#i just really liked that line in the first gif

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes�� well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[meazalykov]

two worlds collide

emily fox x WNBA!liberty!reader

summary: going on a date with a soccer player, especially an arsenal player, was not what you expected to do during the WNBA break

you sit at the corner table of a cozy restaurant in new york city, your fingers idly tapping against the wooden surface.

the glow of soft yellow lights overhead casts a warm shimmer over the room, glinting off polished silverware and the dark, gleaming wood. 

it’s early evening, just the cusp of sunset, where the streets outside hum with the mingled voices of commuters, tourists, and the occasional street performer.

sabrina had sworn that this was the perfect spot. 

“trust me,” she’d said with a sly grin, eyes glinting with a playful mischief. 

“you two will hit it off.” you remember the way she had nudged your arm weeks ago, barely holding back a laugh when you asked for details.

“wait wait wait– who’s emily? what team does she play on?” you had asked, leaning back in the locker room after practice, beads of sweat still rolling down your neck from drills. 

the name was unfamiliar, and your mind scrolled through every possible wnba roster. nothing.

sabrina had raised an eyebrow, tying back her ponytail. 

“not an emily in the wnba. she’s a soccer girl. arsenal’s defensive player, plays for the uswnt, too.”

your breath had caught in a laugh. 

“an arsenal player? you know i’m a chelsea fan.”

“and yet,” sabrina said, crossing her arms with that knowing smirk, 

“you’ll survive. she’s nice. you’ll see.”

you glance at your phone now, the screen lighting up to show the time: 6:47 p.m. 

emily’s supposed to be here at seven. the soft murmur of voices around you doesn’t distract you from the nervous thrum in your chest. 

on the court, your playstyle might say you’re fearless on the court, storming and crossing up the other team without hesitation, but sitting here waiting for a first date feels like stepping up to the free-throw line with a championship game on the line.

the door opens, letting in a quick gust of cool air that makes your shoulders tense slightly. your eyes shift instinctively, and there she is—emily. 

she’s wearing a dark denim jacket over a white t-shirt, dark brown hair pulled back in a casual ponytail that still somehow looks effortlessly styled. you’re wearing a blue sweater with blue levi jeans, somehow casual. 

emily is scanning the room, eyes bright and clear, until they land on you. she smiles, a small curve that softens her sharp, athletic features, and it’s enough to make your heart skip.

��y/n?” she asks, voice smooth, accented just slightly in a way that tells you she’s been overseas for some time.

“that’s me,” you reply, standing up and offering your hand, which she takes without hesitation.

“nice to finally meet you,” emily says, slipping into the seat across from you. she moves with the ease of someone who’s spent her life in motion.

you both take a moment, the initial rush of introductions settling. you order drinks—her, a classic gin, and you opt for your usual. 

as the server walks away, emily leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“so,” she starts, eyes sparkling with curiosity, 

“sabrina tells me you’re a chelsea fan. should i be worried?”

you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing at the playful jab. 

“don’t worry,” you say, smirking. 

“i won’t hold arsenal against you—at least, not tonight.”

“sounds fair,” she replies, and there’s a moment where you both smile, the warmth between you growing.

the conversation flows easily after that. you share stories about your college days at uconn—the relentless practices, the roar of packed arenas, the thrill of being drafted third overall for the liberty. 

emily’s eyes light up as she tells you about growing up playing soccer until the sun dipped low and her mother would call her home.

“and after some time in north carolina–arsenal came calling since caitlin really wanted me to play with her,” she says, sipping her drink. 

“wasn’t even sure i’d say yes. london felt like another world at first.”

“but you did,” you say, nodding, already picturing her on a pitch, stopping forwards with ease.

“and i did,” emily confirms, eyes catching yours with a look that lingers.

the night stretches on, the restaurant’s bustle slowing as patrons leave, and yet, you barely notice. 

you talk about the upcoming olympics, how emily’s gearing up for it, and she asks if you’ll be watching.

“i’ll be cheering louder than anyone,” you say, meaning every word.

she asks why you weren’t on the basketball team representing the USA in the olympics, you said it was due to an injury scare on your wrist. she understood as a girl who had many injures herself.

by the time the server brings the check, neither of you are in a rush to leave. 

outside, the city’s lights twinkle like a sea of stars, and when you step onto the sidewalk, the air feels cool against your skin.

“thank you for tonight,” emily says, and you catch the faintest hint of nerves in her voice.

you smile, hands slipping into your pockets. 

“anytime.”

“next time,” she says, with a hint of mischief, “don’t wear chelsea blue.”

you look down at your sweater, noting that the blue did match chelsea’s colors. 

“deal,” you laugh, already thinking about when the next time will be.

whenever the american girl comes back from london. 

masterlist

[cailinsblog]

Could you write a fic where Jack is dating someone who knows nothing about Hockey? He likes teaches her the rules and is just sweet about it?

Omg I love this idea thank you 💕💕😻

A Journey of Love, Hockey, and Skating | jack hughes

Jack hughes x reader

Masterlist

It was a crisp autumn day when Jack Hughes, star forward for the New Jersey Devils, found himself in a dilemma. It wasn’t about hockey, contract talks, or media scrutiny — it was something far more personal. His girlfriend, Y/N, had never been to a game of his. She didn’t know the first thing about hockey, and Jack was starting to realize that he had never really taught her the ins and outs of the sport that had shaped his entire life.

Y/N and Jack had been together for a little over six months now, and though they had spent a lot of time together, their worlds never really collided when it came to hockey. She had met him through mutual friends, and while she loved him for his personality, his kindness, and his easy smile, hockey was a world she knew little about.

One evening, as they sat on the couch in his apartment, Y/N casually mentioned, “I’ve been meaning to ask… what’s the deal with icing? Like, what does that even mean?”

Jack chuckled, surprised. “You’ve been with me for months, and you’ve never asked about icing?” He raised an eyebrow, teasing her playfully.

“I don’t want to look dumb,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“Y/N, you could never look dumb,” he reassured her. “Come on, let me teach you. I’ll explain everything. Hockey 101.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll need a lot of lessons, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said, his voice soft and patient. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll even show you how to skate. I want you to feel like you get it, like you’re part of it.”

The thought of skating, especially in the context of Jack’s world, made Y/N nervous. She hadn’t skated since she was a kid, and back then, she had barely been able to stay upright. Still, she loved Jack and wanted to share this part of his life with him. “Okay, I’m in,” she agreed, smiling.

### The First Lesson: Hockey 101

The next day, Jack decided to take her to a quiet rink in the city. It wasn’t a professional arena, just a simple outdoor rink where locals came to skate during the winter months. Jack wanted it to be a low-pressure environment where Y/N could relax and focus without the distraction of a crowd.

They arrived, and Jack pulled on his gear — the jersey, the skates — and Y/N stood by the bench, watching him in awe. He made it all look so effortless.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Jack started, his hands on his hips. “In hockey, the objective is simple: score more goals than the other team. You have three periods, and each period is 20 minutes long. There’s a goalie whose job is to stop the puck, and there are five players on the ice at a time — including the goalie.”

He pointed to a few different areas on the rink. “The blue lines are where the players try to control the game, and the red line? That’s the center line. Icing happens when the puck is shot across both blue lines without anyone touching it, and it crosses the goal line. It’s a violation, and the game stops. But we’ll get into all the details later.”

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to follow along. She didn’t get all of it, but Jack had such a calm, patient way of explaining it. She didn’t feel dumb for not knowing — instead, it felt like they were creating their own little world, a space where she could learn and Jack could teach.

Jack smiled. “You’re doing great. Now, time for the fun part. Let’s get you on the ice.”

### The Skating Lesson

Y/N put on her skates, a little wobbly, and stood up. The moment her blades touched the ice, she immediately felt the unease of being unsteady. Her knees trembled, and she almost lost her balance.

“Whoa, careful!” Jack said, reaching out to steady her. He grinned. “You gotta bend your knees a little. Think of it like a squat.”

She followed his instructions, trying to stay as low as she could without falling. “Like this?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, exactly. Now, just glide a little bit.”

Y/N pushed off tentatively, and for a second, it felt like she was floating. But then her legs went out from under her, and she collapsed onto the ice with a soft thud.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack skated over to her immediately, offering a hand. His expression was a mix of concern and amusement.

“I’m fine,” she laughed, brushing herself off. “I think I need more practice.”

Jack grinned. “No worries. I’ll take it slow. Just focus on shifting your weight and pushing off with your outside edges. That’s the trick.”

Over the next hour, Jack patiently taught her the basics of skating. He held her hands as she made tentative strides around the rink, supporting her whenever she lost her balance. It wasn’t graceful — her movements were jerky and uncertain — but Jack’s presence gave her the confidence to keep trying.

“Good job, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You’re getting it. I’m really proud of you.”

She smiled up at him, her heart swelling. “Thanks, Jack. I don’t think I would’ve gotten this far without you.”

Jack skated backward in front of her, keeping her steady with one hand on her shoulder. “This is fun. I like being here with you. Maybe next time we can practice more advanced stuff, like crossovers, but for today, you’re doing great.”

She let out a little laugh, looking at him affectionately. “I can’t believe I’m skating with Jack Hughes. This is so weird, but also amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, squeezing her hand. “And you’re doing way better than you think.”

### A Quiet Moment

After a couple of hours of skating, they took a break by the rink-side, sipping hot cocoa from a small cart nearby. Y/N was still a little shaky on the ice, but she could feel herself improving, and the adrenaline from skating was starting to wear off. They sat on the wooden bench, Jack wrapping an arm around her as they watched other skaters glide by.

Jack, who usually exuded confidence on the ice, looked at her with a softness in his eyes. “You know, this is my favorite part of the game — the quiet moments. The ones when you’re with someone you love, and everything else just fades away.”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “I feel the same way. I may not know everything about hockey yet, but I love being here with you. I’m really glad you’re teaching me.”

He kissed the top of her head, his voice tender. “I’m happy you’re learning, but what makes me happiest is that you’re here. You’re not just learning the game — you’re learning a part of me.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the cold air around them only adding to the warmth they felt in each other’s presence. The rink began to clear out as the sun set behind the city skyline, casting a soft golden glow over everything.

Jack stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. “Alright, I think we’ve had enough for today. You ready to hit the ice again?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves forgotten. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They skated hand-in-hand, slowly at first, then picking up speed, laughing as they went. Jack helped her through each little challenge, showing her how to lean into the curves and glide across the ice with more ease. As the evening wore on, she felt herself getting more confident.

By the end of the night, Y/N couldn’t believe how much she had learned. The ice no longer felt like a slippery obstacle — it was something she could share with Jack, something that had brought them closer together.

As they left the rink, Jack turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “You did amazing today, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

Y/N smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I’m proud of me too. And I’m really glad I have you to teach me.”

Jack grinned. “I’ll teach you anything. Hockey, skating, life... whatever you want. We’re in this together.”

And as they walked off into the chilly night, hand in hand, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the rules of hockey she had learned that day — it was something far more important: how to trust, how to share, and how to love.

And with Jack by her side, she knew there was no challenge she couldn’t face, no lesson she couldn’t learn.

Please send in request

[chaoticrockmusic]

Crash Course

Synopsis; A quick ride on Jason Todd’s motorcycle turns into a dumpster disaster. As he grumbles and patches you up, you catch glimpses of the care he hides behind his tough exterior—and learn just how much you mean to him.

Warnings; None! Hope you enjoy, kits!

Jason stood beside his motorcycle, arms crossed, the faint glow of a streetlamp reflecting off the red of his helmet tucked under his arm. "Let me make one thing clear," he said, voice firm and low. "You’re not touching my bike."

You raised an eyebrow, arms folded as you met his glare. "It’s just a ride around the block, Todd. Not like I’m planning to join a street race."

He scoffed, his lips pulling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "This isn’t one of your little toys. It’s a Ducati. Custom-built. Worth more than your apartment. You crash it, and you’ll be working for me until you’re sixty."

"Afraid I’ll ride it better than you?" you teased, your grin wide and shameless.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening into something unreadable. After a beat, he shoved the helmet into your hands with a sharp glare. "Fine," he said curtly. "But if you lay it down, you’re paying for every scratch, dent, and bolt out of your own damn pocket."

"Deal," you said, practically bouncing as you straddled the sleek machine.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Throttle’s touchy. Lean into the turns. And for the love of God, don’t gun it."

You nodded, but you were already revving the engine, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. Before Jason could say another word, you were off, the roar of the bike echoing through the narrow alleyway.

