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sorryimananti-romantic · 9 days ago

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The Leaders | Chapter II

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of gangs, war/military and weapons, hongjoong is the designated asshole in this chapter

chapter wc: 10.9k

chapter synopsis: you learn more about ateez from your housemate, wendy, and from kihyun of mx pharmaceuticals who is also the crescent’s business partner. you get familiar with your new job at the crescent company’s main office and learn about their deal with secretary park. wanting to stop them from that harmful deal, you finally speak up only for the boss, hongjoong, to remind you that you are just a bookkeeper.

prev chapter recap: an attack on the crescent bar prompts you, the bookkeeper of the crescent bar, to carry out yeosang’s order and flee with the contents of the safe. however, you have discovered a secret package which leads you to a confrontation with the underboss, park seonghwa, who has no choice but to kill you. to save yourself, you reveal that you possess some information about the elites that could be useful to them, and that you are willing to exchange this information for your life. that lands you a job at the crescent company’s main office and you have a rocky first day, getting to know the ins-and-outs of your new workplace and colleagues.

For the beginning of a new chapter of your life, which could take a very sinister turn, it sure was awfully sunny today, the pigeons on your window sill taking great joy in the way you would pause in the middle of getting ready and reconsider all your life choices so far. Their cheerful chirps were starting to annoy you and you couldn’t help but shoot deathly glares in their direction.

It was your first official work day as the bookkeeper in the main office of the Crescent Company, and you were done getting ready– as ready as you could be with your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. It didn’t help that when you exited your room, you immediately had your housemate’s attention who let out a dramatic whistle at the sight of you.

“Woah. That’s quite a formal outfit for the bar,” Wendy said, stopping in the middle of stirring the pot, the fragrant scent of rosemary and chicken broth filling your nostrils. “Also… why are you still home?”

You turned to the full-length mirror in the living room, inspecting your outfit for the day– a pleated navy blue skirt that reached mid-calves paired with a blue tweed jacket, your feet clad in ivory kitten heels. Just the right outfit to make good first impressions, yet it was a struggle to ignore the urge to go back to your closet and restart the lengthy process of choosing another outfit.

“Uh…” you took a deep breath while tucking the stray strands of your hair back in the half-tied hairdo, bracing yourself for her reaction. “I may have gotten a new job at the Crescent Company.”

The room fell awfully silent and you turned to Wendy, finding her deadpan staring at you.

Odd.

“Something wrong?” You frowned in confusion.

“The Crescent Company?” Wendy repeated and you nodded. It was strange, the soberness in her tone, when you were expecting enthusiastic theatrical reactions from her. “When?”

“Literally yesterday,” you turned your full attention to her, wondering if she was cross with you for not letting her know earlier. “I start working officially from today.”

“How did you get this job?” Wendy asked, finally doing something else other than assessing your form. She turned the stove off, setting the pot on the table where you joined her for breakfast.

“Well… one thing led to another. Some gang attacked the bar two nights ago and when I carried out my instructions– which were to get the contents of the safe and run– they decided… that I am good at my job and would do better in some other environment.”

“I heard about the attack, yes,” Wendy said, munching on a piece of bread. “But I thought it was a fight outside the bar, not an attack inside. Is that how you got these tiny scratches all over you?” You pursed your lips in answer and Wendy continued. “Are you sure this is the right job for you? Because let’s be real– we all know who Ateez is. You should be avoiding that gang– didn’t you want to lay low?”

Ateez. Known throughout all the eight sectors of Eden and its capital, the gang formed after the Battle of the Eight Hills and played a vital role in the rebuilding of Eden afterwards. Really, you wondered if they had done so much for Eden, why were they feared and labelled as a criminal organisation?

“I am laying low,” you sipped the broth as you said, “It’s just an office job– paperwork.”

“I don’t know, Luna,” she said, clearly worried. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” You asked but Wendy kept a straight face which meant there was something. “In fact… refresh my memory a little since I wasn’t here when Ateez was at the peak of their career, but who is Ateez? What do they really do?”

Wendy took a deep breath as if contemplating opening her pandora of secrets for you but then she checked her wristwatch to your utter disappointment. “Next time or else we’ll both be late. Just… stay safe, will you?”

“Oh, I will. I keep the gun in my purse, you know,” you smirked and Wendy finally relaxed, smiling back. “See you tonight if you aren’t snoring by that time– my shift ends at the strike of midnight.”

“Heavens, that’s late,” Wendy winced. “What are you doing up so early then? You should have slept some more.”

You should have, but you had a little stop to make before you clocked in at midday at your workplace– the stop being at the office of MX Pharmaceuticals located in the heart of Sector 1 with all the other businesses and offices. It was only the Crescent Office which was situated right outside that hotspot, and you were starting to think that it was a calculated move on their part. With their status, they could be situated in the slums and still be flourishing– the leaders of Sector 1.

It was a bit strange to walk the streets of your block and not allow your muscle memory to take you in the direction of the Crescent Bar. It felt alleviating, even, to not cross the old lady on the pavement selling crocheted goods to make a living. Somehow, she always made you feel guilty about having the privilege of connections. You could very well have been sitting there at the corner of the road instead of her, selling your paintings or embroideries if Kihyun hadn’t helped you land a job when you came back to Eden from Wonderland just a few years ago.

Because your father always made sure you would never be in the spotlight. There was a reason he basically shipped you to Wonderland– though you often wondered if that was justification enough. He claimed that you could study more if you wished to while you looked after your aunt but really… you knew that he wanted to get rid of you because you found out his dark, dirty secrets– things you were never supposed to find out. It was a shame he couldn’t kill his own daughter and bury those secrets along with her. Maybe his humanity awakened when he thought about his children.

You could spot the MX Office when you took a turn left into the busy, bustling street with corporate slaves ready to sign in for their daily dose of torture. To your demise, you were blending right in. You walked towards the office, which was a brick-coloured building just like the rest of the offices in this street. The guard at the front door recognised you and nodded in greeting, as did the receptionist and a few employees, aware that you had some sort of a relationship with their boss, though no one dared to ask the nature of it.

The boss, Kihyun, was a respectable figure in all of Eden as a powerful businessman and a former gang member. Each connection he made was for a reason, but you were not just a connection. You respected each other far too much to refer to each other as just a ‘connection’.

You were being accompanied to Kihyun’s room when on the stairs, you encountered Hyungwon.

“Miss Jeon– what brings you here?” He asked. It had been a while since you saw the manager of MX Pharmaceuticals. He was usually found at one of the labs or warehouses that MX owned. “Good to see you.”

“Hope you’ve been well,” you smiled. “I’m here to see Kihyun.”

Hyungwon nodded at the assistant who left and you followed Hyungwon upstairs. “Kihyun just arrived. How has it been?”

“I’m doing good. I got a new job so I was going to tell him about that and discuss a few things.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” Hyungwon knocked at Kihyun’s door before opening it for you. “I’ll send some tea. And you know that if you need anything, we’re here, right?”

You nodded, smiling earnestly at his reminder. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

You entered Kihyun’s room, closing the door behind you. His room was as neat as ever with a variety of indoor plants lining the huge windows that provided a view of Maddox Street. You walked past that window, drawing the cerulean curtains away and Kihyun tsk-ed at you.

“You’re back at it, eh?”

“You need someone who will pull the curtains open every day. I can’t keep doing that for you,” you grinned, joining him at his desk. He was clad in a navy button-down shirt, his hair combed back. “How have you been?”

He spread his arms in answer. “Right in front of you. As good as ever. But I’ve heard you are doing better lately.”

“Heard the news already?” You shook your head. “Once I find your informant, I’m gonna give them an earful.”

“We’re the Crescent’s business partners. I should know the happenings,” Kihyun said, waiting for the assistant to leave the tea for you before continuing. “Tell me… how did it happen?”

“Let’s say I passed a trust test,” you said, adding a sugar in your tea and two in his, just as he liked. “I’m the Crescent’s bookkeeper now.”

“That must not have been easy.”

“Actually, yes,” you took a sip of the black tea. “I almost got killed. I had to win their favour.”

“And how did you do that?” Kihyun frowned.

“I played a few cards,” you admitted and he groaned in disbelief. “It was that or I die.”

“They would not have killed you–”

“They knew we were acquainted, and they were ready to kill me,” you interjected. “I only told them that I’m aware of Assemblyman General Wi’s artefact gallery.”

“Luna,” Kihyun leaned forward, clasping his hands. “You know the game you are playing right now is a dangerous one–”

“I know that I have to keep my identity hidden, and I’m sure they only know what’s on the documents–”

“Let me finish,” Kihyun said in a low voice and you slumped back. “It’s not just about your identity. You know who they are, don’t you? Ateez? They were once a gang, and they always play dirty.”

“So were you, Kihyun,” you reminded him. “Back in your early days, before my father took you under his wing.”

Kihyun clenched his jaw– he did not need to be reminded of his ugly past. “We were not children of war when we were a gang, Luna. The Crescents– Ateez– they are children of war. They served the army when they should have been fooling around with other kids their age or studying. A nineteen year old Kim Hongjoong became a well-known military strategist in the Battle of the Eight Hills. Another nineteen year old Park Seonghwa became a sniper and a medic– a god awful combination, don’t you think? And an eighteen year old Jeong Yunho became an honoured lieutenant colonel, for heaven’s sake. Those are the people you have involved yourself with.”

That was the first time you heard about their achievements during the war and you realised with a creeping dread that Kihyun might be right about this.

“Us? We were just a street gang, Luna. We were kids who rebelled, who got lucky because your father, a politician, saw potential in us and hired us as his informants. Ateez are different, and it would do you better if you stay aware of them.”

You took a deep breath. “Do you think they will dig into my past?”

“I can’t promise they won’t,” Kihyun relaxed, finally smiling and drinking his tea. “But I’ll see if I can do something. Just make sure to stay in the shadows.”

“Until it’s time,” you reminded him.

His expressions didn’t change. “Still conjuring up revenge plans?”

“You know how stubborn I am,” you traced the gold outline on the cup. “I cannot forgive my father for taking my identity and shipping me to Wonderland as if I meant nothing to him.”

“I’m sure you mean something to him. You are his daughter, after all.”

“I’m sure I don’t, and I don’t need him,” you said, looking at the boss of MX. “You are my family if I ever had one, Kihyun. I am in your debt for everything that you have done for me.”

“Nonsense,” he waved his hand and you stifled a smile at the way he always got a little shy when you called him family or brother. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done that for anyone.”

“You risked your business and your life for me. You don’t do that for just anyone,” you concluded and he smiled in answer. It was a truth that he could not deny. “You can call it whatever you want, but let me feel about it however I want too.”

“I can see how you might have talked them out of killing you, you stubborn brat,” Kihyun said, laughing. He stared into the distance, taking a few moments to think. “I heard you will be answering to Park Seonghwa and Jeong Yunho. That worries me.”

“It is just work,” you told him, though you were wholly aware that it was not just work. “You don’t need to worry too much.”

After a busy midday shift at the Crescent Office with Eunha and Jihoon, you decided to pay a visit to the Crescent Bar– you were free for the rest of the afternoon and could squeeze in a lunch with your friends. Plus, you were not sure that you could do the night shift without some liquid courage in your system.

