#i have been having so much trouble getting up and i think part of that is that i dont want to have to be a person immediately when i

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐔 pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, slight porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

masterlist

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon at 17, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

a/n: So here we are! This is the story I've been thrilled to share as it unfolds almost simultaneously with Champagne Confetti. Y/N, alias Peaches, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after my current project wraps up, wink wink. I have drafts for other fics set in the same universe as my current work and the new one, Anubis. Step by step, my fairies ♥

I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I've kept to myself for a long time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo, I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within this universe— which now I have decided is going to be called — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

1996

There's a soft whisper in your bones, each time you wake up in the morning. As your eyes flutter open, the room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the ceiling. All your demons are staring at you from above. They have been there when you went to sleep, and they are still there when you wake up. You know them all too well—regrets, doubts, fears—they've become familiar companions in the lonely hours of the night. They whisper tales of your failures, amplifying every mistake, every misstep, until they echo like thunder in your mind.

But would it be any different if your steps turned the other direction? Would the cosmos allow you to be? Possibly. You, however, will never know what life would be without blood flowing down the stream, dirty money from all the sins you've watched being committed.

You will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it. But the thought is fleeting, for you know deep down that he is as much a part of your story as the demons that haunt you. His presence has shaped you in ways both profound and subtle, leaving an indelible mark on your soul and your body. The agonising pain within still remains and all you can think of is how did you get to this point in your story.

"Bitches come and go, Peaches—" you recalled those words like it was yesterday they were uttered.

"—but you and him, love, you be for life."

An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that's what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn't always like that. There was a time when you resented Namjoon and every word that came out of his plump lips.

Kim Namjoon was trouble and the whole Bronx knew so. Heck, even the whole state knew what kin he came from. You were no exception. But whatever you did, you never managed to put distance between you two.

The world seemed both infinitely vast and impossibly small when the streets of the Bronx were your stage. You were barely seventeen when you met Namjoon, a whirlwind of youthful energy and reckless abandon, there he is, so vivid in your memories.

Every time you'd help around Anubis, you could see his straying eyes. He had an aura of mischief that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You remember the way his gaze lingered on your skin, straying from the task at hand to fixate on you with a mixture of fascination.

Namjoon's reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the noonday sun. Entirely impossible to overlook, yet you did. His name was whispered in hushed tones in the back alleys and dark corners where his influence held sway, and that was only the beginning. The magnitude he reached decades later is for another story.

You had heard the rumors—the tales of his involvement with the local gangs, the whispers of his connections to the underworld that lurked beneath the surface of the city. Certainly, you would have to be lying if you said that Anubis was completely legal. You were not that stupid. While it bore the façade of a legitimate establishment, its roots ran deep into the murky waters of the criminal underworld.

Mrs. Jung could smile as widely as she wanted and reassure you that all was fine and all was taken care of, but you couldn't ignore the whispers that circulated about Anubis. Yet she paid triple what you could get in any regular bar. Not like you could work at a regular bar at the time at your age. Survival often depended on turning a blind eye to the unsavory realities of life that you would never be able to face alone. Money was tight and you could not afford to lose such a good-paying job. Even if it took what it took.

"His eyes are hungry for you, Peaches—" said Mrs. Jung while toying with the little umbrella that was swimming in her Kamasutra drink you'd prepared just a few minutes ago. You envisioned your life in the city just like she had, Saint Laurent heels clicking loudly as you would walk down the streets of Manhattan. You admired your lady boss from her head to toes. Mrs. Jung was a symbol of pussy and power. Until she was not. The power was given to her and once she rejected to meet the expectations, it was taken from her.

"—But that's all he can do, at least for now."

She winked your way and then her attention turned to the approaching male figure. What she meant by that is loud and clear. You are underaged and Namjoon cannot make any move on you even if he wanted to. Although something tells you that this would be the least illegal thing he would’ve committed.

You’ve met Mark Tuan on occasion when he stopped by the bar. She was not Mrs Jung at the time, yet the notorious life of your lady boss, confused you even then. The way she and Mr Jung behaved around each other gave you the impression that he is her lover and not the tattooed boy that fucked the brains out of her in the office upstairs.

You felt the pain that was reflected on Jung Hoseok’s face when he asked where is she and you had to answer truthfully. The only thing you knew about Namjoon was that he and the Jungs ran way back. Their primary, and to the upper world’s eye, legal assets were the distilleries that distribute whiskey and brandy which you were serving each night till early hours of the morning.

The moment he particularly chose to visit the bar only those evenings you’ve been around was a louder hint shouted your way. As if you haven’t already figured. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved through the world and the way he moved you once your eyes locked.

The way he spoke to you, listened to you so attentively, gave advice on occasion and provided a shoulder to lean on, was all pulling you to him even more. It made you forget about all the skeletons that were in his closet.

The air crackled with anticipation as he walked through the room each night, straight to you, his gaze fixing on you with a mixture of fascination and desire. But amidst the heat of the moment, there was a shadow of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

Mrs. Jung's sudden disappearance, Namjoon taking over the day-to-day operations of Anubis—it all seemed too convenient, too perfect to be mere coincidence. It gave him the opportunity to watch you, enchant you. You were scared that he'd cut you off whenever you fucked up something. But he never did; rather the opposite, offering you a lifeline when you needed it most. There was a chemistry between you that defied explanation, a silent understanding that transcended words.

The way his muscular torso almost pressed against yours in the storage room took your breath away instantly. The faint scent of his cologne enveloped you as he leaned in closer, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Surrounded by crates and boxes of expensive alcoholic beverages, the world seemed to fade away. His hand brushed against yours while he was lifting it, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. Reaching above your head to envelop his slender fingers around the throat of the bottle that you could not reach before, he slowly moved closer to hover above your lips. You trembled under his gaze on your lips that were slightly parted; you were panting at this point, reminding you of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of your forbidden romance.

"Just a moment longer."

His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent a thrill racing through your veins. Despite the warning bells that rang in the recesses of your mind, you couldn't deny the pull he had over you, the magnetic attraction that drew you closer with each passing moment, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the storage room. You knew that this was wrong, and yet, as his breath ghosted over your skin, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

You would never deny it, but you could not accept it and return his affections the way he wished you would. This was temporary. You never planned to stay in Anubis for longer than needed. It was not where you belonged, and the criminal underbelly of the Bronx was not the life you had envisioned for yourself.

You could not understand what made him stay away from you for such a long time. But it certainly created an opening for you to re-think your next steps.

The twenty-first year of your life was dangerously close. You graduated from college that could be paid as your earnings in Anubis allowed so. Slowly, your little life in the farthest corner of Bronx would come to an end and you could move into the city. Get a job, maybe even a man and kids later. You wanted that white-picket-fence life and you knew that if you wanted to live it peacefully, staying here was not an option.

Your father was strongly against you leaving even though he never approved of the life you led in the dark of nights. He was not a saint either, his hands stained with the same sins that plagued the streets of the Bronx. There was no man in the whole New York City that would not know the name Kim Namjoon and your father was not an exception. Although, you never had the courage to mention his name and acknowledge that the man your father praises when he drinks his beer and plays poker with his drunkard old pals, is spending his evenings talking to you.

"I tell ya all, that Namjoon boy has got a head on his shoulders like no other," your father's voice boomed across the small kitchen.

"A real businessman, that one," a flicker of unease stirring in the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar glint of admiration in your step-father's eyes. Namjoon's name hung in the air between you, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between you in the shadows of Anubis.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up running this whole city someday, right, Peaches?" You forced a smile, a wave of uncertainty washing over you as you considered the implications of your father's words. Namjoon's ambitions were as vast as the city itself, his influence reaching far beyond the confines of Anubis and the criminal underworld it symbolized.

"That's Mr. Jung's place, dad," you shook your head disapprovingly but with a smile on your face. His comrades laughed and shared similar ideas as he did though.

"That would be a boy for your Peaches," one of his comrades chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen as they continued to sing Namjoon's praises after you only silently smiled again and opted not to respond. Your father however scoffed. He praised him, yes. But would he approve of his only child being with such a man like Namjoon is?

"When are you leaving for the city, young Missy?" Old man whose name you've never known asked with a cigarette in his mouth, looking over his cards rather than your way.

"Don't even support her in that big apple bullshit." You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of support, but you were not surprised. You glanced around the kitchen, meeting the eyes of the men gathered there, each one offering their own opinion on your future. Some nodded in agreement with your step-father, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Don't listen to those old men, child—"

"You got dreams, girl. Don't let nobody hold you back from chasing 'em.”

Truth to be told. The job, white fence, man and kids were not your dreams. You did not really know what to dream of, being restricted in such a dark part of the world that Bronx was for many, you did not even know why you hate your home like that. And you certainly weren’t even sure what is it to have a dream. But you hoped you’ll create some once you step your foot down, somewhere else than here. It doesn’t have to be Manhattan in particular. Anywhere but here is fine.

"Peaches, love, be sweet and bring us another beer from the fridge on your way to work, would ya?"

The request snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present moment. With a nod, you forced a smile, hiding the turmoil within as you moved to comply with his request. You were sure you'd be late to your shift at Anubis yet again, but you knew that Namjoon would turn a blind eye. He always did when it came to you.

But Namjoon was not present the moment you stepped into Anubis that night. As you made your way through the dimly lit interior of Anubis, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a heavy blanket. The usual hustle and bustle of the bar seemed muted, the air thick with tension as you approached the bar.

Mrs. Jung was still nowhere to be found and therefore, for a few months, Namjoon had replaced her. But tonight he was not here. He usually came around ten p.m. and stayed until you cleaned the very last table and closed the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and set about your duties, determined to carry on despite the growing sense of unease that lingered in the air. But as the night wore on, the feeling of dread only intensified, leaving you on edge as you awaited Namjoon's return.

You watched the sun rising through the large windows that let the light come into the bar that was still beaming with a significant number of people of various ages. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Where could he be? Why hadn't he shown up as usual? The questions nagged at you, fueling the unease that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Peaches?!" You heard the voice of one of the local and returning customers from the other side of the dancing floor. He was a friend. Or so you thought. He raised two fingers into the air and in a second you were already pouring the brownish liquid of Jung's Whiskey into the crystal-clear glasses.

You walked over to the table he was sitting at alongside a face you'd never seen before. Thanking you for the drinks, he pointed his thumb to the man sitting next to him.

"Peaches, Jinyoung—"

"Jinyoung, Peaches."

You offered a polite smile, acknowledging the introduction as you set down the drinks on the table. The unfamiliar man, Jinyoung, returned the gesture with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Nice to meet you, Jinyoung," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Jinyoung's gaze met yours, his eyes dark and probing as if searching for something within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort under his scrutiny, a feeling that only added to the unease already gnawing at your insides. Something about him set off alarm bells in your mind, a primal instinct warning you to tread carefully.

"What's a beauty like you doing tucked in Anubis?" Jinyoung asked, his voice smooth and velvety. You glanced around the dimly lit bar, suddenly aware of the eyes that seemed to linger on you from every corner, not understanding why.

"I... I work here," you said, a sudden shyness prevailing on the surface. You never really engaged with other men apart from Namjoon. For some reason, each time a man approached you, all of them quickly backed out, opting to not even look your way. For a long time, you did not know what you did wrong to chase them all away. But you got to know that night.

Jinyoung's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I can offer you a better job, beauty," his words dripping with a seductive allure, and in that moment, you decided you needed to get back to work ASAP. He sounded like trouble you did not want on your last days here.

"I... I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite content here," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You sure? I could have good use of someone like you, Peaches." Your heart pounded in your chest as Jinyoung's words washed over you. He played with your name on his tongue, and you had a hint that the job he was offering you would be something much worse than working in Anubis.

"Easy, Jinyoung, that's Namjoon's girl you're talking to." Jackson finally spoke up as if he heard your little begging in your head, but this was not what you expected him to say. Were you Namjoon's girl? Years went by and he merely brushed upon your hand with his own. There was no attempt to woo you directly. So how come everyone saw it this way—you as Namjoon's girl?

"I'm not Namjoon's girl—" you said, standing your ground for once. You saw Jackson's eyes widen and Jinyoung smirk at your remark.

"I'm no one's girl—"

"Nonetheless, thanks for the offer but I have to decline." Jinyoung's smirk widened at your words, his gaze flickering with amusement as if he found your defiance entertaining. A second later you were on your way back to the bar. He was Jackson's friend, but he was crude and he did not understand he ought to fuck off. The grip you suddenly felt on your upper arm was painful enough to make you wince, yanking you back as you squinted your eyes from the pain of his touch.

"What makes you say no if you're no one's slu—" your ears picked up his words before they were silenced. Forever. His last words were cut off by a deafening gunshot, leaving you frozen in shock. The sound of it still ringing in your ears as you turned to see the source of the chaos. There, standing with a smoking gun in his hand, was Namjoon, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Jinyoung's lifeless form. One side of Jackson's face was covered in blood that was his friend's, his shock mirroring your own. And you were scared to even move an inch.

Namjoon had just killed a man in cold blood, he shot him right in front of you. Without mercy. Panic surged through you as you realized the gravity of what had just transpired. The grip he had on your upper arm weakened yet remained even after his head fell down. It was a clear shot to the side of his head.

By now, half of the bar emptied, only those underworld rats stayed unfazed. Namjoon was always so calm, so collected. But now, he looked like a completely different person. The bar had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You wanted to run, but your legs failed you, unable to move as the reality of the situation sank in.

"What—" your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to say, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You reached to pull your hand away from Jinyoung's lifeless grip and while you struggled to do so, the scenery before you was not helping you to calm down. The side of his head blown up, you could see parts of his brain, immediately making you empty your stomach on the floor. The fact that Namjoon hadn't said a word since he literally came out of nowhere was not contributing to the situation either.

You heard his smooth voice but it was too muffled at this point. He was giving orders to Jackson, but you did not understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Your head was spinning and the room felt like a carousel.

"Why would you—" you began to stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The question died on your lips, swallowed by the overwhelming sense of dread that hung heavy in the air. Namjoon had just committed an act of unspeakable violence, ending a man's life without a second thought. Nothing will be the same ever again. You stayed out of all the illegalness that surrounded Anubis on purpose. What eyes don't see, heart doesn't hurt. What you don't know, can't hurt you. But now you eye-witnessed such brutality and he won't let you walk away to the other end of the rainbow.

You did not expect him to hear you nor even answer your remark, but of course, Kim Namjoon was always here to listen to you.

"He touched you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, jolting you out of your stunned silence. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was issuing a warning, a chilling reminder of the consequences of crossing him. Looking him in the eye, he looked like a possessive maniac, like someone determined to protect what he perceived as his.

"He didn't—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of Namjoon's scrutiny. Yet you stopped yourself to think whether Jinyoung's intentions were harmless or not. You remembered the way Jinyoung had leered at you, his touch lingering where it shouldn't have.

"No one can touch you, Peaches."

You felt a chill run down your spine as the weight of his words settled over you. It wasn't just a declaration; it was a promise, a vow to protect you at any cost. But beneath the surface, you sensed something darker, something primal and possessive that sent chills down your body.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, but you knew better than to voice them.

That night you started to hate each and every gaze he threw your way when you were working, all the men running away after uttering a single word to you, and all the remarks about you being Namjoon's girl.

But were you ready to be Namjoon's girl? To be part of his world?

You sit up, the sheets clinging to your skin like a shroud, and confront the spectres that linger above. Even after some weeks, you still cannot shake off the tremor you've experienced that night.

"Peaches?!" You heard your father's voice. You were hidden in the confines of your small room for days now, coming out only to take a bottle of water, and even that you managed to minimize by taking the whole six-pack. You couldn't bring yourself to respond.

The look in Namjoon's eyes, the sound of the gunshot ringing in your ears, the sight of Jinyoung's lifeless body—all of it was seared into your mind, haunting you like a relentless spectre. You needed some time. But it was running out quickly.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you remained silent, grappling with the weight of the choices that lay before you. You packed your bag last night, all the cash stuffed inside at various places, just to be turned right back on your heel by two muscular men you'd never met before. The color they wore was emerald green, and you quickly understood that those were Jung soldiers, if you could call them that.

Your father was similarly confused. His eyes were darting between you and the soldiers as he struggled to make sense of the situation. So here you are, awaiting when he will decide to collect you. What is he waiting for? You knew that your time was running out; you just didn't know exactly when it would run out.

In that moment that night, you missed the Namjoon you thought he was. All you could see was a stranger, a dangerous man whose actions had shattered your illusions and left you reeling in their wake. Yes, you knew his line of work, but you'd rather not see it with your own two eyes. You'd rather stay oblivious to who he really was just to keep the picture of the Namjoon you knew hanging a little bit longer.

"You can't hide there forever." And you certainly did not plan to, but coming out to see your father's worried face after he sees how disheveled you look could wait for another day or so. You did not know what Namjoon intended to achieve by making you a prisoner in your own home.

Every fiber of your being wanted to hate Namjoon, but you did not know whether that was even possible with how smart that man was with his mouth.

This cage of fear and uncertainty made you uneasy. The wind that forcefully closed your window awoke you from your thoughts. You lived on the second floor of an old block of apartments. You moved toward the old rusted window, cautiously pushing it open again. The cool night air rushed to meet your cheeks, and you closed your eyes to feel it.

Peering down, you assessed the drop. It wasn't too high, and the fire escape just below offered a feasible route. Why had it not occurred to you earlier?

"Peaches, please, talk to me. They've been saying that you can't go out and should wait for sajangnim Kim."

Your father's voice was strained, a mix of concern and frustration. You hesitated, torn between the urge to reassure him and the pressing need to just run for the hills before it was too late for you.

What you realized in the moment, listening to his muffled pleas, was that this might be the last time you'd see him. You couldn't come back to the Bronx ever again. Nor New York. You weren't sure exactly what the magnitude of Jung's power was that Namjoon shared, but you had the hunch that wherever you'd hide in this state, he would find you.

"Dad?" you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a lump in your throat, the weight of the impending goodbye pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"I'm here, Peaches," your father responded, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, come out. We'll figure this out." Tears welled up in your eyes as you clung to the closed door.

"It's no go, Dad."

"Please, just open the door." His voice was closer now, just outside the door.

You glanced around your room, grabbing your packed bag and slipping it over your shoulder.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry. Bye—"

With a final, sorrowful glance toward the door, you slipped out of the window, your feet finding purchase on the metal grating of the fire escape. You descended quickly, not daring to look back. The metal stairs creaked under your weight, each step taking you further from the life you knew. You needed to disappear.

You had no shoes on, and the white tank top clung to your skin, outlining your curves and breasts. The night air was cool against your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth of your tears. The metal of the stairs felt rough under your bare feet, but you pushed forward until you were all the way down.

Catching your breath and glancing around the dimly lit alleyway, the city felt oppressively silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. As you took a step forward, a soft scoff resonated in your ears, leaving you standing there frozen. The man was totally invisible in the dark shadows of the alley between the buildings until he pulled out his zippo lighter to light a cigarette, illuminating his face. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where are you headed, Peaches?"

The man who was casually leaning against the cold bricks wasn't unfamiliar to you. You, as a barmaid at Anubis, had the extravagant privilege to meet four out of the big seven. Kim Taehyung being one of them, standing here in front of you.

"Mr. Kim," you breathed, dread pooling in your stomach. You were on a first-name basis only with Namjoon even though they all scolded you, especially your lady boss, for being way too formal and polite, making them feel older than they actually are. Truth be told, you were putting some distance between them, but you utterly failed to do so with Namjoon, and here you are, on the run.

"I'm your family now, Peaches," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You should start getting used to that, so drop the mister finally."

You gritted your teeth, trying to steady your nerves as you faced Taehyung. "Taehyung," you corrected yourself, though the informal address felt wrong on your tongue.

"That's better, what a good girl you can be," he said with a smirk, taking a step closer. His presence felt suffocating, a reminder of the dangerous world you had stumbled into.

"Why are you here, Taehyung?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, Peaches?" Taehyung countered, his tone filled with amusement. You bit the inside of your mouth, feeling the nerves tighten their grip on you.

"Getting some fresh air," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'fresh air' like sneaking out of your window in the dead of night," he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. "I just needed to clear my head," you said, hoping he would buy your flimsy excuse.

"You are not planning to do anything stupid now, Peaches, right?" You paused, considering your response carefully. Taehyung's tone, though casual, carried a hint of warning that sent a shiver down your spine. You slightly shook your head to show dismissal.

"Namjoon-hyung said you looked pretty shaken up that night." You couldn't help but tense at Taehyung's mention of Namjoon, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. You had tried to bury the memories of that night deep within you, but they continued to resurface, haunting your every thought.

"I'm fine," you replied, forcing a tight smile. "Just had a rough night, that's all."

"It looks like you're about to have another one to me." Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's ominous remark, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Despite his casual demeanor, there was an underlying tension in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rising sense of unease.

"Unzipped duffle bag, dollar bills fell from it while you were going down, that looks like you were very eager to get that fresh air."

"I... I was just going for a walk," you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.

"Without putting your shoes on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taehyung's scrutiny bearing down on you. "I couldn't sleep," you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I needed some fresh air to clear my head.” You repeat yourself, but you know that you can’t fool him no matter what.

Taehyung's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shrugged, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Well, you certainly know how to make an exit," he remarked, his smirk never faltering.

