soft. “You think too much.”

“And you don’t think enough,” he countered with a faint smile, his eyes meeting hers.

She hesitated, her heart beating faster. She felt as though the night were holding its breath, the world tilting slightly. The words came before she could stop them.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant crash of the waves below.

Carlos didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes darkened, his expression tightening just enough for her to notice.

Panic shot through her chest. She pulled her hand back quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to— I don’t know why I—”

“Amore, stop,” he interrupted gently, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered, rising from her chair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I? I knew this wasn’t—”

“Amore,” he said again, more firmly this time, standing and catching her wrist. “Don’t. You haven’t ruined anything.”

She turned to him then, her eyes glistening, searching his face for something—anything—that would make her feel less foolish. But what she saw only confused her more.

“Then why do you look like that?” she whispered.

Carlos closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on her wrist loosening. When he opened them again, there was something pained in his expression, something she couldn’t place.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” he said softly.

Her stomach sank. “Didn’t want what to happen?”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Amore, I—” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I wasn’t honest with you. From the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“I have someone waiting for me,” he said finally, his voice heavy. “Back in Monaco. A fiancée.”

The word hung in the air, sharp and cutting. She froze, her mind racing, trying to make sense of what he’d just said.

“A… fiancée?” she repeated, her voice hollow.

“Yes.” He looked at her, his expression pleading now. “I never meant to hurt you, amore. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “So what was this, then? A game? A way to pass the time before you went back to her?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Carlos said quickly, his voice breaking. “It was real. Every moment with you was real.”

She stared at him, her heart splitting in two. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re going back to her.”

Carlos didn’t answer right away. His silence was all the confirmation she needed.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She turned away, gripping the edge of the terrace railing as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “You should leave,” she said finally, her voice trembling.

“Amore—”

“Stop calling me that!” she shouted, cutting him off. “You have a fiancée?” she repeated, her voice trembling with both disbelief and fury.

“Yes,” Carlos said quietly, his shoulders slumping. “But it’s not… it’s complicated.”

Her laugh was sharp and bitter. “What could possibly be complicated about being engaged and then spending two weeks seducing someone else?”

He took a step closer, his hands open, pleading. “She made me marry her.”

She froze, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Carlos looked at her, desperation etched in his features. “She made me. Or she’d leave me.”

Her mouth fell open, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. When they finally came, they were laced with disbelief. “Made you? What do you mean, made you? Are you some kind of dog, Carlos?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, ashamed. “It’s… it’s more complicated than you think. In my line of work. There are a type of people I should be seen with. If I didn’t agree—”

“Then she’d leave you,” she finished coldly. “And you couldn’t stand that, could you?”

Carlos’s eyes darted back to her. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like,” she snapped, her voice breaking.

“I don’t love her,” he said quickly, his voice rising. “I love you.”

Her heart wavered for a moment, but her anger flared again, overpowering the fragile flicker of hope. “Then why don’t you break up with her? I don’t understand.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “That’s the problem.”

Her laugh was sharp, cutting through the night. “The problem? Carlos, what does that even mean? Do you love her or not?”

“No!” he said, stepping closer. “I told you, I don’t love her. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving with the weight of his words. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that the past week hadn’t been a lie. But something inside her cracked, a voice of reason cutting through the chaos.

“And who’s to say you won’t find another young thing in another sunny place and do the same thing to me?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Carlos recoiled as if she’d slapped him, his face falling. “Amore… it’s not like that. I swear, it’s not.”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing. “You’re standing here, telling me you love me, but you’re also telling me you’re tied to someone else. What am I supposed to do with that, Carlos? What kind of future could we even have?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. For the first time, Carlos seemed uncertain, his usual confidence faltering.

She shook her head, stepping back toward the railing. “You don’t even know what you want, do you? You want me, but you won’t let go of her. You want both, and that’s not love, Carlos. That’s selfish.”

“Amore,” he said softly, reaching for her, but she pulled away.

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “I think you should leave. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

For a long moment, he stood there, as if trying to find the right words to stop her from slipping away. But there was nothing he could say, and he knew it.

Without another word, he turned and walked into the darkness, leaving her alone on the terrace, her tears finally falling as she gripped the cool stone railing.

She’d come to Positano searching for freedom, for something bigger than the life she’d left behind. But now, she felt more trapped than ever, chained to a memory she’d never quite escape.

“And so,” she continued, her voice soft, tinged with a wistful smile, “I left Positano. I packed my things, kissed the sea goodbye, and never looked back.”

The youngest leaned forward, her dark curls bouncing. “But what happened, Nonna?”

She tilted her head, her gaze distant, as though she were looking out at the cliffs of Positano again, the sea shimmering beneath her memory.

“He loved another woman,” she said simply, her voice steady despite the weight of the words.

“And what happened to her?” asked the eldest, his voice filled with curiosity.

She smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair. “He fell out of love.” She let the silence linger for a moment before adding, “And I didn’t wait for him. Instead, I met your abuelo.”

The children exchanged glances, the story lingering between them. Finally, the youngest spoke again, her voice cautious. “Nonna, did you ever… stay in touch with him?”

Her smile faltered, just slightly. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood, smoothing her skirt with her hands. “Wait here,” she said, her voice quieter now.

She crossed the room, her steps deliberate, and opened the door to her bedroom. The grandchildren exchanged curious looks but didn’t follow, their gazes tracking her as she disappeared into the wardrobe.

Moments later, she returned, a small wooden box in her hands. The edges were worn with age, but it was polished and cared for, as though it had been opened and closed countless times. She placed it gently on the coffee table and sat back down, her hands folded in her lap.

“What’s in there?” asked the middle child, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated for a moment before opening the lid. Inside were dozens of letters, all neatly tied with faded ribbons. The envelopes were yellowed with time, but the handwriting on each one was unmistakably bold, slanted, and familiar.

The eldest leaned closer, picking up one of the letters. On the front, her name was written in Carlos’ elegant script. When he turned it over, he froze.

“Abuela,” he said, his eyes wide, “es el piloto de Ferrari?”

Her lips pressed into a thin smile, her eyes softening with a mix of emotions. She reached over and took the letter from him, her fingers lingering on the edges of the paper.

“To me,” she said softly, “he was just Carlos.”

The room fell silent, the letters resting on the table like echoes of a life she hadn’t shared before. Her grandchildren didn’t speak, sensing that this part of the story didn’t need more words. She glanced at the letters one last time before carefully closing the lid of the box.

“So what you’re saying is… our abuelo could have been Carlos Sainz?” The only boy said.

His sister gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks, while the youngest giggled, nudging her brother.

Her stern look didn’t last long before her lips curved into a small smile. “Mira,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone serious but warm, “if your heart tells you something, believe it.”

The grandchildren quieted, their attention snapping back to her.

She gestured to the box on the table. “There was a time when my heart told me to stay. To hold on to a dream. But it also told me to walk away, even when it hurt.” Her voice softened, her gaze drifting again to a place only she could see. “And because I listened, I found your abuelo. I found a love that was steady and strong, one that didn’t ask me to sacrifice myself.”

The children were quiet, absorbing her words.

The eldest broke the silence, her voice small but curious. “But… do you think you made the right choice, Nonna?”

She smiled gently. “I know I did,” she said. “Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the three of you sitting here, making a mess of my living room.”

The children laughed, the heaviness of the moment lifting just a little.

The boy grinned again, though his voice was softer this time. “Still, it’s kind of crazy. We could’ve been the grandchildren of a Ferrari legend.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Ay, chico. Legends don’t make families. Your abuelo gave me something far greater than any title or fame ever could.”

She reached out, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his hair. Then she looked at each of them in turn, her voice steady but full of warmth. “Remember this, mi amor. Listen to your heart. But make sure it leads you somewhere worth staying.”

For a moment, the grandchildren were silent, watching their grandmother as though seeing her for the first time. Then the eldest crawled onto the armrest of her chair, curling against her side.

“Te quiero, Nonna,” she murmured.

She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Sofia’s face. “I love you too, mi cielo.”

As the sun began to set outside, casting the room in a golden glow, the box of letters sat on the table, unopened but not forgotten. A quiet reminder of a life lived boldly, with a heart that never stopped listening.

the end.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #cs55 fic #cs55 #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari

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jensengirl83 · 2 months ago

Text

Pining In The Pines

Dean x reader

Word count-3843

Warnings- Angst, some fluff

Summary- Y/N and the boys have to go on a hunt in her old hometown. She's not happy to go home, and especially not when Dean makes a comment that brings up bad memories. How will she take it? And will Dean be able to make it right?