The bar was as lively as it could be during day hours, with people popping in from work to get a drink or a meal. The employees– your old coworkers– warmly welcomed you and you went to sit at the counter with Eunbi and Jeonghan, just like the old times.

“How has it been without me?” You teased Eunbi who wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, snuggling beside you.

“Boring. Jeonghan is always pretending to sleep so I can’t really talk to anyone anymore.”

“I am actually asleep,” Jeonghan raised his hand as a sign that he was alive. He looked like a corpse, actually, if you could put it nicely. Eunbi gave you a pointed look.

“Got a new bookkeeper yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, going back to the cash register when she saw a customer approach. You walked to the staff room, catching up with Yuju who ordered your favourite grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch with Black Shadow– probably the best wine you had tasted in your life, if you were objective. You knew there was a backstory to how Ateez made that wine their staple, but you figured you would hear about it someday later. For now, you had another purpose that led you to Yeosang’s office.

Yeosang opened the door when you knocked, blinking in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the main office?”

“Good evening? How have you been doing? How has work been?” You glared at him. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

Yeosang snickered, letting you in and you took the seat in front of him. You sighed deeply, folding your arms. “I kind of miss this, I won’t lie. I feel like an outsider there, and it’s only my first day. Shift doesn’t start for another hour, by the way.”

“Would you like a drink?” He offered and you shook your head, telling him you just had lunch. “Well, Miss y/n. How can I help you today?”

You passed him the side-eye. “It’s still Luna for you. And I wanted to ask you a few things that I really should have asked before.”

“Ah… is it time for those questions?” Yeosang relaxed back, resting his hands behind his head, his muscles poking out from under the ivory dress shirt. You watched him for a moment, wondering what his accomplishments during the war were. Could he be holding a scary title as well, or was it something worse?

“Yes. You can’t blame me for being curious after the stunt the underboss pulled that night. True to your name, Ateez.”

It was the first time you ever referred to them with their gang name and he only watched you in silence, waiting for you to continue. It irked you that his expressions gave away nothing. Trained to give away nothing, a distant voice in your mind said.

“Just tell me if there’s anything I need to know for now. I’m reporting directly to Mr. Park and… Mr. Jeong. I really don’t want to make a mistake.”

“You weren’t worried when you started working under me.”

“That’s because… you are you,” you tried to explain, ignoring the faint ache in your heart. “You don’t go around wearing formal suits and looking down on people and being… weird.”

“We don’t look down on people,” Yeosang sighed, though he was smiling at your admission. “Was Yunho weird towards you? What did he do now?”

“How did you– he didn’t do anything,” you told him. It was uncanny how well they knew each other. “I just want you to tell me if there’s something I should be aware of so I don’t make a mistake.”

Yeosang thought it was strange that you were asking such a question. He wished he could ask you what exactly you meant. Just what mistakes were you so afraid to make? Why did you always have to be cautious and walk on eggshells, even around him, even when you claimed that you were comfortable with him?

“I don’t think that you realise that Yunho is the only one of us who will forgive you even if you betray us in the worst possible way– he would still try to understand your reasons.”

Your eyes went a little wide as you let his words sink in. “Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho… is forgiving?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about us,” Yeosang leaned forward, speaking gently. “But I can promise you that it’s not the entire truth. We are more than what you people make us to be, if you care to look past the ranks and titles.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, and you were too scared to ask. You couldn’t stop thinking about his admission about Yunho. You really couldn’t see it– he always looked so strict, in the traditional sense. Even when he had a hint of a smile on his lips last night, you couldn’t envision him to be someone who could sympathise with the ugliness of the people who were driven into the corner. Perhaps, because Yeosang was his friend, he was able to look past everything and see the lieutenant’s true, unmarred nature, but to you…

To you, he was Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho. And you intended to keep it that way, for everyone’s sake.

Later, when you were at work and taking a breather, having just finished recording the day’s transactions, you reminded yourself that your relationship with Yeosang had turned too casual. Sure, it was the way he was with everyone at the bar– almost everyone. It was different with you, whether you liked it or not. Even though you had wanted to keep a distance from Yeosang, you just couldn’t. After all, you went to him right after hearing about their old gang days.

You made a mental note to learn more about Ateez and the Crescent Company, and to learn about the extent of their involvement in Eden’s business world. You needed any information you could get your hands on, every detail whether true or not. If you were going to play this game and use them for your goal, you needed to know that the Crescents were not involved with your father and his business in any way.

You needed to know if what they did was truly moral and right. And if you needed to sneak into places where you weren’t meant to go and possibly risk your life again… you would.

It took you about a week to fully get the hang of things at the office. While Jihoon was still being an arse– at this point, you were starting to consider that it might be a part of his personality– he never refused to guide you or help you when you were stuck. Eunha was just as helpful and you were actually starting to like her a little. She wasn’t very talkative but considering that she was able to make Jihoon laugh… you were tempted to take pointers from her. Jihoon had worked the longest here and you needed to crack him to get him to talk.

In that one week, you got a chance to go into Mr. Jeong’s room twice, when he was not present to take the report from you himself. You made it quick– unlock the room, unlock the cupboard and place the report inside, look around if you had a few seconds and get the hell out. It was too soon to make a mistake so you only dared to make note of what the office looked like. There wasn’t much to it anyway– just the usual workspace, and it frustrated you that his workspace gave away nothing about him.

Mr. Jeong, you noted, usually came to the office during your shift at the late hours of night, presumably after dinner. You learned that Kim Hongjoong was out of station for some business dealing which was why the office was mostly empty, but also that this was where they usually gathered to meet up and discuss things. This office was sort of a base and if not here, they would be at the bar, though they generally avoided it because of obvious reasons. There was no saying when a drunkard fool, or two, would dare to interrupt them.

Yunho usually locked himself inside his office (Eunha was very suspicious that he usually napped there, claiming to have heard light snores sometimes) and Seonghwa came by twice that week, greeting you and asking if you were adjusting well. Neither of them had interacted with you much during the week but…

You recalled two nights ago when Yunho came back to the office just as it was closing time. You handed him the report and he called you inside his office to discuss a few things. When he was going over the report, he asked you if you had any problems with work recently.

“None at all,” you assured him. “It is manageable.”

He flicked through the pages, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his sleeves, baring his veiny arms. You resisted the urge to trace all those veins on his arms– Jeong Yunho was one handsome man. It didn’t help that he had such beautiful hands either. Why were you assigned to submit him the reports every night? What was this new form of torture?

He caught you staring at his hands but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he finished checking the report and shut the folder, running his hands over the cover once before clearing his throat to get your attention. You met his stare, pretending that you had not been ogling at his hands and arms– or at least, fake confidence that you were normal about it.

“You were right about the artefact gallery,” Yunho said and you straightened. “It is indeed a money-laundering business. He is an assemblyman, a potential presidential candidate and, well, that’s a bad look for him with the elections right around the corner. How did you know when even his enemies aren’t aware of this information? And more importantly… do you want us to do something about it?”

“How I know does not matter,” you shook your head, adamant to not tell them your source. “It is just a piece of information that might be useful to you later. I am aware that your leader has been well involved with politicians– for connections, to secure deals. If you ever need leverage over General Wi, here is what you can use.”

Yunho took a deep breath at your response. You watched him scan you slowly, his eyes unreadable. “Is your source Yoo Kihyun of MX Pharmaceuticals?”

You looked down to hide your smile. “I have heard that you are well acquainted with him. He was more of a recipient than a source until a few years ago. The tables have turned now, but we still share information, and I was told that you could be trusted with the information I have. Is that still true?”

He rubbed his chin in thought. “That depends on how useful the information you possess is. And it also depends on how loyal you are.”

“I am loyal to anyone who is loyal to me,” you said with a certainty that surprised him. “I know what it is like to be betrayed by blood and water both. To me, loyalty is the highest virtue.”

“Higher than morality?” He asked with a certain nonchalance, perhaps expecting to pin you in a corner, but…

“And what is morality, in this era?” You mused. “I’m sure you ask that question yourself often… Lieutenant Jeong.”

You seemed to have hit the nail because his gaze darkened. Perhaps, you should not have reminded him of his military rank, but to be Eden’s honoured lieutenant colonel and possess some fair morals? It didn’t add up even after Yeosang had said all the good things about him.

“I know what my morals are, Miss Jeon,” Yunho leaned forwards, locking his eyes with you and you wish some of his dark tendrils hid a bit of his eyes because that gaze was damning. “Do you? Or do you like to make yourself believe that you are the only virtuous one in the room?”

Maybe it was a dangerous game you were playing but you mirrored his position, your clasped hands almost brushing his as you said, “Oh, I have the lowest moral standards. In order to survive in Eden, especially when you’re on your own… you can’t go around possessing such foolish things as virtue, isn’t that so?”

Yunho looked down at your clasped hands, spotting the fading scar that ran along your thumb down to your wrist– one that you had gotten the night you lost everything.

And then he ran a finger across it, ever so slowly, sending a trail of fire in its wake before getting up and wearing his coat, indicating that the meeting was over.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid, beautiful hands��

“Goodnight, Luna,” he said in a low voice and you got up as well, gathering your wits before exiting the room.

“Goodnight… Mr. Jeong.”

And that had been the last time you saw him. It was Mr. Park who took the reports from you the day after, and last night you locked the office yourself about half an hour after midnight– you did not know why you stayed waiting for somebody to show up, but you felt a bit stupid afterwards. You should have clocked out on time.

You did not know why you waited.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost did not hear the sound of footsteps skittering in the direction of the office rooms. You looked up, gaping at what had to be a fifteen year old considering his scrawny appearance, moving not towards Yunho’s office but Kim Hongjoong’s. You frowned– how did he get past the guard?

“Oi,” you called but when he proceeded to knock at the boss’ door, you decided you had enough and slammed a hand on the desk to get his attention. “Oi, kid!”

“Is the Captain not inside?” he turned to look at you, looking as surprised to see you as you were. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” you beckoned him to come nearer and he obeyed this time. “How did you get in?”

“I have something the Captain might like,” he grinned. “Still not back from his little trip to Edenary?”

So that’s where he was. The Capital of Eden, the land of the elites. “Uh… nope. Why you calling him ‘the Captain’?”

“Because that’s who he is?” He shook his head in disapproval. “New here?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Kid, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“No need, I’ll see myself out,” he winked at you and you laughed this time. You had to admit he was kind of cute for a kid even though you wanted to smack him on his head. You didn’t recall seeing him on the streets– his loose flannel shirt and newsboy cap was a look you thought you would have remembered. “I’m Jaemin, the informant. I answer directly to the Captain, so don’t even think about asking me what this was about.”

“You could still tell me, it could be our little secret,” you smirked but he shook his head. You stuck your tongue out at him. “Alright then. He’s supposed to come back tomorrow, I think. Should I let him know some kid was looking for him?”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“No,” you said. “Why?”

Jaemin only smiled condescendingly in answer. “You’ll find out. No need to tell him, I’ll be back soon.”