You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Guess I've always had a flair for the dramatic," you quipped, though the words rang hollow in your ears.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That you do, Peaches. That you do," he said cryptically, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"You know, Namjoon doesn't like it when his... family goes missing," he said, the emphasis on 'family' making you flinch. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy stream.

You clenched your fists, feeling trapped. "I'm not missing," you said, your voice firmer than before. "I'm right here."

"I'd probably get a head start if I were you." Taehyung nodded slowly, as if considering your words.

Your heart pounded in your chest. "A head start?"

He took another drag, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'm not a monster, Peaches. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He was actually giving you a chance to run, but this time you would know someone was after you. You glanced around, calculating your options. The streets were empty, but you knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Five minutes, Peaches. Starting now."

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the pavement. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you sprinted down the alley, knowing that Taehyung's smirk was etched in your mind.

You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get as far away as possible. Everything blurred as you pushed yourself to run faster, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

If you hide well, he can't find you, can he? You just have to find yourself a place to hide until morning and then you can wait till sunrise, get to the airport and fly to the first destination that will pop up.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

The five minutes neared their end, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden forever. You had to keep moving, keep putting distance between you and Taehyung. Peering through the leaves, you scanned the area, your mind racing through possible routes and hiding spots.

"If I don’t bring you back, he'll come instead, Peaches!" Taehyung's voice echoed through, taunting you.

"You don't want to anger him, do you now?"

You needed a plan, and fast. Glancing around, you noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings, just wide enough for you to squeeze through. It might lead you to a different part of the neighborhood, giving you a chance to lose Taehyung in the labyrinth of backstreets.

You bolted towards the passageway, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The alley was narrow and dark, but you pushed forward, heart pounding in your chest. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night.

"They all run at first, Peaches—" Taehyung's voice echoed, closer now. "You're cute thinking you have a chance to get away."

It was way too narrow even if you put your bag down from your shoulder and dragged it as you tried to squeeze through. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night, and you were scared that he would get to you soon. You knew he was out there, somewhere, searching for you.

"Although, my mind is troubled. Why, out of all of them, do you run?" There was a pause, then a chuckle.

You pushed yourself harder, feeling the rough brick walls scrape against your skin. You needed to keep moving, but you also needed a moment to think. The airport was too far, especially when they were already looking for you. You thought you were clever to disappear through the window as if you were in some cheesy cliché movie.

"Namjoon-hyung was always good to you, wasn't he?" He was. Until the moment someone else's brain was blown up by him right in front of you, simply because of his possessiveness while he never made you two exclusive. Or at least you thought so, as it showed—you were claimed by him sooner than you actually realized. You felt the panic rising in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you.

"You have no reason to run, Peaches," Taehyung's voice was taunting, echoing off the walls. "Namjoon-hyung will be so disappointed when he finds out how far you've gone." You ignored the majority of his words, focusing on finding a way out.

You closed your eyes and tried to think harder this time. The old train yard—bingo—it was on the outskirts of the city. It was abandoned, a place where few people ventured. If you could make it there, you might be able to find a boxcar to hide in until morning.

"Family doesn't abandon family, Peaches!" You heard his voice again, this time more distant.

Emerging from the passageway, you found yourself in a small courtyard. It was littered with old furniture and discarded trash; the smell was awful, but you didn't have time to dwell on that.

You listened intently, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog.

You stuck to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. The train yard was a long way off, but it was your best shot at staying out of immediate reach. Or so you thought.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footstep made you jump. You forced yourself to stay calm, to focus on the path ahead. Panicking would only slow you down.

The city's edge came into view, the silhouette of the train yard looming in the distance. You quickened your pace, the sight of your potential sanctuary giving you a burst of energy. You crossed the threshold into the yard, the rusted tracks and abandoned cars offering a twisted sense of comfort.

An old boxcar with the door slightly ajar beckoned to you. You slipped inside, the smell of rust and decay filling your nostrils. You closed the door behind you, plunging the space into darkness. It was cramped and musty, but it was hidden.

Sinking to the floor, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Your body ached, your feet throbbed, but you had made it. For now, you were safe. You could only hope that Taehyung would give up the chase, or at least lose your trail long enough for you to figure out your next move.

The sound of gravel crunching outside the boxcar woke you up and consequently made your heart jump into your throat. You held your breath, straining to listen. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, echoing through the stillness of the night.

You held your breath, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The footsteps drew closer, each crunch of gravel sending a shockwave through your body. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it Taehyung? Or perhaps someone else stumbling upon your hiding spot?

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't throw her over your shoulder and take her back to her room." The older male shot him a glare.

"Oh come the fuck on, you're one to talk." It was Taehyung's voice, laced with frustration and annoyance.

“I did not lose her, I gave her choice and she chose wrong, she’ll be back though, in no time.” The younger one scoffed and Taehyung quirked his brows, evidently amused by his brother. 

"Well, at least that was my woman I lost and not our Hyung's." The tattooed heartthrob spat his friend's way when he heard his scoff.

"This isn't really my job. I'm only doing this because Namjoon cares about her too much to leave someone incompetent to watch her until he'll come back."

“Or you’re the only one without a woman, Tae.” You heard a little thump as if he jokingly punched him and the other voice chuckled. But first and foremost –

Namjoon's away. He did not come for you as he's away, and if away means out of the state, you have a bigger chance to make an exit than you originally thought.

Seeing him would only make things worse. Listening to his sweet melodies of words would make you doubt what Taehyung initiated—you have no reason to run. Apart from that, you do. He was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime, his life a constant dance between power and peril. While his charming demeanor and enigmatic presence had drawn you in, you knew that his lifestyle came with its own set of risks and consequences.

He operated in the shadows, his actions dictated by a code of loyalty to his comrades and ruthlessness towards his enemies. At least that's what you heard people talk about the Jungs and their family man.

You didn't think there was room for innocence. But were you innocent? You had blood on your hands. Jinyoung's. You had been complicit in his demise. While it wasn't you who pulled the trigger, you were the motive.

As the voices grew louder, you strained to make out what they were saying. The sound of footsteps approached the boxcar, each one sending a jolt of fear through you. Were they getting closer? Were they about to open the door and drag you out into the open?

"I did not expect her to play the game that well, I have to give her that," Taehyung remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. Your heart raced as you listened to their conversation.

"Smart, just like he is."

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the boxcar, and you braced yourself for the door to swing open at any moment. Every nerve in your body was on edge, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

But instead of the door creaking open, the voices began to fade away, the gravel crunching underfoot growing softer as they moved further away. Relief washed over you in waves, but you remained cautious, waiting until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared entirely before allowing yourself to relax.

You stayed hidden in the darkness of the boxcar, unsure of how much time had passed. Eventually, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you exhausted and drained. You were scared that they were waiting outside and the moment you decided to move places would be fatal for you.

The growl in your stomach was loud, echoing in the empty boxcar. You hadn't eaten in what felt like an eternity, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to take its toll. Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever or you'd die of hunger very soon.

Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever. Peeking through the small gap, you scanned the area. The night was still, and there was no sign of Taehyung or anyone else.

Slipping out of the boxcar, you kept to the shadows, moving quietly and quickly. You needed to find food, but more importantly, you needed to find a safer place to hide. If you couldn't reach the airport, you'd have to wait somewhere until you were considered off the radar. Would Namjoon lose his interest if he knew you were gone for good? You hoped so, but you also strongly doubted that. The man had had his eyes set on you for three years or so, without ever losing interest in you.

The city was vast, with many nooks and crannies where you could potentially evade capture, but you moved in the dead of the night cautiously. Slowly closing the distance between the convenience store at least ten blocks from your home, its lights were still on and you thanked the almighty, or more so the 24 hour market in front of you.

The store seemed deserted, only a shabby-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting behind the counter, half asleep. You slipped inside, quickly grabbing some food and water before leaving to pay at the counter. When the doorbell rang indicating that a customer entered the small store, you froze in place.

You ducked behind a shelf, hoping the dim lighting and cluttered aisles would conceal you. Peering through a gap between products, you saw a figure enter. You may be paranoid but you wouldn't take the risk when you had managed to not be caught for what seemed like hours. You knew better.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of your heartbeat almost louder than the growling stomach from earlier. You clutched the food tightly, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment to quickly throw the few bucks on the counter and make your leave. You straightened a little.

It wasn't him. It was just a person that resembled him. With a rush of relief, you moved to the counter. The shabby-looking clerk barely glanced up as you placed your items down and reached into your pocket for the money. Just as you were about to pay, a hand slammed the money down on the counter in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes widened.

You looked up slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Taehyung stood beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold, triumphant smile.

"My treat," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The clerk, oblivious to the tension, lazily rang up the items and handed the change to Taehyung. He pocketed it without breaking eye contact with you.

You acted rather quickly after you regained your senses, but the exit was blocked by the man you saw earlier. How could you not recognize the famous heartthrob of this decade, Jeon Jungkook? Only a few people knew of his connection to the Jungs, Kims, and Parks.

"Going somewhere?" Jungkook's voice was smooth and exactly identical to the one you heard outside of the boxcar, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down your spine. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Panic surged through you as you realized your escape route was cut off. You glanced around the store, searching for another way out, but Taehyung's hand clamped down on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

The clerk did not care to intervene; he knew their faces and what they represented. One girl was not worth the trouble for him.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You had no choice but to follow, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. As you stepped out of the store, the chilly night air hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence of Taehyung beside you. You scanned the street for any potential way out, but Taehyung's grip on your arm tightened, steering you toward a nearby alley.

You stumbled slightly, trying to keep pace with him. The alley was dark and narrow, the perfect place for someone to disappear. Desperation surged through you, fueling your determination. You had to find a way out of this.

"You lasted more than I expected, Peaches. I have to give you that." You fought to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. Taehyung's voice, usually smooth and melodic, now held an edge of something darker, something sinister.

"But it's time to go home."

The weight of his intentions pressed down on you like a heavy stone. You did not know what home he was speaking of. Your home? Namjoon's home? You'd never been there; you couldn't know what home he meant. But something told you that wherever he'd take you, "home" would be a gilded cage, a place of confinement disguised as comfort.

You remained silent, your jaw clenched in defiance as you continued to walk, your eyes darting around the alley for any sign of escape. But every corner seemed to lead to another dead end, and the walls closed in around you like a vice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the desperation hit your nerves. Taehyung's grip tightened slightly, as if warning you against any further attempts at escape.

"There was no need to run, Peaches." Wasn't there? You stopped to think for a minute. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With a sudden burst of strength, you twisted out of Taehyung's grip and bolted. The sound of his shout echoed behind you, but you didn't look back. You darted through the maze of backstreets, your only goal to put as much distance between you and Taehyung as possible.

Reaching a dead end, you spotted a fire escape ladder. Without a second thought, you began climbing, your fingers slipping on the cold metal. You reached the rooftop, not daring to look back as you sprinted across the gravel. The cityscape stretched before you, a chaotic playground of rooftops and danger.

You leaped from one building to the next, each landing jarring your bones, but you couldn't stop. You heard Taehyung's voice calling your name, a mix of frustration and anger, but you didn't dare slow down. You reached the edge of a particularly wide gap between buildings and hesitated, just a split second too long.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back. You thrashed, but the grip was unyielding. Jungkook's face came into view, his expression grim. He was faster than Taehyung, and you knew your chances to outrun him were slight, but you still hoped.

"You can't run forever, Peaches," he said quietly, almost regretfully. You could hear Taehyung's leather boots stomping against the roof's concrete and his ragged breath in unison.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, but he held firm. Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Just then, you heard the uncomfortable digital sound of the Motorola flip phone that was in Taehyung's hand once he stopped in front of you.

"Hmm?" Taehyung answered the phone and ended the gut-wrenching sound. You knew who was on the other side of the line. Jungkook still held you securely, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was a pause, and then he handed you the phone.

"Your Mr. Man wants to speak to you."

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the phone heavy in your hand. With a deep breath, you brought it to your ear, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Namjoon.

"Hello?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You're losing sleep, love," he said, his tone smooth but laced with a menacing undertone. You took a shaky breath.

"S-so are you." He chuckled. You bit the inside of your lip out of nerves.

"I'd sleep better if you came back to me like the good girl I know you are."

The mixture of his charm and underlying threat was intoxicating and terrifying.

"I can't, Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't live like this anymore. I never wanted to live like this, and you knew that."

"Life is just about to begin for you, love—" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Our life," he added, and your grip tightened around the phone.

"What does that even mean?" you demanded, a mix of anger and desperation coloring your words.

"It means," he began, his voice smooth yet chilling, "that whatever you fear, we'll figure this out together."

"Please, Namjoon," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Let me go. I can't. I just can't," you cried out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, hoping against hope that he might relent. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Freedom is an illusion, love," he said, almost gently. "The only freedom you'll ever have is with me. Now, come back. We'll talk this through, and I promise you, everything will be fine. Just trust me."

"Namjoon—"

"Peaches—" he quickly interrupted your attempt to plead again.

"Don't make me take harsher measures to ensure you'll come back to me." His tone grew colder, the underlying threat unmistakable.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked, a tremor in your voice.

"You know what I can do. It would be a shame if the same thing happened to someone else you care about." His words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

You looked at Jungkook and Taehyung, their faces impassive yet resolute. They were ready to enforce Namjoon's will, no matter the cost.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you asked, voice quivering.

"We can talk about that once you come home," Namjoon replied, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"Namjoon, please..." you started, desperation lacing your words.

"Enough, Peaches," he cut you off sharply. "You know what's at stake. I expect you back within an hour. Hand the phone to Taehyung."

With a heavy heart, you handed the phone back to Taehyung. He took it, his eyes filled with a mix of pity, but you didn't think it was genuine. You felt Jungkook's grip loosen slightly, but not enough to let you go.

Taehyung listened to Namjoon for a moment, then nodded. "Understood," he said before hanging up. He looked at you, his expression resigned.

"Let's go," he said softly.

You don't even know how you managed to fall asleep in the car. They took your bag, draped a warm blanket over you, and sat you down on the back seat. You did not protest anymore, even though the thought of jumping out of the car went through your head briefly.

You thought of your father, your friends, and everyone you ever met and cared for when he took the ultimate move that would make you leave everything in a heartbeat. You don't want more blood on your hands.

At the same time, you could not understand why Namjoon would take such harsh measures. This wasn't the Namjoon you knew—heck, you don't even know if you ever knew that man.

The lavish room surrounding you was magnificent and screaming one name: Namjoon. Even his scent was clinging to every single piece of the room. The silk sheets clung to your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes again. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the room.

You could hear the audible difference in your surroundings. The Bronx had a distinctive hum, a chaotic symphony of life and struggle. But this—this was different. The sounds outside the open window were unmistakably Manhattan. The distant buzz of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the muffled chatter of people far below created a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Every moment spent here felt like a betrayal to the life you once knew, the people you once loved. But escape wasn't just about physical freedom—it was about breaking free from the psychological chains Namjoon had wrapped around you.

You did not know whether you weren't running for the hills now because this oddly feels like you are meant to be here or because you don't know if you should. You spent a lot of time rolling around and thinking about this. You had not come to a conclusion yet. You'd only decided that you would give him the courtesy to talk after all the years that he and his family supported you by giving you a job.

With that resolve, you climbed out of bed, feeling the weight of silk sheets slipping away. The cold floor sent a shiver up your spine, bringing you fully awake. You made your way to the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror staring back at you. You need a haircut, maybe even a new hair color.

The shower's hot water provided a temporary refuge, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. After drying off, you dressed in clothes Namjoon had laid out for you—an unspoken reminder of his control.

You entered the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast hung in the air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of bacon and eggs, momentarily distracting you. You were starving.

As you moved further into the room, a sudden noise made you jump. Startled, you turned to see a figure in a white chef's uniform bustling about the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you.

"Good morning, Misses Kim," he said with a polite nod. "I didn't expect you to be up so early.” The title he used sent a shiver down your spine. Misses Kim. It was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating you with the weight of an identity that wasn’t yours to claim. You overlooked yourself and your attire.

You could see your bra-less breasts and perky nipples through that white tanktop, but the chef was trained well enough to not look that way. He would most likely be beheaded by Namjoon if he would dare to look that way.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of nerves and hunger. You forced a small smile.

The chef, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, set down the spatula he was holding and wiped his hands on a towel. "My name is Seo Kang-joon, Misses Kim. I'm Sajangnim's private chef—" you figured that much. Of course that man has a private chef when he cannot boil a potato for the love of God.

"He tasked me to make you some breakfast and tell you he'll be with you shortly," he explained, gesturing to the array of food laid out on the counter.

You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your stomach growled audibly, and despite the chaos in your mind, the food before you was an undeniable lure. You picked up a piece of toast, buttering it slowly as Kang-joon resumed his work.

"How long have you been working for Namjoon?" you asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than your own anxious thoughts.

Kang-joon glanced up from the stove, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "About three years now," he replied. "I've switched with my Appa; he was working for the Kims for two generations and now it's my turn—"

"That's a long time," you said, taking a bite of the toast, the warmth of the food providing a small comfort.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "Namjoon is a good employer, he's always treated us fairly. And he cares about you a great deal—"

"I've seen you before, didn't I?" you interrupted, suddenly recalling a moment that had slipped through your mind like sand.

"At the private party last month. You were serving food, right?"

Kang-joon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, that was me. I remember seeing you there, although you were quite busy too—"

You were supposed to be waitressing the tables, plural, yet you only waitressed one table that night. As per usual.

"Yep, that was my reality, I guess," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before all of this."

Kang-joon's expression turned somber, and he stopped cooking momentarily.

"Namjoon doesn't let anyone near you, but I've seen how happy you make him. He's different around you." Of course he thinks so. You don't blame him for his inability to see through this. It's not his place.

You fell silent, pondering his words. The chaos of Namjoon's life and the dark undercurrents that surrounded him felt suffocating. "But at what cost?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"He means well—" he paused his thought and got silent, and you knew that means only one thing.

"I appreciate your loyalty to him," you said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your lips.

"Good morning, love," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes darted between you and Kang-joon, who stood with a spatula in hand, caught in the moment. "I hope you're both having a pleasant chat."

Kang-joon bowed slightly, and you could see the way he was careful to keep his composure, even as the atmosphere shifted with Namjoon's presence. "I was just finishing up breakfast, Sajangnim," he said politely. "Miss Kim and I were discussing your—"

"Thank you, Kang-joon," Namjoon interrupted, his tone suggesting a mixture of gratitude and an underlying tension. "I can take it from here."

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. You looked at him, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to demand answers.

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since I was seventeen, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you turned twenty-one—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather have me taking you as wife and putting a baby into you the moment you turned eighteen, am I right?"

The air crackled with tension as Namjoon's words hung in the space between you, a provocation that sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your breath hitch, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through you.

"So that's the plan now?" you lowered your voice.

His expression softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict etched across his features. "I thought you'd want that kind of future with me, Peaches. I thought we were on the same page from day one."

Despite Namjoon's willingness to talk, the remnants of fear and frustration churned within you, threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. Your heart raced, the urge to flee growing stronger. He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

"I love you, baby."

Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a tumultuous blend of emotions crashing over you. You stood up from the stool you were sitting at, calmly aiming for the door. You didn't know what you were doing with this lame attempt to flee.

"Hey—" he shouted, but you did not stop. You could feel Namjoon's gaze burning into your back as you moved toward the door, his loud steps right behind you making you speed up the process.

You couldn't stop. The need to escape overwhelmed you, propelling you forward. You flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the silence that followed.

"Peaches!" he shouted again, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. The door rattled on its hinges as he leaned against it, trying to process what had just happened.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he had pushed too hard, but he couldn't help it.

You trembled under him, still facing the door while his arm was outstretched, palms on the door, blocking you from opening it again. Your breath quickened as you stood there, the cool metal of the doorknob biting into your palm. You could feel Namjoon's presence behind you.

"Let me go, Namjoon," you demanded, your voice steady but wavering just slightly. The pounding of your heart felt like a war drum, urging you to flee, to escape this suffocating moment.

"You would come back to me nonetheless." You turned around to face him, your expression a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

"What makes you think I would?" you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. The intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within you.

"Because you love me back—" He leaned down, not giving you time to argue, and seized the chance to crash his lips down on yours for the first time.

His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. Your heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as his tongue danced with yours in a heated embrace.

Namjoon's fingers dug into your skin, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was trying to brand you as his own. The kiss was raw, primal, and all-consuming, leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

Namjoon's eyes locked onto yours, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. With a low growl, he pulled you close again, his lips crashing down on yours once more as the world around you continued to spin.

As the kiss broke, Namjoon pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm not done being angry," you said, your voice low but unwavering. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it both thrilled and terrified you.

Namjoon's brow furrowed slightly, surprise mingling with the intensity in his gaze. "I know that," he replied, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.

"Good," you spoke right to his lips, your heart still racing from the kiss. The mix of confusion and desire swirled within you, and you struggled to keep your composure.

The cognac brown couch was very comfortable, its soft cushions inviting you to sink in and relax. A glass coffee table with sleek chrome legs stood in front of it, its surface adorned with a stack of art books, a few scattered magazines, and a vintage crystal ashtray. So Namjoon.

A large, floor-to-ceiling window occupied one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A Persian rug, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, covered the polished hardwood floor, adding a touch of warmth and history to the contemporary space. Again, so Namjoon.