A/N- This fills my Secret Passageway square for @jacklesversebingo

First, I suck at summaries 😂 Second, this fic is a little self-indulgent. I've written it about where I'm actually from and the stigma about the people in this area. I really hope you like it!

“So, get this,” Sam started the conversation as he looked at his laptop.

Y/N couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled in her chest. It never failed. When he found a hunt, the first words out of his mouth were, ‘So, get this.’ That’s how she and Dean knew to stop and pay attention. He had something they needed to hear. So, she tried to contain her laughter and give Sam the attention he wanted.

“Y/N…Do you have to laugh every single time?” Sam groaned but didn’t wait for a response, continuing with what he wanted to say, “There’s supposedly been a Wendigo spotted in Morehead, Kentucky. Homeowners caught it on their security camera for their driveway.”

“Morehead…Isn’t that close to where you grew up, sweetheart?” Dean wondered, looking over at the huntress beside him.

“It’s a few counties over, but yeah, it’s close enough. Did you say there was footage?” she questioned, leaning forward to look at Sam’s laptop as he spun it around for her and Dean to see.

Her breath caught in her throat as Dean put his hand on her lower back as he leaned forward to watch the video. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had fallen in love with the eldest Winchester. But how was she supposed to be around him, living in the bunker with him, and not fall head over heels?

It was true that he had a temper, could be a real grump, and be downright mean sometimes. But, over the years, she’d learned that his temper flared most when someone he cared about was in danger. He would be grumpy when the weight of the world had gotten almost too heavy to bear, and he tried to push it down and keep it bottled up. He was mean when he thought he needed to push someone he cared about away because he was the one putting them in danger. To her, that was just the sign of a man who had been hurt, a man who loved deeply, one who cared so much that the thought of losing someone he loved was unbearable. So, how was she not going to fall for him at some point?

But that’s as far as it went. She would never admit her feelings. She couldn’t. The likely rejection would be her end, and she would have to leave the bunker. She’d rather pine for him in tortuous silence than not have him in her life at all. So, as always, she shoved her feelings back down, focusing on the screen in front of her, and prepared for the hunt she knew was coming.

“Earth to Y/N,” Dean nudged her, clearly seeing she was in her own little world.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m watching,” she rolled her eyes, trying to hide that she was fantasizing about the green-eyed Adonis.

“Where was that pretty little head of yours?” he teased, his words making her heart ache. If only he really thought that way.

“Just thinking of what I’ll need to pack. ‘Cause we’re clearly going to Kentucky, am I right?” she lied, hoping they would buy it.

“Yeah, we have to check this out. I’ve never heard of a Wendigo this far east before,” Sam answered, getting Dean’s attention away from her. Thank Chuck.

“There’s a lot of things in the Appalachian mountains that no one knows about. Trust me, you don’t want to be caught in those woods alone after dark,” she shivered at the thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of the dark?” Dean tried to tease, but she gave him a stern look that made him think twice.

“You should know that I’m not scared of the dark. I follow you into some of the darkest, creepiest places on earth. But, I grew up there, Dean. It’s not even just the monsters you have to worry about. I mean, there are bears, mountain lions, wolves…” she trailed off, not wanting to mention some of the crazy people that live in those mountains.

“Okay, okay,” Dean huffed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “I get it.”

“You better. You have to keep your head on a swivel while we’re in the woods. I’d hate to have to save your sorry ass from the real-life Yogi Bear,” she winked, “Because your ass will be the picnic basket.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed at her sarcasm as Sam laughed. Even though she was crazy in love with him, she could give him shit right back. And to be honest, she thoroughly enjoyed frustrating him. As she saw it, it was payback for him making her love him in the first place. She continued to chuckle as she went to her room to pack. Y/N didn’t like the thought of going home. Too many memories she’d like to forget. But duty calls, so she was packing her bags for the long drive to southeast Kentucky.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I highly doubt there’s a Wendigo here. They don’t stay in the wide-open woods,” Dean complained while trekking through the mountains.

“Dean, do you not know anything about the topography of Kentucky?” Y/N asked, shaking her head in annoyance. He’d been in a mood all day.

“Yes, sweetheart. I spend all my free time studying the layout of a state I rarely ever visit,” his sarcasm made her want to smack him in the head.

“Well, dear,” she said just as sarcastically, “Kentucky is known for its underground cave systems. You know, Mammoth Cave. One of the biggest cave systems in the world…”

“Of course! Because spelunking is high on my to-do list!”

“Oh! Look at him, Sam. He’s using big boy words like spelunking. I’m so proud of you, Dean!” she half shouted at him. Trying to keep her voice down so as not to attract unwanted attention to whatever was out there.

“Guys! Knock it off. We’re here to kill a Wendigo. Not for you two to kill each other!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“She started it,” Dean whined, acting like a child.

“Fuck off, Dean,” she growled as she walked ahead of them. Leading them to the caves she knew were close.

Y/N ignored the bickering between the brothers behind her as she made her way through the trees. She loved Dean, but today, she thought about leaving him in one of the caves they found. He’d been an ass since they woke up at the motel, and she couldn’t figure out what had his boxers in a bunch. They’d had to share a bed, but she didn’t think he’d be that pissed about that, but she wouldn’t put anything past him at that point. But, whatever it was, it tempted her to make him Wendigo lunch.

“Slow down, Y/N. We’re not born and raised hillbillies like you are. It’s taking us a little longer to navigate this hellscape,” Dean yelled, grumbling under his breath about her getting too far ahead.

Y/N froze. That was the last straw. Yes, she’d been born and raised in the area, but that word…Hillbilly. She’d been trying to get rid of that stigma since she left the mountains, and now hearing Dean, the man she loved, call her that derogatory term was too much to take.

“Let me tell you something, asshole! Yeah, I grew up here, but I’m not a fucking hillbilly! I’ll have you know not everyone who lives in Appalachia are backwoods, uneducated, rednecks! So, take that term, and shove it straight up your ass!” she screamed, her anger boiling over into dangerous territory.

Before either of the boys could say a word, a guttural, terrifying growl tore through the darkening woods. Y/N spun around to see what they’d been there to find. The Wendgio was only about thirty feet behind her, moving in quickly. Sam shouted for her to get behind him, breaking her out of her stupor. Once she’d cleared his line of sight, Sam grabbed his homemade flamethrower, flicking his lighter to ignite it, but nothing happened. He tried again but to no avail. Y/N’s screams tore through the night air…

“Run! Follow me!”

The boys were quick at her heels as she weaved them in and out of the trees and underbrush. Dean couldn’t help but think about how impressed he was at her agility in that terrain. He could tell she’d grown up here and knew her way around, which brought him to his next thought. How guilty he felt for saying what he had. But now was not the time to apologize. Right now, he had to concentrate on not losing sight of her and getting shredded to pieces by the monster on their tails.

“Here! Guys, hurry!” she shouted, an old moonshining cabin in her sight.

Once she reached the cabin, she flung open the door, waiting for the boys to enter before slamming it shut, silently praying that the rickety lock would hold just long enough to devise a plan.

“What the hell happened back there?” Dean asked, hands on his knees as he panted for breath.

“I don’t know! The flamethrower has never not worked before,” Sam answered with the same labored breathing as his brother.

“Well, we can figure that out later. Now, we need to figure out how to stay alive!” Y/N yelled, panic starting to set in.

“Calm down, sweetheart. We’ll be okay,” Dean tried to calm her down, but she was still too angry with him.

“Don’t! Do not ‘sweetheart’ me! You had no right to talk to me like that!”

“Look, swe- Y/N, I’m sorry. But I don’t understand why that made you so mad,” Dean spoke as he looked around the cabin for something to use as a makeshift weapon.

“That was a shit apology, Winchester. Just…just don’t speak to me until we get out of this mess,” she groaned, then mumbled, “If we live through this mess.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted, getting her attention, “We are getting out of this. Don’t talk like that.”

“Can you tell me how you plan to get us out of here? Cause I don’t see another way out except through the door that Wendigo is now trying to beat down!”

As she walked toward Dean, her foot almost went through the floor, or at least it felt like it. She stopped, pushing down with her foot one more time. The bounce under her foot had her laughing loudly, and the boys looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Dean spoke as she started to rip the rug she stood on out of the way.

“Care to tell us what you find so funny?”

“This!” she continued to laugh in relief as she pointed to the hatch in the floor where she’d been standing, “It’s our way out!”