The wind whipped against your face as the bike surged forward, the power of it sending a thrill down your spine. You couldn’t help but let out a victorious laugh. But as the first sharp turn approached, you realized—too late—that you’d underestimated just how sensitive the bike was.

The back wheel skidded. The world tilted. And before you knew it, you and the Ducati went crashing into a dumpster with an echoing clang.

"Shit," you groaned, sprawled on the ground as the bike settled on its side.

Jason’s footsteps were heavy, fast, and loud as he stormed over. He didn’t say anything at first, his jaw tight as he hauled the bike upright and inspected it for damage.

Then he turned to you, his eyes dark and his voice low. "What the hell were you thinking?"

You winced as you tried to sit up, your shoulder protesting with a sharp ache. "I think the bike hates me."

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh as he crouched beside you. "The bike doesn’t hate you. The bike doesn’t have a death wish. That’s all you." He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but careful, and helped you to your feet.

You winced again, and Jason’s frown deepened. He guided you to a nearby crate, practically shoving you onto it before crouching down in front of you. His hands were already pulling a small med kit from his jacket pocket.

"Sit still," he muttered, not looking at you as he snapped on a pair of gloves.

"I’m fine," you protested weakly.

"You’re bleeding," he shot back, grabbing an antiseptic wipe and dabbing at the scrape on your arm. "And you’re lucky it’s just scrapes. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You’re reckless. Stupidly reckless."

You tilted your head, watching him work. His hands were steady, but his jaw was tight, his brows furrowed in that way they always did when he was more upset than he let on.

"You’re really worried about me," you said softly, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out quieter than you intended.

Jason froze for a moment, his hand hovering just above your arm. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t meet your eyes. "I’m worried about my bike," he said gruffly, resuming his work.

"Sure," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He ignored you, focusing instead on wrapping your arm in clean gauze. His movements were precise, his touch gentle despite the grumbling under his breath. When he was done, he leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, finally looking at you.

"You’re banned," he said flatly.

"Jason—"

"Forever," he added, cutting you off.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "I said I was sorry."

He shook his head, standing and reaching out a hand to help you up. "Sorry doesn’t fix a totaled bike or a broken neck. Next time," he said, his tone firm, "you ride with me."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. There was something unspoken in his gaze—something protective, almost desperate, that he tried to hide behind his usual gruff exterior.

"Got it," you said softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet.

Jason grunted, picking up the helmet and tossing it onto the bike. As you both turned toward the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice the faint tremor in his hand as he ran it through his hair.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Let’s get you cleaned up properly before you start smelling worse than that dumpster."

And as he walked ahead of you, muttering about reckless idiots and ruined leather, you couldn’t help but smile. Beneath all the grumbling, Jason cared more than he’d ever admit.

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 2

Writer's Note: Thank you so much to everyone for the love and support on the first instalment of this story. I really wasn't expecting any sort of reception, so all and any feedback is greatly appreciated. There will be more parts to this ever-twisting story, so keep your eyes peeled! Sending all the love X

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear (nothing descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Part 1

Dark corridors paved the way towards what she could only assume were her new living quarters. Aurelia was cornered by four guards; two front and behind. There was no use in trying to make a run, she decided to accept her fate and trust that the gods would keep her safe and right. The corridors were smoothly paved, the largest tiles she had ever seen in her life. Lined with only the best forms of lighting available in the lands at the time, she could see the corridor stretch and bend for what seemed like miles. Gods, she felt like she had walked to the end of Rome and back already. The guards came to an abrupt stop, which caused Aurelia to walk right into the back of them. She apologised profusely to which she received, “Ma’am please accept my apology for stopping so abruptly. I will ensure it does not happen again.” Aurelia steps back in shock. What happened to these guards who were so ruthless, who now suddenly were so appeasing, and dare she think kind, courteous? Breaking her from her thoughts, the commander of the group announced “Lady Aurelia, your quarters.” He opened the heavy wooden door, and in she walked.

Space. Light. Beautiful scent. Grandeur. Aurelia couldn’t believe her eyes, her breath was genuinely taken away. A young lady stood to the far right side of the room, with a kind look upon her face. “Lady Aurelia, welcome to your chambers. You will find your dressing room to the left, your living quarters to this door on your right, bedchamber right down this hallway,” pointing to her left, “and your bathroom shortly after.” Aurelia can only nod, the young lady notices her hesitance and continues, “My name is Alba. I am to be your servant. Anything you desire my lady, I will try my best to fetch for you. There is another, Camilla, however she is engaged with other palace matters. You will meet her shortly.” Aurelia stepped further into the room to acknowledge the grandeur of the hall. The curtains fell from the ceilings, which seemed to stand at about 20ft tall. The floors, appeared to be marble and glistened in the sun. The smell, of sweet lavender filled the air. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and thought of home. Ah, home. She thought of her mother and her father, and her two brothers. Worried for their wellbeing and worried for their concern of her. Again, her thoughts interrupted by Alba, “Lady Aurelia, may I recommend seeing to bathe and change into something else. Emperor Geta has requested your presence at this evening’s dinner gala in a bid to celebrate your triumphant news. No doubt he will wish to see you well.” Finally, she speaks, “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

The bath was decorated in gold embellishment, with rose petals littering the water. The water was milky with comforting salts and had a beautiful aroma. Aurelia had never known of such graces. Alba was going to assist her with disrobing; however, Aurelia asked her kindly if she could bathe on her own. Alba reluctantly agreed, stating that she wishes for Aurelia to not lift a finger, to which Aurelia laughs stating, “Alba, I appreciate your diligence however, where I am from, this washing ceremony is of great luxury and a privilege to do so myself. I thank you for your attentiveness.” Alba nods, “As you wish my lady. I am just outside should you need me.” Alba gently closes the door behind her, and Aurelia makes her way over to the huge mirror. She took in her appearance one last time, no doubt the Emperor had some grand plans for a great makeover for her to complete to be worthy to stand next to him. She picked at her plain tunic and looked into her own eyes. She was pretty. Her eyes, piercing blue could be mistaken for a bright summer’s day. Her hair a dusty brown verging on dark, dirty blonde. She certainly wasn’t skinny, the gods had blessed her with sufficient curving to her body to make her shapely. She just prayed that Geta didn’t regret his decision and saw something in her that she clearly didn’t. Dusting herself off, she disrobed and launched into the temperate bath, sighing in relief – what a treat for her heavy, weary bones.

Once she was ready, she made her way to the hall, where Alba met her to bring her to her dressing room. Upon entering, the entire room was filled wall to wall with every item of clothing a body could ever desire, every type of colour, shape, length. There was an entire section dedicated to accessories, as well as a section for footwear. Aurelia couldn’t believe her eyes. “Lady Aurelia, Empero-”, Alba begins but is interrupted by Aurelia, ���Please just call me Aurelia.” Alba nods, “Aurelia, Emperor Geta has handpicked your clothing for the dinner this evening, including your accessories.” Alba runs to fetch the items. She hangs a beautiful baby pink robe, adorned with light gold embellishment with fine rope dangling from the waist and arm. She lays out a pair of gold sandals, as well as golden chain earrings, and a gold choker. Alba ushers Aurelia to come closer and begins to dress her assignment. Once all is on, she places her hand on Aurelia’s back to send her to the dressing chair, where she begins to work on her hair. She ties tiny braids on either side and brings them together to form a crown-esque look around her head. Alba applied face cream and a light blush to Aurelia’s soft cheeks, as well as concentrate perfume to all her pressure points. Aurelia admires herself in the mirror once Alba has finished her handiwork. She was taken-a-back. This was the first she had ever seen herself dressed to such a degree. Alba stepped back and sighed, “Aurelia, you really are quite beautiful.” Aurelia blushed in response, and told her “Alba, please. The work was all your doing. I should be thanking you for your kindest efforts!” Alba let out a mild chuckle, and ushers her to the door, “Let us leave and join your betrothed, we do not wish to keep him waiting.”

Aurelia entered the banqueting hall and sees everyone already seated. She stalled. Geta looks up, Aurelia could almost swear she saw a look of sheer surprise before his usual cloud of animosity overtook, he announced, “Ah, here she is… finally! Sit woman so we can begin our festivities.” She hurriedly made her way to the spare seat next to Geta. He appeared to stare her up and down before discreetly whispering, “Everything to your taste so far?” Aurelia, mouth dry, replied “Yes, my Emperor, everything and more.” In a half snuff, he replied “And the dress? Gold appears to be your calling card.” Looking down she stated, “Yes, Sire it is everything I could have wished for. Gods have not seen more beautiful clothing. Thank you.” Geta replied with a short “hm” before clinking his glass;

“People, dear Brother, Mater. I present to you all, my soon to be wife, Aurelia. We must plan efficiently as we are to be betrothed this day week. Feast in celebration, praise Rome!”

Everyone lifted their glasses in cheers, including Aurelia, who attempted to clink with Geta. Their hands brushed and she wore she felt some sort of electricity pulsing through her. She caught sight of Geta’s features and saw he must have felt something also. With a clear of his throat, he announces, “Begin!”. He sits promptly in his chair, while servants begin to start their rounds of ensuring wine glasses were flowing and plates full. In all of the rush, Aurelia did not notice who sat to her right was none other than Caracalla. She felt a tap on her shoulder when she was met by his brightly painted face. When she turned to face him, she could feel Geta’s stare into her shoulder blades. “So then Aurelia, I take it you have accustomed yourself to the delights the palace has to offer.” She began to speak, but was cut off by Caracalla again, “I trust my brother has told you of his plans with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“The plans? Geta! Gods, please keep your dog up to date. Well, you see, we share everything. We share a mother, kindly. We share a home, spectacular. We even share our title, gracious. So, what’s one more to add but to share a lover? You.”

Aurelia could have fainted on the spot. Geta was crass and he was cutting, but Caracalla was on another level.

“I-I-I don’t understand?”

“Okay, allow me to spell it out for you. My brother will have you say 4 nights, and I 3? Oh it truly will be-”

“Caracalla, enough of your taunting and teasing. Aurelia, take no heed. He is merely trying to make a fool of you”

“Brother! Allow me to play with your new toy. It is exhausting being so boring all the time, must we rid ourselves of any fun?!”

Aurelia feels like a child caught in crossfire. Relieved in a sense that Caracalla was joking, but feeling increasingly uneasy as she can feel Geta becoming annoyed.

“Caracalla, enough.”

“Brother, here you are ripping ourselves of our pleasures.” Caracalla rises from his chair to meet his brother’s gaze. “We could see to make this one really squirm. She’s so pathetic, she would just take it all and say nothing. We could really go to to-”

“ENOUGH! Brother, apologise to her immediately.” Geta was enraged. The hall came to silence, “NOW CARACALLA!” Veins popped out of the Emperor’s neck, with his face flushing a fiery red.

Caracalla made his way back to his seat, sniggering. The hall refilling with sound once more.

 “Who would have known love could make you go so limp, brother.” He teased under his breath.

Geta’s gaze never lifted from Caracalla’s head, waiting for him to apologise. Leaning in, Caracalla began “Forgive me Aurelia, I was such a bad boy. I didn’t mean any of it.” clearly telling that his apology was as insincere as they come.

Aurelia lifted her head, and smiled ignoring the sarcasm of it all, “All is well Emperor Caracalla, thank you for your kindness.”

Geta shifted to sit in his seat, while Aurelia turned and mouthed a small “Thank you” to him. He curtly nodded his head and returned to his wine glass. Caracalla leaned over to Aurelia, “Just because he stopped me this time, doesn’t mean I won’t try again.” Aurelia stiffened. There really was something so very, very sinister about Caracalla. What had she ever done to deserve this torment? She returned to drinking her wine as per her betrothed and took in the scenes before her, wishing the evening would end so she could retire to her chambers.

“Would you like introductions?” Geta asked, not daring look at her, but startling Aurelia. “Please?” She asked, wanting to know more about her new life.

“Lady on the end? That’s Lucilla. Her brother was the great Commodus. He was brutally slain in the Colosseum. A great Emperor of his time. She may do well to speak with you. Pass on some knowledge.” Aurelia nods.

“Gentleman next to her? That’s Marcus Acacius. Great commander and army chief of Rome. A warrior on the battlefield. Continually makes triumphant wins for our empire. A true blood of Roman ethos. Also, Lucilla’s lover – if you could call it that.”

With a touch of confidence, Aurelia said, “I like his baldric.” Geta looks at her intently, “Yes, it is rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Next to him, is Senator Gracchus. One of the leads of the Senate – in other words, a right pain in my backside.” Aurelia lets a giggle escape, but quickly sobers up. “My Emperor, forgive me, I apologise I did not intend to laugh.” Geta just smirks down at her and continues on with his explanations.