He was crouched down by the fireplace that dominated the place, his back to you. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, its light dancing over Namjoon's broad shoulders. He started the fire because he saw you shivering. But that had nothing to do with you being cold, and deep down he knew that too. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the floor as he stared into the flames.

You walked over to him, your footsteps silent on the plush rug. As you approached, Namjoon turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours. You sat down next to him.

"So, how do you imagine all this working?" you asked, your voice gentle yet tinged with the underlying frustration you felt.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Just like it did till now."

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

"So I'm gonna go back to working in Anubis and you are going to keep shooting everyone who gets closer to me?!" you said, a bit harsher than you intended. Namjoon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration.

"You are not coming back to work in Anubis, let's start with that," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"My oh my, now you want to take the source of my income too." Namjoon shifted slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"You're my woman, Peaches. You don't need to work for money anymore," he started, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You can't be serious."

"Women in our clan don't work for decades, my woman is not gonna work either. At least not like that—" You narrowed your eyes, feeling a mixture of disbelief and intrigue at his declaration.

"That's not who I am, Namjoon." He leaned in closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over his chiseled features.

"Baby, I'm not asking you. I'm offering you the life you always deserved." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

"I've always been able to take care of myself."

“So now let me take care of you, sweetling.”

Your mind raced as you considered his words. The allure of a life without the constant threat of violence, without the stress of making ends meet, was tempting. But was it worth giving up your autonomy?

“You can still pursue your passions. I’m not taking that away from you,—” Namjoon paused, his expression softening.

“But no Anubis,” he took your hands into his.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly. He held your gaze, the firelight flickering across his face, illuminating the resolve etched in his features.

“I think I made my intentions strictly clear today.” He chuckled and exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m not just talking about safety and comfort, Peaches. I’m talking about us. About building a life together.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was determination.

“You want me to be your… what, exactly?” You knew, you just still didn’t want to believe it.

Namjoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing rhythm. “I want you to be mine—”

“Mind and body, heart and soul.” Namjoon's voice was low and earnest, each word weighted with sincerity.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the depth of what he was asking. “You mean… you want me to commit completely? To be yours in every sense?”

“And I’ll be yours.” He nodded, his eyes unwavering, filled with a mixture of affection and intensity. You felt a rush of emotions—a blend of excitement and fear.

“I can give you a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder, where you can focus on what truly matters to you—your dreams, your passions, us.”

The promise of safety and love hung heavy in the air between you, and while the thought was tempting, a part of you still clung to your independence. It would be nice not to work long night hours in a bar full of drunk people to make ends meet. Not walking home with keys in your hand in case someone would jump you over or worse. Not living in a small old rusty apartment with your father who barely brought any income home.

The fire crackled softly, and you could feel the warmth radiating from it, mirroring the warmth blooming in your chest.

“I need time.” Namjoon’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed your words. But he didn’t let go of your hands. Instead, he brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze unwavering.

“Time,” he echoed, the word almost foreign as it left his mouth. “You already had plenty of time.” The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity etched into every line.

“You think time will change how you feel? Or how much I want you?” You felt a tremor run through you at the weight of his words. It was suffocating and yet strangely comforting, like a trap laced with silk, binding you softly but securely.

“No, Namjoon, I’m just—” Namjoon’s fingers brushed along your jawline, tipping your face up so that you met his gaze directly.

“I get that this must be overwhelming for you, but the time you are asking for is already up and done—”

“I didn’t know it was ticking,” you began, voice barely more than a whisper. Namjoon tilted his head, studying you, his lips quirking into a small, almost understanding smile.

“No more hidden exits, no more plans to escape. I want you here, with me, committed… without looking for a way out. And in return, I’ll take care of you and your father. That’s my promise to you.”

The warmth in his eyes almost made you believe that he meant well, that beneath the possessive intensity was a genuine desire to protect and love. Yet a lingering voice inside you warned that this love would be an all-consuming fire—one that would consume every part of you until there was nothing left to call your own.

Your mind was racing for the answer. If you say yes, you may as well forget who you were, but perhaps you will find yourself where you always wanted to be. Someone. But what if you say no?

“What if I won’t agree, Namjoon?” You asked, scared for the answer. Namjoon’s gaze darkened, the softness slipping away as his grip tightened just enough for you to feel the control he had over the situation. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Peaches, let's not pretend that you really have a choice here." His tone was calm, as if explaining something simple, obvious, like the inevitability of night following day.

"Your father," he began slowly, each word dripping with calculated weight, "he's in no position to take care of himself, is he? Without you, what would he do? You've been carrying his burden for years, haven't you? Always working to support him, protecting him, making sure he's safe…"

His voice lowered, softening almost to a whisper, but it was filled with a quiet menace. "But if you refuse me… well, who do you think is going to keep him safe then?"

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, dread creeping into every corner of your mind as you took in his words. This was the second time he was threatening your father.

"What is wrong with you?" You said coldly, staring daggers at his pretty face.

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice laced with a faint, mocking laugh. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Peaches. I'm making sure you understand the lengths I'm willing to go to keep you by my side. You think I'd just stand by and watch you slip away? Again?"

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight but loaded with a silent threat. "I know you love your father," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "And that's why I'm reminding you of what's at stake."

You felt anger and fear twist inside you. He let his hand fall, watching your reaction with unsettling calmness, as if daring you to resist. Namjoon had you cornered, and he knew it. Every ounce of control you'd thought you held slipped further from your grasp, his quiet threats carving invisible chains around you.

"Why would you put me in this position?" He sighed, his lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile as he tilted his head, studying you.

"Because I've been loving you for years, and when I can finally have you, you are trying toplay feminist."

The words hit you like a slap, raw and stinging. You swallowed, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. That faint smile on his lips held no warmth; it was twisted with something darker, something possessive.

"Play feminist?" you echoed, your voice wavering with anger and disbelief. "Namjoon, wanting to make my own choices doesn't mean I'm defying you or 'playing' anything. It means I'm a person, with my own will—"

He cut you off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head slowly, almost as if you'd amused him.

“Peaches, you still don’t understand, do you? I’m offering you a world where you’re safe, where you don’t have to fight every day to survive. You’d rather keep struggling, keep pretending you’re content living in that cramped one bedroom apartment while your father brings home beer money when you are fighting off every hardship, and here I am, ready to give you the life you deserve.”

His fingers gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with conviction.

“You think you want freedom, independence. But freedom isn’t safe, Peaches. Freedom won’t love you like I do. It won’t sacrifice or protect. It won’t give you everything at the cost of its own soul.”

He released you, letting his hand fall away, his gaze darkening. “This isn’t some game, and it isn’t about principles. It’s about us. And if that means you have to surrender some of that so-called independence, then so be it. I know what’s best for you, Peaches. You just need to stop fighting and see that.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to something darker, more resolute, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. The firelight glinted off the soft pink morganite stone, antique piece that must have been in his kin for decades, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. He held it up, his jaw set, the unspoken command clear in the way he presented it to you.

“Peaches,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm, “will you marry me?”

Before you could even think to pull away, he took your hand firmly, holding it in place as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was cold against your skin, the weight of it foreign and heavy.

“Say yes.” His voice was low, steady, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, unwavering, challenging you to defy him. “Say it, Peaches. Agree to be mine, completely, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve been holding onto.”

You felt trapped, his hand tightening around yours as if to remind you of his control over the situation. Your heart raced, your throat dry, as the words hovered on the edge of your lips, unable to escape. But he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unyielding determination.

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, the softness slipping into something harder, more commanding.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a feeling of resignation sinking deep into your chest as you stared at the ring, its delicate beauty now a symbol of your surrender.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips.

A smile spread across Namjoon’s face, slow and triumphant, as he released your hand, the weight of the ring now settling fully onto your finger. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped free, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“There,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl.”

"Where's my bag?" you start sharply the moment Namjoon walks in, shrugging off the coat from his so-called 'business meeting.' You were obviously not allowed to sit in because women here do not work once they have a ring on their finger. Not like you are dying to be a part of a criminal syndicate that has its roots deeply set in this society. The air between you two is thick, a palpable tension that crackles like static before a storm.

"I looked everywhere, but I cannot seem to find it—"

Successful distilleries may be carrying the Jung name, yet other family members have their own shares of the money capital of the clan, Namjoon not being an exception. His name is presented on each brandy bottle you have had the chance to pour from. But what actually lies under the façade of crystal-clear bottles of whiskey and brandy remains unknown to the upper world.

When you met Namjoon, you didn't see a crime lord. You saw a man with ambition, with a drive that matched yours. But somewhere along the line, his ambition became chains around your wrists, tying you to a life you never chose. That's when you decided that working in Anubis would be only a "college" solution before you would leave the city.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What bag?"

"You know exactly which bag," you snap, stepping closer. Namjoon's eyes darken, his jaw tightening.

"How about we start on lunch?" he suggests, trying to ignore your pleas.

"No," you insist, voice trembling with anger. "I want my bag. I want my money."

"I thought we had settled this last night, didn't we?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Your blood boils at his dismissive tone. "Settled? You think you can just placate me and everything will be fine? That money is mine, Namjoon. I earned it."

He steps closer, his presence intimidating but you hold your ground. "Peaches, you ought to be my wife, what's mine is yours. You don't need that money."

You stand firm, not backing down. "Need it or not, it's mine. I worked for it, Namjoon."

Namjoon's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them. "You think you can just walk out with that money? You think you can use it to just leave?"

"No, I—" Namjoon steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching into fists. "I earned that money, and I deserve to use it as I see fit."

"If you want to spend money, we can go shopping—" His presence overwhelming and oppressive. His words angering you even more.

"SHOPPING?! Are you fucking serious? This isn't about buying things, Namjoon. This is about my life, my choices."

Before you can continue your rambling, he grabs your wrist and pulls you close, his grip like iron. His lips crash onto yours in a bruising, dominating kiss, meant to remind you of his power over you. You struggle, but his hold is unyielding, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

"If you're gonna drop that honorific one more time—" Namjoon's eyes blaze with fury as he keeps you close, his grip almost painful.

"I won't—" you spit out, defiance still burning in your eyes despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "If you give me my money back. I have a right to it." Namjoon laughs coldly, shaking his head.

"Let's just have lunch, Peaches, before I lose my patience completely—" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. You glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Not until you give me my money back." His expression hardens, the cold amusement vanishing.

"You really want to push this, don't you?"

"Yes," you say, your voice unwavering. "Favor for favor, isn't it the mantra y'all go by?" A smirk playing on his lips when you finish the sentence.

"Everything you need, I provide." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I worked for that money, Namjoon. I deserve to have control over it."

He steps closer again, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks down at you. "Control? You want control? Fine," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I've deposited them into an account I opened in your name, joint with mine, naturally," he says, his words carrying that same cool, possessive edge.

"What?" you gasp, your disbelief palpable. "You what?"

"I will give you your black card," he repeats, his lips curling into a taunting smile "—once you prove not to be a flight risk, baby." Namjoon tilts his head, the smirk never fading. This, in essence, means that every single transaction will be noticed. You will withdraw the money from the card—he will know. You will attempt to transfer them to a different account? He will fucking know. The implications hitting you like a gut punch. Your blood runs cold as his words sink in.

"I'm not stupid, Peaches. I know that we gotta work on our relationship." He steps even closer, his gaze intense, pinning you in place. "Let's work on that trust first, and then you can have money at your disposal."

Your heart beats in your throat, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Trust? The word feels like a cruel joke coming from him.Trust?

"I'm not one of your assets, Namjoon," you spit out, your voice thick with defiance. "And I won't be treated like one." His towering form casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his eyes soften, as if he's pitying you.

"You don't have a choice, baby." His tone shifts again, dripping with that same chilling calm.

"When you prove you can stay and play nice, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you have some freedom with your own damn money." And just like that, he's already begun dictating the terms of your life again, his grip on you tighter than ever before.

The missing duffle bag with your money was among the least of your worries when you realized what else the duffle bag possessed.

"You have my passport, Namjoon, how can I run away?" Namjoon's eyes flicker, the amusement fading slightly, but his smirk doesn't falter. He's been expecting this—he always expects everything.

Namjoon's smile is slow, deliberate, almost cruel. "I've taken what I need to keep you close." Namjoon leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I am not underestimating your spirit."

You're nauseous, the implication of his words settling over you like a weight you can't shake off. He is holding the strings to everything, but that only made you realize that you had a hell of a lot of thinking and plotting to do to get out of here. And the most intrusive thought back in your head, where you consider staying here and embracing this finally official relationship, has to go—quickly.

"So, what now?" you ask, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. "You plan on keeping me locked up forever, Namjoon-oppa?" Namjoon only smiles, cold and confident.

"No baby. But I will keep you very close, until I can trust you." Your skin prickles where his fingers brush, but you don't pull away. You can't. The need to stay composed, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, fights against the rising tide of rage and fear in your chest.

"And what do you want me to do to earn it, Namjoon?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside you. "Beg? Crawl? Pretend everything is fine when it's not?" He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he's piecing together in real time. The silence that follows is thick with tension. He stands so close now that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"So, lunch it is then?"

His tone is mockingly light, but there's a sharp edge beneath it when he tries to abandon the conversation, the kind that makes you feel trapped.

The black Mercedes hums smoothly along the Bronx streets, its sleek exterior reflecting the gray clouds above. It's going to snow any day now. Inside, the air is thick with tension, an unspoken understanding between the two passengers.

You sit in the backseat, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of your dress, the smooth fabric barely registering under your touch. Your sunglasses hide the unease in your eyes, but the tightness in your chest is something you can't disguise.

Today feels different.

Namjoon sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze fixed ahead, while his hand is warm on your thigh. You are staring at your shoes. Isn't this what you wanted? To ride in an expensive car, wearing Saint Laurent pointy-toed heels? A form-fitting dress with a high neck reveals your figure subtly, and the hungry look Namjoon gave you when you stepped out of the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. Something feels different, as if you're playing dress-up. The allure of the life Namjoon offers, it all feels strangely distant.

You eye him carefully—his black turtleneck is tailored to fit perfectly, sleek and minimalistic. Over it, a black suit jacket, structured but not overly stiff, gives him a commanding presence. His black slacks match the simplicity and power of his look, polished and clean.

The cold air bites against your skin, and you instinctively pull your coat tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the chill that seems to creep through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Thank you for letting me see my father," you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

"You don't have to thank me—" he says quietly, his voice low, almost intimate. His gaze doesn't soften, but there's something in the way he stands, commanding yet calm, that makes your heart race. The chill of the early morning seems to deepen, pressing in on you, yet you're acutely aware of the warmth of his presence, the heat of his body just a little too close.

"I couldn't have kept you from seeing him," Namjoon continues, his tone flat, as if he's simply stating a fact.

"But keep in mind that this is a privilege—you misbehave, you won't see him." His eyes lock with yours, not with malice, but with a cold certainty that makes your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. The last thing you want now is to provoke him further, to find out just how far his power reaches.

"Engaged?!" disbelief and shock etched into the features of your father when you sat down at the kitchen table after you collected some of the things you wished to take with you. You nod, your heart racing.

"Yes, Dad. It just happened. I wanted you to know first." Your father's gaze shifts to Namjoon, his face a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, worry.

"Peaches, do you know what you're doing? This man is nearly a decade older than you," he whispers your way, his voice trembling with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I know, Dad. It's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

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𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.

[embbarnes]

I was sooo excited to see this finished, I couldn't wait to read it. Okay, okay...here we go~

The beginning of it is so pure and sweet, I love how you include so many characters and build the dynamics and world up for the story to begin. You always do such a good job with that, and I love seeing all the details.

I also like how you took this with Logan's view, how you described others and the reactions between them were so perfect for his character. Wade and Al were hilarious, the chatter they had in the beginning was entertaining and 100% something I can see happening.

Anyway continuing below cut because I love reviewing your stuff in more detail ~

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time. You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

The tension that builds is so well done. This one really got me into the story, I've never read one with this idea so I thought it was really interesting and fun to read. Sometimes tension is hard to build up, and with the background and characters in the beginning of the story to now and a bit later on, when the 'peak' comes, it feels so well deserves and satisfying. I'm jealous of how you do that 😭

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits – He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now. Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain. When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

UGH. This part was insane. The build Logan begins to feel is so natural here, and as it goes on you can really sense how needy and hard it is for him to handle it. Someone like him being pent up is such a fun concept.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

These little tidbits of details feel so authentic and real, I adore each and every one. Just like the exposed midriff, the tiny details that add to what we already know, urging Logan's desires on and on.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator. It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

I'm always a sucker for ferals to use their senses and how writers include it in fics. Logan's sense of smell is insane so he would of course smell the reader's arousal. I love love that and how you described it was amazing.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid. “But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

Yess, FINALLY. Be bold.

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

Love this little detail a lot too <3

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach. “This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

This entire bit was super hot too, the idea of this happening was sooo good. His demeanor and actions, the light teasing and slapping was just perfection. It was perfectly balanced, and I re-read this bit a few times.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—” “No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?” He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole. “Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

This gets overlooked a lot but I personally really, really like this part. Enough self control to ask reader if they want to stop, if everything is fine, just giving that option to stop if they wanted to. That is such a good detail and shows the depth of care. It's really refreshing each time I see something like this added in a smut fic.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath. You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss. “I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

LMAO girl-😂😭

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—��

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[cyberphuck]

Couple weeks ago my friend sent me a link to @vaspider shop with their promotion for a buy one get one free on hot/cold packs:

Razz loves to spread the word about shops they buy from, especially small businesses or shops owned and operated by queer people. I did not need a popcorn scented heat pack, so I did not buy anything, but they did.

Tonight I got these messages: 



Emails, you say? Let’s see…

I just want you guys to know that this last line, “after this interaction I can no longer in good conscience promote your work or buy from you,” is akin to burning your crops and salting your fields coming from Razz. They are the most polite person I know. They do not want to stir up trouble. Part of it is because, as a blind person, they have had to learn to be non-confrontational in order to protect themselves, but it’s also because Razz is just genuinely a kind hearted and understanding person.

They live off of disability and occasional commissions, but they use what little money they have to support small businesses and independent artists because they appreciate the quality as well as the work that goes into each item. You can see here that Raz was trying to figure out if it was a genuine misunderstanding on their part because they hadn’t read the site correctly.

They were not able to read the site correctly because they’re blind.

This isn’t really about a misunderstanding, or Razz wanting to get the other item. It’s about Vaspider immediately treating them with contempt when Razz sent an email asking what had gone wrong. Is it the businesses responsibility to eat the cost of shipping due to someone not being able to understand the terms of the sale? It’s certainly good business practice, but I think Razz would have understood if they had been told that it would cost the store too much for another item to be sent if Vaspider hadn’t been such an asshole about it.

Razz is, unfortunately, used to disappointment. They are used to having to struggle to navigate websites that are not made with people like them in mind. They are even, at this point, used to having to lose money on things due to brain damage suffered from being forced into a botched medical procedure last year. But that isn’t how they opened this conversation. They opened with, “I think something may have gone wrong, can you help me understand what happened? “

The way Vaspider treated my friend is disgusting. I hope that those of you reading this will take Vaspiders behavior in this exchange into account when you’re deciding where to spend your money. The next time that you see one of their posts, a link to their store, or receive an email about a sale, I hope that you remember these emails and recall how Vaspider treats people that they don’t think are important. I want you to think about whether the group of people that Vaspider considers to be worthless might include you. 

I know that there are a lot of people willing to come to Vaspiders defense because they’re well-known and popular. They are so well-known and popular that they’re willing to treat one of their customers like garbage over $10 in shipping, and they’re willing to do it right out in the open for everyone to see.

Happy holidays, and eat a big old bag of dicks. 

Let’s fucking go.

[myceliacrochet]

URGENT: 4yo Little Girl and Her Family Malnutritioned and Freezing!! (Sham and Moneer al-Anqar -- Skills Series: "Easy Piece First")

Reblog if u answer pls tysm!🩷

There's no shame in that! In this series, I'll be sharing some tips to help us keep going strong, carrying these families throughout this brutal winter of extermination. With each post I'll be highlighting a family in desperate need.

Easy Piece First

Whether we're working at a job, making commissions, working on posts, or doing other tasks, mutual aid for genocide relief can be overwhelming. The stakes are through the roof, and sometimes the people who most want to help are the people least able to. Often I freeze in place, overwhelmed with emotion, unsure of where to start. Depression, anxiety, and AuDHD don't help!

So I hope this skill is of use to you. I call it "Easy Piece First" because that's what helps me remember it, but it's definitely not a new idea.

I started this post with the easiest small step accessible. For me, that was writing down Moneer's current blog tag (@sham-moner) in a new post. This was the easiest for me because it required no decision-making and could be done in a few seconds. Then I filled in the other parts that don't take much thought -- the GoFundMe link, the vetting, and some tags.

For other posts, sometimes I'll be making art that is unrelated and then I'll think of a post to go with it.

Lazy and Heartless, or Focused and Strategic?

Everyone is different, but trying to force yourself to start with the hardest part first (what some people call the "Eat That Frog" approach) can actually make things take longer for some people. Using "Easy Piece First," I was able to get more done with my time, and with less trouble. This makes my efforts more sustainable long-term.

On a related note, I actually take a lot of measures to not walk around with my chest constantly hurting for Palestinians anymore (though there's nothing wrong with doing so). My chest was aching at all times for months until I converted some of my worry into action and some of it into self-care -- so I could actually get more done for Palestinians, who do not need my tears but my labor.