With that, the kid disappeared downstairs, leaving you wondering why he called the boss ‘the Captain’. It didn’t refer to his military rank because you knew that he was an honoured military strategist and colonel. You recently heard from Wendy that he had played a vital role towards the end of the war before the treaty between Eden and Halaland was signed. At such a young age, it was impressive. He was only a year older than you so he must have been about twenty when he earned that honour.

You distantly wondered if you ever came across him during the war. You had volunteered as a medical assistant– almost a nurse– in the latter half of the war. You had spent two whole years training medically and assisting the doctors and nurses. There weren’t many people in Eden so you might have encountered one of the Ateez men there, though you weren’t sure if you would recognise each other now.

Moments later, you heard another pair of footsteps coming, this time familiar. Mr. Park, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit, met your gaze and sent a warm smile in your direction before he approached you.

“How are we doing tonight, Luna?”

“Good, Mr. Park. How about you?” You asked, taking tonight’s report and following him to Yunho’s office. “Did you perhaps see a kid leaving the building?”

Seonghwa chuckled at that. “You might find it hard to believe but that kid has saved lives with the information he shares.”

So the kid had not lied. “Impressive.”

Seonghwa waited until you took the seat in front of him. “He is like a stray cat who has marked us as his owners. We cannot take him in– he is too young, and he does not need to share the same fate the rest of us did, yeah? But he is a kid that nobody notices, and he uses that to his advantage. Next time you see him, ask him how he struck a deal with his ‘captain’.”

You laughed softly at that. “I will.”

Seonghwa nodded and started skimming through the reports. You told him that the new batch of liquor– specifically Black Shadow– had successfully been shipped to Mist Island. The shipment of their latest copper bullets was on the way too. You were surprised when you first found out that Mist Island was willing to trade weapons for liquor. Mist Island had a strict liquor import ban so the smuggling was being done secretly from both sides. It was impressive what money could buy.

Silence, Jihoon had told you one day when he was in a good mood. Silence of the police force.

You still hadn’t figured out what exactly they were doing with the weapons– you were aware that a lot of their money was being used in their business partnership with Pledis Manufacturers who were producers of machine parts. Your best guess was that they were involved in the weapons business and doing something undercover. You couldn’t question anyone about that yet. It was too soon.

“Good job, tonight,” Seonghwa said his usual words but this time, he did not dismiss you. Instead, he rested his back on the chair to look at you. “There are a few questions about your background that I must ask you before our boss arrives tomorrow, Luna. I’m hoping you will cooperate.”

There it was. They must have been done with the background check now. You wondered how much they found. “As best as I can while protecting myself, I will.”

Seonghwa smiled at that. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Neither is it that I trust you already– Yeosang did, but that was different. You are now involved in the heart of the business that the Crescent Company does, so I have to make sure you’re suitable for this job, right?”

You were glad it was Mr. Park who was asking you these questions right now. Something about his presence was utterly calming and you could relax a little while talking to him. If you were objective, you could say that perhaps, it was his strategy to get you to lower your guard. But still… he was always soft spoken and kind. That did not change.

“I understand, Mr. Park,” you assured him.

“I could not find the records of your family… Miss Jeon,” he emphasised at your surname and you nodded. “You’re not a Jeon, are you?”

“It is a surname I borrowed around the time of the war, but I can assure you that I am from Eden. I was born here and have lived here all my life, at the Sector 1 border… save for a few years that I was not here.” Almost the truth. You had lived in Edenary, at the outskirts that met with Sector 1.

“And where were you? Where did you go in 1963?”

You exhaled. “Wonderland, to look after my sick aunt and get some further education.”

“Where, in Wonderland? Can I confirm that?” Seonghwa asked.

“The capital, Wonder City” you told him. “I’m not related to that aunt. She’s just an acquaintance who was willing to take me in. I looked after her and she gave me the financial help I needed.”

“Financial help,” Seonghwa repeated, glancing at your pearl ring that you always wore. He had an eye for things, and he knew that the pearl could not be in the hands of someone who was struggling financially. You could not have worn it so proudly if you had stolen it, so was it a family ring? A normal middle-class family could not afford such a pearl.

Just who were you?

“Yes,” you confirmed, willing him to trust you. “I might be wearing a pearl from Maddox & Co., Mr. Park, but that does not mean that I was showered in luxuries all my life. You must have found out that I was desperate for a job when I came back in 1966.”

Seonghwa nodded, swiping his hair back and exhaling. “Alright, I’ll let it be for now. You only need to tell us if you are related in any way to our rival gangs or the Sirens Rebel Party.”

“I am not your enemy,” you confirmed. “I cannot be acquainted with Yoo KIhyun and be in cahoots with any of your enemies. You have the same rivals.”

“Today’s friend is tomorrow’s rival,” Seonghwa mused. “Today’s enemy might be tomorrow’s lifesaver.”

“Then it is up to you, whatever you want me to be,” you smirked. “Rival or friend.”

Seonghwa nodded in thought, a bit amused, proceeding to pour you both some wine. While he downed it in one gulp, you sipped on it slowly, anticipating his next move.

“Do you perhaps have another tip for us?” Seonghwa raised a brow, amused.

“I might have, regarding your latest dealings with General Wi, but I will wait until both sides are clear.”

“Good,” Seonghwa shut the folder in conclusion. “I will take the leap of trust in you, Luna. Maybe you can do the same for us?”

“For you… yes, I can,” you told him. “I have one favour to ask, though.”

“Another one, already?” Seonghwa teased.

“You have a meeting scheduled with Secretary Park Byung Eun on the 14th, right?” You asked, the name leaving the most bitter taste in your mouth.

“President Lee’s secretary, yes,” Seonghwa nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows him,” you said. While he was the President's current secretary, his name was well-known before that as one of the most successful businessmen in Eden. “You must be meeting because of a potential pharma-collaboration?”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa frowned, anticipating what was next.

You took a deep breath. “Do not reveal all your cards to that man. Do not let them know what you are up to.”

“Is that your way of telling us to be careful?” Seonghwa snorted. “We never show all our cards in the first meeting, Luna.”

“Neither do they,” you warned him and his smile fell. “Secretary Park’s team has a penchant for tricking you into deals. I’m just asking you to think this deal through. Whatever they are offering you won’t be very beneficial in the long run.”

“And how do you know that?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him. “If you need sources, or funds, you don’t need to rely on the Secretary Park.”

“You don’t know what business we conduct here, Luna–”

“I don’t need to know to warn you,” you insisted, feeling that tight knot of frustration build up in the back of your throat now. “I’m only asking you to think this through and take my words into consideration.”

“Your words, Miss Jeon, lack credibility right now,” he stated in a finalising tone, a pang of hurt shooting through your chest for a moment. He was right, though. They had no reason to trust you and to them, you must be seeming like someone who was looking to jeopardise their deal. “If you really want us to take you seriously, you would have to start giving us more.”

“I cannot give you more if I don’t know what you will do with the information,” you told him, sighing deeply. “Forget it, just… can you please let me know what you will be gaining and what you will be losing after your meeting with Secretary Park?”

“You’re assuming we will lose something,” Seonghwa noted. You didn’t answer and Seonghwa scanned your face, almost detecting fear in your eyes. Just what were you so scared of? “Is there any way you can trust me and tell me what this is about?”

“Not so soon, no, sorry,” you smiled sadly. You wanted to trust that man, you wanted to trust someone, anyone. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for, if I have to be honest. I’m probably asking too much considering that I am a mere bookkeeper.”

“We may have ranks here but we’re all equal, in the end,” Seonghwa said and his words tugged at your heart. There was rarely anyone who didn’t bring rank into everything. “I know you have no reasons to trust us either. Let’s work through our differences first before we make such demands, alright?”

You smiled at him and got up to leave. He followed, locking the doors and you both exited the building together. You shivered when the chilly night wind hit you.

“The weather is getting colder. Bring a jacket or a scarf next time, will you?” Seonghwa said and you nodded. “Goodnight, Luna. I hope we are able to overcome all that is keeping us from mutual trust.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Park. Thank you for taking my words into consideration.”

He nodded, patting your back affectionately before you separated ways. That night, when you went home, you found Wendy getting ready to go to sleep. You didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her the whole week, considering your conflicting schedules, but you needed some answers right now so you sat at her bedside and she groaned in defeat.

“You need to tell me every detail, every rumour you’ve heard or any information you have on Ateez and what they do. Now.”

It was quite the busy day at the Crescent Office today.

During the midday slot, you were packed with the new reports you had to make regarding the recent trade dealings with Mist Island, and you also needed to compile a transaction history before the Crescents were going to finalise their new deal with Utopia– both dealings happening undercover. You realised just how much work this job was– you had to create a pretty seamless legal report that was going to be used officially and make it seem like all their money was being circulated in their manufacturing business or the liquor business.

Seonghwa and San arrived when your shift was about to end. San waved at you, promising to catch up later and Eunha looked at you with a scandalous smile.

“Do you know the Choi San?”

“I literally worked at the Crescent Bar, Eunha,” you laughed. “I had to work with him.”

“He’s never waved at me like that. I’ve been here for a decade,” Eunha pouted.

“Maybe you need to work as a cashier at the Crescent Bar in order to earn that privilege,” you told her, though you felt a bit pleased to hear that San had formal relations with the staff here.

Why were you pleased to hear that? You wondered but not long enough to make sense of it, soon getting caught up in more work.

You went home after your midday shift, hoping to get some rest before your night shift because you knew it was going to be packed. You had no idea when the boss was supposed to come to office but you just hoped you would go unnoticed today– you had far too many thoughts that needed some sorting from everything Wendy told you last night– another reason you wanted to get some rest because her words kept you awake for the most part of the night.

You made sure to dress properly today though, in any case. The weather was starting to get a bit chilly– summers were usually chilly in Eden. You wore a grey plaid suit that you kept for days like these, when you needed to make a good impression. You had fond memories with the two-piece– it was the first gift Wendy got you and it was more than she should have done, but she insisted she earned enough to buy gifts like these for the few friends she had. That made you wonder why she lived in a lousy shared apartment. You knew that her actual residence was in Sector 8 and she sometimes joked about how she lived here because it was ‘convenient’.

You wore white net gloves over your hands before going out, donning a matching grey hat. Eunha noted the new additions to your outfit and whistled as she shut her registers, groaning in satisfaction when she stretched her back.

“You did right with the gloves, but it’s a shame the boss isn’t here to appreciate them.”

“Eunha,” you glared at her and she giggled. She had warmed up to you– a bit too much, if you had to say, because she made jokes and teasing remarks like these often now that she was comfortable with you. You took off the gloves and spread them on your desk, grinning at her.

“I think they look pretty good from here too.”

You both shared a grin at that and Eunha wore her overcoat, saluting mockingly before leaving. Just before she was about to go downstairs, she turned in your direction, her doe eyes gleaming. “Luna!”

“What now?”

“If you see the boss… don’t take his words to heart,” she said. “He may sound like a complete arse but he cares for all of us.”

“It can’t be any worse than Jihoon, can it?” You joked.

Eunha was right, though. At around 10 pm, you finally heard a few sets of footsteps ascend up the stairs and you took a deep breath, fixing your gaze on the stairs. To get to his office, the boss would have to walk past you so you fixed your half tied hair and arranged your desk a bit. Yunho’s head was the first to pop up, followed by an unfamiliar man and Seonghwa. They went inside Yunho’s room first, absorbed in heated discussion and you took a deep breath.