Whilst she couldn’t pinpoint, she felt comfort in Geta’s explanations. His dulcet tones when he spoke seemed to calm her nerves ever so slightly. She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt in her bones that potentially this may not have been the worst outcome for her life.

However, what was to lie ahead, was anyone’s guess…

Part 3

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting act 3 & emmrichs final romance scene (mortal & lich)

dissecting the graveyard scene dissecting the mortal romance path scene dissecting the mortal emmrich argument scene (all routes) emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)

lich version dissecting the alternate romance path dissecting the argument scene (lich path) dissecting the emmrich romance scene (lich) mortal vs lich romance path emmrich x rook cinematic

look this is half a thirst trap post im not gonna lie to ya

ACT 3 - OH MY GOD.

Now. We all know that dreaded argument scene that fills us with angst and really gets us in our feelings for the final 4 hours. which was 100% done on purpose, thanks bioware, you succeeded. i did in fact regret that conversation and cried immensely

We have the argument with Emmrich, then we have our mini resolution of Emmrich trying to apologise, and Rook responding with, "We'll talk back home Emmrich, I promise."

Fast forward an hour, and ive just about pulled the plug because emmrich gets trapped by Ghil, someone dies, and then we are sucked into the fade - trapped. FOR WEEKS.

I truly wish bioware included flashbacks, or rook being able to see the lighthouse whilst they were trapped so that we see our LI panic, and fret. Can you imagine Emmrich? The last conversation they had was a fight, and a fight that stemmed from love at that. regardless of the route you took, both rook and emmrich regret that argument deeply. I mean deeply. And most likely regret not saying, i love you in that moment. or any moment. god when emmrich got sucked up by ghil i was locked IN. nothing was stopping me.

Emmrich wouldn't of been able to sleep, he wouldn't of been eating, he would've been working day AND night like a dog on the dagger. he wouldve been irritable, he wouldve been incessant, he wouldn't of been put together, not clean shaven. id bet money on this.

despite bioware not giving us a good reconciliation scene or a glimpse at what happend during those weeks - BOY DID THEY FUCKING EAt with the pulling you out of the fade section. Oh my god. Emmrich's voice being timed right after Varric saying with "You have everything you need", AND THEN PULLING YOU OUT OF THE FADE WITH HIS ARM.

anyway - AFTER T H A T.

You have the romance scene (mortal dissection | lich dissection)

and then my god - i have no words - literally - just look

goodbye ovaries

The Final Goodbye (Mortal/Lich)

Now these are the exact same for both mortal and lich, ill tell you when its different below - to which this is dissapointing as I feel like the final romance scene is so 'meh'? it's very idk, scripted. I feel like there needs to be a dip in emmrichs voice when he says i love you to rook - maybe its just me, but regardless, its meh meh to me. the whole scene is just kinda -

I'll skip to the romance part anyway as there is nothing of substance in the first half

1. I love you, too.

I feel like - underwhelmed with this response. its just slapped on like a bumpersticker

2. I'm glad we met.

I cannot believe that this line of dialogue is hidden beneath the most basic of thought processes - i love it

its emotonal - its hopeful

YESSSS - PLAN WITH ME!!!! This is digustingly impactful if playing the mortal path. the man has hope for the future. oh I need not say more for its delivered so wonderfully.

HEHE

3. Be safe. I can't lose you.

I thoroughly enjoy this path, I feel so much emotion from Rook and Emmrich in these lines. the worry, the love. although it is kind of a shock to the system because we still went from. OH MY GOD DEATH, to oh yeah death with Emmrich.

exactly how the argument scene should've went, BUT, I get it, now if only we had a reconciliation scene in the middle or a conversation, i'd have no notes and be out of business

Now here is the divergence, of like two lines, that occurrs directly after the above dialogue

Lich Version

Mortal Version

its sweet, its sensual, its loving. but there no oomf. theres no, fear. the mortal version is my preference here as I like the slight reminder of emmrich being alive. in saying that, considering what we have been enamored with and reminded of at every single quest of his. but in the last romance dialogue its, gone? the fear overcome? one line, one word makes a difference. idk man. like I have my full speculation that there is a sequel with rook and companins again, and if there is ill let this go. but if this is it, WITH no epilogue screen? please, as much as i like fanfiction and headcanons and art. id like it IN the game.

a fantastic romance, but a stale last conversation. IN SAYING THAT. I choose to look past it as much as possible as it is sweet and I just love him.

ANYWAY, love you all, im pen for questions and the full emmrich dissection with all my very detailed explantions is coming in a few days

♥

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of the last yr scene.

wilmon endgame • episode 6

the camera work is so on point - it follows wille around moving frenetically, as to emphasize the hurry and the tension.

simon gets in panic mode for a sec. he was never over wilhelm but definitely thought their relationship was.

at first he looks ... scared - not of wille but of what he feels for him at this point. he's still in love but they got to the finish line, they broke up with no idea of when or if they will talk to each other again, there's no reason for wille to chase after him if not to change something.

it makes his thoughts spiral, but somewhere in his little heart he has a lot of hope too and that's why he steps out of the car to hear what he has to say.

these words really mean everything and i'm glad they're told directly to simon. it's such a sigh of relief for wilhelm to get this off his chest and mean it for real: he's doing something for his own sake finally - to be free, to be happy, to be in control of his own life for once.

he never got to choose anything - somebody else has always done it for him - but he no longer has to be afraid anymore.

simon is just as relieved and the proudest: he proved over and over again to care so deeply. to see wilhelm constantly hurting inevitably hurt him too.

he knew wille was brave - he actually told him once - and he was so right. it takes a lot of courage to do what wille just did.

shut up he's adorable :') playing with his fingers and trying not to break into a smile. he wants to look calm and collected but his heart is jumping out of happiness.

this comes after the are you sure you're over me? - breaking up was all it took for wille to think that simon must not love him anymore: to earn love and for everything to be perfect in order to deserve love is what his family and royal life always taught him - but simon's what the hell do you think? proves him so wrong.

the tears in his eyes i cannot - this is the face of a man who's bursting out of love, he adores simon this much.

they crush into the hug like they've been dying to do it. what a moment it must be for them to close the distance.

in this hug they find what they both were needing the most.

they hold on to each other. emotions are so overwhelming and it's written all over their faces - it feels too good to be real.

it's almost scary to let go now and i love how they tighten the hug at the same time, clinging to make it last longer.

and they're at the same height so simon has to be on his tippy toes ahsjkh.

oh the beauty in simon feeling every emotion to the fullest and letting them all out. he doesn't hold himself back and it is truly heartwarming to watch.

this hug is healing - he's giving joy to be back in wille's arms, proud of wille for putting himself first, relief because the fear of losing him was too much to handle.

the single tear drop and the pure disbelief in his expression. he caresses wille's cheek and keeps looking at him like he's the most precious thing.

doing the triangle method - again. old habits never die huh.

wille letting simon choose to whether kiss him or not.

it's our simon we're talking about, the one that risked it all and initiated their very first kiss bc he liked wille that much already, so could he possibly not do that now? he obviously does and can't help but smile into it.

they can't get enough of kissing and wandering hands. it's like their only way to make this become more and more real.

fair to say they're kinda obsessed with each other's hair!

love love looove the transition from them kissing in secret in the dark of the night to them kissing freely out in the open in the daylight - the most beautiful metaphor.

completely different plot points but the feelings involved are so familiar - reunion kisses are very much their brand: there's longing, passion, need to savor the moment to make it last.

and this time it can really last forever.

something super special about simon not replying with i love you too but sticking to i love you - it is not just reciprocal.

this shot haunts me. it's from the documentary and idk why it wasn't used in the final cut, i'll make space for it here anyway!

wille can't stop smiling and simon never takes his eyes off of him - he's emotionally overwhelmed by the way he bites his lip and his chin trembles. my heart.

no ray of sunshine between them could ever distract me from wilhelm diving into this kiss with his eyes open.

simon is definitely being pulled closer by the waist here and i take it very personally.

i was already full on sobbing when this part of the scene came up - sara and felice calling them out bc they are too caught up in their own bubble.

they still take one more moment to just look at each other so fondly tho and try to get a grip on what has just happened.

i get you wille! simon is the loml too.

this shot is sooo!!! hillerska in the rear view mirror as they drive away - time for the last bittersweet goodbye.

all of them are wearing white, they're driving off in a white car, most carefree than ever - sounds a lot like freedom and fresh start.

some things never change - they're the most comfortable and happy when they can be just them, just like this.

god knows where they're headed but it doesn't really matter as long as they're together.

wilmon endgame babyyyy.

they've been through so much but come so far eventually. it's the end of young royals but the beginning of a new chapter in wilmon story - the best one - and it's only theirs to write from now on.

it's still going to be tough, storms are still about to come their way and ruin plans, life is a mess but at least they have each other. they're holding hands in a we are in this together kind of promise and it's so reassuring to know.

it was a hell of a ride but love and hope wins - and there's truly no one who deserves it more than them.

time to appreciate the comparison between wille the perfect crown prince and messy hair with undone shirt wille!

he looks at the audience for the very last time with the most content smile and we can tell he really is - ready. to leave us behind, to face the future, to experience life in the way we've seen him fight for before.

wilmon breaking the fourth wall together at the end would've been insane, but it feels so right to focus on wille actually: it's always been just him, it all started with our eyes on him and his journey, the choice to abdicate is for his own sake and not for simon - he said it himself - so for him to be alone in the closing shot makes the most sense to me.

wilhelm finally getting his own little family of people who loves and values him, simon sharing life with the person who's made him feel seen and cared for - this is honestly the best finale we could’ve ever asked for.

[waiting-for-motivation]

dark red

summary: No matter what, Max loves and supports his girlfriend like a golden retriever would love a black cat.

pairing: Max Verstappen x Goth!Reader

warnings: the sweetest and purest fluff

words: 1022

a/n: daniel will always be part of my formula one fics :) also big thank you to my lovely muse @graveyardcannibal <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

The thing Max enjoys the most is staring at his beautiful girlfriend. No matter the time of the day, the light always seems to hit her at just the right angle. She could wear a trash bag and still look gorgeous in his eyes. Max really fell head over heels for her.

So it does not surprise (Y/n) at all to see his reflection in the mirror in front of her. He watches her precisely draw her eyeliner. Concentrating on the black lines is hard, when his blue eyes notice even her smallest movement.

“Get a hobby, creep“, she comments with a sarcastic undertone, still looking over her shoulder with a smile on her lips. While Max is already dressed, she still has to finish her make-up and put on the outfit, her boyfriend helped her pick out. Sometimes (Y/n) feels bad for him, keeping him waiting for her, but then she remembers how much he likes to gaze at her.

Max can only laugh at her words, leaning forward to take a closer look at all the brushes, powders and pencils. Although he watches his girl use them on a regular basis he has no clue what they are specifically for. Though one he knows: her dark red lipstick, which she is reaching for right now.

“No, wait before you put that on“, Max almost screams, caught off guard by his own forwardness. With a confused expression, (Y/n) turns towards her boyfriend, the lipstick in her right hand. The moment she opens her mouth to ask what has gotten into him, Max presses his lips to hers. This is explanation enough.

“You smooth bastard!“, (Y/n) exclaims after they part, keeping the intense eye contact with Max. He shows her a cheeky smile, then nods towards the mirror, encouraging her to finish her make-up. The lipstick is the final part. Max watches in awe as (Y/n) places a napkin between her lips to matten the dark color.

Then she turns towards her outfit that lies on the neatly made bed, right next to her boyfriend. (Y/n) gets dressed, so focused she does not notice Max standing up and cleaning up her make-up tools.

“You don‘t have to do that“, she murmurs as she turns around and catches Max inspecting her brushes. Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Max zips up her full cosmetic bag. He simply loves doing everything in his power for her, from smaller tasks to presenting her yet another corset.

"Need any help, schatje?", Max asks, setting the bag aside and reaching for his girl who is struggling to lace up her newest corset. With a huff, (Y/n) turns her back to him so that he can easily tighten the corset, careful not to strangulate her. After tying a bow, Max wraps his arms around his girl and starts kissing a trail from her ear to the collar of her shirt. One of her hands wanders to his fluffy golden hair.

"Don't start what you can't finish, Verstappen", (Y/n) warns her boyfriend, reminding him of today’s qualifying race and the job he has to do. At least, she will be with him on the paddock. For her, it will be the first time there, so she is rather excited and a bit anxious.