“How do you know that? It could be just an old cellar,” Sam asked, walking over to inspect what she’d found.

“Well, as Dean so nicely put it, us hillbillies would dig secret passageways to transport the moonshine back and forth without the police seeing them. They almost always lead to an abandoned coal mine or cave opening. Sometimes other cabins.”

“Y/N, come on, I tried to apologize. I didn’t know it would upset you that much,” Dean threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Well, it did, and…” she started to argue when Sam interrupted them.

“Maybe you two can finish this fight once we know we’re not going to die? Let’s go!”

Y/N and Dean simultaneously rolled their eyes. Sam would have told them they were two peas in a pod if they weren’t in such a hurry to save their asses. Y/N was the first one down the ladder, explaining that she’d be their best bet for not getting completely lost underground, and neither brother disagreed. Dean followed, with Sam on his heels. Once they were underground, Y/N led the way, and the boys were impressed with how well she could get around in the tunnels.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Dean was going to ask if she really knew where she was going, but before he could open his mouth, they turned a corner and could see a light up ahead in the tunnel's ceiling. Y/N was climbing the ladder through another hatch before Dean knew what was happening. Maybe her nickname should be Squirrel instead of him, he chuckled to himself. As the last brother made it out of the tunnel and into another cabin, Y/N slammed the hatch, pushing an old, heavy piece of furniture over it. Luckily, this one was still quite furnished, with beds still in the bedrooms and an old couch in front of a fireplace.

“This is home until morning,” she stated, looking around, finding, albeit dusty, pillows and blankets in a closet.

“Better than nothing,” Sam shrugged, walking into one of the bedrooms and shutting the door, leaving only one bedroom for her and Dean.

“Looks like we’re sharing again, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nah, take the bed. I’ll take the couch,” she whispered, not looking at him. Damn, she was still mad.

“I’m not taking a bed and putting you on an old debilitated couch, Y/N.”

“It’s fine. My adrenaline is still too high to sleep. Besides, I’ll keep watch so you can get some rest. You have to drive us back to the bunker tomorrow. I can sleep in the car.”

“Y/N…”

“No, Dean, it’s fine. Please, just take the bed. I’m too tired to argue,” she almost begged, wanting to be alone.

“I thought you said you weren’t tired?” he smirked, trying to joke, but she wasn’t having it.

“I’m mentally exhausted. I just need time to myself to wind down. Now, please, go get some sleep so we can get the hell out of here in the morning,” she pleaded, the look on her face breaking his heart. He had really hurt her with what he said.

“Okay, sweetheart. Good night,” he said dejectedly, knowing it would be a sleepless night. His guilt would make sure of it.

“Night,” she replied, turning her back to him, sitting down on the couch, staring out the window, never glancing his way. The click of the door made her wince as Dean went to bed.

Sleepless night was an understatement. Dean’s eyes didn’t close once as he lay there thinking how wrong the day had gone. He and Y/N had argued since their feet hit the floor that morning. Him being an ass was the reason for it. He hated fighting with her, but when he woke that morning, she was curled up at his side, her head on his chest. Usually, a man wouldn't complain about having a beautiful woman wrapped around him, but it tends to put you in a pissy mood when it’s a woman you love but can’t have.

Dean was ass over tea kettle for Y/N, but he’d never tell her that. She deserved so much better than being saddled with a man who could barely stand his own company most days. He drank too much, and he wasn’t good at communicating how he felt. He knew that. Sam had told him many times he needed to learn to open up, but he didn’t want to burden anyone with the shitshow that was his mind. Especially her. So, as with his other emotions, he pushed his love for her deep and tried to ignore it. Lately, that hadn’t been working so well. As he lay there telling himself all the reasons he couldn’t have her, a sound caught his attention. He tiptoed to the door, cracking it slowly, and what he saw had him rushing out the door.

“Y/N, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he quizzed her as he rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. Her sobs were what he’d heard.

“I’m fine, Dean. Go back to bed,” she hiccuped through her tears. She couldn’t tell him the full truth.

“Obviously, you are the opposite of fine. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, placing her chin between his thumb and index finger to turn her face to him, “Is this about today?”

“Partially,” she admitted, trying to turn her head back to the window, but his grip wouldn’t let her.

“Y/N…I’m so so sorry. I know I was being an ass, but I had no idea it would hurt your feelings like that. Can you explain to me why? I’m not trying to fight. I honestly don’t understand.”

“I’ve tried to get rid of the ‘hillbilly’ stigma since I left this place. It's always the same thing whenever someone finds out where I’m from. There’s this image people have about people from the Appalachian mountains that just aren’t true. We’re not a bunch of ignorant, uneducated people who live deep in the woods and never come out. Unfortunately, movies and TV shows have depicted us in such a bad light that most people think that’s all we are. And when that term comes from the man you…” she gasped, catching what she almost said. But Dean caught it as well.

“The man you what, Y/N?” he asked, holding his breath. Was she about to admit what he thought? Maybe, just maybe, he could try to be better, be the man she deserved if she loved him too.

“Dean…” she whimpered, trying to turn away from him again, but he wasn’t letting her go now.

“Uh uh, say it. Say it, Y/N,” he pleaded, his eyes staring into hers, “Were you going to say the man you loved?”

“Yes! Okay? I was going to say the man I loved!” she shouted in frustration as she jumped from the couch, finally breaking Dean’s hold on her, “Now, go ahead and tell me that you don’t see me that way, tell me that you don’t want me, so I can prepare to pack my shit and leave when we get back to the bunker. Because I can’t stay there and see you every day after your rejection. I just can’t.”

Dean stood and walked to her as she stood staring out the window, her back to him after her confession. He touched her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. Her look of sadness and despair nearly ripped his heart from his chest. He thought having his heart literally ripped out would hurt less than seeing her like this. He slid his hand up from her shoulder to cup her cheek. A tear trickled down her face as she closed her eyes at his touch, and he swiped it away with his thumb.

“Is that what you want me to tell you, or do you want me to tell you the truth?” he asked softly, waiting for her to open her eyes, which didn’t take a split second. Her eyes went wide.

“What are you saying?” she uttered shakily.

“I’m saying that I love you, too, Y/N. I have for a long time.”

“But, but,” she stuttered, trying to find her words, “You were so mad at me when we woke up this morning. That isn’t how someone acts when they love the person in bed with them.”

“Sweetheart, I was mad because I opened my eyes to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen curled up against me, and all I could think was how I wanted it to mean something, and I didn’t think it ever would. If I’m being honest, you could do so much better. And thinking I’d never have you that way pissed me off because I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I want you, Y/N. You’re my first thought when I wake up, and I fall asleep picturing you beside me. I know I’m not a good man, and there’s someone out there that could and would give you more than I’ll ever be able to, but if you really love me, I’m going to be selfish for one time in my fucking life and ask you to give me a chance. I can guarantee that I’m going to piss you off and probably hurt your feelings again, but it will never be intentional. So, what do you say? You want to give us a shot?” He poured his heart out to her, leaning his forehead against hers as he waited for an answer.

“Dean, contrary to what you believe, you are a good man. You love with your whole being and fiercely protect those lucky enough to get that love. I know you don’t believe you deserve it, but you deserve the world, Dean Winchester, and I’d be honored to be the one to try and give it to you.”

“Really?” he asked with a million-watt smile, leaning back to look her in the eye.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” she returned his smile, both sighing in relief.

“Come here,” he growled, pulling her face to his and kissing her passionately.

The kiss was better than either had imagined, and they both poured the love they felt for the other into it. They stayed that way until the need to breathe became too much, pulling away with smiles. He pulled her into a hug, laying his head on top of hers. They stayed silent for a few minutes before Dean broke the silence.

“So, you want to move your stuff into my room when we get back?

“I don’t know, Dean,” she pulled back, chewing on her bottom lip, “I really think we need to take this as slowly as possible. Make sure that we’re going to last.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” he agreed, his heart clenching at the hurt he felt.

“I’m just joking,” she laughed, poking him in the ribs, “You’re not going to get rid of me now!”

“Damn it, Y/N! That wasn’t funny! You almost gave me a heart attack,” he grumbled, not finding her joke all that funny.

“I think I’m hilarious,” she smirked up at him.

“You’re something, alright. Now, how about we both try to get some rest? We have a lot of packing to do when we get home,” he suggested, leading her toward the bedroom, “You have a lot of shit. I don’t know where we’re going to put it all.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned, “Well, we could always get rid of your vinyl collection to make room.”

“Hey! Those are fighting words,” he growled playfully, leaning down to nip at her bottom lip.