It was clear as day who Kim Hongjoong was. If it was not his appearance that betrayed him– dressed in a luxurious three-piece suit with the chain of a golden pocket watch visible, dark brown curls falling stylishly over his forehead– it was his unmistakable aura, the way he carried himself and his confidence. You felt it even if what you got was only a glimpse.

A few minutes later, the trio popped out of Yunho’s room to go into Hongjoong’s room. You continued scribbling this time. You were going to remain in the shadows and go unnoticed–

“Get me the tax files,” the boss said. “I will personally make sure everything is seamless because I cannot have anyone messing it up– ah. Who is this again?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Miss Jeon y/n. The bookkeeper– I thought Yunho told you already?”

Yunho looked guiltily at Seonghwa and you stood up in greeting, meeting the boss’s sharp eyes and internally gasping because oh, good heavens. He was inexplicably gorgeous–

“Good evening, Mr. Kim. If you need the tax files, I can get them for you.”

Hongjoong’s eyes betrayed him for just a second as he scanned your form, finding something oddly familiar about you. But his steel expressions returned and he shrugged lightly. “Yeah, well. I’ll have Yunho deal with that. You can get back to work.”

With that, he went towards his office and only waited a moment for the others to follow before he shut the door.

What a snob, you thought. His new bookkeeper and he didn’t even acknowledge you. Had Seonghwa and Yunho really not told him about you, or was he above these meagre details? You were aware that you would have to work with the boss now that he was back, but… how?

Later, you found yourself at the Crescent Bar instead of your room. Perhaps, here you could get something that would make the bitter aftertaste in your mouth after tonight’s shift seem like nothing. Eunbi’s shift was over so you just found an empty spot in the corner and instructed one of your old colleagues to get you some Black Shadow and to make sure no one would bother you. He gave you a thumbs-up and a few minutes later, you were sipping at the rich drink while recalling the events of today.

Kim Hongjoong. Ateez’s boss, the brains behind the entity of the Crescent Company. A force to be reckoned with. A trickster, a manipulator, a true businessman, you had heard a while ago from the mouth of the elites who came here to drink. A man of his principles, Wendy had told you last night. He was rigid with his principles and that was what got him so far. You supposed he had to be all of that in order to survive after coming back from the war.

Wendy said she wasn’t worried that you were working with him– at some point in this small sector, everyone had or would encounter him at least once in his life, directly or indirectly. However, she was worried that you would catch his eye, because according to her, you did not want to be involved with him personally in any way. He was a calculating and ruthless businessman with an ambition, and according to Wendy, that was something you were better off staying away from.

You considered everything you knew about the Crescent Company now that it had been a week working with them. They had partnered with Pledis Manufacturers to produce machine parts but you now knew that it was an undercover business for their weapons assembling. They had recently signed a new deal with Utopia to export these weapons in exchange for the Utopian wine– Black Shadow– which was a trademark of the Crescent Bar.

And it was Mist Island that provided the Crescents with the bullets and some metal for weapons production in exchange for Eden wine. It truly was a well-thought out business.

But that could not be all. You still did not know what the small packet– the powdery thing that got you here– was. Was it just a drug they used for pleasure purposes? You had never seen them in such a state, nor did the Crescent Bar tolerate druggies, though deals happened there, just like at any other bar. Nobody seemed to talk about it, there was no record of such an object being traded or produced– so what was it? Why had they almost killed you when they learned that you saw it?

And if it was a drug, why did they need to make a business deal with Secretary Park Byung Eun and have him fund MX Pharmaceuticals, of which they owned shares of? Kihyun knew that Secretary Park was not a man you should involve yourself with, so was he not aware of this new venture or was he turning a blind eye to it because they needed Secretary Park? Why would they need him of all the people in this world?

“If you glare at your glass any longer, it will shatter,” a familiar voice said and you looked up, mouth parting in surprise.

“San!” You got up, straightening your clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I literally own this bar?” San chuckled, noticing the almost empty bottle.

“I mean, here here,” you pointed at your table. “I was just… drinking, as you can already see.”

“Long day?”

“Kind of,” you nodded.

“Can I join you then? I’ve had a long day too.”

“Sure,” you said and he settled down in front of you, tossing his jacket on the other chair, now in a half sleeve black shirt. You poured the drink for him and he swirled it a few times before downing it in one gulp. You filled his glass again and motioned one of the waiters to get you a new one.

It felt a little strange to have him seated like this in front of you. Sure, you had shared drinks countless times, but that was when you worked here and were serving him. There was also a shift in your interactions ever since that fateful night at the bar– somehow, that had turned your conversations more casual. He caught you staring at him but he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m assuming you met Hongjoong?” San asked and you exhaled, making him snicker. “What?”

“He’s… definitely the boss,” you laughed shortly. “He scanned me once and was like, okay, time to move on.”

“That’s him,” San laughed. “But that little scan he does means that he has memorised who you are and won’t forget. He’s got quite the memory.”

“I would expect nothing less, but San,” you sighed. “I miss being here. Even though I acted all professional here for the sake of formalities, it wasn’t ever suffocating being here.”

San frowned at your admission. “Do you not like where you are now?”

“It’s not that,” you shook your head. “I like the new job. It’s testing my capabilities, and I like challenges. It’s just that… you aren’t there. Yeosang isn’t there. You both are Crescents too. You both are also Ateez, so… how are you two so different from the rest?”

A smile creeped up on San’s lips and your heart did a little somersault– you hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was, but it had certainly been a while since you admired his charms. “Just say you miss us and move on, Luna.”

You laughed at that and San joined, the two of you chuckling for a few moments. “Yeah, I kind of miss being here and reporting all the gossip to you,” you said. “I miss working in silence with Yeosang too– don’t tell him I said that. It’ll get to his head.”

“I won’t,” he grinned. “Shall I tell you the gossip?”

“Oh, please, I’ve been starving,” you said.

About an hour passed over gossip and drinks, switching from wine to plain soda. San told you the latest happenings of the area– they had a little fight with Chan’s gang and had settled the matter about the attack on the Crescent Bar, making them pay for the damages. Yuju had gone to different bars to do a survey of what was trendy and come up with nothing, and you joked about how she was only good at doing what she knew– managing the staff, something she was an expert at. San said he would be sending Jeonghan and Mingyu next– perhaps, they would come up with a better report.

It was the first time you talked to San as a friend, and though you had always found it quite easy to talk to him, you liked that just like Yeosang, he didn’t make it feel like there was a distinction between you two. Perhaps, you wondered, it was because of the nature of your work- after all, you couldn’t be too formal in a place like a bar. Maybe if there was no Crescent Bar, you really would have found San intimidating and unapproachable, just like people claimed he was. You still couldn’t believe them– not when he had the softest gaze when he paid attention to you, not when his eyes curved into moons when he smiled or laughed, and certainly not when he whined like just another adult with problems.

When you checked the time on your wristwatch, you whistled– it was almost 2 in the morning. “Well. Time flies.”

“The night is still young, but we’ve both got to get up early, don’t we?”

“We sure do,” you nodded. “Well, this has been… a pleasure, San.”

“Likewise,” he propped his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “We should do this again.”

“Complaining about work?” You laughed. “Complaining about my bosses slash your friends?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s complaining, but when I do it, it’s whining? Noted,” San shook his head in disappointment and you grinned. “Can I tell you something, Luna?”

“Sure.”

“The hyungs– Yunho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong… they’re just like me and Yeosang. You just don’t know them yet.”

You looked at him for a moment. “I would have believed you if you had not included Seonghwa in that list.”

“Why?”

“You’re nothing like Seonghwa,” you joked. “He’s far too kind and refined.”

San’s loud laughter filled the room and you looked around, making sure no one was being disturbed. You leaned forward to tap his hand and make him stop laughing.

“I’m not lying, Luna,” San wiped his eyes. “Seonghwa… he may look refined but he can be very playful and childish when he wants to be. Yunho… well, once he warms up, you’ll know that he is the best kind of person you can have by your side.”

Somehow, his words wrapped around your heart like a promise. “You care about them a lot, huh?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They’re my friends, a part of my heart. I would do anything for them.”

“And… Hongjoong?”

“Hongjoong, well…” San smiled. “You find that out for yourself.”

“Not helping, San,” you folded your arms but he shook his head.

“All I can tell you is that if you’re lucky enough to break his walls… if he takes you under his wing, he won’t let anything hurt you. That’s the kind of person he is. He is the boss but he acts like a shield for us, and I wish I could do the same for him.”

You took note of his words. Did you trust San? A bit, yes. If he said all those things about Hongjoong, they must be true– at least according to his perception. But could you trust Hongjoong? Could you act as a shield for them so they could protect you in the future?

You made the decision before you slept that night.

During your night shift the next day, you waited for the office to get a bit emptier. When there was only Seonghwa and Hongjoong on the upper level, you took a leap of faith and knocked on the boss’s door. It was now or never, and you had to make your move.

“Come in,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded and you opened the door. Seonghwa was seated at the couch while Hongjoong was at the end of the room in his chair, scribbling on paper, not bothering to look at you.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked Seonghwa.

“Sure, have a seat,” he motioned to the couch in front of him and you did, sliding the report to him and glancing at Hongjoong once. “Is everything alright?”

“It is, but… I must warn you of something. You cannot proceed with the deal you’re making with Secretary Park Byung Eun.”

Seonghwa settled the pen he had been playing with on the table, taking a deep breath. “What is this really about?”

“Secretary Park is aiming to become the Minister of Health, isn’t that right? All of the ex-president’s team has either retired or left their posts, replaced by President Lee’s people,” you said. “Is that why you need Secretary Park? Because you have no other option?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes– how did you find out that he was aiming to become the next Minister of Health? It wasn’t publicly announced yet– he had yet to sign up as a candidate for that post.

“You must have one hell of a source,” Seonghwa looked amused, glancing at Hongjoong who was smoking a cigar and now looking at you with mild interest. You gathered your nerves before continuing.

“He is not a good candidate for the position, but that is not what matters right now. I would have gone to Kihyun but I decided to confirm with you first because I’m not sure if he’s aware of your plans, but… you must need Secretary Park to approve some drug in the future, right?”

Seonghwa’s brow rose ever so slightly and you jumped a little when Hongjoong slammed the pen that he had been holding on the table. He cocked his head as he glared at you.

“Miss Jeon,” he said in a warning tone. “If you don’t stop talking in circles right now and tell us what this is about, I’ll have to deal with you myself. You don’t want that.”

You gritted your teeth, unafraid for the first time in a while. “Do you want this business deal with Secretary Park to be legal? Just answer my question first, Mr. Kim.”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa answered for him.

“You should know that Secretary Park already has some business deals with Strictland officials going on,” you said in a low tone and the two looked at each other in surprise, clearly unaware. “You know how it will look for you if word comes out– Strictland is already an occupied state on the verge of military dictatorship. You can try to verify it for yourself if you want, but whatever deal Secretary Park has going on with Strictland… it’s not legal in any sense, neither is it moral.”