Together they leave their hotel room and drive to the racetrack. Again and again, Max throws a glance towards his girl on the passenger seat, actually so often that (Y/n) has to remind him to keep his eyes on the street. They quickly arrive and manage to get into the Red Bull garage without much attention from cameras or reporters.

"Remember you can always go into my driver room if it gets too much. I will find you as soon as possible afterward. Have some fun, schatje", Max tells (Y/n) with a concerned expression, even more nervous about her first day on the paddock than her. Her smile comfort his nerves, the sweet kiss following tells him she will be fine. Then he leaves to do some media stuff with his teammate.

Although the last few days, all (Y/n) could overthink about where the worst scenarios that could happen, the next few hours without Max are rather pleasant. Knowing a few of the drivers already because Max invited them to his home in Monaco, she has no problem in finding someone to talk to. Daniel is very delighted to see her, pulling her into a warm hug and forcing her to do a twirl for him, showing off her black outfit. She even meets some other girlfriends, which mostly compliment her on her make-up.

Before the qualifying race starts, someone from Red Bull escorts her back to the garage, claiming Max wants to see her before the start. There is a whole crowd of mechanics and strategists around him, so (Y/n) waits till he notices her, meanwhile touching up her lipstick.

Max is already sitting in his car, when he waves (Y/n) over with a bright smile. Someone presses his helmet into her hands which she gives to her boyfriend the moment she arrives at his car. He keeps it in his laps, gazing at the gorgeous girl above him. (Y/n) leans onto the car carefully, not wanting to cause a scratch or worse.

“There you are, schatje, wish me luck“, Max murmurs. His blue eyes glisten from not daring to blink. The giggle coming from (Y/n) causes his heart to flutter like a million butterflies. He smiles dreamily.

“Good luck, Maxie“, (Y/n) whispers as she presses a kiss to his cheek, aware of the cameras on them. Taking a step back and watching her boyfriend hide his handsome face under a balaclava and finally his helmet, she catches a glimpse of a red lipstick mark on his skin. She can only smile at this little incident.

Of course, the next day there are a lot of pictures circulating on the internet. Everyone can see the admiration in Max Verstappen‘s eyes as well as the red mark on his cheek, he wears like a medal of honor. He simply loves his girl with every fiber of his being.

[xoxochb]

— glue song ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: swearing, kinda rushed ending pairing: luke castellan x daughter of hades a/n: first chapter… drop your opinions!

series m. list

the multiverse theory is the ideology that there are separate universes beyond this. many scientists have researched studies to retrieve a clear answer, yet nothing has been found. many people additionally like to make a belief that them and their most beloved would be different in this alternate universes. many think they might hate each other, love each other, or simply not know of each others existence.

you— the only daughter of hades at camp half-blood believe strongly in the fact that you and your best friend, head counselor of hermes cabin, would be best friends regardless of the opposite universe. luke castellan doesn’t think much into your science-y stuff, but if he ever finds you rambling he can’t help but listen because you’re you! disregarding his opinion on science theories if you love them that means he loves them, it’s a mutual thing, truly.

anyways, on days such as these, the slow ones where there aren’t much exciting events or camp duties, you find yourself cooped up in the coldness of cabin thirteen, a silent cabin all to yourself. this was only until your brother decided to move back in from cabin seven— then you would have to share it, unfortunately. you keep a book open in your lap, reading over the lines of endless words, entrancing yourself into the fictional world that is your book.

it was silent, and it was perfect and the fireplace crackling only added onto your cozy aura. you can’t help but let out a tiny squeal at this, then returning back to your seriousness of reading. but you were naive to think that you would get alone time for at least something as simple as an hour, soon enough the door to your cabin opens and you frown, refraining from looking up from your book and ignoring the person walking towards your bed. but by the prominent mop of dark curls you know who it is.

“not even gonna spare me a glance? you wound me, nerd, truly.”

“go away, luke, this is my silent reading time.”

he doesn’t listen. instead, luke ushers you to slide over as he takes a seat beside you on your bed.

“what’s the book of choice for today?”

“the shining.”

luke nods slowly. “I like the movie better.”

you remain silent and try to get yourself back into the book world as luke returns to silence. you’re disrupted again when his finger twirls around a strand of your hair delicately. you sigh and attempt to ignore it. until he tugs at it

“what the fuck are you doing! stop it!” you take your hair from his hold as he laughs at your dismay. “I’m not laughing, I don’t find you funny.”

“really? because I think I’m hilarious.”

your mouth remains shut.

“c’mon, nerd, talk to me. I’m dying here.”

“great. I’ll see you at the gates.”

luke opens his mouth to speak but ultimately decides not to say anything. you’d known luke since your first arrival at camp back when you were ten, you’d came straight from the underworld where you lived with your father. as a demigod, typically you’d stay with your mortal parent, however, your mother had apparent ‘complications’ said by your father and you were forced to live in his palace for the first years of your life until he deemed it unhealthy for you to be cooped up down there for so long. when you’d arrived at camp, luke had been one of the only campers that had spoken to you— most to all of the others wouldn’t dare look in your direction due to your godly heritage.

but luke didn’t care about that. he welcomed you happily and allowed you to befriend him, since this, you had been inseparable. when you were fifteen he discovered your passion for all things astronomy while catching you reading a planets book by the lake one afternoon. he had sat beside you and listened as you rambled until the moon rose and the sun set, nonsense he declared it, just a bunch of your nerdy stars and planets bullshit he’d never cared for before. but since meeting you he’d grown to become fond of them— they were always a quiet reminder of you. and welcome the nickname. ‘nerd’ he calls you. at first you hated it, after a year or two you got used to it and stopped complaining.

“I’ll get to see you?”

“that’s not—” you search for the right words. “stop.“

“you’ve gotta make a more convincing argument, nerd.”

“well I want you to stop, isn’t that enough?”

“alright, my mouth is zipped.” luke makes a zipper motion over his mouth. you turn back to your book and try to re-read the lines again. luke places his head atop yours, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. he frowns. “you smell different. like vanilla. you usually smell like berries.”

“you got an emotional attachment to the berry conditioner?”

he shrugs. “I did.”

“I’ll make sure to buy that one next time then since your feelings are so hurt.”

“really? you’re great, nerd, thanks.”

you shake your head slowly. the cabin returns back to silence, a comfortable silence. yet you secretly wish he would say something again, even if it’s utterly stupid. and unbeknownst to you, luke wishes only the same of you.

[niteskysx]

(A continuation from my last fic)

Stepbrother! Nicholas Chavez x Reader x Stepbrother! Cooper Koch

Your role in this family was… complicated. When your adoptive parents brought you into the family, they thought giving their boys a little sister would be a wonderful idea. A picture-perfect family, they said.

What they didn’t realize was that their sons were far from perfect.

At first, Nicholas seemed like the kind of older brother anyone would want— charming, protective, and confident. With the exception of some anger issues, of course.

He said he’d help you with boys. He’d give advice, tease you harmlessly, and make you smile. But as the both of you grew older, that teasing shifted into somewhat of a darker nature.

In the teaching and teasing, he would start making these odd requests and try to convince you the best he could.

“I want to try something new with my girlfriend, but I need to make sure I don’t screw it up with her, I- I really love her you know… Can I try it on you first? Just to see how it feels? Just this once?”

You hesitated first, of course, but you were just helping, right? You were family. It was all innocent, wasn’t it? Just a favor for your stepbrother.

The first time you gave in, you told yourself it was harmless. But once that line was crossed, it was like he’d broken a lock.

The requests kept getting bolder and things started escalating into more intense exchanges.

He’d pull you aside, or take you to his room, and say he needed your help again. That it was “important.”That he loved his girlfriend too much to risk losing her.

Nicholas was a person that could get angry very quickly. When things didn’t go his way, he would be frustrated or get mad quick and needed a way to blow off steam fast.

Eventually, he started using you as a stress-reliever.

Whenever Nicholas felt bored, frustrated, or just needed to “relax,” he’d call you into his room. He’d claim it was harmless but he needed your help to blow off steam.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin the only family you have, would you?” He would say.

It’s not like you wanted him to continue with what he was doing— but sometimes, just, sometimes, you found yourself craving it. Craving him. Like a classic horny virgin, just so desperately waiting for the next time he’d teach you something new. You hated yourself for it, for wanting him like this, especially knowing that with each time you allowed him closer, you were indirectly betraying the only family you had ever known. But in those moments, as much as you tried, you couldn’t stop yourself. The minute he touched you, you melted— You couldn’t deny the way you looked forward to him, even as the guilt was suffocating you immensely.

Cooper, on the other hand, played the part of the sweet, caring brother. He didn’t seem to know the full extent of what went down between you and Nicholas, but you could tell he had an idea. He’d glance at you sometimes, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name— concern, guilt, maybe even jealousy. He’d ask if you were okay, with his angelic gentle tone that he has, but his questions only made you more anxious.

Even with Cooper, things didn’t feel entirely “brother-like.” His glances always lingered on you a moment too long, his touch lingering in ways that felt just a bit too intimate, like when his fingers brushed yours at the dinner table when you asked him to pass the bread. And that tension. That unspoken tension between the two of you that rises whenever you are left in a room together, alone.

You felt trapped by the both of them. Mentally, physically, emotionally….

The lines between right and wrong started to blur for you everyday and you couldn’t think right. You just kept sinking deeper and deeper into their control— intentionally or unintentionally.

You found yourself sitting close to Nicholas again— you could feel his fingers trail down your arm, his breath warm against your skin. You wanted to get away, you knew you had to get away, but you couldn’t… It was like he had you under some kind of unspoken spell that couldn’t be broken. He was leaning in, looking at your lips, about to do what you think he was about to do when—

The door flew open.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“Hey—oh,” Cooper’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He froze in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable.

Nick jerked back, his jaw clenching as he turned to glare at his younger brother. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cooper blinked, recovering quickly. “I was going to ask her if she wanted to watch a movie,” he said, his tone calm but his eyes flickering between the two of you. “But I can see I interrupted something.”

“You think?” Nick snapped.

Your heart was racing a million miles an hour. “I—I was just heading to bed,” you stammered, trying to escape the situation.

Cooper didn’t budge from the doorway, he just kept glaring, eyes locked on Nick’s. “Maybe you should give her some space, Nicholas. You know, let her breathe for once.”

You didn’t expect Cooper to say that. At all.

You could feel how mad Nick was getting. This wasn’t good.

“Stay out of it, Coop. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re acting like a—” Cooper stopped himself, glancing at your innocent face before finishing. “Just… back off, okay?”

Nick took a step toward his brother.. “You don’t tell me what to do. Got it?”

“Someone has to,” Cooper shot back, his calm demeanor cracking. “She’s not your plaything, Nicholas.”

What was happening wasn’t good and you needed to figure out a way to stop this before things escalated. You quickly stepped between them before things could escalate.

“Stop it—both of you,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “I don’t want any of this. I’m going to my room.”

You rushed out of there as soon as possible. You couldn’t take whatever “this” was. It was just too much for you to handle.

Nick watched you leave as you left his room, turning from frustrated to something softer. Sadder. But only for a brief moment before hardening his expression to bitter ‘ol Nicholas again. “Fine. Whatever,” he muttered, dropping into the chair beside his bed.

He shot a glance at Cooper, waving him off lazily.

“You can go now, too.”

Cooper gave Nick one last angry glance before he turned to leave.

As he stepped into the hallway, he could see that your door was slightly open and he peeked through that little space to see you sitting on the edge of your bed, holding yourself.

Hesitant at first, but he knocks lightly on your door and steps inside. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentler than ever. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your hands were still trembling. “I’m fine. Thanks for… everything.”

He gave you a small smile. “Someone has to look out for you.”

Before you could respond, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “If you ever need anything, just… let me know, okay?”

You nodded again, not adding anything else. He turned and quietly closed the door behind him.

When you were left alone with your thoughts, you were trying to process everything that just happened. What did just happen? In fact, what HAS been happening? I mean— this is not like you at all! You’re a good girl, like mom and dad say. You have always been a good girl… Kissing your step brother? Nicholas—? Seriously? The boy who gets off on torturing and teasing his stepsister? He doesn’t even really like you! He just uses you— why are you STILL letting him get close to you like that and then let him treat you like trash the rest of the time? And what was that fight? Over YOU? No way. This all feels like a very, VERY bad dream that you need to wake up from.

You sighed and collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands.

Just sleep it off… just… sleep… it… off.

Things will be normal tomorrow…. Right?

For @blackynsupremacy 🙊💋

[runariya]

🥸🤫☠️

zombie!jjk x human!reader where zombie roaming around abandon island and found human...