This winter is a marathon, and we gotta see it through to the end.

Take care of yourself so you can get more done and keep helping people long-term.

Do not give yourself a heart condition.

Give Palestinians labor.

That's how I'm keeping myself out of the hospital and maximizing what I can do for people, but we all have our own strategies.

But that's enough about us -- let's talk about these two amazing kids.

Moneer and Sham

Palestinians are just regular people. That's the horrible reality. It's the exact same as if people from your own background, even your own family were getting tortured and killed.

Like, Moneer is a 19yo who had recently started university when the genocide began. Sham is 4, Mohammed is 16, Rana is 21, and Rasha is 22.

What were you going through when you were 4? How would you have felt if you saw people getting blown up at that age? What if your house was blown up and all your toys and friends were lost, and you had to live outside in the winter, scrounging for moldy bread and polluted water?

What if you lived with the smell of rotting bodies when you were 4? Did you know what that smelled like as a little kid? I still don't know what that smells like. I didn't really know what death was at that age. She does.

This small child is in critical need of food and water!!

She is starving!!

Sham will die this winter without more donations!!

This is a call to action for an extremely urgent campaign!!!

It's been 2 days, and it was 2 days before that! This is far too long!!

Moneer is still recovering from major surgery. He is in a lot of pain and is also malnutritioned and in need of clean water and warmth.

Moneer is very close to his family and dearly loves his mom, Amani (39). Amani is in a lot of danger because she has asthma in a dusty massacre zone without treatment. It's killing Moneer to watch his mom go through this.

Drink some water, take a rest, and keep putting one foot in front of the other, using whatever tools work for you.

We are not letting these kids and their family die this winter!! We can do this!!

Vetting: GazaVetters #8

@opencommunion @beserkerjewel @deepspaceboytoy @rhubarbspring @eryuditely @lesbianmaxevans @malcriada @turian @sxpph0 @rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @neptunerings @dykesbat @halalgirlmeg @userpeggycarter @minosbull @hamstertross @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @definitelynotafox @kaleschmidt @jaylung101 @captainsaltymuyfancy2 @timetravellingkitty @sun-and-moon-side @kahin @greenmossyrock @northgazaupdates2 @irhabiya @theparanoid @steep1253o @victoriawhimsey @dirhwangdaseul @cruzwalters @ladycelebrianofimladris @tamamita @50seagullsinatrenchcoat @deathlonging @nconiku @briarhips @kaislittlecorner @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @sawasawako @feluka @anneemay-blog @ralfocups

P.S.: I have several people waiting on me for posts. I am so sorry -- I will get them finished and published as soon as possible.

@soft-sunbird Thank you dear friend🥰🩷 I love you. You're doing so great

Check out the comments for many ways to help!

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> if i walked at my own pace

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1.8k tw: anxiety, mentions of bullying, panic attacks, sleeping pills italics are interviews cut between scenes + english a/n: we're finally starting to dive into cyana's backstory + the mystery of what happened in LA! if any of the above trigger warnings trigger you - scroll away, stay safe, and come back for the next one 💓

Cyana never really understood how some of the members could stand to watch their own fancams. Sure, she understood that it was a vital part of analyzing their performance, but every time she tried searching up her own fancams, she was greeted with a wave of self-embarrassment and cringe. 

“It won’t be like that forever,” Vernon tried comforting her, pausing his own fancam on his phone to look up at her. “You’ll end up getting used to watching yourself on camera.” 

Cyana shuddered. “I can’t imagine I’d ever get used to that.” Reaching over, she pressed play on his phone. “Other people’s fancams, however, that I like to watch.”

Vernon laughed, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his phone, letting Cyana watch over his shoulder. 

“Woww,” She marveled at the end, quietly applauding the performance. “So cool.”

Vernon smiled, swiping out of the video. “Not bad, huh.”

“Psh.” She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Not bad my ass. Give yourself some more credit, Hansol.” 

His lips quivered into a small smile, amused by how Cyana seamlessly switched to calling him by his Korean name when speaking English. Ironic, but for some reason it fit. 

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” 

Vernon opened the door to the record store, motioning Cyana to head in first. He had promised the girl he’d accompany her to get a couple records, knowing how much she had been looking forward to browsing the New York streets. He was just as excited, shopping for anything music related was probably the only shopping he found himself enjoying. 

“The National.” Cyana said, already flipping through the boxes of records. “The 1975, The Cure, really anything I can get my hands on.” She pulled one out, gasping as she presented it to Vernon. “No way! Look at this.” 

Taking the record from her hands, he turned it over to read out the artist. “The Beatles?” He looked at her, a little confused. “I didn’t think you’d be a big Beatles fan.”

Cyana looked a little offended at his words. “I am. Huge fan. I’m getting that one.” 

Vernon held the record out of her reach, tucking it underneath his arm as he moved to another aisle. “I’ll get it for you, don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

Vernon hummed, sifting through the boxes, looking for his own purchase. 

“Wow. Look at you,” Cyana tucked into his side, a hand around his lower arm as she browsed the options with him. “So dependable.” 

“How are you feeling?” The doctor prodded at Vernon’s neck and throat. “Any soreness?”

He shook his head, thankful that he wasn’t feeling at all ill, unlike the others. “I’m doing fine, doc.”

He watched as the doctor moved on to Woozi, repeating the same procedure with him and asking the same questions. Pulling out his phone, Vernon scrolled in a daze, allowing his mind to shut off for a little bit before their concert. He liked letting his mind blank out for a moment, like it was rebooting all his thoughts, worries and signals. 

It was Cyana’s quiet voice that pulled him out, most likely because the girl was speaking English.

“Do you think I can get some meds for sleeping?” 

Vernon looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Cyana interact with the doctor, who was packing up his kit, ready to go. 

“Have you been having trouble sleeping?” The doctor asked her, pausing to give her a proper lookover. 

“A bit.” Cyana mumbled, glancing around, as if to check that no one was listening. Her eyes drifted over Vernon before returning to the floor next to her feet. “Or just in case.” 

Nodding, the doctor pulled out a bottle, shaking it slightly before handing it to her. “Most people in your line of work ask for the same thing, so I always keep it on hand. Take two before bed, three, if it’s not enough. But no more, alright?” 

Vernon watched Cyana slip the pill bottle into her hoodie pocket, thanking the doctor before retreating back into her chair. He frowned before shrugging, returning back to his phone and putting his brain back on airplane mode. It was whatever, right? 

“I could remember our LA show extremely clearly because I remember how Cyana’s face looked minutes before it.” Vernon told the camera, moistening his lips before continuing. “She looked like going on stage would destroy her completely.” 

Even under the dim lights beneath the stage, Vernon could tell there was something different about the way Cyana looked as they waited for the platform to rise with them on top of it. Usually she’d be smiling his way with a bright, dazzling grin, all pumped up for their performance and buzzing with energy. Now however, as Vernon stared at her, she seemed distant - almost muted - as if something had drained all the color from her cheeks. 

He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. “You good?” He mouthed, searching her eyes for an answer.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and mouthed back an okay, before turning away and readjusting her mic.

He didn’t believe her one bit.

“I mean,” He tried explaining himself to the camera. “I could relate to her, I guess. I keep things to myself a lot too. If I'm struggling, I won’t hide it, but it’s not like I’ll talk about it either.” He let out a small sigh. “I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything for a long time. I thought maybe silence was just normal for her like it was for me.”

Looking back now, on that concert day in LA, Vernon could remember seeing her hunched over, backstage, after a particularly intense run of Getting Closer. He remembered chalking up her sweat and body chills to mere overexhaustion, simply handing her a bottle of water before going back up for his turn with the Hiphop Unit. 

He also remembered hearing her quiet sobs and harsh breaths from across the room, as they all waited for the Performance Unit to finish with their set. Cyana was mostly covered by a worrying Joshua, fussing over her and whispering something Vernon was too far away to hear. 

He remembered how worried everybody was that day. How DK and Hoshi were unnaturally quiet on the way back to the hotel, their eyes sending fleeting glances over to Cyana, unsure what they could do to help. How Jeonghan and Joshua could only sit and hold her hand, Joshua’s eyes sending signals to Jeonghan that Vernon couldn’t understand. But most of all, he remembered how Dino came to sleep in his room that night, tears tracking down his face as he sobbed over Cyana asking to room alone. The boy couldn’t understand why she had kicked him out - and why they were all useless to stop it. 

“I was already worried about Coups hyung.” Vernon recalled. “We look out of sync when we’re missing someone, and I didn’t want Cyana to need to leave as well.” 

Vernon had no idea what was going on, as he tried meeting Joshua’s eyes to ask him what the hell was up with their youngest member. The older boy infuriatingly refused to meet his eyes, only leaving Cyana’s room to grab food or water for the girl. 

“Just wait.” He told Vernon when Vernon finally got a hold of him, just about to leave the washroom after brushing his teeth. “She’ll explain when she feels better.”

“Why can’t you just tell us now, though?” Vernon asked. “Everyone is going insane. Both DK and Dino went to bed crying last night and Mingyu looks like a kicked puppy waiting outside her door. Seungkwan even told me Wonwoo’s affected, something about how his face is stuck permanently in a worried expression. I’m going insane too, hyung.” He admitted the last part rather timidly.

Joshua looked torn. “I can’t.” He finally said after a painful pause. Moving behind Vernon, Joshua left, leaving him standing in front of the bathroom, looking incredibly stupid and pathetic. 

“I just wanted answers.” Vernon mumbled, not looking at the interviewer or the camera as he spoke. “And it felt like no one really had them. All of us had recounted that day, trying to piece together what could have affected Cyana so terribly - but none of us could think of anything at all.”

Cyana made sure to walk right next to Woozi as they exited the venue in between the barricades holding their fans back. It was rather strategic of her, she knew. Walking next to Woozi would ensure a constant presence - he wasn’t one to run up to the barricades and interact with fans, wasn’t one to draw attention to himself and therefore those around him. Cyana chose to be next to him for send-off for one reason: to not be seen. 

She couldn’t justify the fear to herself - let alone other people - so she kept the fear she knew was irrational and childish hidden. How was she to explain she was afraid of the crowd? Of their beloved fans?

Oh hey, Joshua. Yeah, I can’t do today’s concert because I’m afraid I’ll go up onstage and someone from the crowd will jump me. Or shoot me. Or throw a knife at me. Or throw acid up onstage. Or- anyways, yeah. So I can’t perform today. I feel like I might pass out onstage. Why? Oh- I kinda have people who want to kill me in LA. Yeah- from highschool. Bullies. I know, a long time ago. So it’s irrational. Right? And it’s not like they said they’d kill me. So it should be fine, right?

A swirl of thoughts wrapped around her as she continued to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the loud cheers and screams from the crowd. She had gone through the concert. Now all she needed to do was walk through the sea of fans, enter the company car and go home. 

You have to at least wait till you’re back in the hotel room before you break down. She chided herself. You must.

A scream, not much louder than the rest of the fans, caught her ear. She whipped her head around at the sound of her voice - yelled out through a sea of fans. She knew that voice. Her blood grew cold as her ears rang - muffling the world around her - and Cyana felt as if she was sixteen once again.

Her eyes drifted from face to face in the direction of the scream until it landed on a girl in the front row, holding a bright pink banner with Vernon’s name on it. 

“Cyana!” The girl yelled out again, her eyes twinkling in a way that made Cyana’s skin feel ice cold. 

And she watched, horrified, as the familiar girl mouthed an all too familiar five words at her. I’m going to get you. 

[sheerfreesia007]

Inyeon

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word count: 4,529

Content warnings: Toxic family relationships, favoritism within the family, fluff

Summary: You and Jisung are planning to go back home and visit family for the holidays but Jisung notices that you’re a little more apprehensive about the trip.

Gongjag: Peacock, Jagi: Sweetheart, Halmeoni: Grandmother, Eomeoni: Mother, Inyeon: fate/soulmate, Eonni: older sister

Part One: Eyes On Me

Jisung smiles softly as he leans against the doorframe to the bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest while his eyes trailed over you. Ever since the plans had been made for the two of you to travel back to your hometown to visit both sides of your family you had been acting  strange. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly but there was an almost dimming to your sparkling personality since you had started planning and preparing for the trip. Even now as he watches you move about your bedroom putting on the final touches of your outfit for the evening he can see that you’re not as lively as you normally would be to go out with him. Frowning softly he pushes off from the doorframe and captures you in his arms as you move to walk back over to your vanity, he pulls you flush with his body and tilts your face up to his as he smiles softly at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned and your lips twist in a faint line before you shake your head at him.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” you tell him dismissively trying to brush him off but Jisung shakes his head as he tightens his arms around your waist and presses his index finger under your chin keeping your eyes locked with his.

“Tell me please. I’m here for you just like you’re here for me.” he pleads softly with you and your lips twist once more and without a thought in his head but to ease your troubles he leans forward quickly and pecks your lips softly with his. “Gongjag, please tell me what’s worrying you.” he whispers against your lips and you sigh softly before pulling further away from him.

“I just-” you begin to try explaining to him but quickly fall silent which causes Jisung to grow even more concerned.

“Gongjag” he says softly and your eyes dart up to his and you frown darkly for a moment before shaking your head once again.

“I’m just worried that you’ll think differently of me after this trip. And I don’t want that. I don’t want things to change between us.” you explain cryptically and Jisung feels the alarms start to blare in his head at your words as his eyes search yours silently, what’s back in your hometown that would cause you to worry like this? He cups your face in his palms and pulls you in for a sweet adoring kiss that he deepens by swiping his tongue against your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him. As you melt against him and let your worry slowly ease from your body he wonders what back in your hometown could have you so rattled that it worries you this much. Jisung’s mind starts to race with thought after thought of what could possibly be in your hometown that you’re not looking forward to, but he calms his mind. You don’t need him panicking and getting anxious over assumptions before anything actually happens. He needs to be strong for you and show you that he can be a source of comfort for you just like you’ve always comforted him since walking into his life.

“Nothing will change how I view you, how I feel about you. I love you, wholly, completely. That will never change.” He promises you and your eyes soften as they stare up at him pleading with him. Almost as if you’re begging him to keep this promise. Jisung’s heart clenches at how unsure you are and he vows silently with you in his arms like this that he will never stop loving you and that he’ll always be at your side no matter what. “C’mon Jagi, let’s go to the party. The sooner we go and show our face the sooner I can convince you to go back home.” He whispers suggestively to you and your answering smile lifts his heart.

*-*-*-*

Jisung’s family home is warm and lively with the happy chatter of his family, Jisung smiles as he sits at the dining room table with his Halmeoni as she nostalgically flips through an old family photo album telling him about the pictures and where they were taking. His eyes dart over to the open kitchen and finds you laughing delightedly at something his Eomeoni said to his father to keep him out of the kitchen as the two of you are cooking together. He smiles softly, feeling his heart swell with love and admiration as his eyes take in your head falling back on your neck as laughter rings from your lips.

”I’m so glad I was right about her.” His Halmeoni says softly and Jisung’s eyes dart back to her curiously.

”What do you mean Halmeoni? I remember you had said that there was something special about her when we were first introduced. But I didn’t get a chance to ask back then.” Jisung said softly as he leaned closer to her. He watched as his Halmeoni nodded her head at his words as a soft smile and a far distant look slipped into her eyes.

”Do you know what inyeon is Jisung?” She asks him softly and Jisung frowns softly as he racks his brain for the meaning behind the word before he nods his head slowly.

”It’s fate.” He says confidently and she nods her head at him before smiling softly at him.

”Yes, it’s also our culture’s concept of soulmates. You and Gongjag were destined to meet. I’m sure that the two of you have met in previous lives and will continue to meet in future lives as well.” She tells him fondly as her hand comes to rest over his on the table. “When I was a little girl I had dreams of our ancestors visiting me telling me that I would have to help my grandchild find their inyeon. They would always tell me that my grandchild was hopeless in finding his soulmate and would need help from me.” She told him amusedly and he gave her an offended look making her laugh softly before patting his hand softly.

”So you think Gongjag is my soulmate? My inyeon?” He asked softly as his eyes shifted back to you moving around the kitchen confidently as you perfectly complimented his Eomeoni’s movements like a well oiled machine as light chatter came from the two of you.

”I do. Can’t you see it? She’s the opposite side to your coin and she’s absolutely perfect for you. It took me a long time to find her in this lifetime. It had never crossed my mind that she would be hiding away in the next town over. And I had a hard time convincing her family that she would be perfect for you. Do not waste my effort in finding her for you.” His Halmeoni told him knowingly and Jisung turned his head to her before frowning softly.

”What’s her family like? Ever since we’ve started planning for this trip she’s been worried about something. She won’t tell me what it is but she’s worried that I’ll view her differently after this trip.” He said softly not wanting you to hear him talking to his Halmeoni about your concerns and worry. He watched as a knowing look passed over his Halmeoni’s face and she nodded her head at his words.

”Just be there for her.” She said cryptically and Jisung frowned even more at her words. “You’ll see when you go to visit her family. Just-“ she tried to explain gently before halting her words as a distant look fell over her face. “She brings so much joy and happiness to your life, just remember that when you’re with her family. And reassure her that you love her.” Jisung begins to worry even more as his eyes dart back over to you, what about your family would ever make him doubt his relationship with you?

*-*-*-*

The next week comes quickly enough and Jisung finds himself awkwardly trying to settle in your family’s home for your visit before both sides of the family will come together for one last party before the two of you fly back to your home to spend Christmas together. But as he finds himself trying to make connections with your family he finds himself always watching you to make sure that you’re okay. There’s a sort of tension in the air and it’s making him feel slightly claustrophobic before normally before it becomes too much for him you’re there whisking him to walk around the property of your family home. And just like a fresh breath of air the claustrophobic feeling is eased.

Right now Jisung is sitting in the living room with your brothers as they play a video game on the large television while your father sits in his armchair reading a newspaper. He can hear your mother in the kitchen barking out orders to you as you cook for everyone and a feeling of unease begins to fill him. 

It’s been like this since you both arrived at the home two days ago, you would wake up early in the morning to begin cooking for your family while your mother hovered over your shoulder berating you on how you were cooking and what you were doing wrong. Everyone would then come and eat and you’d be left to clean up after everyone while your mother once again hovered and berated you. Jisung started to get a sour taste in his mouth at how your family treated you but he knew he couldn’t say anything since he was staying in their home and he didn’t want to be rude and make things more difficult for you. Just then the front door opened and a lilting sweet voice called out catching everyone’s attention.

”Hello! Is anyone home?!” Called out the voice loudly into the home.

Jisung watched as all of your brothers immediately raced off the couch and run to the front door. Your mother even rushed out of the kitchen to greet whoever had just come home. Jisung stood politely as you walked out of the kitchen to stand in the doorway with a look of soft concern on your face. He immediately made his way to your side and slipped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

”Are you okay?” He asked softly and you smiled warmly up at him before nodding your head.

”Now I am, thanks to you.” You whispered to him before pressing a kiss to his cheek sweetly. He grins down at you and pulls you into a quick warm hug.

”Want to go for a walk around the property after lunch?” He asked hopefully and you smiled warmly up at him as your eyes sparkled adoringly up at him.

”I would love that.” You gushed out to him fondly and Jisung couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as his body warmed at your affection.

”And who’s this handsome man?” Came the lilting voice once more and Jisung watched as your whole face instantly shut down and became blank before you both turned to the person who had entered your family’s home.

An older woman who had similar features to yours stood in the middle of your family as they clamored around her happily, Jisung could see that she wore designer clothes and had her hair tied up in a trendy updo while her face had light natural makeup covering it. While he could see the similarities between the two of you there was just something about the woman that set Jisung on edge, like an underlying tone of over exaggeration as if she was trying too hard. He had already written her off in his mind as he felt you stiffen slightly next to him and his mind turned back to you with worry.

”Bong-Cha Eonni.” You greet her with a bow and Jisung watches as the woman watches you with a smug look on her face. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

”I asked who the handsome man next to you is.” Your sister said rudely and Jisung frowned softly at her words before relaxing as your hand came to wrap around his back gently. While he knew he shouldn’t say anything he truly did not like how your family treated you and wanted to rush you away from them and back to his family home where he knew you were more comfortable.

”This is my husband, Han Jisung.” You introduced him to her and Jisung watched as your Eonni’s eyes raked up and down his form with barely contained lust shining through them. He tightened his arm around your waist before bowing to your Eonni.

”It’s a pleasure to meet you Eonni.” He greeted her and watched with satisfaction as her lips twisted distastefully at his mention of her honorific. He smiled pleasantly while watching her scoff at him and he felt pride in being able to draw a line and boundary between them. The fact that she boldly eyed with lust as you weren’t standing next to him made his hackles rise in disgust.

”Yes, yes, when is lunch ready?” Bong-Cha asked quickly and your mother stepped closer to her while wrapping her in her arms.

”Don’t worry sweetheart. Lunch will be ready shortly. Won’t it?” Your mother explained to your Eonni before turning towards you with a harsh look. You nodded your head before looking up at Jisung with a worried look on your face. He knew you had seen the same look on your Eonni’s face that he had when she eyed him and he felt his heart crack at your concern of leaving him with her and your family. Things were starting to make more sense to Jisung then, your worry and stress of returning home to your family was becoming clearer to him

”Let me help you.” Jisung said softly to you and your eyes widened at his soft request.