“Bring it on, old man,” she cackled as his eyes shot up his forehead in shock.

“I��ll show you an old man!” he said in faux anger, chasing her into the bedroom.

All that could be heard as the bedroom door shut was the laughter and playful banter between the new couple, and that’s how it stayed for the years to come.

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 22: I May Be Right or I May Be Crazy

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

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty two of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ because it handles some heavy subjects! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Seriously it is DARK. THIS ONE IS REALLY DARK! Angst, Cursing, Mentions of Abuse (sort of- it's more the reader being used without knowledge of it and I'm not sure what to call that), Numbness, Mentions of character going through some HEAVY EMOTIONS and INTERNAL TRAUMA , Violence, Explicitly Described Torture, Fire, Graphic depiction of death, Blood, Gore, Sexual References, Family Problems. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

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

A/N: I'm serious guys this one is really gory, violent, and bloody. I mean, so is the show. BUT this is an additional warning if you don't like reading that kind of stuff, please do not read this. It also handles a really delicate issue with the reader going through something that no one should ever have to. I've never written something like this before and honestly I don't think I ever want to again, but it had to be addressed...

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

"Are you sure you want to stay here?" Ben says, gently pushing back a few strands of your hair from your face, fingers trailing against your cheeks, warmed from the morning sun that peaks through the large trees which shield Legend's property from the rest of the world.

Butcher had finally found Mindstorm, figured out which cabin he was hiding at, and although you wanted to go to make sure that Ben was alright, you knew that you couldn't go with him.

There was something you needed to do and you needed to do it without Ben there. It had to be handed delicately. You weren't sure what you would learn, what it would confirm or deny, and as much as it hurt you to be apart from Ben, you had to do it alone.

It was two days after your revelation, after you received what seemed like divine wisdom while staring at your daughter as if seeing her for the first time in forty years and understanding what it was that you'd forgotten. It had been hard to laugh off why you'd shattered a mug during Butcher's little pow-wow, even Rosemary was concerned after, but you'd waved her off and said that you were just getting accustomed to your new supe strength.

But Ben wasn't fooled. When you went upstairs to clean the alcohol from your clothes Ben had followed and tried to get you to tell him what was wrong, but you'd only said that you were tired. He knew you were lying, but he only sighed and hugged you because he didn’t really know what else to do.

And now standing outside of Legend's house while Ben, Butcher, and Hughie were about to go after Mindstorm you wanted to tell him what you believed, but you still couldn't.

You had to find out for yourself.

"Yeah. I don't want to leave Rosemary or Lou." You reply leaning in to his touch. It was true, you didn't, but it wasn't the whole truth and it made you feel guilty. You'd never lied to him before or well, hadn't tried to intentionally trick him. And it felt worse to do this now that the two of you were starting over, and when everything felt more wonderful than you could have imagined all those years ago.

Ben eyes you for a moment and you're suddenly worried that he's been a mind reader this whole time and he's just never said anything. But then his expression softens. "Are you sure you're okay? You haven't said too much since the other day."

"I'm fine." You touch the front of his supe suit, laying your hand directly over his heart and feeling the gentle thud in the palm of your hand. It was difficult not to touch him now, not after the boundary had been crossed so many times over the past two days. Somewhere deep down you worried that Ben was still uncomfortable with you doing something so intimate in public.

You were aware that everyone was looking at the two of you, Rosemary and Lou standing more towards the house on the front porch and Hughie and Butcher were standing by Butcher's car parked in the long driveway. Butcher's car still had a giant hole in the roof from when Ben punched through it and when he saw the hole, Butcher had threatened to send Ben back to Russia and you threatened to melt Butcher into a puddle.

But Ben gently touches your wrist, where your hand rests against his chest, frowning slightly.

"Fine. I've got a few things on my mind-" You whisper, hating how easily he could read you, but at the same time you loved it.

Ben made you feel seen, and after years of feeling invisible, feeling like you were losing you best friend, and feeling like he would never care about you the same way, it made you happy and comforted.

"Then tell me. I want to help." Ben's hand slides up your wrist to your hand, entwining his fingertips with yours and surprising you again. He was being so open and thoughtful in front of everyone. His eyes search yours as if he was trying to see your thoughts and it made you smile again to understand how much he loved you and cared about you.

"Ben." You breathe, squeezing his hand. "I don't want to talk about it now. Can we talk about it when you get back?"

"Is it why you're not coming with me?" His frown deepens.

"A part of it. But I really want to make sure that Lou and Rosemary are safe."

Ben raises his gaze to look at where Rosemary stands frowning at the two of you, before he looks back at you. "Okay." But he doesn't seem happy with the turn of events.

You didn't blame him, you didn't want him to go face Mindstorm alone even with Hughie and Butcher. You still didn't trust Butcher and of all your old teammates Mindstorm was the most troubled.

"Can you promise me something?" You ask Ben, looking up at him.

"Anything."

"Watch out for the kid."

"The kid?" Ben looks confused. "Lou?"

"No. Hughie." You glance over to where Hughie is standing at the back of the car with Butcher.

Probably talking about the Temp V they're going to shoot up to take down Mindstorm.

You really didn't want to leave Ben with Mindstorm of all people. Mindstorm was probably one of the only supes that could do something to Ben. Ben did have some psychic immunity, but you thought that Mindstorm could peel away the layers, sink deep into his mind, make Ben see the things that always plagued him. And the last thing you wanted was for Ben to be trapped in an automatic loop of him listening to his father say what a disappointment he was. You were trying to make him forget those things, just as Ben tried his hardest to make you forget the things your mother said to you.

If Mindstorm put Ben through that, you were going to hunt him down to the ends of the earth and make him understand what it was like for someone to peel the skin from your flesh bit by bit and then make him eat that brain of his that he loved so much.

Plus you figured that the worst thing that could happen is Mindstorm would lock you in your own head and you'd have to spend your final hours with your dead mother, which yes that would suck, but at least at the end of it you'd have a new fun superpower to torture Mindstorm with. Seemed like a good trade-off if you had to spend your last moments with the bitch herself.

I wonder what he'd make her say to me, what I'd see. I've heard it all before, don't really think that he'd make me see anything I haven't seen before or heard before.

"Why?"

"Hughie's not like us. None of this is him. He's different. He's a good person and all of this is-” You glance over at Hughie again, before looking at Ben. “ Just look out for him."

Ben's hand tightens in yours where it still rests against his chest. "Fine. But if that fucker comes for me I'm not going to tip-toe around Hughie's feelings. I'm going to kill Mindstorm, that's why I'm going there."

"I know." You nod.

"I mean you saw the shit he did to those kids-" Ben whispers the last part because he doesn't want Lou to hear, but notices Rosemary perk up, where she stands on the front porch.

"Yeah. I remember."

Mindstorm was more fucked up than most of the others on your team, found joy in making people see terrible things. And his favorite targets were children. Stan had a hell of a time covering that up, covering up Mindstorm's morning walks through parks and on the edges of elementary schools. He liked to live in their minds as he took them apart bit by bit, exposed them to his own twisted reality.

Mindstorm wasn’t a good person, but you knew that Hughie was.

"I'm not asking you to spare his life." You whisper back. "He was one of the worst from our old team. I'm just asking you to look out for the kid."

"I will."

You nod, still worried. He was going with Hughie and Butcher, but it still felt like he was alone if you weren't with him. The problem was you couldn’t see the way around it. This was your chance to go alone to find some answers, but you didn't like it, didn't like leaving Ben.

Probably about as much as Ben hated leaving you.

“I promise I’ll come back.” He murmurs pressing his forehead against yours, green eyes soft in the morning light. He was mistaking you hesitation for your fear of him leaving and never coming back.

You reach up with your free hand to touch his cheek. "I know." Your thumb gently rubs over his bearded cheek, smiling up at him. "I love you." You whisper.

Ben leans down and kisses you softly, just a fleeting brush of his lips against yours that leaves you wanting more. "I love you too Sweetheart." He murmurs with a soft smile.

Again you weren't used to that, used to him looking at you like you were his whole world, and you never wanted him to stop.

Ben pulls away and raises his gaze to where Rosemary stands arms crossed over her chest with Lou standing beside her watching with wide eyes.

"Be careful." Rosemary says, but it sounds pained, almost as if it took a large amount of effort to say, but you were happy she said something to him that wasn't meant to hurt him.

Maybe that's a good sign. You think to yourself, but then you notice the frown on her face. Or maybe not.