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: zombie!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, zombie!AU, S2"L", yandere, angst, smut warnings: angst, survival on an island, yandere, explicit sexual content, breast play, unprotected sex, squirting,, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.328

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’re not sure how you got this far. Not really.

The island’s quiet, apart from the rustling of waves against the rocks and the occasional cry of some bird in the distance. It’s the kind of quiet that grates at your nerves, gets under your skin, makes your thoughts run wild until you’re staring at shadows that aren’t there.

Not that it matters, you think. The only thing worse than shadows that aren’t real is the knowledge that there are real monsters out there, ones that used to look like you, talk like you. Ones that will tear you apart if they catch you slipping.

You sit on the sand, knees pulled up to your chest, and squint at the horizon. Nothing but water as far as the eye can see. There’s no way off this place. No boats, no planes, no rescue missions. You’d counted yourself lucky to have found it at all, back when you still had the energy for such things.

But it’s been weeks now. Maybe months. And luck’s gone sour. The supplies you’d scavenged are almost gone, and every day it feels like the island is shrinking a bit more. 

The quiet’s the worst of it, though. It’s loud enough to make you jump at nothing, loud enough to leave you wishing for the kind of noise you’d sworn you’d never want to hear again.

Not this kind of noise, though.

The sound of shuffling and low, wet breathing.

It freezes you where you sit, your heart kicking in your chest like a dying engine. You tell yourself it’s your imagination, that there’s no way, no way anything could’ve followed you here. But the sound grows louder, scuff of footsteps against sand, and you know you’re not alone.

You should move. Run, hide, something. But you’re cemented to the spot, fear pinning you in place like a fucking corpse on a spike, and when you finally manage to turn your head, he’s already there.

The first thing you notice is his eyes.

Dark. Too dark. Not the milky, empty gaze you’ve come to expect from the infected, but different entirely. Like shadows sucking everything in, swallowing whatever light they might’ve had.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and eerily human, except for the faint grey tinge to his skin, the cracks along his arms and neck, like porcelain left out in a storm.

You know exactly what he is, but you can’t stop staring.

He’s handsome. That’s the part that catches even yourself off guard. No rotting flesh, no slack jaw or hollowed-out face. His hair is dark, long enough to curl at their tips, and his bottom lip is full, though they’re pressed into a tight, almost pained line.

His clothes are ripped and stained, clinging to his muscular frame, and you notice the claws at his fingertips, black and sharp.

Then he moves, and you snap back to reality with a jolt.

“Shit,” you hiss, scrambling to your feet and stumbling backwards.

He doesn’t lunge at you. Doesn’t even bare his teeth. He just tilts his head, watching you with those black, round eyes, like he’s studying you.

“What do you want?” you snap, even though you know it’s pointless. He’s not going to answer.

But then he does.

“I found you.” His voice is low, rough even, like it hasn’t been used in a long time.

You take another step back, your hands shaking from the wave of adrenaline drowning you. “Stay away from me.”

He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t as he takes a step closer, like if he’s testing the waters. 

“Stay—” Your voice cracks, but you don’t have time to fix it, because suddenly he’s in front of you, faster than you can blink.

His hand shoots out, engulfing your wrist hard enough to make you wince, but thankfully not hard enough to break anything. His skin is cold, but not too cold, not dead. You don’t understand how that’s possible.

“You’re not running,” he states, his head tilting again. There’s something almost curious in his tone, but you’re too scared to pay it any real attention.

“Let go,” you snarl, trying to wrench your arm free, but his grip doesn’t ease up.

His other hand rises now too, clawed fingers brushing against your cheek in a way that makes you want to recoil. But you don’t. You can’t.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Warm.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not,” you bite out.

His lips twitch, and for a moment you think he might smile.

“You’re mine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I found you. You’re mine.”

You laugh, but it’s more out of panic than anything. “That’s not how it works, buddy.”

He leans in closer, and you can feel his breath against your skin. “It is now.”

You want to push him away, to scream or fight or do something, but all you can do is stare into his eyes.

And then he lets go.

You stumble back, clutching your wrist like it might’ve been burned, even though the only thing you feel is the ghost of his touch. He doesn’t move to follow you, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“Don’t run,” is he warning you? Pleasing?

You glare at him, though it feels pointless. “Why shouldn’t I?”

His head tilts again, and there’s that almost-smile, like he knows something you don’t. “Because I’ll catch you.”

You want to tell him he’s full of shit. You want to tell him he’s wrong, that you’ve survived this long because you don’t get caught.

But you don’t.

Because deep down, you know he’s right.

That’s how it starts. That’s how it ends. 

He doesn’t leave after that. No, he follows you wherever you go. He’s not always close, sometimes you catch glimpses of him at the fringe of the treeline, watching you like some predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

You try to ignore him at first. Pretend he’s not there, focus on scavenging what little food you can find and rationing your water. But it’s impossible. You can feel his eyes on you, always watching, always waiting.

It should terrify you. It does terrify you. But it’s not just fear that keeps you up at night. It’s something else.

Something you don’t want to admit to yourself.

You tell yourself it’s just survival instinct, just your brain trying to make sense of the impossible. But it’s not that simple.

He’s too human. That’s the problem.

When you see him up close, when you hear his voice, low and rasping and somehow still fucking captivating, it’s like your mind forgets what he is. Or maybe it just doesn’t care.

He’s still dangerous. You know that. You see it in the way he moves, in the sharpness of his claws, in the flicker of primal instinct in his dark eyes.

But he doesn’t hurt you.

He could, and you know it. You’re not stupid. He could tear you apart in seconds if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He watches. And waits. And when he does speak, his voice is calm, almost gentle.

It’s not normal. Nothing about this is normal.

But normal doesn’t exist anymore. 

The world’s gone to shit, and you’re stranded on a fucking island with a zombie who looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And maybe you’re starting to believe your own thoughts, or is it him? 

The first time you let him get close, it’s not because you want to. It’s because you don’t have a choice.

You’re sitting by the fire you’ve managed to build as the nights turned colder, a small thing that barely keeps the cold at bay, when you hear the sound of his footsteps approaching. 

You don’t even flinch anymore. You know it’s him, so why would you bother? 

He doesn’t say anything as he just lowers himself to the ground a few feet away from you, maybe wanting some warmth too. 

“What do you want?”

His unblinking eyes meet yours. “You.”

You divert your gaze to the flames, though your heart betrays you by skipping a beat. “Yeah, well, tough luck. I’m not exactly available.”

He taps his claws against his thigh, and there’s that almost-smile again. “You will be.”

It’s not a threat. It should feel like one, but it doesn’t. Is it a promise? You can’t tell. 

And you hate that some part of you doesn’t hate it. You hate that, even though he’s not fully human, you feel drawn to him, crave his proximity, even his touch. You reason it’s because of your isolation, because of the many days and months spent without any sort of affection.

You know that sooner or later your time will come, that this island is your final destination. So why wouldn’t you seize the opportunity to just feel again?

With a heavy sigh, you get up, trying to quieten down your doubts and everything in between as you make your way over to the zombie, his eyes following you curiously.

No longer letting your mind intervene, you get down on your knees right before him, hands shakily landing on his knees, gauging his reaction. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t speak, just watches you like always does. And so, with a deep breath that not only fills your lungs but seems to expand your whole chest, you do what you never expected to do.

Crawling forward, you settle carefully on his lap, unable to look away from the dark voids of his eyes as his hands rest on your waist, squeezing just a little, as if to reassure you this is fine. That this is normal.

You let yourself think it is, that he’s human, that he wants you just as much as you want him. And as you lean forward, your whole body trembling with adrenaline or want, you’re not sure which, his lips part the moment yours find his.

Their warmth and plushness send your mind into a frenzy, letting you give in completely. With one silent moan escaping your lips, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, black claws ripping your already torn clothes to shreds in seconds, letting the tatters fall around you.

You try to do the same, clawing at his clothes to feel his skin on yours, but it’s in vain. Survival has stripped you of your energy, leaving you too weak to even tear the most fragile fabric in two.

The zombie grunts when your cunt grinds hard against his cock, and with that, he rips his own clothes away, lifting you slightly to adjust you just right on his lap. His skin doesn’t look as grey in the warm orange dance of the flames as it does in sunlight, something you’re oddly grateful for.

“Taste so good,” the zombie mumbles as he licks and kisses down your throat, ending his journey at your tits. You both get lost in his ministrations while you’re only able to ride your weeping cunt on his rock-hard cock, fingers weaving through his soft hair. 

You should fear his black claws as they squeeze your tits together or scrape lightly against your skin, but you don’t. Not because you’re blind to the danger, but because you feel how careful he is, how utterly tender and mindful he’s being, as if he’s afraid to break you.

That thought alone sends another wave of arousal coursing through you, showing just how desperate you’ve become, desperate for touch, desperate for this zombie to fuck you senseless.

Lifting his head with both hands, his lips unnaturally rosy and swollen, you crash into him again, starved for love, for affection, for anything remotely human that the world has stripped away, not only from you but from him as well.

The zombie lifts you easily with one hand, aligning his leaking fat cock without breaking the kiss. Frantic breaths mingle as he pushes you down, spearing you in a way you never thought possible.

“Yes,” you cry out, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His moans and grunts, sounds you didn’t know you needed, only fuel your desire.

And while you try your best to ride him, both of you know how weak you’ve become, how fragile you are. His pace is inhuman as he lies back and thrusts upward, but you wouldn’t expect anything less.

The sight of him below you, biceps, pecs, and abs flexing with every pump, the jiggling of your tits in the corner of your vision, it’s enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm spills over him and onto the sand, leaving you trembling but unable to stop meeting his thrusts halfway. 

“Fuck,” the zombie groans, looking more human than ever as his eyes glow in the firelight, reflecting not only the flames but your body too.

You can’t tell how long he fucks you, how long this desperate and delirious paradise lasts, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind him not stopping, don’t mind feeling dehydrated from the multiple orgasms paralysing you until you collapse on top of him.

You don’t mind when he steals your breath with his tongue, don’t mind that he’s imprinting the shape of his cock into your cunt permanently.

Because when he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you’re at peace. So content, so spent, that you forget who you are and who he is.

The quiet doesn’t bother you as you lie on his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to feel less alone.

But eventually, the calm in your mind has to make room for the survival instincts you’ve relied on for so long. It has to, because the next words you hear sound utterly insane.

“You’re finally mine, ___.”

And yes, you’re insane, you’ve lost your mind, because when you startle upright, the zombie is human.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[lurkingshan]

Hey Shan!! IDK if you're planning to do a BL wrap up or superlatives or anything like that this year so this question might be a bit too early but um...what has been a few of your favorite first watches for 2024 bls?

Hi Eboni! This is actually pretty good timing for a list because most of the shows that will end within 2024 are already over! The only two I could see maybe making my list that have not ended yet are Love is Like a Poison (Japan) and Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China), so I'll mention them here (fingers crossed they end well and stay favs).

That said, here are my favorite completed BLs of 2024 (alpha order)!

At 25:00 in Akasaka (Japan, Gaga)

Two actors who first met in college are cast in a bl together, old feelings resurface, and the lines between their professional and private lives start to blur. This show is super beautiful and moody.

Cooking Crush (Thailand, YouTube or WeTV for uncut)

Ten and Prem are my favorite of OffGun's many couples. Ten is a med student with food issues who wants to learn how to cook, and Prem is a chef in training. Their romance is super sweet and I also really like the side couple and friend groups in this one.

Cherry Magic Thailand (Thailand, YouTube or Viu, requires VPN)

I still can't believe this show happened. How on earth did GMMTV manage to make a superior version of Cherry Magic?? Tay Tawan had a lot to do with it, along with a very smart adaptation. It's so sweet and funny and perfect (if you just pretend ep 8 doesn't exist).

City of Stars (Thailand, iQIYI)

I was surprised by how much I liked this charming little Thai pulp. It had an interesting story with strong writing and the pair was very good together. More people should watch it!

I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama (Japan, Gaga)

This is a short and sweet and note perfect BL comedy about two actors falling for each other while making a BL. Loaded with meta jokes about the industry and stan culture and very loving about it.

Knock Knock Boys (Thailand, Gaga)

I am obsessed with this excellent Thai BL that not nearly enough people watched. Two couples, both compelling and sexy and fun, and amazing friendship dynamics. I want everyone to watch it!

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (S Korea, iQIYI)

My top BL of the year. It's a second chance romance, you see the characters both in high school and later as adults and I don't really want to spoil anything else about it. It's beautiful, the characters are so compelling, and the story is masterfully told.