”Oh you don’t have to do that. She can make lunch all by herself.” Your Eonni called out to him. “Besides I’d like to get to know my brother in law better.” She cooed with saccharine sweetness in her tone that made Jisung shiver with unease.

”No, she’s been cooking by herself for hours now. I’d like to help my wife now.” He insisted with just a dismissive look back at your Eonni. She scowled softly before huffing softly and Jisung took that as an answer before guiding you back into the kitchen with a hand placed at the small of your back.

Lunch was a lively affair as everyone sat at the long dining table. Your Eonni had tried to force Jisung to sit next to her but he had successfully asked one of your brothers to switch seats with him so that he could sit next to you with the excuse that he hadn’t been able to spend much time with you since you both had arrived. You had gratefully held his hand in your lap after that and Jisung had made sure to slide his chair slightly closer to you for more comfort.

”Bong-Cha is one of the top accountants in her company is on the fast track to becoming a manager of her department.” Your mother told everyone proudly and Jisung nodded his head as he continued to eat his meal that you had lovingly prepared for everyone.

”Gongjag this is delicious. Thank you for the meal.” He said fondly to you and you turned to him with a wide smile on your face as your cheeks heated with a soft blush that drove him wild with affection for you.

”It’s alright I guess. It could use some salt.” Bong-Cha piped up and Jisung frowned at her as she smiled sweetly across the table at him.

”Yes, you’re right Bong-Cha it could use some salt.” Your mother agreed and Jisung darted his eyes to you to see your shoulders slump slightly. “So tell us Bong-Cha, have you met any potential husbands while you’re working in the big city?” Your mother asked effectively bringing all the attention back to your Eonni who preened under the attention. JIsung sat there silently watching as your mother and father stacked praise upon praise to your Eonni while degrading and making comments about your life as well. Even your brothers paid more attention to your Eonni than they did you and Jisung could feel himself growing angrier and angrier with your family at the disrespect they showed you.

But you just sat there as if this wasn’t new to you, as if you were used to this type of treatment. It was such a stark contrast to how you were with him and his friends and family that he was amazed at how different the two sides of you were. While you were with him you were confident and assertive almost driven in your command of any situation. You stole the spotlight from him at every event and you did it so gracefully that it seemed effortless to you. But now you were overshadowed by your Eonni all thanks to your parents’ skewed view of their children. It seems that you are only second best to your Eonni in your parents’ eyes and Jisung can’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how they couldn’t see how wonderful you are and how caring you are to everyone around you.

I’m just worried that you’ll think differently of me after this trip. And I don’t want that. I don’t want things to change between us. Your words come back to him and suddenly it hits him like a truck, this is what you had meant. You knew that he would see how your family treats you as second best to your sister and that your role in the family was lesser than all your siblings and you hadn’t wanted him to view you like that as well. Jisung’s heart suddenly shattered in his chest at your implication and he suddenly gripped your hand tightly in his, causing you to turn to him worriedly. His eyes connected with yours instantly as he stared at you and your mouth fell open softly before understanding filled eyes, he watched as emotions swirled in your beautiful orbs and he forced himself to maintain eye contact with you. He watched heartbrokenly as you worked through your emotions of having him understand why you had been worried about coming home but as he continued his tight grip of your hand he watched as the emotions cleared and happiness and gratitude filled your face. You knew he wouldn’t view you like your family viewed you and that he would remain at your side through all of it.

When you lifted his hand to your lips and gently pressed a kiss to his knuckles Jisung couldn’t keep the blush or the loving grin off his face. He could feel your connection with each other grow and swell around you as your family continued to sing your Eonni’s praises. But while your family’s words were probably meant to hurt and demean you, Jisung could see how unaffected you were now with him by your side. Pride swelled in his chest and he felt as if he couldn’t be more grateful to his Halmeoni for finding you and bringing you into his life.

*-*-*-*

The Christmas celebration was in full swing and Jisung found himself stuck to Minho’s side as the crowd that was attending was slightly overwhelming for him. He loved having his family around but they were a large group and then to add in your family which was also large and all of the friends of each side of the family, it was all a little bit too much for him. His eyes darted around the room until they landed on you as you stood with his Eomeoni and Halmeoni, and Mindeulle happily chatting to his aunts about who knows what.

”They make a pretty picture, don’t they?” Minho asks softly as his eyes follow you and Mindeulle as you both begin to walk back towards them.

”Yes, they do.” Jisung says softly in a quiet sigh. You’re dressed in a beautifully stunning red sequined dress that has white fur trip at the top of it as it showcases your delectable shoulders to him, Jisung had a hard time controlling himself when you had exited the bathroom this afternoon after getting changed and he found that he still had a hard time keeping his hands to himself during this party.

Just as the two of you had made it back to their sides, with Mindeulle happily cuddling into Minho’s side with a kiss pressed to his cheek as his hand protectively slipped over her rounded stomach, Jisung spots your mother and Eonni making their way towards the four of you. He stiffens slightly next to you but you don’t catch his movement as you happily begin chatting with Mindeulle about her pregnancy.

”I’m so happy and grateful that the two of you are here. But you’re so close to your due date. Is it really safe enough for you to travel like this?” You ask Mindeulle who smiles warmly at your concern before she nods her head.

”We’re far enough away from my due date that the doctor said that traveling would be uncomfortable but safe if we traveled by car. Flying is out of the question but car rides are still safe.” Mindeulle explained and Minho nodded his head at her explanation.

”We just took a little longer of a car ride with frequent stops to make sure her comfort was priority.” Minho explained and you nodded your head at his words.

”Well I’m so grateful that you two made the trip. I’m so happy to spend this time with you.” You told them fondly and they both smiled warmly at you before nodding their heads. While the three of you had been talking Jisung had silently watched as your mother and Eonni had continuously gotten closer to your group before they were right in front of you without your knowledge.

”And when will you become pregnant and start a family with Jisung?” Asks your Eonni rudely as she butts into your conversation with Mindeulle and Minho. Jisung tightens his arm around your waist as you stiffen at your Eonni’s voice causing you to turn to her with a slightly frown on your face.

”Eonni, that’s not something we should talk about here.” You gently scold her and your mother scoffs softly at your words.

”Can’t even get pregnant right can you?” Your mother scolded you harshly and Jisung felt you flinch back against him as your Eonni smirked smugly at you. Rage boiled up in Jisung as he stood there having to stomach listening to your mother’s angry words and your sister’s condescending tone. He tugged you back into his chest protectively and felt you melt softly against him soaking up his comfort and reassurance. “Bong-Cha should’ve married Jisung. She’s obviously the better choice for him.” Your mother snipped hatefully at you and suddenly silence fell over the group as Bong-Cha preened at her mother’s words. Feeling something snap within him Jisung effortlessly moved you to stand behind him and he stood tall in front of your mother and Bong-Cha who both looked at him expectantly.

”Yah!” He snapped angrily and loudly causing those around them to all quiet and turn towards your group. “You must have lost your mind if you think Bong-Cha would be a better fit for me.” He said loudly and disgustedly as he threw a look of contempt towards Bong-Cha who shrieked under his ugly attention. “Gongjag, is my wife and you will treat her with the respect that she deserves.” He says angrily towards the two wide eyed women as they stare at him with shock written across their faces. “Gongjag, is the love of my life, my inyeon. And she will always be my inyeon. She’s the only one who has been able to not only hold my heart but also calm it when my life becomes too overwhelming. Just because you can’t see how special and precious she is doesn’t give you the right to degrade her and try to drag her down. I won’t allow you to treat her like this anymore.” He boldly tells the women in front of him confessing to everyone there at the party that you are the only one for him and he’s the only one for you. He can feel your hand gripping the back of his dress shirt tightly in your fist as your body hovers at his back comfortingly allowing him to continue on with his tirade towards your mother and Bong-Cha. “I wish I could be a source of comfort for her like she is for me and I strive to be that for her every day. You will treat her with the respect that she deserves or we will no longer grace you with our presence.” Jisung says confidently and watches as your mother grows flush in her face as anger fills her while Bong-Cha looks on with regret and embarrassment coloring her face.

”Then don’t bother coming back!” Snapped your mother and Jisung stands taller in front of you protectively as he feels your hand slowly let go of its tight grip on his shirt and relax against his back providing warmth to him. Jisung just nods his head at your mother before turning his back to both her and Bong-Cha to face you and wrap his arms around you. You’re staring up at him with wide shocked eyes that hold a bit of concern in them as they gaze up at him. When your hand comes up to cup his cheek he happily leans into your touch.

”Are you alright? Do you feel an anxiety attack coming on?” You ask him softly and he shakes his head as he grins down at you.

”I feel nothing but love for you.” He whispers to you and your answering beaming smile nearly blinds him before he leans down and presses his lips to yours lovingly. “I’m sorry if I was too bold to them. But I couldn’t allow them to treat you like that anymore.” He confessed and you quickly shook your head at him before kissing him again.

”Thank you so much for sticking up for me. No one has ever done that for me.” You admitted to him and Jisung proudly grins at you.

”I will always protect you and stick up for you. You’re my inyeon.” He whispers to you sweetly and you grin up at him before he kisses you once more letting the love the two of you have for each other just pour out of you. Minho tsks softly at your display of affection as Mindeulle shushes him softly.

”Not in front of the babies!” Minho scolds the two of you causing the two of you to burst out into laughter at his antics.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[kanyerealdaughter]

#ASS OR BOOBS PT ||

characters | gojo satoru , choso kamo , nanami kento , hiromi higuruma.

sexual content (fem,reader) - part one here.

—————————————————————————

SATORU GOJO - " gojo which one do you prefer more ass or boobs..?"

" huh?" caught off guard by your question, satoru lets out a snort but he pauses, thinking for a moment before speaking.

" both."

" noo you gotta pick one satoruu.."

" you're seriously going to make me pick? hm." an amused hum escapes his throat as he pretends to contemplate over your question.

" why do you even want to know? trying to figure out my type in women?"

" maybe... just pick one..!" you rolled your eyes getting fed up

" damn, you're impatient." satoru lets out a sigh, he pauses for a moment before speaking again.

" ass." he murmurs, finally giving you a clear answer.

—————————————————————————

CHOSO KAMO - " choso do you like ass better or boobs..?"

" uh- what kind of question is that?" he asked, a blush tinging his cheeks as he shifted uncomfortably.

" cho it's okay just pick one.." you giggle quietly as you see him blush.

choso's lips curled into a slight pout, slightly annoyed at your insistence.

" why do i have to pick? i-i mean, it's not like it matters or anything." he muttered, avoiding eye contact with you. but, the more he thought about it, the more curious he became. after a brief moment of silence, he glanced back at you, his cheeks still flushed.

" i don't know...both?"

" only oneee..!"

" fine." he said, his voice reluctant. "if i had to choose... i'd pick boobs.. w-wait.. i don't know..." choso let out a defeated sigh not knowing which one to pick he loves both equally.

—————————————————————————

KENTO NANAMI - " kento...?" you called out to him looking up at him in the same bed.

" yes? is there something troubling you?" his arms remained firmly wrapped around your waist, keeping you in the comforting embrace. nanami's expression softened.

you shook your head no. " no i just have a question..."

" go ahead. you can ask me anything." nanami's voice was gentle yet firm, he gently ran his fingers over your back.

" um do you like ass or boobs more..?"

nanami's face turned a subtle shade of pink at the unexpected question. he had anticipated something more serious to be troubling you. clearing his throat, he collected his composure, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor.

" well, that's... unexpected." nanami rubbed the back of his neck, contemplating how to response. after a moment, he let out a small chuckle, unable to hide his amusement.

" honestly, i prefer personality."

“ okay so ass..?” you giggle knowing deep down you was right.

—————————————————————————

HIROMI HIGURUMA - " hiromi...?"

" mm..." he mumbles against your, his grip on your waist tightening. " still sleepy, babe." he peppers your shoulder with kisses, pressing his chest against your back. his breath fans against you neck, still a little morning groggy.

" well wake up... i gotta question.." you said trying not to say rudely but this question has been on your mind all night.

he lets out a soft huff, burying his face in your shoulder.

" it's so early..." he whines against your skin, not really wanting to leave the comfort of your arms.

" can you ask later?"

" do you like ass or boobs better.?" you blurted out.

he blinks in surprise, suddenly much more wide awake. he goes still for a moment.

" you're... asking me that now?" he asks, pulling back to look at you.

you nodded waiting for his question

he studies you a moment, his gaze roaming over your face. seeing that you're serious, he lets out a light huff.

" if i answer honestly... will you just laugh at me?"

" noo i won't i promise..!"

he gives her a doubtful look but answers anyway. he's terrible at keeping secrets from you.

" promise you won't make fun of me?" he asks again you nodded slowly.

he lets out a soft hum, his tired gaze watching you tracing his jaw. he turns his head, leaning into your touch as you runs over his skin.

"... i like your hips." he says finally.

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - if i missed anyone lmk.. i’m not sukuna tho . *reposted*

words - 0.7k

», ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

copyright ©️. ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ . «

[mixes-archive]

SUPER GRAPHIC ULTRA MODERN GIRL ✰

Arcee x fem! human! reader

SUMMARY: Being unabashedly feminine while working in a male-dominated field is EXHAUSTING. But thank Primus Arcee and you have each other to cope.

TAGS: winners possibly winning, cute fluff, the stove is not even on yet-burn, shitting on men a bit in spirit of this song

A/N: I BET THIS WASNT THE COMBACK ANY OF YOU WERE EXPECTING LOLOL - I won’t bore anyone with a long story, my ask box is open if you’re curious about anything.

This is my first fic in years, and my first for Transformers, so I hope its atleast somewhat enjoyable??

Arcee was, well…

confused, if an Autobot can be, at herself and her emotions.

Servos tracing the round part of her helm as she loses herself to her thoughts - about you.

The little human who had somehow, some way, crawled itself into the deepest parts of her processor. And with no great difficulty either, she was almost enamoured with you since she’d first laid her optics on your little form.

Finding reason for that wouldn’t be as hard as anyone would think either - for being such a tough and independent bot, having purely masculine friends doesn’t get tiring. (After you’d told her about the human equivalent of her experience, she was glad she lacked a sense of smell)

Now, she loves her crew, she really does, but first being one of the few feminine-presenting cybertonians and now seemingly the only one on earth (with exception of Airachnid) - it would have been hard not feeling lonely, while also admired by too many.

It was overwhelming and so, so lonely.

They’d previously brought a few humans in on their situation, to put it mildly. Unfortunate souls that couldn’t overlook the brightly coloured, obscenely tall and heavy machines shifting almost magically, in a badly hidden spot.

Of course, luck had been on their side, because they were all willing to stay silent, sometimes even helping out with stuff the autobots couldn’t do themselves.

Yes, they were lucky. But Arcee did not feel that way because as it turned out, they’d all ben men.

Not that she’d treated them as anything less than because of that of course, but she still couldn’t help but crave that true connection of someone likeminded.

So when Bumblebee came crashing into their hideout with a frilly, pink… thing in his servos, she was excited.

You’d looked so adorable, sharing her colour-way even, as if sent by Primus himself, saying: ‘Here Arcee, for all your troubles.’

Arcee made it no secret that she’d claimed you as hers. From the start she was by your side, giving you a comforting glance when Optimus gave you the run-down, and having her servo on the small of your back when you’d eventually met all the others. The others don’t think they’d ever seen her talk that much.

And the sentiment wasn’t one-sided either.

As much as it was upsetting to be basically kidnapped by a (admittedly very cool-looking) Camaro because you’d spotted it- him shifting to bend into a humanoid shape to pet a cat, you did have to admit it wasn’t a terrible situation to be in. At least you now had the confirmation that aliens wouldn’t cause harm to you.

Though once you’d been informed that really, they hadn’t planned on staying on earth as a long as they did, and really, really couldn’t afford to be known about on a bigger scale, you felt sympathy for them.

And something deeper for the nice, pink robot comforting you through all these plot-developments.

You ended up chatting so much that the night ended at dawn, along with a private lesson in motorcycling from Arcee herself. Turned out you actually lived close by and you promised each other to meet again soon.

Maybe it was the excitement of finally meeting someone that you clicked with so well and so quick, maybe the tiredness clouding your brain or maybe the fact that the first person you’ve found yourself attracted to is a 9 foot tall robo-woman, but you kissed her display before running into the safety of your house.

If she had speakers, Arcee is certain the entire neighbourhood would have woken up to hear Katy Perry playing.

[grumpchump]

Adding the full yap because a few people asked for it !

(no fast pass spoilers, I'm not caught up yet anyway!)

I feel like this theme applies to almost every character in the main cast.

First of all, we all know that one of Chase's biggest aspirations is to be a famous singer, even though nobody in his life really thinks he can do it. He seems perfectly aware of this. He knows that everyone thinks his dream is impossible, and maybe part of him thinks the same thing, but he just doesn't care. He's still extremely determined to realize his goals despite what everyone thinks of him.

Buddy especially doesn't think very highly of him (at first!)- throughout a good portion of the season, he constantly assumes Chase is going to give up the stories as soon as they get hard. But as Chase says in Sick Day, it's not his style to give up. He is so much more than what a lot of people expect him to turn out to be and he's so cool and I love him so bad

This applies to Buddy pretty obviously too. He's meant to be a cold and ruthless villain, and he certainly does try to be that. He's tough and more than a little mean at times, but we can see pretty consistently that he isn't as heartless as he might want people (Chase) to think. Even from the beginning when he's determined to antagonize Chase and get his key, he drops hints and helps him to finish the stories.

I always thought the scene in the Cinderfella arc where he tells Chase that he can eat the storybook food was really interesting. Like, he has no incentive to do that. He has no reason not to sit by and watch Chase suffer wanting to eat the desserts. But instead he does this small act that is, whether intentionally or not, actually kinda nice of him. It's just another small moment that shows that the villain persona people expect of him isn't really all that he is.

(This is a smaller thing, but I think with his exterior and how he acts in the books, we kind of expect him to be cunning and hard-working. I believe Punko said in a Q&A that in his free time he's actually an extremely lazy person, contrary to how we usually see him. I'm just mentioning that because I think it's funny and I love him a lot.)

Deacon is an extremely complex character with so many layers that I honestly am still grappling with, this guy's really cool.

A lot of his struggles are with the expectations placed on him. We know his whole life and career have been planned out for him by his parents. There's constantly a lot of pressure on him to work hard at this path that has been chosen for him, but in reality, he doesn't want any of it. My man just wants to read his shitty fantasy novels and chill with horses, give him a break !!

He's also constantly trying to defy his role as the helper key (specifically in Sick Day and The Book of Deacon). I think it's really interesting how he struggles to accept his role. Chase and Buddy don't actively try not to be the hero and the villain, they just naturally are more morally grey with it. Deacon, on the other hand, is almost a little desperate to go beyond being a helper and fall into another alignment, acting carelessly and causing trouble because of it. And the thing is, it makes perfect sense why he'd do it.

Books are very much a source of escapism for him. Actually getting to LIVE OUT the books is extremely exciting. Inside the books, he has a chance to escape his parents' expectations- being the helper, though, he just feels like he has a new set of expectations placed on him. Once he actually gets to be the hero in The Book of Deacon, he learns that this role is just as tough- again, he's trading one set of expectations for another. There's really no winning for this man lol. but im getting a little off topic here.

What Deacon needs is to reject the expectations his parents have placed on him and do what will make him truly happy. We can see how Buddy and Chase sort of naturally deviate from their expectations just through being themselves, but Deacon is still struggling in this process. Deacon is struggling to be himself in the way Buddy and Chase do.

There is still that level of acceptance he needs to have for his current situation though, specially in his helper role. He's still struggling to grasp all that being a helper means and how it's still just as important a role to take on as the hero or villain. He needs to find a way to balance his responsibilities and his happiness.

In Prunella's case, it's a bit harder to say- as of Friends and Family, we haven't gotten to spend as much time with her as the boys, so we're still learning more about her. I think the irony of this little girl getting to play the role of the big strong hero is sort of a subversion of expectations in itself lol.

We've also seen her upbringing. We've seen her mom. We've seen her house. It's a big awesome fairytale mess, and she doesn't really fit into it at all- being more into wilderness survival, she's not really what most people would assume her to be when they see her home life. Nothing wrong with that of course, just worth mentioning. We also learn in Friends and Family that she's very advanced for her age- she's extremely smart and probably a lot more understanding and level-headed about all the key business than I think a lot of other kids would be. I'd say she deviates from what a lot of people would expect of a child her age.

I'd love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts about her character !! I like her a lot and I'm excited to get to know more of her in the story :)

I wanna touch on the Keys last, specifically Silver. This part will be more speculation, so take it with a grain of salt.

In line with the theory about Silver possibly betraying Chase, this theme would apply perfectly. The way we've gotten to know Silver, she's extremely sweet and caring. She acts very selflessly for her family and friends and is eager to lend Chase a helping hand in saving his mom.

What we need to remember is that her first priority is to take care of her family. Helping Chase with his thing is definitely a means to reunite everyone (since he'll need all 12 keys to make his wish anyway), but it may not feel like she's doing enough. Helping her family and taking care of the Keys is her ultimate goal. If she's the heroine of her story, it makes perfect sense that she would take whatever actions necessary to do this.

The problem is, Cinderella Boy follows CHASE as the protagonist. We're rooting for Chase to evade Ex Libris, collect the keys, and save his mom. From this perspective, Silver betraying Chase, going behind his back, etc. would technically be an antagonistic action.