He nods once, but as soon as he takes a step towards where Hughie and Butcher are waiting by the car, Lou runs to him, her tiny arms pumping as fast as she can.

"Ben wait!" She cries, throwing herself against his leg and pressing her head into his right knee. "Don't go. If you go Aunty y/n will be sad again!" Lou mumbles into the fabric, hugging him tight.

Ben stiffens, his eyes shifting to you and for a second you see something unfamiliar flash in his gaze, something painful. It shakes you to your core, and makes you remember how he looked when he stood above your bed the night he came back and said that he couldn't lose you and when he sat in the car and showed you how upset he was that he wasn't there for you when you were pregnant with Rosie.

It made you want to pull him into your arms and hold him close, make him feel loved all over again, show him how much you wanted him here with you despite everything that happened in the past.

He crouches down so he can look Lou in the eye. "I won't be gone long. I'm a little harder to kill than these other sons of-" Ben stops to sensor what he was going to say and clears his throat. "Um. I'm a little harder to keep away than other people."

"Do you promise?" She says.

"Yes I promise honey." Ben smiles tightly.

"Take this for good luck." Lou reaches into the front of her bright pink overalls to pull out a small yellow flower about the size of Ben’s pinky, holding on to the stem in her little hand.

You have no idea where she got it, only that she was holding it out to Ben as if it had the power to save the universe.

Ben looks from Lou's face to the flower, but takes it from her. “Thank you.” He places it carefully in his pocket and zips it in, but before he can stand to go, Lou throws her arms around Ben’s neck and hugs him tight.

You're sure that Ben must barely feel it, you'd seen a supe try to choke him out and Ben only laugh at them. But this is different.

Ben doesn’t move, in fact it doesn’t look like he’s really breathing. His eyes flick to where you’re standing, wide in surprise and you give him an encouraging smile, because Lou already loves Ben just as much as you do. Ben’s arms are still at his sides awkwardly, but he finally wraps one arm over Lou’s back to hold him to him, gently as if he’s afraid he’ll crush her.

"I'll come back." He murmurs to her. "I promise." But his eyes aren't on Lou, they're on you, open and almost earnest. Making you understand again that he didn't want to leave you, that he wanted to stay, but if he had to go, he'd always come back to you.

Rosemary watches with a frown from the porch, but doesn’t say anything. In the days that had followed their initial meeting she was still trying her best to let him know that she wasn't going to be his friend, that she wasn't going to forgive him.

It hurt you. You didn't say that to her, because you didn't want her to be guilted into liking Ben, but it hurt. It hurt to see your daughter push him away, when all Ben wanted was family. You understood that. Understood that in the way he treated Lou and understood it in the way he treated you.

He was so different than before and you wished Rosemary could see it like you did, but you understood that she needed to realize that all by herself no matter how long it took. You all had time.

Maybe that was the problem, Rosemary had an eternity to hate Ben, but maybe the good thing was that you had an eternity to make him feel loved.

Lou pulls back from him and you take her hand while Ben stands.

"Oi' while we still got daylight!" Butcher shouts from his car, leaning back against the door.

But just before you think Ben is going to go to the car, he steps close to you and kisses you so fiercely you don't remember how to breathe and then he's gone just as suddenly.

You watch the car pull away holding Lou's hand tightly, while it goes down the long drive and finally vanishes in the thicket of trees. It doesn't feel as warm anymore, you're not sure if that's because Ben is gone or because you're preparing yourself for what you have to do next.

"Here you go kitten. This is the only one I could find" Legend says walking through the front door of his house and past Rosemary to hand you a knee-length dark green leather coat. It was vintage, and you had asked him to find something that didn't make you look ridiculous. Legend had closets full of clothes that would have made you look like you were in a Solid Gold music video, and Ben had started wearing the clothes around the house because he didn’t have anything else.

Of course on him they looked good, Ben could be wearing a paper bag and a shower cap and still somehow pull it off.

"Thank you." You release Lou's hand to take it, putting your arms through the sleeves so it hung over your jeans and your black t-shirt.

I swear if I lose one more jacket someone is going to pay. Yeah, because that's what I should be upset about, losing another jacket.

"What do you need that for?" Rosemary asks.

"Lou." You crouch down next to her, smiling up into her freckled cheeks. "I want you to go inside and draw me a field of sunflowers okay?"

"A whole field?" Her eyes brighten.

"A whole field."

"Can I give it to Ben?" She asks.

"Of course you can honey. I think he’d like that very much.” You tuck her dark hair behind her ear before she turns and runs through the large wooden double doors at the front of Legend’s home.

You stand. "I have to do something."

"What do you mean? I thought you just told Ben that you weren't going after Mindstorm?"

"I'm not going after Mindstorm."

"Then what? You’re going to kill someone else aren’t you?” Rosemary crosses her arms over her chest, obviously upset.

You don’t answer.

“Why? Why are you doing this-“ She shouts exasperated.

“Something about everything that happened doesn’t sit well with me.”

“What do you mean everything that happened?”

“Ben was Vought’s golden boy. And I don’t understand why Stan Edgar would just let him be taken like that.” You look at where Legend stands. You didn't think that he knew anything about it, hoped that he didn't. He was one of your oldest friends and to find out that he had betrayed you the same as Payback had betrayed Ben wouldn't end well.

By now he's lit a cigarette, smoking it thoughtfully. "I've wondered the same thing. Stan Edgar was involved in everything, and for him to give the go ahead for Payback to hand Soldier Boy over, means that there must have been some money exchanged for him to green light it." Legend blows out a lungful of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face. "Stan never brought up much with me, just that he was excited that the team was going to be given a chance to help out in Nicaragua." Legend frowns. "I will say that before the premiere that night, Stan seemed to already know that y/n wasn't going to be on that trip. In fact he was convinced that you were going to stay state-side and work with Vogelbaum on some things."

"Vogelbaum?" Rosemary questions looking at him.

"He was the main scientist for Vought, he had in fingers in every pie, knew the extent of all our powers, except mine." You wave a hand. "I always refused bloodwork, I didn't want him to be poking and prodding around in my DNA for too long. But he definitely was big on genetic testing. They were trying to make a new hero-" You pause remembering what Vogelbaum said the night of the premiere. You hadn't remembered what he said until now. When Vogelbaum mentioned the next generation of heroes.

"What is it?" Legend asks.

"Stan knew I wasn't going to Nicaragua. He knew that Countess would make Ben push me away, but what if he was working with Vogelbaum?"

"What would that help?" Rosemary interjects.

"The night of the premiere Vogelbaum said that he wanted me to come by the lab, to meet someone. He said that he was working on "the next generation of heroes" or something." You shake your head as if trying to move things back in place so you can understand. "There's something I'm missing about the whole situation. Some missing piece that doesn't fit." You bite the inside of your cheek. "Stan tried to come talk to me after Ben died, but I never heard what he had to say- I broke his nose and threw him out."

"Maybe he was going to try to get you to come to the lab again." Legend shrugs.

"But why were they so adamant about that it just makes no sense. Why was I important? Why me? It could have been anyone. Hell, they could have had Countess go instead of me. There were other women, other supes. Why did I matter so much?"

You glance at Rosemary again, examining her face and seeing the same thing you realized the other day. Deep down you understood why, but you wanted to be wrong, you didn't want to believe that someone would take that from you, that someone was capable of doing something like that.

"But do you have to kill someone to find out why?" Rosemary pleads. "I don't understand how you're okay with killing people-" She begins to say looking at you like she's never met you before.

"You think I'm okay with killing people?" You ask her. "You think I like this?"

"No but-"

"I've done a lot of shit that I'm not proud of. I've lost control. I've killed people. But believe me when I say that what I'm about to do, I do for you. It might not seem that way right now, but I hope that one day you can understand that."

"Mom I-" She starts, but you hold out your hand. She looks from it to you as if confused, but then finally takes it.

"If Homelander comes here, you kill him. Do you understand me? You don't give him a chance to speak, you kill him." You say, feeling your powers transfer into Rosemary. It didn't hurt, it never did, in fact if she did it to anyone else they probably wouldn't have noticed. Her ability was almost undetectable, the only thing that changes is the quick flash of molten gold in her eyes when she does so. But it was instantaneous and it didn't matter how long Rosemary held on to someone, all it took was skin to skin contact, one touch and that was it.

Rosemary's expression hardens. "Okay."

"I love you." You squeeze her hand once more before you let go.

"I love you too mom."

You take a few steps away from her. "I'll be back tonight. I promise. If Ben gets back before me, just tell him that I needed to do something and that I'll be back. Don't let him try to come after me."