Love for Love's Sake (S Korea, iQIYI)

This one is special and quite unique, and I also don't want to spoil much about it! It begins with a basic isekai set up that then goes to some unexpected places. Really, really beautiful show.

Love Sea (Thailand, iQIYI)

Definitely my favorite spicy romance of the year. I really loved a lot about the story for this one, in particular the class dynamics that defined the characters and their relationship, and Mahasamut (played by Fort) is on my list of favorite drama characters this year.

Marahuyo Project (Philippines, YouTube)

We didn't get much from the Philippines this year, but they did drop one absolute banger in this show about a fierce and proud gay kid who gets booted out of school in Manila and sent to live with his grandma and mother on a small island. He makes friends and enemies and starts an LGBTQ+ club, and falls in love along the way.

Mr Mitsuya's Planned Feeding (Japan, fansub)

An excellent age gap romance about a young editor and the chef who writes for his magazine making food together and falling in love. Lots of fun side characters, too. I loved every minute of this show.

Perfect Propose (Japan, Gaga)

Two old friends meet when one of them is in need of housing and one is on the verge of a nervous breakdown from a soul-sucking corporate job, and help each other heal. This one is short and sweet.

Ossan's Love Returns (Japan, Gaga)

This one is technically a sequel, but you can enjoy it without having seen the original (and might like it better that way, tbh). One of the funniest shows of the year and featuring a main couple that is a personal fav and are now on my ride or die list.

Takara's Treasure (Japan, Gaga)

This one is a simple story but so, so sweet. A cute little bean follows his mysterious idol to university and joins the hiking club to get to know him better. They get to know each other slowly and fall in love.

Unknown (Taiwan, Viki)

ALMOST my favorite bl of the year, but we had a few issues on the back end. Despite that, I still loved it a whole lot. A family drama and a love story about two chosen brothers whose relationship changes over time. Easily the best BL Taiwan made this year.

Looking at this list, I am realizing how absolutely invaluable my Gaga and iQIYI subscriptions have become; it's where nearly all my favorite BL is airing.

[captainsophiestark]

Crib Construction

Cassian x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: ACOTAR

Summary: Cassian and his mate have been tasked with putting together Nyx's crib. Unfortunately, it's a harder task than they thought it would be.

Word Count: 1,282

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cass, come here. Does this look right?"

My boyfriend didn't waste a second before joining me on the floor, kneeling behind me and looking over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a minute, then I heard a rustling of paper as Cassian sighed.

"Yeah, it looks right. That hasn't stopped it from being wrong before, though."

"Well, let's just hope for the best."

I could feel through the mating bond just how little Cassian wanted to do that, but he knew as well as I did that we didn't have much other choice. I took a deep breath, then gently pressed the two pieces of wood before me together, trying to get them to link like they were supposed to.

Of course, it didn't work. I added slightly more pressure, but still nothing. I put my entire weight and all of my strength into it, and when the damn thing still didn't budge, I let out a scream and shoved both pieces away from me before I could really lose my temper and accidentally break something.

"This is bullshit!" I shouted, whirling around to face Cassian. He had a look of grim resignation, meeting my eyes with sympathy. Our positions had been exactly reversed about ten minutes ago. "Rhys set this up as a way to get back at you for winning the snowball fight last time, and I'm getting caught in the collateral. This sucks."

"Honestly, maybe he did," Cass said, sighing and leaning back on his hands. "Or maybe Az did something to break this one too before he got kicked off the job."

I groaned, flopping over and into Cassian's side to lay against his chest and stare at the ridiculous contraption that had been defeating us all afternoon. Rhys and Feyre had asked us to assemble Nyx's crib, and at first, we'd been honored and happy to help. But hours later, when nothing was going right and none of the pieces were fitting together the way they were supposed to, I was about ready to throw all of it out the window and into the Sidra below.

We'd been given the task in the first place because Az had shattered the same type of crib to pieces after spending a day being stumped by the puzzle. Cassian and I had inherited the task for our ability to keep each other calm, and because we were generally less destructive when continually frustrated by a puzzle. This crib was about to ruin that reputation.

"Okay, maybe we should just start over from the beginning," I said, sitting up and turning to face Cassian after our brief rest. "Like, take everything apart and lay it all out on the floor again, then start back from step one."

Cassian groaned. "Honestly, I hate that idea. But what we're already doing clearing isn't working, so..."

"So let's try it. Deep breaths, and then a total reset. A fresh start."

"...Alright. Let's do it."

With a lot of heavy sighing, Cassian and I took apart what little progress we'd made, separating the crib back into its individual parts, the way it had come. Once we got it all laid out again, I took the instruction manual from Cass and laid that out in front of us, too. With one last deep breath, we started in again at step one on page one.

I wish I could say this attempt went better. But it didn't. Cassian and I almost destroyed the whole thing Az-style in a fit of frustration three times each, one of us barely managing to pull the other back every time. We were just lucky our destructive streaks never lined up, or the pieces of the crib before us would've already become nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Alright, that's it!" Cass finally shouted, standing up abruptly from where we'd been trying to wrestle together the corners of the crib with no luck, despite using both our strength at once. "I'll be right back."

"What?" I flung my arms out to either side of me as Cassian headed for the door. "You're abandoning me? Seriously?"

"Not abandoning! Changing tactics."

Before I could ask for clarification, Cassian was out the door. I stared after him, waiting for him to reappear or say he was kidding or something, but he didn't. I huffed, then shook my head and turned back to the crib, its pieces still mostly laid out on the floor.

I sat there and stared at the pieces for a few long beats, contemplating my next move. Honestly, I'd just about decided to throw them out the window and tell Rhys the thing'd never been here when the door came swinging open again.

I turned to find Cassian striding towards me, the confidence and determination back in his step. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"I've solved all our problems."

I snorted, but smiled at Cassian all the same as he came to a stop before me. The fact that he'd managed to make me laugh at all in the middle of this nonsense was exactly why we were mates, and it made me love him even more.

"Cass, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, but... I'm having a hard time seeing how that could possibly be true. Unless you convinced Mor to take over for us...?"

"No, but just as good." I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian's grin widened as he dropped down next to me. Slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a hammer, tape, and a few other supplies.

I just stared at everything for a moment, then snorted and leanded into Cassian. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Babe... we can't use that stuff to put this crib together."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be sturdy enough! We don't want it to give out while the baby's in it. We both know we can't risk that."

Cassian hummed, rocking forward just enough to get a few of the pieces of the crib into his hands. He lined them up like we'd been doing all day, then raised the hammer in his other hand.

"Maybe you're right about the tape," he said. "But all we need to fix this is a little extra power. We can't force it together with our strength alone, so we'll use a hammer."

"Cass-"

Before I could get another word out, Cassian swung the hammer. I could see him putting his full Illyrian strength into it, and sure enough, the pieces whacked together. Unfortunately for us, they also splintered into more pieces than would be fixable, even with tape.

Cassian and I just stared at the wreckage for a moment, neither of us speaking. Cassian was the one to break first.

"Shit."

I laughed, all the stress and ridiculousness of the past few hours disappearing along with our hopes of actually succeeding at our task. I leaned into Cassian, and a moment later, he joined me.

"Well, that didn't go like I was hoping," sighed Cassian. I laughed again.

"Really? That's not what you were going for?"

"Not quite."

We shared a smile, then slumped back together, Cassian's arm around my waist as I leaned into his chest. I sighed, staring at the ruins of the crib before us. Not a single part of me wanted to do something about fixing it.

"So... how about we call Mor and find a way to pass this on to her?"

I laughed, then nodded as I leaned even further into Cassian.

"Baby, I was thinking the same thing. You, me, and Az have had to tear our hair out over this thing already, I think it's her turn."

"And even better, if any of us has to call Amren in, it'll be Mor."

"Exactly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Maasverse Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[theywantedplayer]

MastersList

PromptList

It was another quiet night at the lake house, and you found yourself standing in the kitchen, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while you grabbed a glass of water. The usual crew was here, just like every summer—Cole, Trevor, and the Three Stooges, aka the Hughes brothers. Later in the week, more of their Michigan buddies would be arriving, but for now, you were content just savoring the peace of having everyone you grew up with under the same roof. It was rare since they were always apart during the season.

As close as you all were, there was a secret you’d been keeping from the guys. You and Quinn had started dating during one of the Vancouver Connections New Year’s Eve parties. You’d been one of the equipment managers with the team, and since there was a strict no-fraternizing policy with the players, you two had to keep it under wraps. It had been six months now, and every single one of those months had been the best of your life. The only reason you hadn’t told the others was because you’d been friends for so long, and you weren’t sure how they’d take it.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the creak of the old wooden stairs, signaling footsteps making their way toward the kitchen. You looked up and saw a half-awake, messy-haired Quinn stumbling toward you. A smile tugged at your lips as he rubbed his eyes, clearly still fighting sleep. You two had been assigned separate rooms, which meant he’d had to share a bed with Luke. He didn’t mind at first, but that was before he discovered Luke’s tendency to kick in his sleep.

It was still early in the morning when Quinn wandered over to you, glancing at the microwave clock and seeing it read 1:38. Everyone would have to be up at 6:00 to get ready for the boat trip, but here he was, drawn to you. You set your phone and glass of water quietly on the counter, and he took that as his cue to pull you into a warm embrace. You melted into him instantly, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him softly. He pulled away just enough to lean against the counter beside you, his gaze never leaving yours.

“What’s got you awake?” you asked gently, your fingers grazing the stray hairs falling across his forehead as you pushed them back.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied with a teasing smile, raising his eyebrows.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how cliché the moment felt—a tired late-night exchange in the kitchen, with both of you trying to make sense of why you were awake.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear it too” he chuckled, shaking his head and dismissing the playful line.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, side by side. Quinn leaned on his forearms against the counter while you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, gently playing with the strands. It was moments like these, when the world outside was quiet and still, that you cherished the most. Since no one knew you were dating, you couldn’t be as affectionate as you usually would be in public—no kissing or hugging whenever you felt like it. But here, in this peaceful, private space, you could just be.

“Quinn,” you hummed softly, breaking the silence as you turned your gaze to meet his.

He hummed in response but continued to scroll through his phone. You smiled and continued to play with his hair, smiling just at the back of his head before saying, “I love you.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew Quinn was smiling. All he did was turn his head to look up at you.

“I love you too,” he smiled back.

Your hand moved from playing with the hair at the nape of his neck to running your finger along his jawline, just smiling at him. Quinn took advantage of the moment and turned his body so his lower back was leaning against the counter, your hand now reaching upwards towards his jaw.

“I really love you,” you whispered to him.

His smile grew a little bit bigger, and his eyebrows knitted with confusion at the sudden repeating affirmation.

“ I Really love you too,” he repeated back to me, a breathy laugh leaving his lips. Your hand moved to his broad chest, just holding it there as you looked up and smiled at him.

You still couldn’t believe that you were able to say that Quinn Hughes was in love with you. When you think back to the day that you formally met Quinn, it always brought a warm feeling too. You were walking through one of the hallways in Rogers Arena with a hot coffee in hand, trying to flip through the multiple pieces of paper on your clipboard with one hand, clearly struggling. You turned the corner to go to your office, but you were so engulfed with all the things you had to do marked on your clipboard that you didn’t see the captain of the Vancouver Canucks right around the corner, causing you to collide directly into him.

Your clipboard became unhinged, your papers went everywhere, and your coffee spilled all over him. You remembered how flustered you were when you looked up and saw that it was Quinn Hughes. Sure, you’d been in the room with the Canucks team multiple times and knew the players, but you’d never really talked to them or gotten to know them.

You just kept apologizing as if it was a reflex, moving your hand to try and wipe off the coffee from his Vancouver Canucks warm-up t-shirt until you realized you were basically rubbing his chest, and you froze and pulled your hand back.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you repeated for the 100th time. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You remembered when you looked up at Quinn after apologizing profusely, all he had was a dorky smile on his face, and he slightly laughed at your flusteredness.

“Don’t apologize, you’re good,” he knelt down to help you pick up your papers, and you followed him, picking them up as well.

As Quinn was picking them up, he knew he shouldn’t have been, but he was looking at what was on the papers. One of the papers that he picked up was printed tickets for the next game—your mom and your dad were coming to Vancouver to see you, and you thought it would be nice if you could use your discount and get them tickets, even though they were still quite pricey. Quinn picked up the piece of paper flipped it to show you and said:

“You bought tickets?” he said, as if it was something so crazy.

“Oh yeah, my mom and dad are coming into town, and I thought I would surprise them with tickets,” you told him, shrugging your shoulders.