Seonghwa took a deep breath. “Our meeting with Secretary Park is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“And I thought you should be aware of this before the meeting,” you locked eyes with him, hoping he could see the desperation in them.

“Jeon y/n, was it?” Hongjoong called and you looked at him. He was squashing his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. You nodded and he finally smiled, though it looked almost devilish. “Why would you care to tell us this information?”

“You must have heard from your underboss,” you said. “I am willing to trade information with you in return for protection.”

“And power,” he pointed out the missing part. “You mentioned power.”

“I only desire power in order to survive in Eden,” you said.

“So why protection?” Hongjoong asked. “You can’t be a powerful figure in Eden and not have everyone targeting you.”

“Being a part of the Crescent Company is protection enough, I suppose,” you rested your hands on the soft material of your black pants, subtly wiping the sweat off.

“Protection from whom?” Hongjoong asked, his gaze set on you. You found it overwhelming almost to the point that you considered answering– he had a commanding presence.

“I… can’t say. Not yet,” you said and Seonghwa shook his head, having already known your answer. “I don’t expect you to tell me what the deal is about– after all, I’m only a bookkeeper. But I can give you better options– ex-president Mr. Son, for instance, or Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.”

“Assemblyman Kim is a nobody in the political scene if we are being objective,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t think he will have much to offer to us.”

“He will have something to offer to you if you give him something in return– maybe something that pulls him out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the political scene,” you said, recalling how the politicians in Edenary always thought Assemblyman Kim had the potential but lacked the resources.

“Why would Mr. Son ever associate himself with us?” Hongjoong got up from his seat, slowly walking towards you, hands in the pocket of his striped black suit. “We may be owners of a legal business company now, but everyone knows of our mafia ties and background.”

“You are an honoured military strategist who played a vital role to end the war, isn’t that true?”

Hongjoong chuckled at that, nodding slowly to confirm that and settling down next to Seonghwa. “Not everyone is aware of that, Miss Jeon. I don’t like people talking about it.”

“But Mr. Son was the president at that time, and he honoured you with a badge,” you kept his gaze. “I think he will agree that a person who did everything in their power to end the feud between two nations would not be making a deal that would harm his motherland and its people… don’t you agree?”

Hongjoong stared at you while considering your words. “You have a lot of audacity to come in here and make claims about a business you are not a part of, and people you don’t know enough about. Possessing such audacity is what almost cost you your life that night, and what is tempting me to retract the deal my partners made behind my back.”

And there it was. A stark reminder that you may have struck a deal with the queen, but you were still just a pawn in this game of chess where the king ruled. Weak and expendable– that’s what you were.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa began but Hongjoong raised his hand in the air to stop him from speaking further, his eyes still locked with yours. You didn’t feel shame nor fear in that moment– just regret that maybe you had trusted the wrong people.

“You are a bookkeeper, and you can remain so. Goodnight, Miss Jeon.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in and then you got up, bowing in greeting. “Good night, Mr. Kim, Mr. Park. Thank you for hearing me out.”

With that, you left the room and Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. “You did not have to put it like that. I know she got you.”

Hongjoong slumped down on the couch in front of Seonghwa, cracking his knuckles while he thought about his next move. “Is there any way we can verify the information about Secretary Park without anyone getting a whiff?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa admitted. “I’m wondering how she knows that– if that was the truth. If Secretary Park really has a business deal with Strictland officials… I don’t think even his wife would know about that. If anyone gets a whiff of that, it could cost him his position and cause President Lee significant harm too, since Park Byung Eun is his secretary. You know how Strictland is still a sensitive topic after the war.”

“Then how does she know?” Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa. “Is she a spy?”

“She can’t be,” Seonghwa shook his head. “Luna worked as the bookkeeper at Crescent Bar for two years–”

“Luna?”

“That’s what everyone calls her,” Seonghwa said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“She could be a mole, then,” Hongjoong sighed. “But no. Even a mole could not possess this information. What do we do?”

“Kihyun was Secretary Park’s former business partner. I’ll ask Yunho to check with Kihyun and confirm if Secretary Park is the right man for this deal, but that means we will have to let Kihyun know that we are intending to make such a deal.”

“We were going to tell him anyway, let’s proceed with that plan. And Seonghwa?”

“Yeah?”

“Contact the RV spies and get any information you can on your little bookkeeper.”

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callsign-mimic · 2 months ago

Text

@charliemwrites went and made a wonderful new OC, who you can read about [here]

So, naturally, I had to write a fic for them :3

Content Warnings: A/B/O (kinda) dynamics, descriptions of violence and drug use, reality adjacent Mimic rather than OC Mimic

A Part of the Pack

Chapter One

It was three in the morning when the shrill ring of the phone woke Mimic from a dead sleep. It wasn’t her cellphone. The ringer on that once never having been on since she got it. No, this was the small flip phone tucked away in the drawer of the nightstand. Never touched, but always charged and on.

Mimic groans, roughly pulling the drawer open, fishing around inside of it, and grabbing the phone.

“I’m retired, Kate.” She practically growls into the receiver.

“Only mostly.” Kate Laswell replies, sounding amused more than anything. Not that she was in any way surprised by Mimic’s less-than-pleased greeting. “The boys have a mission comings up. And they need a thief.”

“I’m not a hobbit, Kate.” Mimic grumbles, sitting up and wiping her sloppily bleached mop of hair out of her face. “Besides, I’m sure you can find someone else to do stealth and retrieval for them.”

“Not on short notice, and definitely not someone who works so well with them. Especially not now that they have an Alpha.” Laswell says. “Price also requested you personally. Besides, you’re definitely small enough to be a hobbit.”

“Remind me to be offended about the hobbit thing later. What do you mean they have an Alpha now?”

“It was high time they got one, and I promise this won’t be like the last time you had to work with an Alpha you didn’t already know.”

“I don’t think I could handle a repeat of having a teammate trying to rip my throat out, no.” Mimic says flatly, pinching the bridge of her nose as the memories flash through her barely awake mind. Monroe had been an asset to the team, but a drug fueled, pre-rut rage had sent her off the deep end. She had tried to force herself on another Omega, and Mimic had been the one to try and stop her. “I suppose I should collar up, despite my scent being pretty much nonexistent, huh?”

“You don’t have to worry about Saint snorting near lethal amounts of cocaine. And yes, wear your collar, please. The muzzle too, my little bite risk.”

“Monroe deserved it. But since you asked so nicely…”

“That’s my girl.” Laswell says, laughing when she hears Mimic’s poor attempt to cover her soft trill at the praise. “Get packed. I’ll have you picked up within the next two hours.”

~*~

All five members of Task Force 141 were waiting on the tarmac when Mimic stepped off the plane. Her pale blue eyes trace over the four familiar men before landing on Saint. The sight of the massive Alpha gives her a moment’s pause, even with them standing at a polite distance from their Omegas. Her nose twitches behind her muzzle as she looks them over quickly, taking in the soft curls in their dark hair, the steely grey eyes over their own muzzle. Christ on a cracker, they’re fuckin huge… Mimic thinks to herself, before Price takes her attention by stepping forward with an outstretched hand.

“Good to see you, Mim.” He says, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a tight hug. “Been too long, actually. Hope your little hidey-hole in the woods has been treating you well.”

Mimic chirps as Price practically crushes her against his broad chest. He turns, leading her to the rest of the team with an arm still wrapped around her shoulders. Soap’s initial grin at her arrival morphs into a snarl as he sees both the muzzle and collar on Mimic.

“Oi! Get that feckin thing off yer face!” He snaps, surging forward. Ghost grabs the collar of his shirt to hold him back and keep him from storming up to her and practically tearing the muzzle off her face.

“It’s just to be proper, Soap. Chill.” Mimic says defensively. The sound of ripping fabric has her climbing Price like a tree to perch precariously on his shoulders and out of reach of the enraged Scotsman. Who seemed more than happy to ruin his own clothes if it meant getting his hands on her. And getting that stupid muzzle off of one of his best friends.

“Fuck proper!” He snarls, his ruined shirt hanging off of him as Ghost wraps a large hand around his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Ain’t right! Not for ye! Yer one o’ us! Ye shouldnae be wearing those!”

Saint catches Soap around his waist, pulling him back and pressing their muzzle into his hair. Mimic can’t hear them speak, though she can just barely register the subharmonic rumble of their voice from their distance. And she notices how Soap immediately relaxes against his Alpha, albeit begrudgingly.

“Come on, pet.” Price says, helping Mimic back to the ground. “Let’s get you settled. It’ll be the usual rotation. You’ll stay in my room tonight.”

Mimic can feel Saint’s eyes on her as she lets Price lead her into the base. Interloper already causing trouble in the pack. Great first impression, dumbass. She thinks bitterly, adjusting her duffel bag on her shoulder as if she was trying the shift the sudden weight of guilt she now carried.

~*~

After Soap had been calmed enough to finally accept the collar and muzzle on Mimic, he waste no time in scenting her. He had her pinned beneath him on the floor of the den, rubbing insistently against the collar covering her scarred scent glands.

“Let the poor girl breathe, Tav.” Gaz says with a chuckle. He was lounging on the couch, watching the two of them with an easy grin. Patiently waiting his turn to do the exact same thing.

“S’been three years.” Soap whines, his stubble rasping against Mimic’s pale cheek as he nuzzles against her face. “She disnnae smell like us anymore. Gotta fix it.”

“Don’t smell like anything anymore…” Mimic says, managing to squirm out from beneath Soap only for Gaz to pounce on her and start scenting her himself.

“Not true, luv.” He purrs, making his own scent mingle with Soap’s on her collar. “It’s still there. Just very faint. Petrichor and oakwood. Perfect for a pretty little woodland cryptid like yourself.”

Saint sits at the far end of the den with Price. Watching as Ghost scoops the small Omega away from Soap and Gaz to add his own scent to her. Providing comfort. Reminding her just how much they cared about her. Showing just how much they missed her.

They cock their head to the side when Mimic mentions not having a scent. A move that Price notices in his periphery as he continues to watch the other four.

“Three years ago, our Mim got into a nasty fight with a pre-rut Alpha named Monroe.” He says, sharp blue eyes watching Mimic’s bright smile behind the cage of her muzzle. “Monroe had tried to force herself on a young private, and Mimic made it a point to get in the way. Monroe tried to rip her throat out for it, but she’s a scrappy wee thing. Put up a hell of a fight, but she was a bloody mess by the time the private had managed to return with help.”

“Where Monroe had tried, Mimic had succeeded.” Price continues, watching Gaz and Soap pile on top of Mimic and Ghost on the couch. He looks up at Saint. “It turned out that Monroe had a nearly lethal amount of cocaine in her system. We’re lucky Mimic didn’t bleed out, because she had ingested enough of Monroe’s blood that the drug was affecting her. She paid for it, though. Her scent glands are damn near nonexistent now. Mostly just scar tissue. And, to my understanding, the trauma done to them had pretty much stopped her heat cycle.” His voice drops, a bitter edge lacing through it. “On top of that, the whole ordeal is why she’s been requested to wear the muzzle. Her price for defending a teammate.”