Am I saying that makes her a villainess? No, I really don't think so. But we've come to know Silver as a kind, supporting force for Chase. All I'm saying is, if she really were going behind Chase's back in some way (referring specifically to the letter she writes to Violet at the end of Friends and Family), it would absolutely subvert ours and Chase's expectations of her. It would line up with the theme of defying these expectations.

This theme is another of the many reasons why the Beach Boys arc is so important.

Circling back to Chase and Buddy, the core relationship at the center of the story- up until this point, Chase and Buddy have not cooperated with each other. Just a few episodes ago was the Toffee Break arc, where Buddy was an absolute menace and Chase straight got him thrown off a boat, lol.

But then Chase sees Buddy struggling to light a fire, and he does something unexpected. Even though he and Buddy have spent pretty much every moment together as rivals, he offers Buddy a tip on how to start the fire. He completely subverts what we've come to expect of their relationship. And then Buddy does something even more unexpected by returning the gesture and sharing his fish.

They're meant to be the hero and the villain- complete antagonists to one another. But in this moment they both choose to defy their expected roles and share a small, nice moment.

Later, Chase offers to help Buddy get out of the dangerous situation he's living in, and Buddy assumes he's lying. He doesn't expect Chase to be genuine about it. But like he says in Beach Boys (VI), Chase gets mad at him for doing the same thing, and he realizes he's been wrong about Chase maybe the whole time. Chase is not at all like Buddy expected him to be.

I think the point Chase makes in this episode about their roles as the hero and the villain is extremely important to the story as a whole. Buddy is meant to be the villain, so he's supposed to be a horrible person. Chase is meant to be the hero, so he's supposed to be patient and forgiving. But Chase says it himself- he doesn't care about that. He isn't the perfect protagonist we might expect him to be. He's an extremely kind and good person, yes, but he also has no trouble standing his ground and acting the way HE wants to, despite what everyone thinks of him. And Buddy, while harsh and standoffish, has plenty of moments that showcase how he's actually quite a caring person when he starts to let down his guard around someone.

Hell, even the entire concept of Cinderella Boy as a whole is kind of a subversion of expectations in itself!!!! A boy finds a magical artifact that lets him enter and play out any story he uses it on, but, ironically, he always has to be the princess?? it's amazing i love it

Cinderella Boy shows us consistently that nobody is stuck playing the role everyone expects them to. Nobody is bound to the perceptions that other people have of them, and everyone is free to defy these expectations and be the person they want to be. Chase says it best in Beach Boys (IV): "Nobody should have to accept being the villain if they're trying their best not to be."

To rap up my yap session, Cinderella Boy is a narrative about defying expectations and other people's perceptions of you and being a person of your choosing and everyone should go reread it one billion more times !!!!!!

shout-out to Cinderella Boy and its ongoing theme of defying the expectations everyone has for you and being more than your roots and upbringing, gotta be one of my favorite genders fr

[peppermintquartz]

Chris opens the door and embraces Deacon in a warm welcome. He hugs her back with one arm, the other holding flowers and a case of beer. It feels almost like old times.

"It's been too long, man," she chides. "Come on in. Street's so excited, he's gone out to get this amazing tiramisu we found on one of our dates."

"You didn't have to go to that much trouble," Deacon says, smiling. "Oh that smells great."

"My aunt gave me a surefire chili recipe. We've tested it several times, it's definitely good."

"And you look good. How's everything? The shelter doing okay?"

"Yeah," says Chris. "Thanks to Nichelle, I got in touch with some sympathetic ears and they've been super generous, and I've been able to find a steady roster of volunteers. Plus, with our rep, we're left alone for the most part, and anyone trying anything gets warned off fast by the ones running the block."

Deacon makes a face. "Not sure if that's the safest way to go about things."

"Gotta work both sides of the law now," Chris says with a shrug. Deacon means well but he's still a straight white man who has always lived in privilege. "But my girls are all on the straight and narrow. I've fourteen of them with me, and six have found sponsors to help them to get work permits, which will help with getting full documentation. I'm helping another two cooperate with police because they were smuggled here after being sold by their parents for cash, and the rest... well, we'll get there." She grimaces before grinning. "Sorry. I get excited talking about my work."

"No, no it's good. I'm happy for you." Deacon hands her the colorful bouquet and the beer. "It's great that you found your purpose."

Thanking him for the gifts and rummaging around for a vase or jug for the flowers, she asks, "So how come you're here alone? I was under the impression that it'll be you and Annie. Wine?"

"Water, please. I'm driving." Deacon sits down in one of the chairs around the dining table. She wonders what he notices about the place on his second visit. It's a cozy apartment, despite the industrial elements; she especially likes the new potted herbs Street has insisted upon, even though neither of them can tell a cabbage from a lettuce.

"I, uh, I wanted to chat with you, actually. Not, not chat." Deacon says as he rubs his wedding ring. "I want your advice on something that I need you to keep secret."

An odd feeling tickles the back of her neck. She sits down in the chair beside him, wondering if she should hold her friend's hand. "Sounds serious."

"I think it is." He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, like he's planning to dive into the deep end of a pool. "Chris, how and w-when did you know you're bisexual?"

Chris' eyebrows shoot up. That is definitely not a question she was expecting. "Uh. Okay. For me, I was fifteen and really into a boy, a classmate." Enrique Garcia, she recalls, lean and athletic with the cutest freckle on his right cheek, with a shoulder-length mop of gleaming dark curls. "And then, one day, I met him and his older sister Alina at the mall. She was really nice when we talked and my mind kinda went a little insane thinking how pretty she was and how much I'd love to kiss her."

"And that was... That was how you knew?"

She shrugs. "Some reading up and some very confusing dreams later, I kinda figured it out." She angles her head and studies Deacon. "Are you...?"

"Fifteen, wow." Deacon chews on his lower lip. The tips of his ears are red and he can't meet her eyes. "Maybe I'm too old for this."

"You met someone who's causing you to question everything you knew about your sexuality?"

He ducks his head, still fiddling with his wedding ring. "Yes," he admits quietly. "And I know, I know it's not good, I'm married and I have Annie, it's just really..."

Chris smiles and holds his forearm. "Confusing."

"So confusing," Deacon agrees with a brief chuckle. His voice sounds so unsure and lost that it's disorienting for Chris. That isn't the Deacon she has known for the past decade. "Annie is the perfect woman for me. Like, once I met her and got to know her, I knew she was the one I wanted to marry and have a family with. And I thought that was it. That that is all I would ever need or want."

"But now you've met someone. Some guy."

Ducking his head, Deacon bites his lip and shakes his head. "I'm over fifty, Chris. I shouldn't be having sexuality crises at this age. But, yes. I met some guy."

"He's that special, huh." Chris hopes she doesn't sound judgmental. Having been through this with her own family, she feels for him. And a part of her feels honored that someone she respects so much will choose to come out to her. "Am I the first to know?"

"Yes." He clears his throat. "I never thought I would be interested in a man like that. And yet... I feel happy whenever I see him. I worry about him at work. I hear a song on the radio and it'll remind me of him."

There's something that Deacon is hiding. After so many years as a cop and now helping scared women, she's learned to read between the lines.

Still holding his forearm, she says, "Thanks for trusting me with this, Deac. I'm so honored by your trust."

He sniffs and finally looks at her, his eyes dewy with a hint of tears. "Chris, am I bisexual?"

"You could be," she says. "I can't answer for you. I'm not some mind reader for queer people. You might be attracted to women in general and one guy in particular, and that's normal. Sexuality is a spectrum and the great thing is, you get to define yourself. It may feel overwhelming-"

"Understatement of the year."

"-but I can point you in the direction of some websites or resources you can refer to. Don't be surprised if any are angled at teens, though. Most people who are questioning tend to be young."

"Unlike this old geezer," Deacon jokes weakly. She squeezes his forearm as she grins, then lets go of him.

"You're never too old to learn new tricks, Deac." Taking a deep breath, Chris leans closer and says, "I'm gonna ask something that may be invasive, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you may feel better if you do."

Deacon sighs like he knows what's coming and looks at her.

"Are you seeing this guy?"

The guilt that flickers over Deacon's face tells Chris enough.

"Oh, Deac..." She pulls him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to know about that," he murmurs.

She squeezes him and pulls back enough to smile at him. "I'm your friend, Deac. But you know you can't have him."

He nods, pressing his lips tightly together. "I know. I wish... I don't know what I wish. But Chris... Chris, I'm so happy when I'm with him." There's a waver in his voice. "I didn't know that I could even be this happy with anyone."

Not even with Annie.

The words are not said, but she hears them as clear as day. She hugs him again.

They hear the keys jingle and Deacon straightens, rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes while clearing his throat.

"Hey, Deacon!" Street comes in with an insulated bag and Chris stands up to welcome him with a kiss. His dimples deepen and his eyes light up. "Hey babe. Deac, come here, bring it in."

Deacon smiles and hugs Street. The mask has fallen back in place over Deacon's face and Chris makes sure hers is present too.

"I'll go plate up dinner," she says with a smile, kissing Street again as she passes him and takes the tiramisu from his hands, leaving the two men to catch up. Deacon won't tell Street what he told her; that's not the friendship they have, and she knows he trusts her not to tell anyone what he's revealed to her.

It's not her secret to tell, and Deacon will need time. He'll do the right thing, she's sure. She only hopes he figures out what the right thing for him will be.

[susiekern]

9. the one in Kyoto

warnings: swearing, suggestive, mentions of sex, change of pov's in the last part (it was much easier to me to put what I wanted in like this, sorry)

word count: 1.704

lyrics from: The Apparition - Sleep Token

masterlist

Why did you think that sharing a room with Megumi would be a good idea? Why, God, why? Your brain keeps going in circles as you lay in bed and scroll the reels on Instagram. You really try to focus on anything, from weird 5-minute crafts to tarot card reading, but as soon as the girl starts with how your sign is in a ‘space for love life troubles and enlightenment,’ you block your phone and put it on the nightstand. Love life troubles, yeah, who would've guessed? You don't need an Instagram witch to tell you that. It's been what, two weeks since you've slept with Megumi again… for the first time? One more time, huh? That's what you've been telling yourself, when the next day you found yourself knocking at his door with a coffee and a book or when he invited you for a movie night two days later. It just felt too good. Having someone you're heavily attracted to, you feel comfortable around, and you actually like talking with.

Should you two talk about what's going on? Yeah, definitely. Are you going to be the one to start this conversation? Hell no.

A buzz of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, at least for a moment.

"You’re sure you don't want me to just take the couch?” So focused on texting with Nobara, you don't even notice when Megumi comes back from the bathroom. His hair is a little damp, and he's wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Way too low for your brain to function properly. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Megs, we've slept in one bed like three times this week. Was I uncomfortable back then?” You smile a little, signaling him to the other side of the bed.

“Fair.”

When he lays down, there's a space that feels like a valley between you. Why does it feel awkward? It's not any different from how you've been sleeping two days ago. Well, except now at least you're clothed. Both of you lie on your backs and look at the ceiling like it holds an answer to this unspoken question.

“Yeah, we're not sleeping like that. Come here.” Maybe after a minute or so, Megumi sighs and opens his arms to invite you in. And he doesn't need to repeat himself. In a second you're by his side, head on his chest, and a leg draped over his hips. He rests his arms, one over your waist, the other behind his head, as he leans his cheek on top of your head.

“This is nice.” You murmur into his skin, breathing in the smell of his body wash. “Goodnight, Megs.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

Your alarm is going off, there's a heavy weight on your body, and you're overheating. Great.

“Turn this shit off.” The weight moves slightly, only to bury itself more into you, as Megumi groans in the material of your shirt. 

Somehow you manage to reach the nightstand and blindly tap the phone until it stopped screaming. With open eyes now, you can finally see the ‘weight’ that is in fact a bigger part of Megumi's body. You must've shifted throughout the night, because now you're the one lying on your back with the man wrapped around you like he's holding a teddy bear. His face is buried right above your navel, arms keeping you close, so all you can see right now is his messy hair and muscles on his shoulders and back. You sigh and try to move, but his hold is harder than you've anticipated.

“Megs, I need to get up.”

“No, you don't.”

“Um, yes. Yes, I do. I need to be at the event in two hours.” It's like talking to a wall, you think. Megumi couldn't care less, and somehow he wraps his arms even tighter. “If you squeeze me to death, I'll haunt your ass, I swear.”

“5 more minutes, come on.” He raises his head a little to look at you, and hell, how are you supposed to say no to his sleepy eyes and messy hair?

“5 minutes and not one longer.” His head is back where it was before, and you can't stop the smile that makes its way onto your face. One of your arms is on his shoulder, circling the soft skin; the hand of the other is playing with his black strands.

5 more minutes won't hurt, right?

'Why are you never real? Whenever you appear You leave me with that grace’

She should be excited. Trembling with emotions, right? She's at the show of the band she adores, invited by the vocalist whose voice itself wakes up the feelings in her that many people could never. She can see him clearly, standing in the middle of the stage, hands gripping the microphone, words flowing from masked lips with so many emotions behind them it makes her shiver.

‘I am trembling with fear But I know that you will disappear Just as I awake, whisper in my ear ‘

So why is her brain focused on something else? Or rather, someone else. She recalls this morning and how her heart warmed up seeing Megumi right after waking up. How good it felt to lie in his arms, brush her fingers through his hair, and trace his muscles with her fingertips.

‘Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

Her eyes are fixed on Zenin, and a stupid voice in the back of her head tells her he's looking at her too. She wants to believe it. That somehow she managed to catch his attention, that she was in a way special enough for him to spend his time watching her streams and talking to her. He suggested more than once that he actually wanted to get to know her. He showed her he was interested in her thoughts. The hopeless romantic deep inside her mind wanted to think, ‘What if?’.

‘And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade’

What if they kept it up? What if both of them would open up and let the other one in? Would Zenin even be able to do that? With how secure he is about his real life? Hell, would she even allow it to happen in the first place? Trusting someone whose face she's never seen, not even learning his real name or hearing his voice while talking, not singing, seems insane. The rational part of her is saying how stupid she was. Telling her, she shouldn't waste time on either of them, Zenin nor Megumi. Zenin is an unattainable dream of a teenager. A love story written by a fangirl, something she has seen many times on the internet. Megumi is… a challenge. The one she wasn't sure she wanted to take up. A few weeks ago they couldn't stand being in one room without fighting, and now they share a bed and cuddle in the morning? Their relationship is evolving fast, but it only means she isn't sure how thin the ice beneath them is and how long they could keep it up before it collapses.

‘So let's make trouble in the dream world Hijack heaven with another memory now’

He knew she'd be here, obviously. So why did his heart speed up like it was surprised when he saw her? When picking a spot for her, he tried to put her as close as possible, but why? To keep an eye on her? To help himself with just her presence? He knew how pathetic it was, and he didn't need the looks his friends sent his way just minutes ago in their private room when Toge saw y/n’s Instagram story. Why did it even matter?

‘I make the most of the turning tide. It just split what's left of the burning silence’

She wasn't here for him, for Megumi. She was here for Zenin. He once thought he and Zenin were one and the same person, but it's never been true. It took him some time to understand it. Zenin is his mask. The one he'd put on when everyone and everything became too overwhelming, when he couldn't meet their expectations or deal with his own emotions. Because when Megumi was terrified of his own feelings more often than rare, Zenin would put them in beautiful words; he'd let them flow onto the paper, sometimes hidden in sentences so well he himself had a problem with decrypting them.

‘Don’t wait, ‘cause this could be the last time You turn up in the reveries of my mind’

Maybe that's why he reached out to y/n as Zenin. Sure, a part of him wanted to make a little dream of hers come true, but he had to admit to himself it was a selfish act. Talking to her as someone she doesn't see almost every day, someone who didn't start their relationship on a bad note. He wanted an opportunity to open up to her, to show her the part of him no one had seen before. Even if she had no idea that it was part of Megumi. But what is he going to do next? After building two separate relationships with her? Would she hate him if he told her all about it? If she found out that Zenin wasn't real, that it was Megumi all along? That it was his voice she adored so much? That Megumi was too scared to show her his feelings?

‘I wake up to a suicide frenzy Loaded dreams still leave me empty’

He should tell her. Fuck. He should've told her before they had sex again two weeks ago. Before he found comfort in holding her body so close to his own. Before he caught himself missing her, not only her body, just her, throughout the day. But what exactly should he tell her? That he was Zenin? Or that he started falling for her and he doesn't even know when? He will tell her tonight. He has to.

‘I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

any thoughts on charon and virgin reader??

As with most questions to which this should not be my response, I have many. This actually isn't the only ask for Charon x Virgin!Reader content, and I'm happy to give you a taste of what I think he'd be like while I finish up the one-shot I have for it.

Charon (Fallout 3) x Virgin!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Pretty terrified of the idea of fucking a virgin. Charon does not fetishize virginity or inexperience, but he won't be disappointed if he finds out you're a virgin...per se. He's disappointed for you that you're choosing him to be the one to take your virginity, even if the concept doesn't mean anything to you. You deserve better than him. Then again, you'd deserve better than him if you weren't a virgin, and you want him anyway, so it's not a deal-breaker by any means. Just don't be shocked if he seems nervous or distracted.

If he doesn't see you take Rad-X with his own eyes beforehand, he'll make you take some, even if you already have. If there's none around, well. Tough. You won't be doing more than fooling around. He's stubborn, and if you've never had sex before, then you've definitely never had sex with a ghoul before and have no way to know how your body will respond. If there's no Radaway for you to use afterwards, same story. No radiation countermeasures, no love.

Tries his best to be sweet, or the closest he can get. It doesn't come naturally to him, kind words and soft touches and such. It never did in his pre-ghoul years so long ago, and the life he's lived since then has only made him harder, colder. Still, he can kiss you softly, pet and caress you as gently as he can. Maybe think of something nice to say (though that is a hard "maybe"). He'll hold your hand when you get nervous and even cuddle with you a little when it's all over, another move that isn't typical of him.

He's worried about how big he is, but he's also just worried about his lack of finesse in general. He's a large, lumbering guy with big, clumsy hands...hands it isn't hard to forget the strength of in the heat of the moment. That looming fear of his own strength isn't an unfounded one; you'll likely come out a little bruised no matter how gentle he tries to be. Spends a lot of his energy during sex holding himself up off of you so he doesn't crush you with his weight if he's on top.

He'll guide you if you want (or need), but by and large, he'll prefer if you're the one in charge. What do you like? How naked do you want to be? What position do you want to be in? If you're so virginal that you're both unknowledgeable as well as inexperienced, and thus unable to provide much input that isn't right in the moment, he's gonna keep things as simple as possible.

Secretly spends the entire first time the two of you have penetrative sex assuming you'll regret it sooner or later. You'd think that would ruin it for him, and it certainly...colors it, but overall he's determined to make the best of what he's been offered and try to show you a decent time. Hopes that if he can at least make it good for you, you might regret it a little less.

Has difficulty finishing. He normally does anyway, as he has trouble relaxing enough to be in the moment a lot of the time. But the problem multiplies tenfold if he knows it's your first time; all the fixating he's doing on you, monitoring you for signs of distress or pain, distracts him from his own pleasure. He might be able to relax enough to cum if you finish him off with your hands or mouth, but he likely won't climax otherwise.

Won't touch you again for at least a few days afterwards. Wants you to have time to properly recuperate more than he wants to feel you wrapped around him again (which is a LOT). Even if you came out of that first time rather intact, he'll treat you like he absolutely savaged you.

The possessive animal part of his brain is suddenly a lot more attached to you afterwards, and he's even more protective than he was previously. It's probably just a coincidence.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Trouble | Batfam x Batmom x Batsis

Synopsis: Vivian and Bruce get a call from Valerie's teacher and they are in it for a shock to know what their daughter and her big brothers’ did.

Vivian has been called by the homeroom teachers of Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian numerous times when they were still in school. Well, Damian is still in school and there are times when she would still get the call from them too for whenever he is a “smartass” (their words, not her, and she didn't appreciate the term too but they too claim that was what his classmates would call him). It was normal to be called for the antics they do and the words they use in school, they are exposed to many things at a young age with their duties as Robin. 

But when Valerie started school, while she did expect to get a call from her daughter's homeroom teacher once in a while, she didn't expect it to be something so serious that she would find her husband parking the same time she was at the school parking lot.

“You got the call too?” Vivian asked him.

“Yeah. Is it really that bad that we're both needed?” Bruce went to her side so they can head inside together. 

Vivian gave him an incredulous look, “What can a five-year-old do? This is preschool?”

“What did you do when you were five that got you in trouble?” 

Vivian shrugged. “I don’t know – I didn't stick around that much anyway, but I do remember telling my pre-school teacher to ‘fuck off’ and raised the middle finger at them too. And I remember biting my teacher's hand until it bled.”

“Any reason?”

“I was seven then, the school wouldn't admit it, but that teacher of mine was a creepy-pedo and he tried to touch me. My mom taught me a thing or two to spot them and when he got  a little handsy I bit it so hard the nurses said he needed stitches.”

“I don't think that's the case with Val, it better not be,” Bruce growled at the last part.

“If one of her teachers even touch her in a way they're not, I swear, they rather want Batman's justice than the Phoenix's.”