"He's not the easiest person to tell what to do." She sighs.

"I know." You shrug. "He's just like you."

"He is not-"

"He is."

"You need to borrow the car kitten?" Legend asks, beginning to search through his pockets for the keys to his black 1967 Impala. It was in mint condition and Legend was proud of it.

He should be. It's a nice car.

"Nah I think I'll hitch-hike." Your smile is triumphant and maybe a bit mischievous, as you take to the sky, leaving the world and everything you know behind.

If only you knew what was coming.

Stan Edgar was a simple man. He liked his whiskey neat, his coffee black, his cigars Cuban, his suits pressed, his dinner at 6 pm sharp, and his women poised. Stan Edgar rarely deviated from his plans, never cancelled a meeting, and took every phone call no matter how late. He read the Wall Street Journal each day, checked his blood pressure meticulously, and was in top shape for a man of his age. After years of shaping his image, Stan Edgar's life was the epitome of control and composure.

Not a hair was ever out of place, his apartment on the Upper East Side was perfectly organized, and he never got angry, he got even. He never lost a minute of sleep. He never raised his blood pressure and he knew the exact price that a minute of his time was worth.

He took his morning coffee in the dining room of his large five-bedroom penthouse apartment with a bowl of oatmeal while he read the Wall Street Journal and left his home at exactly 7 am only to return at 5 pm to read through various briefs before his housekeeper delivered his dinner to the same dining room table that he had previously had breakfast on.

When he was taken off the board from Vought, his schedule had deviated slightly, but it was easy for him to control the company, especially with the connections that Stan Edgar had worked his entire life to maintain.

Stan Edgar's life had reached a point of comfortable routine and after forty years it was as it should be. He knew the ins and outs of New York City, he had a stable home, various rental properties, rising stocks, and a control of most of the inner workings of Vought even with Homelander's hostile takeover. Homelander was proving to be a bigger problem than he hoped, but Stan Edgar did not allow himself to revel in Homelander's destruction of the company Stan worked so hard to build up.

Every moment in his life was mapped out to the second and Stan Edgar had worked hard to make it to the top, had crushed many an executive, assistant, and person to gain the power and status that he had.

When Forbes did a profile on him, they had proudly described his rise to power, of course there were details left out, pieces of Stan Edgar's life that he had worked hard to sweep under the rug. But he did not lose sleep over that.

His apartment is cold, silent, and dark when he walks through the front door at 6 pm sharp, odd because Stan expected his housekeeper to be standing there to take his coat as she had been for the past twenty years. The same navy blue wool coat he shrugs out of and hangs on the maple coatrack just inside the front door in his foyer.

You can hear the sound of his footsteps along the marble tiled floor as he makes his way through the silent apartment, his dark brown shoes polished to a shine, squeaking slightly against the polished tiles.

"Roberta?" Stan calls looking for his housekeeper. His voice caries through the darkness.

You could smell the tobacco from his last cigar on his suit coat, his heady cologne, and his hair oil that was just a little spicy. It was old fashioned, something that you could remember from the first time you met him. You could hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest, perfectly maintained by the bottle of medication you had found in his bathroom only a few hours ago.

You already knew Stan Edgar's routine by heart, knew exactly how he spent his days, and the kind of person he was. Today was not the first time that you had trailed him, wove through the crowded streets behind his thin form as he moved oblivious to your shadowing, and watched his driver Carlos pick him up and drop him off at the correct times. You had done it many times, taken days to understand who he was, understand where he went at what time, and who he met with.

Nothing in Stan Edgar's life was a mystery to you.

Hughie's revelation of Victoria Newman's relation to Stan Edgar was not a surprise. It was a piece of information you held close to your heart if things between the two of you ever went South. You didn't fear her power and you weren't above torturing the weapon that Stan had turned her into. It would have been difficult, she was after all a senator, but it would be easy to inflict a small problem within her body telekinetically, something that looked normal to the naked eye.

Of course what you were about to do to Stan was going to be difficult to explain to the police.

You had contingencies in place for that though, there was nothing to worry your head over. The hardest thing you'd done today was get out of bed this morning and your day had included disposing of Stan Edgar's security detail, who hadn't even been able to touch you, let alone know that you were following him.

Some security detail.

You took a drag from your cigarette, leaning back in the high-backed chair in Stan's ornate living room, the tip burning orange in the darkness, the smoke obscuring your form where you lounge back against the faded green velvet. It already smelled like cigar smoke and you knew that it was where Stan smoked his nightly pipe after dinner, the velvet holding the strong scent of tobacco and Stan's ancient cologne. You hadn't had a cigarette since you were pregnant with Rosemary, but there was something about the drama of smoking one that you couldn't pass up.

Stan turns into the living room, but his foot hits something solid where nothing should be and he pauses.

"Roberta?" He says again hesitantly. "Did you move the couch?"

She wouldn't answer him, couldn't answer him. Killing her had probably been a mistake, but when you realized that she was an ex-hero hired by Stan as an extra precaution to make sure no-one entered his apartment, it had made you feel better, especially when she tried to electrocute you, which had surprisingly slowed you down, but not enough to spare her life.

You hear Stan's fingers fumble against the light switch on the wall and the hiss of his surprise when his hand comes back sticky and wet.

You can see him clearly in the darkness, Homelander's x-ray vision meant that you'd never have a problem seeing in the dark ever again. You watch Stan's nose wrinkle in disgust, confused at the discovery, but then watch as he reaches again and flips on the light, his eyes leveled at the ground trying to figure out what it was that he stumbled onto.

His security detail had come to sweep his apartment as they did each day thirty minutes before he arrived home, and it had been the last thing that they had ever done. The blood from the bodies was soaking through the hardwood floors and trickling down to the oriental rugs below Stan's modern living room furniture. The thick copper smell of blood was everywhere and you weren't sure how he missed it.

You hear the sharp intake of his breath as he sees the bodies, traces the ripped limbs and headless forms of his pathetic security detail at his feet. There were others in his bedroom, one in the kitchen, and another hanging from the horns of a moose head over the fireplace at your right where you sit, the blood flowing thick down the beige wallpaper and dripping onto the once pristine floors. There were nine in total, and although the past version of you would have maybe felt some remorse for their deaths, you were finding it difficult to, especially after realizing what you had.

"It's hard to find good help these days." You arch your brow taking a drag from the cigarette perched between your index and middle finger. "I'd say you paid too much for their service given how easy they were to dispose of. I'm kind of disappointed, thought that they'd be a bit more of a challenge."

Stan looks up from the bodies, eyes wide, to see you sitting there in the armchair. There was blood flecked over your shirt, on your jacket, in your hair and on your cheeks that you hadn't bothered wiping away, you figured that there would be more soon and you didn't care.

"Y/n." He keeps his voice composed, but you can hear his hand shift to his pocket for his phone.

It doesn't get far.

You telekinetically pull him over the back of the couch and force him on his knees in front of the ornate square coffee table poised in the center of the room. His hands palm down, fogging the glass with his body temperature. His body is outlined in bright purple, completely at your mercy and under your control, your own eyes glowing bright purple.

You allow yourself to take another drag of cigarette and let a cloud of smoke trickle out from your full lips. "It's good to see you Stan. How long has it been? Ten years? You look good better than my teammates did anyway."

"I was wondering when you were going to drop by." He says tightly eyeing you. "Are you going to keep pretending that you're not Indigo?"

You smile and laugh at him. "I think I'm done pretending."

You weren't surprised that Stan knew. When you'd seen him at your art show all those years ago when you moved back to the city you had suspected he knew, not to mention that he had called Legend to ask about you. It was unfortunate that Stan knew, because now you worried who else knew, but you also figured that the cat was out of the bag as soon as you fought Homelander.

Plus, maybe the secret would die with Stan.

"Is Ben here?" Stan asks, and you hear the way his voice sticks on Ben's name. His eyes shift to the dark corners of the room as if he believes that Ben will materialize from the shadows.

It's like him to be more afraid of Ben than me. No one was ever afraid of me. I was just Ben's little friend, another supe that they could dress up and put on display. They should have been afraid.

"No, I came alone. Thought I'd give him the night off."

"I’m surprised you let him back into your life after everything that happened." Stan replies, but you don't miss the twitch of his body as he tries to escape the grip of your powers. He wouldn't. Your hold was unbreakable for someone like him. If you had decided to use your powers on Ben or on Homelander, you were sure that it wouldn't hold them for long, they were too strong.