“She was forced to retire, and labeled a bite risk.” Price’s hands curl into tight fists in his lap. “And what did she do? After all that? She put herself into isolation. Staying cooped up in that tiny cabin in the woods for three years. Completely off the radar. No contact. I’m lucky Laswell had a way to get ahold of her. Mim is a hell of a soldier, and her skill are invaluable. But she’s also an amazing individual. She doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of her life in isolation.”

Saint watches Mimic, just barely able to pick up the sound of her purr as she cuddled with the rest of their pack. She looked content, entirely at peace in the arms of the three larger Omegas. And with the way their pack clearly adored her, Saint wanted to be sure they would be able to protect her during the mission.

When she would be one of Saint’s, if only temporarily.

A part of the pack.

“I need her scent. For the mission.” Saint says, keeping their voice as quiet as possible. Even at this distance, the subharmonic rumble of their vocalization risked upsetting the small Omega. Already skittish around the silent Alpha that dwarfed her. So desperate to show them respect. Show them that she wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t trying to move in on their turf in any way. It was obvious to Saint that the fight with Monroe had damaged more than just Mimic’s scent glands.

“Aye, I suppose you do.” Price says, looking up at his Alpha, dark blue eyes glinting with amusement. “I’ll talk to her about it before bed tonight. She’s a good girl. She’ll work with you, no matter how standoffish she might seem.” He leans into Saint, looking back over at the four individuals piled on the couch. The den filled with the sounds of their contented purrs.

“It’s faint. Barely there, really.” Price murmurs, his heart aching at how small Mimic looks curled up against Ghost’s chest. “But once you know it, you’ll never miss it. She may not think it’s noticeable, but the boys and I could pick her out of a crowd without issue. Even after three years.”

A silent understanding passes between them as Price looks back up at his Alpha, and Saint nods. They had a while before the missions still. Plenty of time to learn Mimic’s scent and make her more comfortable around them.

Unfortunately for Saint, the latter was easier said than done.

#mimic writes #cod ocs #charliemwrites #playing barbies with our ocs #reality adjacent mimic #saint the silent alpha #charlie straight up said her goal was for me to be feral for saint #so here we are lol

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lupinqs · 4 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FOUR ━━ Caged Bird

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.9K

☆ ━ warnings: literally just outright homophobia w a slur (sorry), conversion therapy, religious guilt, dani’s just super fuckin depressed, too damn long to proofread

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: here is where you can learn more about conversion therapy. believe it or not, this is still a fucking problem in the US today, as an estimated 20,000 minors are subjected to it yearly i believe. just because instances of it are included in this does NOT by any means mean that i condone it. one of my friends actually went through something similar for a little while and it’s so fucked up. if anything, this is to bring awareness of the fact that shit like this is still happening!!!!!!

MAY 2019

DANIELLE CALLAN has never felt more content in her life. The soft morning lights spill through the blinds, casting golden stripes across her bedspread. She stretches lazily, her body still buzzing happily from last night. Everything has finally fallen into place. She and Paige finally said it—finally admitted their feelings, after all the years of hiding behind jealous stares, half-hearted jokes, and touches that lingered far too long to be deemed friendly.

Paige left earlier this morning, ready to catch her flight that’ll take her away for the rest of the summer. But even the distance can’t dampen the giddiness Dani feels, all over, almost like she’s caught some sort of illness that has her body and mind repeating Paige, Paige, Paige over and over again. She lays in bed, replaying when Paige she kissed her on the porch, when she kissed her goodnight, when she kissed her good morning, when she kissed her goodbye. Her mind glazes over as she remembers the blonde whispering “I love you” into her ear like it was a secret only they were allowed to share. It all felt so right, so natural, like they’ve always meant to be together in that way.

Dani pulls her phone from the nightstand, grinning at the last text Paige sent her, the one she’s been glancing at all morning.

Paige ❤️‍🔥

Boarding now. I love you

Can i call you when I land

Dani ❤️‍🔥

ofc you can

i love you too have a safe flight ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥!!!!!

Dani holds her phone to her chest, cheeks blooming pink, a smile spreading across her face. It’s real now. All of it. For the first time, she doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to wonder if Paige feels the same way. The uncertainty is gone, replaced by a warmth that makes her feel like she’s floating.

Reluctantly, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, knowing she has to get up. She pads over to the window, trying to pul the curtains open a bit more, eager to let the light flood in. However, it seems as though they’re jammed, and, after a poor fight on her part, Dani sighs, rolling her eyes and letting the curtains stay closed, engulfing the room in darkness.

Nevertheless, she’s still smiling as she heads downstairs, the scent of coffee wafting through her nose, the faint sound of the TV playing in the living room registering. Her dad’s probably watching his usual morning news, she figures. She feels lighter than air as she bounces down the steps, a pure happiness that’s been harder to come by recently.

But as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, something about the atmosphere seems to shift. Dani’s stomach flips anxiously; the air feels heavy all of a sudden—thick. She pauses, her hand resting on the banister as she peers into the living room. Her dad is sitting in his usual spot on the couch, but something seems different—off. He’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, his phone in his hand. The TV’s on, but the volume is low, almost as if it’s been forgotten.

Not to mention that her dad’s expression isn’t what Dani’s used to seeing. There’s no relaxed, Saturday-morning ease in the way he sits. Instead, his face is set in a rigid, tense mask, his jaw clenched so tightly Dani can see the muscles in his neck straining. His eyes are fixed on his phone, unmoving, and there’s a darkness in them that makes her want to go right back up to her room.

“Dad?” Dani’s voice is cautious, her lighthearted mood evaporating as she takes a few tentative steps forward. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at her. It’s odd. Usually, he’d greet her with some offhand remark or ask about her plans for the day. But now, there’s nothing. Just silence.

Dani’s unease grows, her inside twisting with unfamiliar dread. She steps closer, trying to get a better look at him. “Dad?”

Finally, he looks up. His eyes meet hers, and the expression on his face is enough to make her swallow thickly, unsure how to feel. He looks at her angrily, coldly, and it sends a jolt through Dani’s chest.

He says nothing at first. Instead, he simply turns his phone around, showing her the screen. At first, she can’t make out what she’s looking at—just a video, playing on a small square of the screen. But then her heart plummets into her stomach as she recognizes what exactly is being filmed. The porch. Her and Paige. Last night.

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches the footage. There Dani is, fumbling with her keys while Paige kisses her neck, whispering those three words that meant everything. The video captured it all—the giggles shared between them, the way Dani turned around and pulled Paige in for another kiss, savoring it. This moment that was meant to be just theirs, is now playing out in front of Dani’s father’s eyes.

Fuck. Dani should have realized, should have remembered. They have a Ring doorbell—it takes footage of any movement near it. But she was drunk and stupid and in love and she’d forgotten. And now, by the look on her dad’s face, she’s about to pay for that.

Her mouth goes dry, her heart hammering in her chest as she looks up at her father. He’s still holding his phone out, eyes smoldering with an anger that makes her feel like she can’t breathe.

“Dad,” she whispers, voice barely audible. “I can explain—”

“What the hell is this, Danielle?” he interrupts, his tone low, the kind he only uses when he’s really, really angry. It makes her flinch.

She opens her mouth, but words don’t come. What can she say? How can she possibly explain something she’s barely had enough time to process herself?

Her dad stands abruptly, his movements sharp and filled with barely restrained rage. “You think this is acceptable? In my house? Under my rules? I—I don’t know what happened. You’ve always been a good girl. Danielle, you have a relationship with Christ! How could you do this? How could you throw everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done for you, everything God has done for you for… for this?” He shakes the phone in his direction, his voice rising. “For this disgusting, sinful bullshit!”

Dani recoils like she’s been slapped, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The thoughts that she’s pushed to the back burner of her mind echo quietly, agreeing with her father. It’s wrong. A girl loving another girl is wrong. Sinful. But the part of her mind that’s taken over, the one that thinks about the blonde basketball player day and night and can’t help but think about how right it felt to be with Paige in that way, fights back. “I—I can explain, I swear—” she starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Explain what?” he spits, face twisted in disgust and disappointment. “There’s nothing to explain, Danielle. I saw it. I saw you—kissing that girl. Paige.” He says her name like it’s some kind of poison, and it makes Dani’s chest constrict. “I knew something was off about that friendship. You think I haven’t noticed how you two are always together, always too close?”

Tears well up in Dani’s eyes, her whole body tensing in a panic. “It’s not like that—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps, eyes flaring. “I saw what I saw. And I won’t tolerate this… this perversion under my roof.”

The tears begin to pull over now, Dani’s chest heaving as she tries to fight the sobs that rip through her. “Dad, please—”

“You’re not seeing her again,” he cuts her off, his voice final, cold. “I don’t care how long you’ve been friends. I don’t care that you’ve known her since you were kids. I don’t care that she’s our next door neighbor. Whatever that is, it’s ended. Now.”

Dani shakes her head frantically, panicking, tears falling faster. “You can’t do that!” she shouts, voice cracking. “Please, Paige is—she’s my best friend—please—we”

“No!” he yells over her, vocals booming around the room. Dani flinches, her body trembling as she wraps her arms around herself. “You will not see her again. You won’t even go near her. Do you understand me?”

“Dad, please, just listen—”

“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats. “This is not up for discussion, Danielle. She’s a bad influence, a—” he hesitates, and then with a sneer that makes Dani’s stomach churn, he hisses, “She’s a filthy fag, and I won’t let her corrupt you any more than she already has.”

His words hang in the air like a death sentence, and Dani’s world tilts on its axis. It feels like the floor has been ripped out from beneath her. She’s never heard her father speak like this, never seen such venom in his voice. Of course she’s known he’s homophobic; he’s made off handed remarks every now and then, says things about how “those people” are disappointments to God. But this? The way he’s looking at her—it’s like she’s a complete stranger to him. Like he doesn’t even recognize his own daughter anymore.

The sobs break free through Dani’s chest and her hands shake as she covers her red-rimmed eyes with them. “Dad, please,” she begs, though she knows it’s probably useless at this point. “Please don’t do this.”

But her father’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it grows harder, colder. “Go to your room,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Dani looks up at him, her vision blurred with tears. “Dad—”

“I said, go to your room!” he practically roars, and the sheer force of it makes her stumble backward toward the stairs, body shaking.

Her heart is in her throat and she’s trembling uncontrollably as she turns and runs up the steps, her sobs echoing in the otherwise silent house. She barely makes it to her room before collapsing onto her bed, her face buried in her pillow as she lets her tears free fall.

Everything’s ruined. Her dad hates her. He’s seen everything—and now he hates her.

And Paige…

Dani can’t even let herself think about that. How, just hours ago, she had everything, and—within minutes—it all slipped between her fingers.

And now all Dani can feel is shame.

JUNE 2019

The camp—if that’s what you could call it—isn’t the kind of summer camp Dani expected when her father first mentioned it to her. No, this place isn’t about hikes or bonfires or s’mores. It’s something else entirely.

They call it a “church camp,” but it didn’t take long for Dani to realize what it really is. Conversion therapy, as simple as that. A way to “fix” her, to cleanse her of her sins.

The camp is deep in the woods, secluded and quiet, the kind of place where no one would hear you scream, where no one would notice if you disappeared for a few months and come back changed. The other girls and boy here are like Dani—at least, that’s what she’s been told. They’ve been sent here to be “cured,” to be saved from the deviance inside of them, the sickness that led them astray from God’s light.