Bruce knew that to be true. In interrogations, Superman and Batman are called the good cop and the bad cop – the carrot and the stick. But with tougher cases, he prefers to bring in Vivian; they were bad cop and bad cop. The stick and the crowbar. And both scenarios he was the stick.

Arriving at Valerie's homeroom, they found their daughter sitting at her desk, alone, while drawing on a pad with crayons. After greeting Valerie's teacher, Vivian and Bruce went to their daughter to greet her. Valerie smiled at the sight of them and welcomed the kisses they placed on her cheeks.

“What happened, baby?” Vivian asked.

Valerie pouted and went back to her drawing.

Vivian and Bruce exchanged looks in confusion and worry. 

“Val, what are you drawing?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” Valerie muttered and continue to color on her drawing. 

“Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Pryor-Wayne, why don't we head here to talk?” Val's teacher gestured to her table at the very front where two seats were.

Leaving their daughter's side, Vivian and Bruce settled at the seats and asked what happened. Valerie's teacher went straight to the story, how the class was doing their paintings, and then – while the whole thing did start with Dalton Fallbrook putting on her hair and Valerie responded to flipping him over her shoulder, then her saying…

“What?” Bruce said, completely in shock.

“I just have to know, does Valerie usually hear that language at home?” 

Bruce turned to Vivian. His wife glared at him and said, “You know I stopped when Valerie was born!”

“You sometimes slip, Viv.”

“I do not! Besides, I don't use those in one go.”

“No one is pointing fingers, Mrs. Pryor-Wayne –” Valerie's teacher began.

“Tell him that! He's pointing fingers at me!” Vivian pointed her thumb at Bruce. “You know what – Val, baby, can you come over here for a sec?”

“Okay!” Valerie got up and went to her mother's side.

“Your teacher said you said a bad word –”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” Valerie said.

Bruce groaned and ran his hand down his face.

“Yes, yes, baby, no need to say it again. Don't ever say it again,” Vivian told her in a gentle voice. “I just want to know where did you… did you get it from me? From Mom?”

“No,” Valerie fiddled with the hem of her jacket.

“Then who, Val?” Bruce asked.

Oh the names she gave…

It made Bruce and Vivian sigh loudly and call everyone in their group chat to come to the manor.

~*~

“What's with the emergency call?” Dick asked, arriving at the sitting room.

“Yeah, I was at a job,” Jason walked in, and he went straight to where Val was to pick her up and swing her around. “Miss you, baby bird!”

“Jay!” Valerie giggled, but when he stopped she pouted and said: “I got in trouble.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“That is exactly what we're all going to talk about now,” said Vivian, who was standing there with Bruce and Alfred with the very latter holding a jar. A very familiar jar to Jason.

“Hey, isn't that the curse jar we had back then?” He asked Alfred. “I thought that broke.”

Setting down Valerie, the girl ran to where her mother was and sat on the couch between her parents. With everyone gathered – Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cassandra, Stephanie, and Barbara – Vivian got to the point.

“Bruce and I were called to Val's pre-school earlier because of an incident,” she began.

“Who's the kid who needs a beating?” Jason asked.

“No one… Val already beat him up.”

“What did he do?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest.

Valerie pouted. “He pulled on my hair.”

“That's it,” Damian was about to leave but Dick held him down.

“Like Vivian said, Valerie already handled the situation,” Bruce said.

“How?” Tim asked, very much curious, like the others.

“She flipped him over her shoulder,” Vivian answered. And before they could celebrate, she added, “Then she said a very very bad word which she said she learned from you all.”

“Which is?” Tim asked.

Before Vivian could say, Valerie said: “Stupid fucking bitch!”

Silence came to the room. One that was so fragile that a simple tap would break, and it did break when Dick and Jason laughed so loudly. 

“It is not a laughing matter, Master Dick, Master Jason!” Alfred told them.

“Come on, Alfred, it is a little funny,” Jason shrugged.

Seeing Dick and Jason were laughing because of what she said, Valerie repeated it: “Stupid fucking bitch!”

Dick and Jason laughed again.

“Val, let’s not say that word again,” Duke tried to get her to stop.

“Well, I think this answers the question we were going to ask on who taught her that,” Vivian crossed her arms over her chest.

“Come on! We're not the only ones who say that!” Dick said. “I use ‘Damian’ whenever I'm in deep shit.�� And he does, Dick would always say: “You stupid piece of… Damian.” instead of shit.

“Hey!” Damian exclaimed.

“It's not like I taught her how to use it!” Jason said.

They turned to Tim. 

Tim sat up. “I would never! Sure, do I curse whenever the gremlin pisses me off, but that doesn't mean I would sit down and teach her how to use it.”

They turned to Stephanie, she said to all of them: “Hey! The only thing I taught Val is how to do puzzles and riddles!”

Then to Barbara. 

“No,” Barbara simply said.

Then to Damian.

Damian glared at them. “I wouldn't – not to Val.”

“Okay, so no one taught Val how to curse,” Bruce sighed in relief.

“Hey, how come no one questioned Cass and Duke?” Jason said.

“Do you really think they would curse around Val?” Tim raised a brow at him.

They were sure a halo appeared atop the heads of Cassandra and Duke.

“So, that means, she just learned how to use it after hearing us use them,” Vivian groaned. “Right, to fix this we agreed to bring back an old thing we had in the Manor… Jason is familiar with this since it was with him this started.”

“A curse jar?” Damian snorted. “Like that will work. I don't see Todd having the cleanest mouth of us all.”

“You have no idea the innuendo that has, do you?” Stephanie smirked.

“The what?” 

Before Stephanie could explain, Alfred coughed, catching their attention, and pointed to Valerie's direction. There was a child present!

Jason snickered. “Is it still a dollar per curse word?”

“I don't like that tone, wanna make it five per curse word?” Vivian raised a brow at them.

“No!” They all exclaimed.

“Sure about that, Ma? Last time, the both of us were neck-a-neck with our donations to the curse-jar.”

“And that money got us to buy the new television that broke down,” said Alferd. “And some items in our grocery list.”

It was in Jason's time in the manor that Bruce realized he was paying so little for groceries and wondered how much cursing Vivian and Jason do around the manor. So much that it could pay for groceries and a T.V..

“So, any more cursing, we put a dollar here,” Vivian pointed to the jar. “So, before we start, wanna get something out?” She covered Valerie's ears. “Now is the time.”

Damian raised his hand. “Who was the bastard who messed with Val? I'll fuckign kill him.”

“You're not going to kill anyone – besides, he's a kid!” Bruce told Damian.

Jason raised his hand. “Did Val really flipping off the fucker?”

“Yes, she did. And I'm proud of her for it. The little shit deserved it anyway,” Vivian said.

Dick raised his hand. “Can I go now? I need to take a Damian.”

“I hate you, Grayson,” Damian glared at Dick.

Tim raised a hand. “Shit. Fuck. Bitch… that's it, just wanna get that out.”

Vivian sighed. “Anyone else who wants to get it out of their system?” 

No one said they were good.

“Alright, from now on,” Alfred began. “If anyone curses, it will be fined a dollar. It starts now.”

Silence came to the manor.

Valerie got down the couch and went to Damian, “Play?” she asked him.

“Homework first then we play,” Damian told her.

Valerie huffed and agreed to his terms.

When they left, Jason turned to Vivian, “How come she goes to the gremlin to play? The little fucker knows nothing about playing house!”

Alfred and Bruce sighed and held out the jar to him.

Jason grumbled and shoved two dollars.

“That's a dollar too much,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, because I paid for the next one. This is a shitty plan, didn't stop me from calling you—” he dropped another dollar “— you a piece of shit, B.” 

Silence again.

“So,” Tim began. “Does this also apply to patrols?”

An idea popped in Bruce, Vivian, and Alfred's head, and the smirks on their faces made everyone else groan. Annoyed with the new rule. 

[rhaellatully]

B-Side (Fanfiction)

AO3

FF.net

AN/ Congratulation to Arcane for making me write again after 4 years... I really need to get back to my WIPs...

Anyway, a very very big thank you to @beforetimes who beta this fic and made it some much better (and also went through the trouble of correcting all of my mistakes)

She looks at her father in the eye one more time before she pulls the pin. She doesn’t hear the boom, instead she sees this orb, and she is being torn apart by it. The world spins around her. It pulls her in all directions. She can’t tell where is up or down. She wants to throw up. It spins, it shakes, she can’t see, until the kaleidoscope appears. She doesn’t hear the boom, but she hears her screams.

Something escapes her hands, followed by a loud noise. Beer spills on a wooden floor. 

Jinx stares at her hands: something is... different. Are her nails shorter and-

“Everything alright, Powder?”  A familiar voice calls.

She turns around and looks up. And there he is, standing behind the bar, like he always did.

“Vander?”

He looks normal, but older. Grey hairs and wrinkles are accentuated by the frown on his face.

“Are you okay?” He says, a worried look on his face.

Jinx saw and heard him so many times before, but never like this. He looks like he should have been. Like the doctor never found him. Like she never gave him to the doctor. Like she never killed him the first time, or the second. Like she never jinxed him.

What is going on? They should be dead. They were meant to die together. To free Vi from all the pain and suffering they bring. All the horrors she created were meant to be blown away. Reduced to ashes. Nothing but a bad memory. One that the Piltie would kiss away and make better.

So, why?

Vander is stepping away from the bar now. He’s coming toward her. She doesn’t know how to move anymore. She can’t run, but she can’t stay. 

The bell rings. Her head snaps toward it and the air is gone from her lungs. Mylo and Claggor walk toward her. They’re different too. They’re bigger. Claggor’s cheeks are smaller. Mylo’s hair is shorter than it should, and he has this moustache. They never looked like this, she never thought of them looking like this before. They’re different but they’re good different.

Vander’s hand is on her shoulder. It’s warm, so warm. His other hand came to wipe away a tear she hadn’t realised was on her face.

“What’s going on Powder?”

Uh, she made it to heaven, somehow.

She’s good different too, she finds out, looking at herself in the mirror after Vander sends her downstairs. He thinks she pulled one-too-many all nighters lately. Yet, the bags under her eyes are the smallest she’s ever seen. Her cheeks also look fuller. Her hair is shorter- no longer, she had cut it, then Ekko fixed it shorter. And there’s this pink strand, the same colour as Vi’s hair.

And her eyes too, no more shimmer, probably no more use for it here.

She doesn’t get to look at them for long, because a hand comes to cover them. In less than a second she spins her attacker around and he’s pinned against the wall. 

“Ouch! Sorry! Sorry!”

With trembling hands, she lets go of him.

“Ekko?” She asks, and a part of her wants to be wrong, wants him to have survived the battle. He had his time loop thingy, he shouldn’t have been able to lose. He should be alive, he has no business being here. He’s the boy savior. Unless he sacrificed himself to save someone, or everyone. He shouldn’t have died. People like her should die, not people like him. He wanted to make a good world, a better world. That’s what he should be doing, not being dead here with her.

But then, he gives her that kind smile as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay, I won’t try to surprise you anymore.” He says, and she doesn’t care anymore.

He’s dragging her through the streets as she tries to keep up while having no idea where they’re going. He won’t let go of her hand. He grabbed it at the Last Drop, and insisted that they had to go. She wanted to ask where, but lost the ability the second they stepped out. 

Zaun is good different, too. There’s so much light. The air smells better and it feels easier to breathe, almost like Topside. The buildings are not on the verge of collapsing. The people are walking around carefree, the children are running down the street laughing.

Heaven is a nice place.

They reach the bridge, there are no barricades, just shops, people and enforcers who look... friendly. She remembers the bridge of her life. She passes the spot where her parents died. A man is selling food there. 

Ekko guides her to where they could have died together and she loses her footing. He catches her. 

“Sorry,” he says, an apologetic smile on his face, “Maybe we should walk.”

Jinx wants to say no, because if they are not running, why would he hold her hand? But he doesn’t let go. 

They reach their destination. It’s the academy. She doesn’t understand what they’re doing here. Or why so many people are trying to get there. Ekko keeps walking but she doesn’t move. He stops rather than letting go of her hand.

He smiles at her again.

“I’m sure we made it. They’ve increased the number of seats available again. And even if they hadn’t, we’re not the ones who need it.”

She thinks she understands what he’s saying, but it doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense.

He starts walking, and she follows all the way to the walls where the results of the entrance exam are plastered. 

“Let’s start at the bottom.” he says, and she lets him. Because if their names are on the boards somewhere, it has to be at the bottom, right? They’re brilliant, she knows it, but the Pilties and their academies care more for prim and proper language than groundbreaking ideas. Even with all the brains in the world, all it takes is one Piltie with a nice bag of money and their sit goes to someone else. Why bother trying? Just to be stuck in a classroom full of Pilties and fancy professors trying to teach them stuff they could learn on their own from books. They’d have easy access to the library, though.

They make their way up and their names don’t seem to be there. He seems so focused, as if he was looking for the solution to a complex equation. She sees him swallow hard as his hand rises higher. Will she see his face break again?

Then he laughs his hand is at the top of the board, and so are their names. Ekko first place, her second. 

“How?” It escapes her lips before she can think ‘it’s heaven, of course they’re there’. But Jinx never wanted to join the academy. So, why?

“Did you fill out the exam in crayon?” He asks with that damn smile on his face. 

Right, it’s his heaven too.

“We’re in the fucking academy,” she says, and she hears him laugh again.

This time he grabs her and swipes her off her feet. He spins her around once, before putting her down, still holding her. His forehead pressed against hers. She’s crying again. She doesn’t know why. 

Ekko’s hands leave her sides to grab her face again. His thumbs wipe away the tears. And he looks at her, that same way he looked at her toward the end. There’s something she doesn’t understand in his eyes. Until he looks down at her lips. Is he going to… kiss her?

He leans toward her, she leans away. He freezes and looks at her, confused. She leans toward him. Their lips meet. It’s nicer than she imagined.

Heaven really is a nice place.

They return to the Last Drop. The second they walk through the door, silence falls, and all the heads turn toward them. Everyone is here; Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Benzo. She sees more familiar faces around, and even Babette is looking at her with hope in her eyes.

“We made it!” shouts Ekko, and cheers erupt all around them.

Mylo almost runs at her arms stretched out, she expects him to strangle her, but he hugs her. She doesn’t have time to react before Claggor joins him. Jinx feels warm, like the sun itself is holding her.

“Vi would be so proud of you,” Mylo whispers and she feels cold all over.

She thinks she’s going to cry again, but she hears someone say, “Let her breathe.”

She almost fights her way out of their arms to turn around.

He’s here.

And he’s good different, too.

His eye. He doesn’t need her to give him his medicine. His scar doesn’t look as bad as it used to. He stands straighter. His skin is pinker. 

His smile is brighter than she’s ever seen it.

“Well done, Powder,” he says as he hugs her, “I knew you’d do great.”

“Silco,” she doesn’t cry, this time she laughs.

Heaven really is a place worth dying for.

The next day she’s nursing a violent hangover.

“I’ve never seen you indulge yourself so much before.” Vander tells her.

“Oh, she deserves it!” Silco joins in, “Before long, the two of them will be sitting on the Council.”

“Or not, if they don’t want to.”

“Of course!”

“As happy as I am to see the two of you like this, can you go do it elsewhere? My head is killing me.”

“Of course, Powder.”

It feels weird to hear Silco call her that, but she could get used to it.

She feels better in the afternoon when Ekko comes to find her. He says they should go tell Vi. She doesn’t understand what he means. But ever since she died, she’s learned to go with the flow.

They go to her lair. Even that place is brighter and warmer. There are different trinkets everywhere, and railings. It still feels like her, but a different her. A happier her, maybe.

They go to the tent. There’s a shrine to Vi. Why is there a shrine to Vi? She survived, she made sure she survived, so she can’t be here, but why is there a shrine?

“She looks so young,” Jinx comments when she looks at the painting of Vi.

Ekko takes her hand as they sit down. “If she could see you…” He doesn’t finish, Jinx is grateful for it.

She will see me, she wants to say, when she dies too she’ll see all of this and she’ll love it.

Jinx is making her way to Benzo’s shop with food to share with Ekko when she sees her. Her hair is brown again. She’s running around with a group of children, laughing so hard as she does. She knew they would meet here eventually. She skips toward her. Her heart swells with every step that brings her closer to her. 

She sees her trip on the ground. Jinx gaps and starts running, but another woman gets to her first. She picks her up and starts whispering sweet things at her.

They have the same eyes.

It makes sense. It’s heaven, so Isha has her first family back too. She’s safe and happy. And she doesn’t need Jinx. 

That’s a good thing. 

So why does her heart ache?

“Are you okay?” Ekko asks her.

“Yeah.” She doesn’t want to talk about Isha with him, especially when she has no reason to feel bad. Isha is with her other family, and so is she. It would have been better if they had never met anyway.

“Pow-pow,” Ekko calls to make her look at him, “ever since the entrance exam result, you’ve been… different. Are you still unsure?”

“No.” Well, maybe I never wanted to go to this academy anyway.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I just think with it, we can accomplish great things. There’s still so much to do for the undercity. And I know that together, we can do anything.”

Jinx has heard that last one before, when they were getting ready to go kick some Noxian butts. She smiles.

I am glad we died together this time.

After a while in the tunnels she recognises the way they’re going. He’s taking her to the Firelight’s hideout. She remembers when he first took her there, after she had let the grenade fall beneath them and let him guide her out of her lair. He had shown her his mural with her face at the centre. To remember and honour everyone they’ve lost. 

“To keep them in our hearts and move forward,” he had said, handing her paint, “What did she look like?”

And Isha had joined the mural as close to her as possible.

Jinx wonders what this place is now. Maybe there are people living there. Ekko had built this place to be a refuge. People don’t need  a refuge like back when she was alive here, though. It could be a playground, there were so many children there. Maybe here it belongs to them, and they play all day, just like she and Ekko did in the junkyard.

There’s water on the floor, it’s not deep, but it splashes when they walk. Once they’re inside she looks up, and freezes.

This is Vi. Her Vi. She’s not supposed to- Why is she-? How is she-?

Her breath quickens and they all start screaming at her. 

What have you done? You’ve managed to kill one of us after all! Why are you surprised? You’re a jinx. You cannot change your own nature. Jinx! You will never belong in heaven! Why would any God let you in? So that you can burn the place to the ground! You’re going to jinx us all again! This is a special hell crafted just for you! You’re a jinx! You’re not meant to be happy. Murderers don’t get happiness. You jinx everything!

“Shut up!” she shouts, throat raw.

She runs away. When she hears Ekko shouting after her, she runs faster.

She ran but had no idea where to run. She couldn’t go to her lair, it was different, it wasn’t hers. Nothing here was hers. Not the Last Drop and not the wrong Vander, or wrong Silco, Mylo, Claggor, or wrong everyone.

She ran to the cannery, this was a place for her. The place of Jinx’s birth. That’s where she belongs. But as she got closer she noticed the people going toward it. They looked sick and broken. This should have been a good sign but when she got there she saw in large bold letters the word ‘hospital’.

They have hospitals, the fucking cannery became a hospital.

Jinx ran away from that too. She went into the fissures, where the Grey still filled the air. They hadn’t fully eliminated it, they couldn’t fix everything. 

She sat down where she could see it fester below without coughing her lungs out. That’s where he found her, because of course he found her.

“You’re not my Powder, are you?” She hears him call behind her.

She chuckles humorlessly, “Nope, I’m Jinx.” Now, go away.

“Are you from the same place as the other Ekko?”

She sighs, “I guess.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Was he ever going to leave? “I didn’t realise- he didn’t give me details, okay!”

She needs him to shut up. To stop talking to her as if she was Powder. To not be so nice to her. To not be here. She can feel him standing away from her. She can picture his face, with his eyes full of hope, just like that day on the edge of the turbine. She doesn’t want to see this fake Ekko and his perfect life with his perfect Powder. 

“Are you okay?”

Why does he have to be like this? Why is it that in every universe he’s like that? Always trying to save her.

“I’m not Powder, okay? Now leave.”

“Look, I’m just trying to help you.”

She turns to face him. He looks worried: of course he does. He doesn't understand that she's nothing like her.

“Just because I have her face doesn’t mean you have to care.”

“Actually you have more than her face, you are inhabiting her body.” He says with a cheeky look on his face, as if they were friends.

“Well, I don’t know how to leave it, so…”

“Powder, Heimerdiger and the other Ekko created a machine that could send him back. With their notes I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Good for you.”

Powder and Heimerdiger aren’t here anymore. If he wants to build his machine, let him have a crack at it, but leave her out of it. Give the machine to her, she’ll probably find a way to blow the entire city up with it.

“Look, Powder-”

“Jinx! My name is Jinx.” She almost screams it at him. He flinches, and that’s how it should go.

“He did say you were different.” He says, not backing down, always the brave one.

“Oh, really?”

“He also said your ideas changed the world.”

She burst out laughing. That’s one way to put it!

“Do you know what I’ve done? Did he tell her?”

He looks at her with the same terror her Ekko used to. She laughs, almost manically. The way only a Jinx would laugh. The laugh that does nothing but scare people.

“I’ve killed them,” Jinx whispers at him and laughs some more, even when nothing feels funny at all. “Vander, Mylo and Claggor, all in one go. Silco too,” she pauses, “But that was later.” She gives him her smile and it makes him flinch. “And I killed so many of your friends in between.”

He stares at her and says nothing. 