“These were like $500 each,” he said, quite shocked, looking at the pieces of paper again, checking the seating, and seeing that it was right behind the Vancouver home bench.

“Yeah, I just really wanted to surprise them. My dad’s a huge Vancouver fan, and I wanted to give them good seats.” You really didn’t think it was a big deal that you spent a bunch of money on Vancouver tickets—thousands of fans do it every night.

“Do equipment managers not get tickets for free?” he asked, handing you the pieces of paper he picked up, and you both finally stood back up.

Why is he actually talking to me? you thought. You were one of the equipment managers, but you weren’t one of the most important ones. You were one of the newest hires; you’d only been there for a year. Most players just walked right past you, giving you a nod or a smile but never a conversation.

“A lot of the higher-ups get more of a discount. I just get a little bit, probably just for compensation,” you tried to act like it was no big deal, not wanting to make it seem like it was really a big problem to you.

“That’s bullshit. No way,” he scoffed, still slightly smiling. “The players get free tickets anytime they want to bring immediate family to games, sometimes even friends,” he informed you.

You laughed, but you weren’t sure if it was because you were nervous about the hotshot Vancouver captain talking to you or if you were just nervous. “As much as I want to be, I’m not an NHL player, so it’s just the way it goes, I guess.”

Quinn just shook his head in response. “No, that’s so dumb. I got you. I don’t have any friends or family coming tonight since it’s just a normal home game. I’ll get those tickets for you for free.”

You opened your mouth to speak for a second but immediately closed it. He was going to pay for my tickets? you thought? “You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine,” you tried to be dismissive and wave him off, just thinking it was a nice thing to say, not something he would actually do, but he kept persisting.

“No, I’ll talk to somebody, I’ll get it done. That’s bullshit that you don’t get it for free.” You kept shaking your head at his words, but you knew this was going nowhere. You’ve worked in sports for a long time, and you’ve come to realize that men who play sports are even more stubborn than men in general.

“You said your dad’s a big Vancouver fan too, right?” he asked you.

You just simply responded with, “Yeah, yeah, he is.”

“It should be a clean swipe of a game. Here, I’ll give you my number so you can bring your parents down to meet the team if they want to.” He gently took the clipboard and the pen that was attached to it out of your hands and wrote his phone number on the ticket piece of paper.

You watched him as he wrote his number, but he was writing for too long for it to just be a number. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You couldn’t decide if he was just being nice or if he was hitting on you. You assumed that the whole entire Vancouver hockey team got girls every single night, so you didn’t want to read into it. He handed you back the clipboard. You were too nervous to even look down at the number with him standing in front of you.

“Just text me before the game so I know it’s your number, and I can let you know when they can come down. I’ll tell the guys and everything, don’t worry.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal like it was no big deal that your dad was about to meet his favorite team.

“Do your parents have jerseys?” he asked you, running his hands through his hair.

The whole entire time that he was talking to you, you completely forgot that he had coffee poured all over his navy blue shirt, and it seemed like he completely forgot too.

“Yeah, I know my mom has an old Luongo jersey, and my dad has a Garland jersey,” you informed him.

You were embarrassed to say it, but you smiled at the sound of his laugh, hearing that your dad had a Connor Garland jersey.

“Oh my God, Garland’s going to chirp me about that forever,” he laughed.

“Why would he chirp you?” you asked, curious.

You were pretty sure that the players and the team didn’t even know your name. One or two of them would just call you by your last name if they actually needed you for something. God forbid they’ve never seen your office, so they would never see your name tag outside on the wall.

“No, it’s nothing. Don’t worry,” he laughed, dismissing it as he took a step back, signaling that he was going to leave to get ready for the game tonight. “Just make sure you text my number before you bring your parents down, okay?”

You cleared your throat before you spoke, watching him walk away but for some reason, he looked back at you multiple times, smiling.

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do.” He smiled, sending you a quick wave. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/n.”

What? You were genuinely shocked to hear that Quinn Hughes even knew your name. This was the first time you’d ever really talked to him. You held your clipboard in one of your hands tightly just out of pure nervousness and looked down, seeing his number on your receipt paper for your tickets. And you also noticed the small note he left:

Sorry for spilling your coffee, I guess I’ll just have to take you out and get you another one sometime.

You still can’t believe that that was how you met your boyfriend, now 6 months later. When you went to work that day, you never expected to get Quinn Hughes’s number, have him reimburse you for two tickets behind the home bench, and also allow your parents to meet the whole entire team and get their jerseys signed.

And he did pay you back for that coffee. He still does it every morning. As for his teammates, they just think that he did something nice for one of the workers at Rogers Arena, but he was really trying to impress you and find an excuse to see you again.

It was still just you and Quinn in the kitchen, and you both knew that you had to go to bed if you were going to get up early to get on the boat with the guys in the morning. You slightly patted his chest, signaling that it was time to get moving.

“I want you to spend the night with me,” you whispered to him.

He tilted his head at you for a quick second.

“I’ll have to go back to Luke’s room before he wakes up then,” he told you, squeezing your waist slightly.

“I know,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and leading him back to your room.

[anyalasagna]

I am so deeply DEEPLY obsessed with this episode, Haru knocked it out of the park with these dialogue decisions! While we were discussing the themes I started going off on a tangent about how well-done the visuals are this episode, and they suggested that I do a post about it when the translation released. So here I am!

So! First thing’s first, this absolutely INCREDIBLE shot:

They’re finally drawing the visual connection between Akio’s tower and the dueling forest! There’s been a subtle connection in some of the previous episodes, like in episode 1 where an establishing shot of the dueling forest cuts directly to a shot of Ohtori Tower:

But with this shot they’re shoving that connection in your face: the dueling forest seems to grow out of the tower, and the implication that the dueling forest was an extension of the tower all along (more specifically, Akio’s nasty ass bachelor pad). I love seeing just how early this parallel was seeded into the episodes, and this one marks a turning point in how the audience is supposed to interpret the magical duel symbolism in terms of Akio’s actions in the tower.

2. Next up: Anthy’s been gone, and she left Chuchu behind with Utena. I’ve seen a lot of people analyze Chuchu specifically as a manifestation of Anthy’s suppressed emotions, and that’s really hammered home when Utena asks Anthy where she’s been:

I swear this shot haunts me. Everything about it is so meticulous: the audience is positioned outside the window looking in, separated from the action by both the window and the screen. The inside of the room is warmly lit, and the outside is cast in greenish-grey darkness. Chuchu is on the same side of the action as us, hanging on for dear life. The comedy of the previous shot (him knocking over a cake and falling down) is immediately subverted with the literal heaviness of Chuchu - look at how he’s positioned as the largest object in the foreground, grabbing the windowsill at the exact line of Anthy’s skirt. He’s pulling the entire scene off balance, and this bizarre emphasis layered with Utena’s question shoves Chuchu’s (and therefore Anthy’s) desperate dissociation from the scene in your face.

Meanwhile Anthy and Utena are seemingly positioned in their own separate boxes by their placement in front of the doors: Anthy by the door between their shared room and the outside world, and Utena by the closet doors (psychologize that Freud). The camera keeps this truly insane vantage point for the duration of the scene, as Anthy closes the door and talks to Utena, and Chuchu notably does not move the entire time. Even after it zooms in for close-ups Utena and Anthy don’t move outside the bounds of their little “boxes”! The audience’s screen takes the place of the window! It’s so brilliant I swear I’m going to lose it if I think about it for too long.

3. Moving on! The show cuts to a similar shot of the tower and dueling forest as before (just to beat you over the head with it even more), and the elevator doors open with a ding revealing Anthy and Utena again. You can make it a little game to find all the connections between the elevator and the dueling arena gate (the roses, the elevator button shape, the archway around the doors, etc):

But I want to focus on the elevator motif itself. You might have noticed that I didn’t mention the opening scene of the episode with Mamiya and Mikage (which panned down from the building, through the ground, and into whatever weird chamber they’re in with an elevator swoosh and ding):

That’s because this shot doesn’t get any context until the elevator scene with Anthy and Utena. The ding of the elevator as they arrive at Akio’s place contextualizes this weird room-thing in retrospect, and the opening scene provides a sense of familiarity to this new elevator. There are more visual parallels here: the lighting resembles a shaft in the ground, the red of the tank mimicks the red interior of Akio’s elevator, hell even the water is echoed by the shiny reflectiveness of Akio’s concrete floor. It’s a clever way to create thematic unity between all these different settings, even though the show’s introducing new things at a dizzying pace.

4. The light projector threw me off, I gotta admit. It’s such a bizarre un-projector-like shape - it comes off as figurative at first glance, and Utena even jokes about it being Anthy’s brother to emphasize the weird life-likeness of its shape. (I’m gonna go crazy for a second and point out that the shape of the projector mimics the silhouette of Dios sitting on the globe. Mileage may vary on that one but it was my first thought after staring at this shot for a while):

While Akio is bullshitting about how much he hates students fighting, Utena is thrown in relief against the mass of the projector, and their positioning in the frame makes it appear to weigh down on them, almost crushing them in the machinery:

I hope I don't have to point out how on the nose this is, but I thought it was a very funny decision to set them to cheerful xylophone music.

5. It's finally time to talk about Kanae! Here's her introductory shot:

The thing that immediately sticks out to me is her character design’s color scheme. Her hair is so platinum blonde it looks greenish, which is further emphasized by her slightly-reddish skin and bright orange dress. It subtly makes her look sickly, like she’s constantly under fluorescent lights even in a sunlit room. The white scarf feels out of place and creates a harsh line across her throat. If anything it feels more like part of the couch, which itself is draped in a white furniture cover. The white drapery brings to mind those white sheets that people cover furniture in when someone dies or abandons their house, and its visual connection to Kanae’s scarf makes it seem like Kanae is also draped in the sheets, being slowly strangled to death. The metaphor makes sense; Kanae has been functionally abandoned by her father and shunted into marriage right after high school, and we later find out Akio's been drugging and raping her. (Before anyone tells me I’m overthinking this drapery detail, here’s official artwork using the same motif in a similar way):

6. Gonna skip ahead to another one of my favorite shots, now featuring Mikage and Mamiya:

This is the scene that establishes the direct significance of the 100 murdered students to Mikage and Mamiya’s role in the story. Mikage is literally put in the shoes of the dead children, immediately after (presumably) fucking Mamiya. Similar to the Chuchu scene, the frame is sharply divided between light and shadow, with Mikage right at the edge of the line. His pants visually draw the bright white of the light into the darkness, but in a jarring and somewhat artificial way. Meanwhile Mamiya lit with bright overhead lighting, quite literally putting him in the spotlight. There’s this weird visual push-and-pull between them; Mikage is the immediately recognizable figure as the camera pans across the shoes, but then Mamiya is thrown into focus, contextualizing the wall of shoes and drawing attention to his separation from it. But! you can see that he is wearing the exact same shoes as Mikage and the dead children. He may seem to have agency and even power through his positioning as a Rose Prince/Bride, but at the end of the day he is just another kid buried alive by Ohtori.

For what it's worth, my take on the whole Mikage/Mamiya arc is that they embody the flaws with homonormativity and attempting to legitimize queerness through proximity to straightness. Mikage has been searching for a way to achieve The Power To Revolutionize The World outside of the established rules (you want the power, you have to marry the female Rose Bride). But the way he does this is by researching AT OHTORI ACADEMY, under Akio's direct jurisdiction (and with his approval, as he mentions in one line this episode). The point of the show is that all struggles for power over other people end up reproducing abusive systems, no matter who it is or what they’re trying to save. So for example, even if it’s a gay teenage boy-who’s-also-a-ghost searching for a way out of his childhood purgatory through his relationship with a more idealized, innocent teenage boy, if he refuses to move on from the power-based mindset that ultimately killed him, he will end up projecting the exact same misogyny and racism onto the person he’s supposedly changing the world for.

The visuals do an incredible job of portraying this double-bind; having the core symbols and colors of their scenes “rhyme” with Akio’s subtly reflects just how inextricable they are. At the same time though, their aesthetic differentiates them from the fantastical fairy-tale-like aesthetic of the heteronormative dueling system. I’m inclined to think their purpose is to “say the quiet part out loud” about the consequences of the dueling system for the queer protagonists. Mikage and Mamiya are quite literally shoved underground, desperately plotting their legitimization in the eyes of the system even as they're surrounded by the bodies of the kids who didn't survive. They weren't given a path forward to grow up so they repeat the only one they have, even though they destroyed any concrete way to save Mamiya's life in the process. They're stuck in purgatory, haunting Ohtori Academy's power structure even as it haunts them back.