At first, Dani tries to resist. She fights it, mentally at least. The idea that something so integral to her—love—could be a disease was unthinkable. She thinks of Paige, her best friend, her first love, and tries to remind herself of the warmth, the joy, the rightness of it all. Paige always made her feel seen. Safe. Loved. How can any of that be a sin?

But as the weeks drag on, the messages seep in, and, slowly but surely, Dani’s defenses erode. The camp counselors—rigid, strict men and women with eyes that seem to stare straight into your soul—speak of salvation and sin in the same breath. They quote scripture, twisting it into something Dani never heard before, making her feel like her very existence is a rebellion against God.

They say the attraction she feels for Paige is a temptation, a test from the devil himself. That her love isn’t love at all, but lust, base, and immoral. Every day, they hammer this message into her through sermons, through private “sessions,” through exercises designed to break down her spirit, to rebuild her into someone who can conform, who can be pure again. They say they’re just trying to help her.

The forest surrounding the camp becomes a symbol of her isolation. The trees loom tall, casting long shadows over the compound, as if the very earth is trying to swallow her whole. There’s no escape, no outlet. Dani’s never felt more alone in her life. She wants to cry, to scream, to run, but there’s nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

Her days become a blur of routine and control. They take everything from her. Her phone, her freedom, her identity. She isn’t allowed to speak of Paige—hell, she isn’t even allowed to think of Paige without facing repercussions. They watch her closely, scrutinizing every move, every glance, every word, looking for any sign of weakness, any sign that she hasn’t fully accepted the “truth.”

Some days are easier than others. On the good days, Dani finds herself almost numb, going through the motions, letting the words of the counselors wash over her without sinking in. But on the bad days… the bad days are hell. On the bad days, the guilt is so overwhelming that she can hardly breathe. She’ll lay in her cot at night, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts she can’t quiet. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am sick. Maybe I’m not supposed to feel this way. Maybe… maybe Paige will be better off without me. Maybe I’ll be better off without Paige.

The worst part is that she can feel herself changing. Slowly, bit by bit, the person she’s always been—Dani, the girl who loves photography, the girl who loves to write, the girl who love Paige—slips away. In her place, there’s… someone else. Someone who’s afraid. Afraid of herself. Afraid of the world. Afraid of God.

There are moments, brief as they are, when Dani finds herself alone, sitting on the edge of the lake that borders the camp. The counselors allow “reflection time” out there, a chance to sit in nature and contemplate God’s will for their lives. Dani doesn’t feel God’s presence out there, though. Instead, she feels only emptiness. The lake, still and dark, mirrors the hollow ache in her chest, the ache that started the day her father found that video and had only grown since then.

She thinks of Paige during those moments. She can’t help it. Paige’s laugh, her smile, the way her fingers would brush against Dani’s hand when they were alone together. She thought of the way Paige’s voice had cracked, just slightly, when she’d said, “I love you,” as if it had been too heavy, too important, to carry without breaking.

And then the guilt would come rushing back in like a tidal wave, drowning out the memory of Paige’s touch. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to feel this way. The counselors make sure of that. They drill it into her head day after day until she begins to doubt every thought, every feeling, every memory she has of Paige.

The uncertainty is the worst part. At night, lying in her narrow cot, Dani closes her eyes and tries to remember how it had felt to be with Paige. How, just a few short weeks ago, her heart had been so full of love that it felt like it might burst. But now, those memories feel like they belong to someone else, like they’re fading away, replaced by a gnawing doubt that maybe—just maybe—what she felt isn’t love at all.

The isolation gnaws at her. Dani’s faith—which, despite everything, was pure before—has become tainted, almost like she’s trying to crawl away from it—or at least, trying to crawl away from the twisted version of faith that the camp preaches. They tell her that God loves her but only if she can repent, only if she can reject the “unnatural desires” that have led her down this dark path. They tell her that true salvation means giving up everything she’s ever known, including Paige.

They don’t just want her to stop loving Paige. They want her to stop being herself.

But the hardest part is, after so many weeks, Dani doesn’t really know who exactly she is anymore. She feels like a shell of herself, hollowed out and empty, filled with nothing but fear and shame. And she begins to wonder if it’s working. If they’re right. If this is how it’s supposed to be.

But still, sometimes, Dani wakes up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat, a sense of panic so intense that she can hardly breathe. In these moments, she presses her face into the scratchy pillow, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Because in the darkness, in the quiet, when no one else is watching, she still wants Paige. She still loves her. No matter what they say, no matter how much they try to break her down, that small, fragile piece of her heart still beats for Paige.

And that scares her more than anything.

She doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hold on to that part of herself. It’s slipping away, little by little, with every sermon, every “counseling” session, every prayer that she shoves down her throat. She’s being worn down, and she’s afraid that one day, she’ll wake up and not feel anything at all.

And maybe… maybe that’s what they want. Maybe that’s what God wants. Maybe that’s what she deserves.

Dani doesn’t even know how long she has left at the camp, nor how long she’s been there. After the first couple weeks, time begins to lose its meaning. She’s stopped counting the days (since they don’t tell her the date), stopped waiting for it to end.

JULY 2019

Dani sits in the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes downcast as she stares at the scuffed linoleum floor. The room is cold, sterile, and devoid of any warmth or comfort. It’s the same room she’s been sitting in for the past two months, every time she’s called in for her one-on-one “therapy” sessions. The wooden cross on the wall looms large above her, a constant reminder of the weight she’s supposed to carry, the sin she’s meant to repent for.

Across from her sits Mrs. Keating, one of the camp’s lead counselors. She’s a stern woman, always impeccably dressed, with sharp features and cold, piercing blue eyes that seem to cut through whatever walls Dani tries to put up. She’s been Dani’s assigned counselor from the start, the one tasked with guiding her back to the “right” path, the one who’s delivered the harshest sermons about the dangers of temptation and sin.

Today is supposed to be their final session—or, at least, that’s what Dani has been told. She knows the routine by now. Mrs. Keating will ask her a series of questions, probing deeper into her thoughts, her feelings, her beliefs. Dani’s learned to say what’s expected of her, to give the answers the woman wants. At first, she resisted, clinging to the hope that she could hold onto who she really is, but that hope has withered away in the weeks she’s been here.

She isn’t even really sure who she is anymore.

Mrs. Keating sits behind her desk, her fingers laced together as she regards Dani with that unreadable expression she always wears. It’s a look that makes Dani feel small, insignificant, like a child being scolded.

“So, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating begins, her voice cool and steady, “you’ve been with us for quite some time now. How are you feeling?”

Dani swallows, her throat dry. She hates these questions. They always feel like traps, no matter how carefully she answers. But she knows better now than to hesitate. She’s learned what they want to hear, and she’s learned that it’s easier to comply than to fight.

“I feel… better,” Dani answers, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. “I feel like I’ve been able to reflect on… everything.”

“Good, that’s very good,” Mrs. Keating replies, nodding approvingly. “And what have you learned in your time here?”

Dani’s fingers twitch in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She hates herself for what she’s about to say, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out. They feel foreign, like they were coming from someone else’s mouth. But she thinks they’re right. After all this time, everything she’s gone through here, how can they not be?

“I’ve learned that… what I was feeling before… it was wrong,” Dani murmurs, her heart heavy. “That it wasn’t love. It was temptation. Sin.”

Mrs. Keating’s smile is small, satisfied. “And you understand why that is, don’t you?”

Dani nods, her gaze still fixed on the floor. “Yes. Because God doesn’t want us to… live that way. It’s against His plan.”

“And your feelings for the girl… ?”

They don’t say her name. They never say her name. And Dani’s glad. They don’t deserve to say Paige’s name. She’s too good, too full of light, for all of this. Dani’s stomach twists as the image of Paige’s face flashes through her mind—her bright eyes, her playful smile, the way her touch always feels so soft and warm. Dani’s chest aches with the memory, but she pushes it down. She can’t think about that now. She can’t think about her. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.

It’s wrong.

“I don’t… feel that way anymore,” Dani says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know it was wrong. I know it wasn’t real love.”

Mrs. Keating’s eyes gleam with approval, as if she’s won some silent battle. “That’s right, Danielle. You’re starting to understand. Love, true love, is a gift from God, and it’s meant to be between a man and a woman. Anything else is a distortion, a lie from the devil.”

Dani bites the inside of her cheek, the taste of blood sharp on her tongue. She’s heard this speech so many times that she can recite it in her sleep, and each time, it chips away at her a little more, hollowing her out from the inside. She wants to believe that maybe it’s a lie—that what she felt (feels?) with Paige is real—but after weeks of being told otherwise, it’s getting harder and harder to hold on to that belief.

“And how do you feel about your future now, Danielle?” Mrs. Keating asks, her tone almost gentle, as if she’s speaking to a child in need of guidance. “Do you feel ready to live a life that honors God?”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap. She feels the weight of the cross around her neck, its presence suffocating. She’s worn it every day since she received it from her father years ago. But ever since she’s gotten here, it’s become a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon her, of the person she’s supposed to be.

“I want to do what’s right,” Dani replies, her voice steady even as her heart stutters. “I want to live the way God wants me to live.”

Mrs. Keating leans forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she can sense the apprehension buried beneath Dani’s words. “And you’re willing to renounce those past feelings? Those sinful urges?”

Dani’s throat tightens, but, nevertheless, she nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” Mrs. Keating’s smile widens. “You’ve made remarkable progress, Danielle. You’ve come a long way from the confused girl who arrived here, and I’m proud of you for embracing the truth.”

Dani doesn’t feel proud. She just feels empty.

The silence in the room grows heavy, oppressive, as Mrs. Keating studies her, as if trying to gauge the depth of Dani’s conviction. After a moment, she rises from her chair and walks around the desk, coming to stand in front of Dani. She reached down, her cold fingers brushing against Dani’s skin as she presses her hand to the small silver cross hanging from Dani’s neck.

The touch makes Dani flinch, but she doesn’t move. She can’t.

Mrs. Keating’s fingers linger there for a moment, her grip firm, almost possessive. “God will forgive you for your sins,” she says softly, her voice filled with the kind of certainty that Dani can never muster. “He is a merciful God, and He wants nothing more than for you to be redeemed in His eyes.”

Dani’s pulse races beneath the surface of her skin. She wants to believe that. She wants to believe that all of this—everything she’s gone through—will lead to forgiveness, to peace. But deep down, something in her resists. Something in her whispers that maybe God won’t forgive her. Maybe she isn’t worthy of it. Maybe there’s no redemption for someone like her.

She swallows hard, her eyes stinging with the tears she refuses to shed.

Mrs. Keating releases her hold on the necklace, her hand falling back to her side. She smiles, the gesture cold and calculating, as if she’s just won a battle Dani hadn’t realized she was fighting.

“You’re almost there, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating tells her, voice smooth and placating. “You’re so close to being saved.”

Dani doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t think she trusts herself to speak.

Because in that moment, all she can think about is Paige. Paige’s face, Paige’s laugh, Paige’s love. She can feel it slipping away, the memory of it growing dimmer with every passing day. And the worst part is, she isn’t sure if she wants to hold onto it anymore. Bitterly, she doesn’t know what the point would be. What would be the point at all, if this is who she’s supposed to be now?