“And I killed them on purpose! Unlike everyone else. Everyone who gets close to me dies… one way or another. Except you. The boy saviour always makes it.”

Jinx sits back on her spot. He should leave now: Jinx can tell that he’s scared. He should leave before she jinxes him, too. She can hear his footsteps, but they’re not getting softer. They’re getting louder.

He sits next to her. “I gave her the tip.”

Jinx looks up at him. 

“I gave her the tip, and they all went while having no idea what was actually up there. If I hadn’t they would never have found the crystals. They would never have fallen to the ground. There would never have been an explosion. If it weren’t for me, Vi would still be alive.” He sighed, it’s a heavy sigh, filled with sorrow. “Everyone tells me it’s not my fault, but there’s still a part of me that,” He pauses to take a shaky breath, “That still feels like I killed her.”

There are no tears in his eyes, but she hears them in his voice.

“It’s not the same. You couldn’t have known there'd be an explosion, it was a good tip.”

“Whatever you did to kill them, did you know it would?”

Jinx doesn’t have the strength to answer, so she just cries. Because she didn’t know. She only wanted to help. 

In between sobs, she lets out, “What about everyone else?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask your Ekko.”

Going through the notes is more difficult than she thought. They don’t use big fancy words like Talys and his partner did, but the doodles, the discussion in the margins, all the little things in the pages tell her how much fun they had. He had more fun with me.

Or maybe, he only had fun with her when he thought of the other her.

Other Ekko works dutifully on the project. Seemingly unbothered by her, which still baffles her. He probably doesn’t understand what she is, and what she’s done. 

It’s better not to explain it to him. Just get back and then… 

The first night, when their stomachs start to growl, he proposes to go “home” to eat. She can’t. She refuses, and when he ducks out anyway, he comes back with food. Says he told the others they were working on a project, that they let him come back here, but are worried.

Powder doesn’t go around disappearing. Jinx hopes they finish this fast.

Working with this Ekko is not the same as working with her Ekko, but it’s close enough. There’s something about the way they bounce ideas off of each other. Like the gears inside her head turn faster. It brings her back to when they were children, when they were searching for books in trash, trying to understand mechanisms by taking gadgets apart and rebuilding them. There’s something comforting about it. But it lacks the excitement of working with her Ekko. 

She always ends up thinking of the days they spent preparing to fight the Noxians. Making her lair airborne had been a crazy idea that somehow worked. Jinx couldn’t have done it with this world’s Ekko; he wouldn’t have taken the risk. 

That’s the thing about her Ekko–he’s a daredevil. He’ll jump off an airship to reach his goal. He’d face an explosion again and again to save her. Was he always like that? Or is it just having her around that makes him as crazy as she is? 

She believed that when she pulled the pin, but now, with this Ekko, the one who has never met a Jinx before, she sees cracks. He will redraw the same schematics six times, perfectly identical, always. He will violently rip off pages of his notebook and throw it away when he realizes he‘s made a mistake. He forgets to eat. Apparently it happens when he’s focused and Powder is the one to remind him, usually. He starts breathing really fast and clutching his head one day, because he has just realized he made a mistake yesterday. 

Maybe that’s not something she screwed up, then. Maybe her Ekko was always a bit insane, too.

“It’s the power source,” she says one day, “We’re screwed.”

“What do you mean?”

“What they used were crystal shards, not a real Hex-crystal. That’s why Heimerdiger had to step out to make adjustments during the process.”

“To redirect the energy!” He exclaims before rushing toward Vi’s shrine.

“We don’t have an actual crystal, we can’t-”

Before she can finish, Ekko shows her a bag full of crystals.

“We had sworn to never use them,” he explains, “but given the circumstances, I think she’ll understand.”

She didn’t want to go back to the Last Drop. What would she do there? Talk to the other Vander, Silco, Claggor and Mylo, and pretend that she was their Powder? As if she had any idea how to be like her. She’d probably manage to kill them, too, given enough time. But then the other Ekko had told her, “why don’t you let yourself enjoy some of your time here? your me definitely did.”

They had been humour in his tone and she had no idea what he meant, but her curiosity had pushed her to take his advice. If spending time with those people had led Ekko to want to see her again, then she’d like to know what he had seen.

So now Jinx sits at a diner table with Claggor at her right, Mylo at her left and Silco and Vander across from her.  

“So what’s that project you guys are working on?” Claggor asks with excitement in his voice.

“Secret,” she answers before stuffing her mouth.

The food was rich in taste and homely, Vander must have cooked it, it tastes like something from a memory.

“Since when do you keep secrets?”

A cold chill washed over her. Coming here was a bad idea. They were going to figure out there was something wrong with her. They were going to get mad. They would be scared and confused, all shouting at her. And that’s when it’ll happen. That’s when they all die.

“I think she’s not making anything,” exclaims Mylo, snapping her attention to him “She’s just getting more alone time with her boyfriend!”

She stares at him and feels her cheeks warming. Laughter erupts around her.

“Really?” This time it’s Silco that calls her attention. “You’re about to spend the next couple of years locked with him at the academy, and yet you’d rather spend your time with him rather than with us?”

Mylo and Claggor laugh even harder and she can barely hear herself say, “I’m sorry.”

“Leave her be,” Vander comes to her rescue, “She spent more than enough time taking care of us, let her have some fun.”

She doesn’t know how to describe the look he gives her. It’s the kind of look he would give Vi. She thinks it means, ‘I’m proud of you,’ or something. Definitely not the kind of look he should be giving her.

“Seriously,” says Claggor, “it’s going to be weird not having you around all the time.”

She feels terrified. It must be visible because Claggor keeps sending worried glances over at Mylo.

“We’re grown men. It’s about time we stop holding you back and learn to take care of ourselves.”

Jinx manages to divert attention from herself for the rest of the evening. 

It’s a strange thing. One moment she’s laughing, smiling and content, the next she remembers that this is the life she could have lived, had she not fucked everything up. It’s like being built up and broken over and over again.

By the time Vander asks someone to clean the dishes she volunteers just to be alone. And yet she wants to go back to them: it hurts but it’s also so wonderful to have them alive. It almost feels worth the pain.

She doesn’t linger on this for long because Vander joins her. She’s scared of what he’s going to say but he just quietly helps her with the dishes. She’s not very good at it, mostly because she doesn’t always clean. Hell, most of the time she doesn’t even use dishes. Vander just chuckles and helps her.

“You know you don’t have to feel guilty.”

She drops a plate. It doesn’t shatter, just falls into the water with a quiet splash. 

“Joining the academy is a good thing, and if it means you have less time for your family it’s fine. We can manage on our own and we’re not going anywhere. It’s about time you use all your smarts to make something out of your life.”

Her eyes are watery, Jinx knows those words are not for her but she can’t help but reply, “What if nothing I make is good? What if I just make everything worse?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” He tells her with a smile. She feels the tears rolling down her cheeks and he quickly adds, “And if you struggle you can always turn to Ekko or your brother, or even Silco and me. I mean, we’re not geniuses but we can give good advice when it’s needed.”

She wraps her arms around him. The tears are still falling but they don’t feel like sad tears anymore.

“You’re not alone, Powder.” He says before holding her tight.

As she makes her way to her bedroom she spots Silco writing in a journal.

“Still working?” She asks.

“Yes, I’m afraid my work is never done,” he sighs heavily, “I’m going to have to leave again in a few days.”

“I’m glad you were here.”

He smiles at her, “Me too. And I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

He gets up and walks toward her.

“Now, now, you’re a big girl, I’m sure you don’t need me anymore.”

She pulls him into a hug and hides her face into his shoulder. “I’m always going to need you.”

He hugs her back and says, “Please, I’ve always needed you more than you needed me. You’ll be fine.”

“Here.”

Ekko hands her a pendant, on it there’s a flower. It’s pretty, and it spins. Looking closer she can see their faces carve in the petals.

Before she can ask him anything he says, “He gave it to her, but she says she didn’t think it was meant for her.”

She stares at it again. It’s meticulous work, detailed but not excessive, his style. A small smile forces its way onto her face. Jinx puts it around her neck.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

First the lightning comes, like at the cannery, they all start to scream and she doesn’t know if she’s going to be able to stand it. But it’s all cut off when the sphere appears around her. She breathes in and this time, she’s ready.

The last thing she sees is the other Ekko holding the other her in his arms. He smiles up at her.

He keeps himself busy. It’s the best way to avoid falling apart. Scar tells him that they have no one to fight, and they are not alone in helping anymore, that he can take a break. Ekko begs him for a job, any job, instead.     

He needs something to do, anything. The look he, and all of the other Fireslights, gives him feels like a stab in the heart, because it’s just another reminder of what could have been.

He repairs the roof. He teaches the children how to fly a hoverboard. He helps cook dinner for everyone. He talks with Sevika about the meeting and what they could and should be doing. He tries to come up with a new and more efficient energy storage device.

It helps, but never for long. Because, they sat on that roof the first night she spent at the hideout. Because, one of the children has dyed his hair blue and swears he's going to be just like her one day. Because, they cooked together the night before the battle. Because, Sevika has to say that she was easier to deal with than the Council. Because, working on anything reminds him of the time they spent transforming her lair.

The nights are the worst, when nothing can distract him from his grief. It’s the third time. It should be easier by now. But it’s worse. It’s so much worse. This time he’s not just grieving what was, he’s grieving what could have been.

After having seen the other universe. After having convinced her to drop the bomb and step off the ledge. After rallying the under-city together. After fighting side by side. He had hope that they would get a future together.

He knew things would never be as they were. That they would never be like the other Ekko and Powder. But he thought that they could build something new. 

Maybe Jinx would have stayed with the Firelight, she had liked it there during the few days before the battle. It might have taken her some time. They could have worked on projects together. That had come to them just as naturally as it had before. Eventually, she would have started to play with the children. That would have won over the few Firelights that were still wary of her. They would have visited Vi together, if only to remind her that she was a Zaunite and always would be. She would have spent a lot of time with Sevika, much to the Council’s annoyance. 

She would have cooked weird things and forced him to try them. He would have fought her, but ultimately conceded, always. He would have taken her flying on his hoverboard, far above Zaun, even higher than the Hex-gate. She would have modified the overboard, in a seemingly superfluous and random way, but a surprisingly useful one. They would have fought about that, and about her idea of games appropriate for children, and about the priorities for the Firelights, and what music to play during the day, and the right flavour of pancakes. They would have laughed, too. About her hair, his clothes, Sevika, Scar, and about the Pilties. They would have spent nights awake making fun of Pilties. 

And on one of those nights he would have looked into her eyes. She would have looked back confused. He would have leaned toward her. She would have frozen at first, but then she would have closed her eyes and leaned back.

But none of that would ever happen. Instead, he would remember all the time they played as children. All the time they fought as teens. Eventually the childhood memories would fade and the only moments left would be those last few days. 

Three days, that’s all he had been given. Three days they spent arguing with the rest of undercity, and trying desperately to build everything on time. They barely had any moments alone together. They never even got to paint together. They transformed her hideout while shouting orders at everyone else. They only got to laugh when painting each other. He only got to hold her twice. Once right after she stepped away from the ledge. And again right before the battle. He only held her hand once, when he brought her to their sanctuary.

He got to kiss her once and it wasn’t even her.

Sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like to kiss his Jinx. It would have been more wild, he thinks, probably with more teeth. It makes him chuckle. Then the hurt comes back, because he doesn’t know, and he never will.

He never told Vi. He can’t. He doesn’t want to burden her with the knowledge of the happiness they could have had. He doesn’t want her to know that their world would have been better if she had died. He hates himself for thinking it, but he knows that, for him at least, it’s true. And he fears it would break her in a way even Caitlyn can’t fix.

He builds her a shrine, like Powder had for Vi. He prays and talks to her, like they had over there. He tells her about his day. About what Vi is up to. He tells her about the changes in Zaun. He tells her he wishes she was here. And some nights, when the pain is too great he begs her to come back. To pull another miracle. You’ve done twice already, why not a third?

He has a lot to tell her today. For starters, mister I’ll-be-just-like-Jinx-one-day thought it would be a great idea to try and jump off his hoverboard mid-flight. He broke his leg. Ekko tried to lecture him. He got too angry, though, and almost yelled at the poor kid. Thankfully Scar took him away quickly. He hates that he lost control like this, especially in front of a child. He barely had time to apologise to the kid before he was informed that Sevika was looking for him. 

Ekko knew that was bad news before he even reached her: Sevika only ever wants to see him when things go to shit. Turns out the Council thinks the factories need to reach their pre-war quotas before the end of the month. How they’re supposed to do that when half of their population is still wounded and recovering, he has no idea. She wants the Firelights to help her make a show of force in front of the Council, to remind them that the undercity is a united front. 

And there���s another problem: A few days ago, the Jinxers put on a little homage to Jinx, to celebrate her sacrifice. Ekko didn’t go. He didn’t want to see what a group of people who never knew her would do. Apparently they just threw a bunch of paint explosives around town, landmarks associated with Jinx, including the building she blew up on Progress Day and the Council chambers. 

Needless to say, the Council are not happy about that. As far as they are concerned this is “in very bad taste” and all those involved “need to be disciplined.” The little dictator that put Noxus on their doorstep can go home scott-free, but a bunch of kids throw paints on their precious building and suddenly there’s a need for discipline. Some things never change. 

After an entire evening locked with Sevika, Babette and her other “advisors” to try to find a solution, he returns home, skips dinner and goes straight to his quarters. 

He wants to go to her, pretend she can hear him, imagine her thoughts, her voice. Give himself whatever comfort she can give him. And collapse on his bed feeling a little bit less shitty about everything.

He pushes the door open and there’s someone before his shrine. She has her back turned to him, all he can see is a cloth wrapped around her skinny frame and short blue air, when she turns around his heart stops.

He thinks he is dreaming. She can’t be standing in front of him. But she’s here. She looks real. Like he had last seen her. His eyes run across her, trying to find a trick, hoping to find a confirmation. That’s when he sees the necklace.

She notices and touches it, “He said she thought you made it for me.”

His breath shakes and he throws his arms around her, his tears run down the crook of her neck. He feels her arms coming around him, Jinx clings to him, just like he’s clinging to her.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. He is scared that if he lets go she’ll vanish.

Finally, with her voice shaking she asks, “Can I stay here, at least for while?”

Ekko sobs as he says, “Please don’t leave, not again.”

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, writing Jinx pov is difficult I hope I got it right. Writing the alternate universe is also fun, Silco and alt-Silco are two very different people...

[imsecretlyagremlin]

Jealousy Part one

You and Jayce have been friends ever since you joined the academy, you joined him when he asked you to help him with his project as his lab assistant, years later when his discovery of hextech took off and he’s too busy being a counsilor. Viktor’s had enough of your moping and with the help of Caitlyn sends you on a date with someone who’s had a crush on you since academy days. Little did you know Jayce is jealous.

years ago, You felt nervous about your first day at the academy. You had no idea where any of the classes were, and since you hadn’t met anyone yet, you had no one to hang out with. As you were walking to what you assumed was your first class, you accidentally bumped into someone and fell to the ground. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the person you collided with said, extending his hand to help you up. You looked up to see gold eyes staring down at you, and you felt yourself blush as you took his hand and pulled yourself up with his assistance. 

“N-no, it’s fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you stuttered, feeling nervous despite his friendly smile. 

“Well, I’m Jayce,” he said, holding out his hand. 

“I’m Y/n,” you replied, shaking his hand, feeling less anxious than before. 

“We have the same class, Y/n,” he grinned, saying your name as if he were testing it out.

You remembered the first time you met Jayce. Since you had most of your classes with each other you were quick to bond. You both enjoyed the same things and even enjoyed teasing Caitlyn together. So it was no surprise when he asked you to join him as a lab assistant. But ever since Hextech took off he became way busier. Which you were sad about but it led you and Viktor to become good friends.

“Earth to y/n” Viktor had been waving his hand in your face “I can't have my only lab partner zoning out”. You wipe your hand over your face “Sorry I'm just tired”. Viktor just smirks  “Or thinking about a certain councilor” and laughs at your blush.

 “ I'm not thinking about Jayce” You try to busy yourself by jotting down notes. “ I didn't mention Jayce,” he says from the chalkboard. “ Just shut up and work” You hide your blush. You finally think the conversation is over but Viktor is always persistent “Me and Caitlyn having been talking”. “What?” You look up feeling like a kid in trouble. “We think you should stop pining and go on a date” Viktor doesn't even look up from the chalkboard. 

“You and Caitlyn talk?” you set down your notebook choosing to ignore the date part.

“Yes, and she has an enforcer friend she thinks you'll like” he sets down the chalk in his hand. “I can't believe this I'm not a child I can get a date myself I just choose to say single” You don't admit that you are way too busy in the lab to even think about dating anyone. “Sure just please give him a chance so you can stop moping around and help me”

You don't think you've ever seen Viktor give puppy eyes like he is right now. 

“Fine if it’ll shut you both up” 

“Oh that's good cause we thought we would've had to kidnap you to make you go on your date” Viktor smiles “By the way it's Friday”. You stare at him in shock you swear you can feel your eye twitch “I'm going to hurt you both”. Viktor holds his hands up in protection but doesn't look very scared “You wouldn't you love us too much. You smile despite your slight annoyance “your right I wouldn't but leave and go home before I change my mind”.

You pretend to be mad so Viktor would go home. You've noticed how hard he's worked lately and the eye bags under his eyes. “Ok ok I’ll go home” He grabs his coat and leaves.

After he leaves you work a little longer before you lock up and go home too.  As you lay in bed tired you can't help but feel nervous for your date. Its tomorrow you can't believe they didn't tell you until now. You can't but help but overthink.

Will it help you forget Jayce or will It make it worse? How will he react to you going on a date? 

You think and think until you fall asleep

sorry if this is bad I suck at writing but I wanted to put my ideas on paper (not really since this is online but 🤷‍♀️) try to ignore the typos

[doodler16]

Hello, what is your opinion about Adam, Lute and Heaven in general (in terms of writing)?

I have been following your posts for the last week and would like to know your opinion on this topic (if it is not too much trouble).

Adam (in terms of writing): As much as I enjoy his presence, the man is a terrible villain and is way too similar to other characters like Angel Dust, Valentino, Vox, Velvette, and Alastor in terms of personality. He swears a lot, acts smug, sex jokes, egotistical, sarcastic, and acts like a man-child.

The worst part about Adam is that he has so much potential and you can do so much for him especially the way Vivziepop wrote him along with Adam’s connections to Eden, Charlie, Lilith, Eve, and Lucifer. He could’ve been an all righteous person who preaches the Bible and Word of the Lord. Adam could’ve also been this nice, chill guy but actually masks his true unhinged personality, leading Charlie and everyone on.

But sadly, Adam is cursed with the written by “Vivziepop meme™️” I wish Adam was more calculating and subtle about his intentions. Because straight out of episode 1, Vivziepop doesn’t even try to write a subtle villian. It’s annoyingly and painfully in your face that Adam is the villian/antagonist Charlie and Hazbin squad has to face first.

Adam doesn’t have a proper motivation regarding the extermination that the audience can at least understand. He’s like extermination equals entertainment. And it’s like that’s it? You do this for fun? Out and in context, Adam looks like a sadist. That’s like the equivalent of him saying I like kicking puppies for fun.

Adam easily could’ve had a much better motivation for why he does exterminations. For example: Adam does exterminations because of what happened in Eden. Lucifer ruined his eternal paradise and both of his relationships with Lilith and Eve. Or as another potential motivation for exterminations, it can involve Cain. Adam witnessing Cain’s punishment and believes it was Lucifer who did it, so he wants to make Lucifer suffer by killing his people permanently.

It also doesn’t help how dumbed Adam is. His way of thinking is also black and white despite me agreeing with him. I love the man and he has so much unlimited potential that is untapped.

Lute (in terms of writing): I like Lute, she also has major potential. Vivziepop can easily do a parallel between Vaggie and Lute. But, overall Lute is basically the heaven version of Vaggie and Millie. Their whole goal and personality orbits around the person they are close too. Don’t get me wrong, it could be an amazing and interesting story arc if Vivziepop wants to do that but I doubt she will do it.

And, it is sad to watch sometimes because I want to see them do something else that doesn’t involve orbiting the person they are closest to and being their bootlickers 96% of the time. Season 1, Lute is just there and I get the feeling she most likely be a static character.

Heaven (in terms of writing): I don’t like what Vivziepop did with Heaven. She dumbed down them and it’s annoying especially if you are Catholic or Christian.

What do you mean Heaven doesn’t know their own rules or what gets a soul to Heaven. That’s not morally gray, you are just making Hell look ten times better than Heaven. Even worse, Heaven has a good argument to counter against Charlie of why they do exterminations yearly and not to allow sinners in Heaven.

Hell is full of rapists, pedophiles, groomers, etc. Someone is Hell can easily fake their progress to get into Heaven. The fact that seraphim(s) more specifically Emily is calling sinners innocent is crazy. Does the Ten Commandments and the beatitudes not exist? Because they would be amazing rules for Heaven! Vivziepop doesn’t even have to chose one specifically, she can easily combine the Ten Commandments and Beatitudes together as an official rule for Heaven. Then can use the Seven Heavenly Virtues as respected higher ups in Heaven.

The fact that Heaven doesn’t have any hard days is weird in my opinion. You would think Heaven would be a nice community where they work hard and spread love too.

Oh wait, this is the same person who wrote this in her spin off show.