You examine Stan again. His body is rigid in your hold, head tilted up to stare at you, hair flopping forward into his face from when you yanked him over the couch, and his knees are pressed into the blood soaked carpet on the living room floor.

You knew what he was doing, he was trying to get inside your head, try to make you turn against Ben the way everyone else did, but you wouldn't fall for it, not again.

"Well you did you best to keep it that way, didn’t you Stan?"

"I don't know what you're talking about-" Stan's words are cut off in a gasp as your telekinetic grip tightens on his body, squeezing him tight for a moment before you release the pressure, but keep him where he is.

"Do me a favor, don't lie to me. It's insulting, plus we're old friends." You smile sweetly. "And I always love seeing my old friends. Especially ones who stabbed Ben and me in the back."

Your glowing purple eyes flick to the large painting on the living room wall. It's one of yours, a depiction of a quiet forest from your last show. It was weird to see a piece of the new life you crafted hanging there. "I'm flattered you bought one of my paintings."

"You always were talented. I was disappointed that you didn't start trying to sell them earlier. Probably would have sold more when you were a hero, could have enhanced your image." He says, but you can hear the edge beneath his voice. He's trying to keep conversation, make this diplomatic, when he knows there's no way out. You’d made sure of that. No one was coming to help Stan Edgar.

"I sell enough now. Thanks though." Your body stands from the chair, listening to the rapid beat of his heart in his chest, and gesture to the collection of tobacco pipes that line the mantle beneath the body of the security guard. "My dad had a pipe just like this one." You stop at a simple one, not carved, plain, a dark cherry wood that tapered into solid black. "Used to smoke right before he went to bed every night. I spent a lot of time sketching him sitting in his chair by the fireplace, learning what he looked like, tracing the plains of his face." You take another long drag from the cigarette.

It was hard to think about your father after all these years, you hadn't thought of your family in a long time, not when you had Rosemary and Lou and now Ben. But you could still remember those quiet evenings when there was a hint of a chill in the air and your father would smoke his pipe and listen to music from the phonograph he had in the corner while you sat at his feet and drew him. Sometimes your mother would join him with her own embroidery in the matching arm chair next to his. As much as you never got along with her, you could see how much she loved your father and how much he loved her.

"I'd never met Homelander in person before a few days ago. I'd seen his face on billboards, on energy drinks but never in person. I would have realized it years ago if I had." You trace the gentle curve of the pipe with a fingertip, exhaling another trail of smoke.

"Realized what?"

"I'm only going to ask you this once Stan." You pause as you turn to look at him. "Why does Homelander have my father's nose?"

It was obscure. You knew that. But it was what you had realized the other day when you were looking at Rosemary, the one feature that distinguished her from Ben, the one piece of yourself that she had, was the same one that Homelander did. You suspected that the smell of hair dye you smelled when you met Homelander for the first time was to cover up the brown hair that he must have shared with Ben, just as the makeup on his cheeks would cover the familiar freckles Rosemary had. They could have been twins, you could see it now.

Stan doesn't breathe, his muscles straining under his suit as he silently fights for his freedom, his heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears, but he doesn't answer you.

Your eyes glow a dangerous purple and the ceiling light flickers above the two of you, the sound of the static with each blink breaking up the wet tap of the blood dripping to the floor and the low pitched thrum of your powers that fills the room.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Stan swallows.

"What did I say about lying to me?" You sigh, flicking the cigarette into the full length white curtains that remain closed over the living room windows, immediately catching fire. Of course they would, you'd soaked them in gasoline moments before Stan came into the room.

His eyes flick to the flames as they reach up to the ceiling, but the fire alarm wouldn't go off, you'd sabotaged it.

"The human body can withstand 50 pounds of pressure per square inch before it starts to crush. I’ve never crushed anyone before, mind you I’ve also never been crushed." You shrug your shoulders turning back to look at him. "But I'm very interested to see what it will do to your body."

Stan utters one word. "Please."

"It's funny." You take a step closer to him, tapping your lip thoughtfully. "I didn't ask you to beg for you life, I asked you to answer a simple question."

Stan still doesn't answer. The high pitched snap of his fingers one by one breaking is sharp as you increase the pressure on his hands , like the crisp sound of a wishbone at Thanksgiving.

Stan inhales sharply, his gaze lowering to what used to be his fingers, not quite realizing what the sound was. You watch as the realization rolls across his face like thunderclouds on a stormy day, as he realizes they have been reduced to mush beneath your powers and a scream rips from his throat, echoing through the empty hallways, but there's no one there to hear him scream. Blood swells beneath the ruined flesh, turning his skin a sickly shade of purplish-red, before oozing through the breaks in the tissue by the sharp points of what were the delicate bones of his hands.

"Ooo. That doesn't look too good buddy." You click your tongue. "You want to rethink your answer? Or do I have to do your toes to match?"

"Vogelbaum tried to tell you at the premiere." His voice is a weak growl, eyes not raising from his hands. "I tried to tell you too, but you broke my damn nose."

"Tell me what?" You hold your glowing purple hand over him like a warning prepared to crush whatever you have to, to make him speak.

He continues to look down at his ruined hands.

"Ah-ah-ah." You place a fingertip beneath his chin, feeling the stubble of his five o'clock shadow, so his gaze is now on you. "I want you to look at me."

"Ben was a manic, crazed, he needed to be replaced. He wouldn't follow orders, wouldn't listen to us. He only listened to you!" Stan spits, his eyes filled with rage and pain. "It was easy to turn the rest of the team against him. Countess was jealous of his attention on you, it was logical that she would be the one to break whatever you two had. Even Noir was easy to convince. He always was obsessed with you after you saved his life from that asshole." More blood seeps over the glass table.

You withdraw your hand from Stan's chin for a moment surprised. You knew that Countess was always trying to get between Ben and you, but the news of Noir's obsession was new.

"What do you mean Noir was obsessed with me?"

"Oh please." Stan seethes through his gritted teeth. "Did you really think that you kept losing things? Your hair ties, your underwear, your hairbrush, even that stupid fucking necklace you always wore! Noir was harder to keep out of your apartment than Ben whenever you were out of town. Not to mention he always asked to be put on the same interviews, given auditions in films you were in. Noir was always trying to get between Ben and you, but you never gave him the time of day. Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to make sure you never figured out that he kept breaking in to your apartment?"

Your body goes cold. You knew the necklace Stan was talking about, the pearl necklace that your father had given to you all those years ago, the one that you'd lost a few months before your birthday and never figured out where it went, and the one that Ben had replaced on the night he gave you everything you wanted. You had noticed some things missing, the hair-ties and hairbrush, but you thought you'd left in the hotel rooms that Vought paid for, you had no idea that Noir had been in your apartment.

Whenever he talked to you, you thought that he was being friendly, that Noir was trying to be nicer to you because the rest of the team avoided you due to your close relationship Ben, but you never imagined that he wanted to be more.

"Noir was first on board with the plan. It didn't take much to get the others to fall in line." Stan continues.

"What plan?"

"The plan to replace Soldier Boy. But it had to be handled delicately, there couldn't just be any supe that took over. It had to be someone worthy, someone who exemplified the bullshit American Ideals that Ben used to boast about in all of those ridiculous films."

"So what? You sent Ben off to fucking Russia and you replaced him with Homelander? You shoved all that American dream shit down Homelander's throat and look what you created. You created a fucking monster!"

"It wasn't supposed to be that way. Vogelbaum wanted the replacement to grow up with a mother. He saw how Ben lived with only a father's influence and he wanted a soothing reassuring person in the replacement's life."

"You're not answering my question." You snarl, your hands beginning to glow brighter as you tighten your grip on his feet, preparing to crush them into mush.

"We had the genetic material from Soldier Boy it was harder to get it from you!" Stan shouts, feeling the pressure intensify in his feet, thinking that if he answers your question you'd spare them.

You stop for a moment, tilting your head to the side. The heat from the flames on your left growing with every passing second as they spread to the other curtains on the second large window. “What are you saying?”

“Did you really think we didn’t know what you could do?" Stan almost laughs, but it comes out in a choking cough. "We knew. Your power is one of the rarest we’d ever seen. And Dr. Vogelbaum hoped that your son would have the same one, that your son would possess some quality that you had and the qualities that Soldier Boy had. The perfect weapon. The perfect supe." Stan croaks. "A supe that could adapt and walk away from death like you could. A supe that was perfectly under our control, different than Soldier Boy."

“Are you saying that Homelander is my son?” Your voice is dangerously low, no more than a snarl.