((This got waaaayyy longer than I expected and I have a headache, so part 2 coming soon!))

Fansub Release + Analysis of Utena Ep 14

This is a big one!!

My fansub release posts aren't usually like this, but this episode is so jam packed with stuff I want to talk about that I had to write my translation notes as a series of essays. It's longer than usual so strap in!

First, a word on “The Mikage Seminar”

I’ve always found the translation “the Mikage Seminar” very strange. In English, a seminar is an event — a lecture. Yet “the Mikage Seminar” is discussed as though it’s not a recurring lecture, but a society or a school of therapy, or a cult (like scientology). In fact I did a bit of reading about scientology to try and find an alternative translation, and discovered that the origins of scientology, namely a set of ideas and practices called Dianetics, bears a lot of similarities to “the Mikage Seminar”. Both involve a type of therapy where one person looks into their mind and talks to an “auditor”.

The auditor coaxes the preclear to recall as much as possible. — Wikipedia

This in particular stood out to me! Mikage often says 「深く。もっと深く」 during his interviews (”Deeper. Dig deeper.”).

The Japanese word ゼミナール doesn’t actually come from the English “seminar” but the German “Seminar” (capitalised). According to Wikipedia, in Germany, and often in Japan, Seminar/ゼミナール is used to refer to a university course that includes a thesis project. So ゼミナール refers to a course of learning, rather than a talk or lecture. And it would make a lot of sense to call a system like Dianetics a “course”. Almost like a “course” of medicine — a “course” of psychological practices that you can join but never complete.

So it would make sense to translate it as “the Mikage Course”. But “course” has more meanings in English than just this, and in the context of a university this makes it sound more like a mundane teaching course. So I tried some other words: the Mikage Sessions, the Mikage Method, Mikage Psychotherapy, Mikage Therapy, the Mikage Movement. None seemed quite right. Until I remembered this post. ゼミナール is a foreign word in Japanese, why not find a foreign word for the translation? And so I settled on this:

The Mikage Seminarium, AKA The Society of the Black Rose…

Seminarium is Latin, and is where both the German and English derive seminar from. Its original meaning is “seed plot”, but it’s also just the Polish word for seminar. I really like how the Latin makes its meaning ambiguous — it kind of sounds like a location, kind of sounds like a society, and kind of sounds like a learning course. Because it is all of these things.

Anthy: では、香苗さん。失礼します。 Kanae: ね、あたしの事、お姉さんって呼んでいいのよ。もうすぐわたしはあなたの本当のお姉さんになるんだから。

A more literal translation:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Kanae-san. Kanae: Please… you can just call me “sister”. I’m going to be your real sister soon enough anyway.

The translation I ended up going with:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Miss Ohtori. Kanae: Please... you can just call me Kanae. We're going to be family soon. There's no need for the formalities.

Japanese honorifics strike again!

In English, sisters-in-law don’t ask to be called “sister”. That would be super weird in most scenarios, and this scene is trying to evoke a particular familiar feeling of closing a distance gap in a relationship. The audience is meant to relate. Changing how Anthy addresses Kanae was pivotal to this scene working properly.

わかりました。あなたは世界を革命するしかないでしょ。

I understand. Your only choice is to force the world to change around you.

This line is translated as “Your only choice is to revolutionise the world” by basically every other translation. The reason is clear — the Japanese is the same as when Utena pulls the sword out of Anthy, or when any of the other characters talk about “revolutionising the world”. However, in this context, I don’t like it. The nuance of the English phrase is quite different to the Japanese phrase. In English, it’s often used to describe new commercial products: “This new device will revolutionise the world!” It comes with an implied “for the better”, but has used to describe technological developments so unexciting that it can also feel hollow. When the student council talk of revolutionising the world, they sound like revolutionaries — the context makes it work. But in this context, it comes out of nowhere and doesn’t have any of that fervour, which makes it sound hollow and flaccid when it should sound sinister and manipulative.

I think a pervading throughline for all the Black Rose duelists is that they see their problems as caused by other people, with themselves being blameless. Rather than change how they approach their situation, Mikage tells them they’re in the right.

Your behaviour will set you down a path. If that path leads to your goals, well done! However, if your path does not lead to your goals, there’s only two ways you can achieve them.

The first is to change your behaviour so that it does align with your goals. The second, impossible way, is for the rest of the world to change such that your current path DOES end up leading to your goals. This second way is not possible in the real world. But it is possible in Utena.

Also I’ll just leave this here: “around you” → “revolve” → “revolution” 👀

Kanae tried to build a relationship with Anthy in a passive, non-confrontational, extremely Japanese way — the way she has been taught to behave, the “proper” way, a mechanical following of the social scripts. We don’t see a lot of their relationship, but the way she behaved and spoke of behaving towards Anthy is very very similar to the way my Japanese grandmother has behaved towards my and my brother’s partners.

It was unthinkable to her to change this pattern of behaviour. Her only choice was to change Anthy, change the rest of the world, so that her behaviour would lead to the outcomes she wants. You could describe this forceful bending of reality to be “revolutionising the world”.

この黒薔薇のある限り、私はこれから嘘の私を演じなくて住む。

As long as I have this Black Rose, I'm free from the lie I was living before.

Besides gender, growing up, and resisting change (which exist as separate themes but also all intertwine as one), another major theme present in Utena is the self and subjective reality. The self is explored within those first major three themes, but also in terms of how the self dictates reality with the Black Rose duellists.

Black Rose Kanae says that her past self was a lie.

It reminds me of all the times when I’ve been going through a personal trial and I’ve looked back on my past self and thought “How naive I was. I understand things better now.” And then after a while I realise I was wrong, and my first self was more right. And then later still, maybe I re-realise that the second self was more right! And so on! The reality of truth (or to use Kanae’s language, “lies”) is so subjective.

Who dictates knowledge production? Who decides what is true; what is valid knowledge? This is a question of sociology - and at the moment that answer is "science does, kinda". But science and academic systems are supported by capitalist structures and tainted by capitalistic incentives — needing to be published in a journal, issues of replicability, the barrier to entry into academia in the first place, etc, etc. In the future we may find our current way of organising knowledge to be archaic and primitive in the same way we look back at medieval scholars.

But what about organising self-knowledge? Knowledge where the only one who can really decide what is true is yourself. And the only one that can decide what yourself even IS is yourself. I feel like I have looked back on my old ways of conceptualising myself many times (not even counting the gender-based revelations) and thought it primitive and archaic, and NOW I truly understand who I am and how to think of myself and how my thoughts interact with my other thoughts. But I have no doubt that I’ll look back on this current self of mine and reject their way of thinking too.

After their heart is replaced by the Black Rose, the duellists themselves frame this change as a moment of self realisation, of clarity. Once the rose is inside them, they wake up from themselves, like I have countless times. Kanae says herself, “This is the true me.” Honestly, I don’t doubt it. I think that version of Kanae was her true self at that moment, given the things influencing her. Being brainwashed doesn’t make you less of a person, or less yourself. It just makes you organise your reality differently.

心を凍結させて作っただけの間に合わせのデュエリストでは、彼女は破れないな。

We won't be able to defeat her by simply freezing someone's heart and forcing them to duel.

Anya and I discussed this in depth. I originally translated 心 as “mind”, because that was the first thing that popped into my head and I thought that was the simple part of the translation. However, Anya pointed out that it didn’t make sense with the themes of self and subjective reality, and I strongly agreed, so I changed it to “heart” instead.

Anya suggested “conscious mind” instead of “heart” but I think heart is more accurate. 心 (kokoro) can mean heart or mind in Japanese (I find it interesting that those two things are portrayed as opposites in English), and that kanji is found in the word for biological heart, 心臓 (shinzou). When they say of the Black Rose "This is your new heart" they use 心臓. They also say "Your new 命 (life/lifeforce)" which I translated as soul since it sounded more hardcore and because "your new life" is a set phrase in English meaning a new chapter in your life rather than your life force. I think the idea is that they're freezing the duellists' ability to love and feel empathy, which in my opinion is necessary for them to commit to the unbelievably selfish act of revolutionising/reconstructing/bending the entire structure of the world for their own convenience.

A very special thanks to @dontbe-lasanya for being there to talk through all these themes and ideas. I'm incredibly proud of this episode's translation and I wouldn't have been able to do it without them.

If you want to see more analysis like this, let me know! And also follow this blog to see episodes of the fansub as they're released. You can find all episodes released so far here:

Rose divider taken from this post

[jayktoralldaylong]

Alright, there's something I'd like to talk about, and let's come at it with an open mind. When Season one of Arcane ended I was 99% sure that Mel was not going to make it to this season. I was praying for every kind of miracle that could happen just to keep that beautiful goddess on screen but she was the first line of contact for that bomb.

Now that everything has been revealed, I want to talk about that bomb.

Ironically, Season two episode one starts with the exact same shine of gold that ended season one.

See, season one:

Season two:

And when the smoke clears we can see her leaning really close to Jayce, like she got blasted towards him.

Now, looking at the seat arrangements from Season one, I can actually see it a lot better now that I'm taking a second look. We can see that she is standing directly in the line of fire, Jayce is standing to her left and Viktor is sitting in his chair, Jayce's chair. Just about everyone sitting by her right died, Salo is sitting furthest away from the blast, opposite her. He probably saw it just a few seconds before she did.

And when she wakes up, all groggy and out of focus, her hands are on his shoulder. They been there, she did not just put them there, she already had her hands on him. Protecting him.

But what I really want to pay attention to, is the look on Mel's face when she and Jayce take in the damage.

The entire place burned down. Realistically, not a single person should have survived that, especially not unharmed.

Then the damage starts sinking in (Don't look at Jayce, look at Mel):

Look at Mel, as they look around the room of injured Councillors.

Jayce is panicking, full on panicking, he's had his nerves rattled, he's never seen anything like this (unlike Mel who, if the audience remembers, grew up in Noxus). And the sweetest thing is how she follows him around, trying to comfort him, while he's trying to shake Cassandra awake.

And she stays right there by his side, until her mother pulls her away (foreshadowing about their duties pulling them apart perhaps?)

Now, imagine you were in the middle of a disaster, a terrible disaster, and you had the power to save every single person in that room, but you did not know this because no one ever bothered once telling you that you had powers. However, in that moment, you did indeed save one person, without knowing, without even thinking. Who did Mel save?

She saved Jayce. (The craziest thing about that.....is that.... Viktor was literally right beside him. He was right beside Jayce OMG 😭😭).

Watching this scene, I cannot imagine the amount of guilt that threatened to swallow Mel whole ever0y time she saw the aftermath of what happened and a small part of her brain would nag her that she could have prevented it, that she could have protected Jayce's friend.

So why Jayce? Why ONLY Jayce?

"Because she loves him."

Obvious answer, two plus two equals four, but this is Arcane we're talking about, there is more to this simple equation and it is plain to see in their reactions in the aftermath.

Jayce is devastated. He is new to war, he does not know shit about it, it scares him to see all the people that he respects flattened like they are nothing. The Piltover Council means something to Jayce.

To Mel, they are colleagues. They are.... people with names and faces and power. They are people she would help on a normal day, but at the first sign of danger she clung to one person.

Jayce was Viktor's first friend, and he was Mel's too. He was the first person to tell her that she was not crazy. The first person to strangely believe in her dreams, to pour out affection not out of arrogance but genuine care that he was not ashamed or even hesitant to show her. He fought for peace when she began to doubt. When she felt unstable, his naivete and pure heart steadied her.

Mel loved Jayce. Loved him so much that she did not freak out when he was tweaking cause of the Arcane. So much that she fought for him when he was getting outright dominated by his ex. 💀💀 And while it is not the space shattering world changing soul bonded union of javik, I think it is beautiful that Mek loved Jayce.

I think it's ironic that the brotherly love that people keep trying to achieve with Jayce and Viktor was represented so well with Jayce and Mel. I think it's iconic that a male and female character that banged on screen can go their separate ways without a dramatic breakup and without losing the entirety of their care for one another (cause some of it was definitely damaged after their individual trauma).

What I'm trying to say is that Mel loved Jayce. The love was there. Call it romantic or platonic or whatever but she cared about him more than she cared about anyone in that room when that bomb went off.

And it just twists something in my heart....that Jayce was so loved by the two people that meant so much to him. That he gave all of his heart out and they gave everything back because of how selfless his love was. Everyone says Viktor and Mel are out of Jayce's league but they both keep putting him first. (⁠T⁠T⁠) They just cannot resist that all encompassing love of his. It saved Viktor, and it saved Mel who finally found her truth, and lost him to find it.