Stan swallows. “Yours and Soldier Boy.”

With those words, the bones in Stan’s feet snap loudly as they both are reduced to nothing, but crushed bone and flesh, never to be used ever again.

But his scream of pain is wiped out by the roaring in your ears as you realize what he's said, realize exactly what Vogelbaum did all those years ago, realize exactly why he asked you to come to the lab when you danced together at the premiere.

It was what you suspected, but that didn’t mean that you were any less ready to hear it. The wave of emotion that crashes over you squeezes your heart in your chest, because what kind of a monster would do that? What kind of person would take something like that from you or from anyone?

Anger, pain, shock, rage, and horror all war in your chest, grappling against your ribs, choking your next breath from your lungs, and make you feel as though your body is tearing itself apart.

You think about the hollow look in Homelander's dark eyes, remember what Hughie told you he was doing to Annie, what Hughie told you he had threatened to do, and remember what Butcher said that Homelander did to his wife. You remember how cocky and confident he was at the Twins home, how unaffected he was by the gore of the bodies on the upper levels, and remember the way he didn't seem to care that he was hurting Ben, that he killed Butcher, and then tried to kill you.

That monster is my son, is Ben's son. He's Rosemary’s brother-

You could feel the anxiety rising, threatening to rip your own heart out of your chest, but then it suddenly shifts to all encompassing rage. The entire room shakes with the force of your anger, spider cracks appearing in the drywall all around the room, the windows in the room shatter sending glass blowing outward onto the street sixty stories below the penthouse apartment, and the furniture begins to shift and slide along the floor restlessly as the flames flare bright red and orange and cause the wallpaper to curl black.

"How did you get my genetic material?" Your voice is eerily calm as you gaze at him, vision going red.

Stan looks up at you, painful tears in his eyes. "We couldn't do it when Ben was with you. He was so damn protective of you, if we tried to touch you with him around he would have torn us apart, so we had to wait for him to go shoot one of those stupid films overseas." He gasps. "Vogelbaum said that you wouldn't remember. Said that it would be just like a bad dream.

You freeze when he says that, the memory of the nightmare that had plagued you for decades flashing across your mind, every detail becoming crystal clear. The voice of Vogelbaum telling the nurses to hold you down, the smell of his breath, his face gazing down at you from between your legs with a sickening smile on his face, while you tried to clear your head, the sound of your own screams ripping from your throat as you tried to fight the drugs they pumped into your system to keep you quiet.

"Egg extraction was difficult." Stan coughs, blood appearing on his bottom lip. "You killed two nurses and two orderlies. Almost killed Vogelbaum."

"I should have." You spit savagely. "If he was here, I would make him suffer. How could you do that? How could you do something so inhuman-"

Your body doesn't feel like your own, your skin is too tight, your next breath catching in your lungs, and a shudder of absolute disgust shakes through your bones. You feel the urge to throw up, to expel whatever images you can, to purge yourself because it meant they had been inside you, touched you, defiled you in a way that they believed was justified. Disgust, shame, horror and pure uninhibited rage shift along your skin in waves crackling in the air around your body. Everything you know is a lie. Everything that you thought you knew about the past nothing more than shades of gray.

"In the name of science there is no boundary, no limit that cannot be surpassed." Stan tries to smile, but it comes off as a grimace and as soon as he opens his mouth, his entire front row of top teeth rip from his mouth and land on the glass table, flecking blood over the surface.

Stan sputters, choking on the blood, eyes widening in pain, but he continues, his voice sticking around the holes where his teeth once were. “Vogelbaum tried to tell you that night. Tried to get you to come to the lab but you refused. He wanted the subject to have a mother, a figure that he respected, a way of reigning him in-"

"You have taken everything from him!" You snarl grabbing Stan by the throat, raising him to your face. "You have denied him the right of family. You made him into something inhuman something unrecognizable-"

"We didn't do anything." Stan cannot hold on to your wrist, tries to raise his ruined hands to place them against you skin, but they only slide off leaving smears of his blood against your flesh. "You chose this. You did this to him. You denied him a mother. We tried to allow you into his life and you refused."

"Don't you dare turn this on me. What you did to my son is not my fault. You turned him into a monster because you wanted a puppet, a weapon you could control. What Homelander became is all you and Vogelbaum. It has nothing to do with me." You throw Stan back against the opposite wall. "You made damn sure of that."

He lands in a heap, tries to rise to his feet, but the ruined stumps no longer work so he props himself up against the wall, taking shallow breaths, blood trickles down the corner of his mouth.

But Stan doesn't stay on the floor long, you raise him up, his body glowing again bright purple as he slams back into the wall, arms outstretched, legs hanging limply beneath him as he gasps for breath.

"When Butcher's wife had her son, Vogelbaum was happy he got another chance. Happy that Ryan had a mother figure to rely on, but Ryan has not turned out anywhere near as powerful as your daughter.”

Your jaw tightens as you tilt your head, fear breaking through the rage and numbness that has begun to build beneath everything else.

"What did you just say?"

"It took us years to find her, but as soon as I saw her at the art show ten years ago I knew. She's the spitting image of Ben. So we put things in motion."

"What things?" You snarl, tightening your grip on his chest so tightly that you hear the cracking of his ribs.

"Her ability to keep powers for 24 hours is unmatched. She’s almost indestructible. Almost as indestructible as you. She was so helpful in our development of our Temp V.” He exhales in one breath sharply, wincing in pain.

"What?" Shock grips you tight, holding you in place.

They used Rosemary for that? For the shit that Hughie and Butcher shoot up?

"The scientists at Vought couldn't figure out a way to temporarily give someone powers." Stan gasps. "But her blood was just what we needed to understand it."

"You took her blood?" You roar, the furniture in the room flipping back towards the door, crashing against the walls.

"She gave it to us. When I approached her she was adamant about not telling you. You were so against being a hero again and having her do anything connected to Vought.” He smiles around the holes in his mouth. "She agreed to help us if it meant leaving you alone. But-" Stan swallows again, gasping out another breath that sounds like a wheeze. "We were always watching. Always have been watching. There is no where you can escape us, no where you can go to get away from us. You think you're free?" Blood trickles over his dark lips and down his chin, but he continues to smile. "You never will be. And when your granddaughter finally develops her powers, she won't be either. Vought is already prepared for her, nothing can stop it."

Your face hardens at his mention of Lou, anger flaring deep in your soul, rational part of your mind no longer in control. There was no semblance of the control you were so proud of left.

You didn't know who you were anymore. All you knew was that this man had taken something from you, stripped you of what you were so long ago, and he would pay. Because you'd be damned if he was going to take Lou away too. If he really had already gotten to Rosemary, you'd failed her, but you wouldn't fail Lou.

You take in a breath, but the cold numbness is quickly coming to pick away at the heat of your rage, filling your chest cavity. "You've always been a snake, slithering your way to the top, choking the other people who challenged you, slimy, pathetic. You were afraid of Ben all those years. Cowered in the fucking shadows from his rage, afraid to speak, afraid that he would be your end. You were wrong Stan. You should have feared me instead. Because I am the end of you."

"Y/n please-"

But his next words are lost in the blood curdling scream that rips from his throat as his body begins to cave in on itself, the snapping of bone and the smell of blood filling the room as his limbs flatten and shrink into his body, ribcage caves in to his torso, his head crunching down into his neck until the thing that was Stan Edgar is nothing more than a soccer ball sized lump of flesh and ground bone, dropping to the ground with a sickening wet thud.

The flames lick at the walls behind you, steadily curving around the room as you stand there. Stan's blood is soaked into your hair, dripping down your cheeks, but the heady copper smell is obscured by the smoke that floods the room.

Despite it all you can't hear the sound of the flames, can't hear the sounds of the city below, can't feel the heat of the fire, can't feel the stickiness of the blood as it coats your cheeks. There's a buzzing your ears, that comes after Stan's death. An uncontrollable shudder shakes your body as you stand there in the ruined room, the cold feeling unfurling from the center of your chest like the petals of a flower. You can't feel anything, not rage, not shame, and definitely not remorse.

Because everything you know is a lie, everything you knew about Homelander, and now everything you knew about Rosemary. And if she hid that from you, what else had she lied about?

A/N: I did try to warn y'all. This chapter was a lot, and completely out of my comfort zone and I really miss writing the happy fluff 😭. But this chapter had to be done. And honestly… the reader's Homelander is showing. Somethings I think he may have inherited even though he was kept apart from her.

If you'd like to read something a little happier please try my series:

Take A Chance On Me

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know :)

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