“Remember, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says firmly, brows scrunched slightly, “God’s love is stronger than anything. Stronger than sin. Stronger than temptation.”

Dani nods mechanically, her mind a haze of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She’s heard this so many times, and every time, it feels like another piece of her soul is being chipped away.

But maybe that’s for the best.

AUGUST 2019

Dani’s home.

That simple fact should bring her comfort, but as she stands in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the familiar walls and the neatly made bed, nothing feels the same. The space seems smaller, suffocating almost, and everything inside her feels hollow. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore.

She doesn’t know what feels like home.

She doesn’t think she has one.

It’s strange—coming back from camp was supposed to be a relief, a return to normalcy, but nothing about this feels normal. Dani expected some kind of closure, maybe even a sense of peace after everything she’s been through, but all she can do is feel a dull, heavy weight pressing down on her chest, right under her necklace. She feels like she doesn’t even belong here anymore. And it’s not just her house; it’s her whole life.

Dani doesn’t hang out with Thaliah or Jalen anymore either. They try to reach out when she gets back—text messages, phone calls, even a couple visits—but she pushes them away. It’s not like she really wants to—it’s just easier. Easier to stay locked inside herself, easier to avoid the questions she knows they’ll ask. Easier to pretend that things can just… move on.

Because they can’t. Not after everything. Not after her.

It’s easier not to think about Paige this way. Paige is still gone, away on basketball things for the summer, and with her absence, Dani’s managed to build up walls—tall, thick ones that keep the memories at bay. She has to. Thinking about Paige, about what they shared, about how it all fell apart without the blonde even knowing, is too much. So, she doesn’t think about it. She can’t.

Her dad doesn’t bring it up either. Not directly, at least. They’ve never spoken about what happened—about the reason Dani was sent away in the first place. Instead, he acts like it never occurred, like she was just at a normal summer camp, learning life lessons, finding her footing. That suits Dani fine. The last thing she wants is to talk about her “past mistakes.”

Instead, they focus on what her father considers the right things, like Beau Hudson.

Beau is someone Dani’s known since elementary school, a boy she’s always thought is a typical jockey douchebag—the kind of guy who’ll peak in high school and will probably spend the rest of his life chasing after some sense of former glory. He’s loud, obnoxious, and has a habit of talking like he owns every room he walks into. Dani’s never liked him, never thought twice about him, except to occasionally roll her eyes when his name comes up.

But now, Beau seems to be the answer to her father’s prayers.

Apparently, Beau mentioned to his parents that he thought Dani was pretty. And apparently, her father—who happens to work with Beau’s father—thinks that’s just great. It’s perfect, actually. Perfect in the way that Dani knows her father has always envisioned for her—a respectable boy, from a respectable family, with respectable values. There’s no need to talk about her past anymore, no need to dwell on those mistakes. If she can just date Beau, everything will fall into place. She can be the daughter her father wants her to be.

So, she does it.

She begins dating Beau, and it happens so fast that she hardly has time to question it. One minute, she’s saying yes to dinner with his family, and the next, they’re officially together. It isn’t something Dani really wants, but it’s something she can tolerate. It’s easy. Beau’s world is uncomplicated, shallow in a way that’s almost comforting because it doesn’t require much from her.

She starts hanging out with his friends—people she’s never given the time of day before. Guys from the football team, girls from the cheer squad. Serena Corren, one of the cheerleaders who’s always been a bit of a bitch, turns out to be not that bad. Dani finds herself spending time with her, more than she expects. Serena’s loud and a little crass, but she isn’t mean, at least not to Dani. In fact, they get along well enough that Dani finds herself relaxing a bit around her. Serena talks about meaningless things, gossips about people at school, complains about cheer practice, and it’s a nice distraction.

Everything is a distraction at this point.

A distraction from Paige.

Paige, who’s back now.

The minute Dani opens the door and sees her standing there, everything crashes down on her. It’s like a punch to the gut. Paige looks the same and different all at once—still beautiful, still Paige, but something about her feels… distant. Or maybe it’s just Dani who’s distant. She can feel her defenses rising the moment she meets those familiar blue eyes.

“Paige,” Dani acknowledges, throat tightening.

Paige’s voice is soft, tentative. “Hey, Dan. Can we talk?”

Dani swallows hard. She shouldn’t let her in. She should shut the door, turn Paige away before it gets any harder. But she doesn’t. Instead, she steps aside, letting Paige walk into her home, into her life once again. “Sure. Come in.”

The living room is quiet, and Dani can feel the tension simmering in the air as she sits on the couch, body rigid. Paige stands a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, looking at Dani like she’s searching for something—an explanation, an apology, maybe a sign that Dani still cares.

But Dani can’t give her any of that. She can’t let herself break.

It starts with Paige asking, “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Why didn’t you—”

And then the floodgates open between them. Dani tries to keep her face neutral during it, shutting down any emotion that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to feel—if she lets herself feel anything, even for a moment, it’ll all come crashing down, everything wrong and bad spilling out. Her eyes stay cold, her voice flat, and every word that comes out of her mouth feels like poison she has to swallow herself. She tells herself she’s doing the right thing, that pushing Paige away is for her own good. That it’s for both of them. But God, it hurts.

Watching Paige’s face fall with every sharp word she throws at her is like watching someone chip away at a sculpture, little by little, until it’s unrecognizable. Dani sees the flickers of confusion, hurt, and then anger that spread across Paige’s features. She sees the way Paige’s shoulders tense, the way her eyes burn with disbelief. Paige has always been so expressive, her emotions right there on the surface, easy to read. And it kills Dani to know that she’s the cause of every negative expression that paints the blonde’s face.

The worst part is seeing the way Paige’s eyes gloss over, like she’s on the verge of tears but is too stubborn to let them fall. Paige isn’t the type to cry easily, but Dani knows her too well. She can feel Paige’s hurt even without seeing the tears. It’s palpable in the air between them, suffocating.

But Dani can’t break. She has to be strong, even though it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done. So, she says the words that’ll sever whatever hope Paige had left. She tells her that their kiss, that their confessions, were both mistakes. That she doesn’t want her, that it’s all just over. The words are like knives in her own chest, but she forces them out because she has no choice. If Paige knew the truth—about the camp, about her father’s threats, about everything—Paige would fight for her. She’d try to save Dani from it all. And Dani can’t let that happen. Everything would just get worse. It wouldn’t help anything.

Besides, whatever Paige and Dani have is wrong. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Dani repeats it in her head. She fiddles with her necklace, her eyes flit to the crucifix on the wall, she thinks about how God doesn’t appreciate girls loving other girls. It’s wrong.

Nevertheless, when Paige finally leaves, when she turns her back and walks out the door, it’s like Dani’s entire world collapses in on itself. She’s built a wall around herself for weeks, convincing herself that this is what she’s needed to do. But the second the door closes behind Paige, it all comes tumbling to the ground. The numbness she’s been clinging to melts away, leaving behind raw, unbearable pain.

It’s wrong anyways, she tries to remind herself. It would’ve never worked out. God doesn’t permit it.

But that doesn’t seem to matter. Because no matter how wrong it is, it fucking hurts.

Dani presses her forehead against the door, her whole body trembling as the sobs begin to escape. She didn’t cry in front of Paige. She held it together, made sure to be strong, made sure that Paige wasn’t aware of what’s truly going on. But now, with no one watching, Dani just breaks. Her shoulders shake as the tears come hard and fast, her chest heaving as she lets it all out. The sobs are uncontrollable, wracking her body as she finally allows herself to feel everything she’s been holding back since the day she was dropped off at camp back at the beginning of June.

She cries for the years of friendship she’s just destroyed. For the love she has for Paige that she has to—and will continue to—deny. For the fact that she has to pretend not to care when every fiber of her being screams that she still does. She cries because she knows she’s just shattered Paige’s heart, and in doing so, she’s shattered her own.

Her father’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, a cruel reminder of why she’s done this. She can’t be with Paige, can’t even be her friend. Not if she wants to keep Paige safe from the consequences, not if she wants to keep them both pure in God’s eyes. Besides, if Dani even tried to slightly interact with the blonde, her father would never allow it, and Dani knows the lengths he’ll go to if he thinks Dani’s stepping out of line. The threats he made over the summer, the way he sent her to that camp to “fix” her—it isn’t something she can let Paige be part of. And it’s certainly not something she’ll let herself be subject to again.

(Besides, she has Beau. She likes Beau.) (Enough.)

But the knowledge doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make it easier to breathe through the sobs that wrack her chest. Dani feels like she’s drowning, suffocating under the weight of everything she’s just lost. Paige has been her best friend for over a decade. She’s been the one constant in Dani’s life, the person who has understood her better than anyone else. And now, Dani’s pushed her away, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to get her back.

Eventually, the sobs slow, leaving Dani feeling hollow and empty. Her tears soak through the fabric of her tank top, and her throat is raw from crying. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, leaning against the door, but it feels like an eternity. All she can think about is Paige’s face as she left, the way her eyes had looked so broken, so betrayed.

Dani did this. She has to live with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the empty room, though the words are meant for Paige.

OCTOBER 2019 (PRESENT DAY)

Paige was right. Dani is a coward.

She knows she is. She thinks about it constantly. She thinks about that night, at the party, where she and Paige fought. She thinks about what Beau called her. She thinks about how she didn’t step in, how she didn’t defend Paige. She thinks about how she’s settled into a routine that feels like she’s merely a spectator in her own life. She thinks about how she hasn’t done anything to try and change it. She thinks, she thinks, she thinks.

She thinks a lot.

About certain things.

Certain people.

(Paige.)

She tries and tries to fight it, but her mind is rogue, a resistance that always has a mantra of Paige, Paige, Paige whether it’s in the front, the corner, or the back of her cerebrum.

She dates Beau. That doesn’t change. She knows who he is—not a good person. He’s arrogant, dismissive, and often cruel, but Dani finds herself in his company night after night. It’s not that she doesn’t recognize his red flags; she does. But there’s a twisted sense of comfort in being with someone who embodies the superficial, the expected. Beau is a mask she can wear, something to hide what’s beneath. What she doesn’t want people to see.

So, she dates Beau. She kisses him. They do other stuff a lot, too. He always initiates it, but she never stops it. It’s okay—not great, not terrible. It’s not exactly who she’d prefer to do that kind of thing with—but, who she would exhibits every single little thing that’s wrong with her. Every single little thing that she’s been trying to shake out of her, off of her, since she arrived at that camp. God doesn’t appreciate it. And so neither does Dani.

School has become her other distraction. A good one, too.

She retakes the ACT. When she gets her score back, she’s happy with it, a rare moment of relief and pride.

College applications weigh on her as well, and she’s certainly had the time to do them. She only applies to two school. Minnesota—her dad wants her to stay in-state, somewhere close. And, trust her, she knows how deluded it sounds, but—she applies to Connecticut, too. Don’t ask her. She doesn’t even really know why.

She focuses heavily on her Calc class, her AP Bio class, her AP Lit work. She focuses, she gets good grades, she makes her teachers and maybe even her father proud. She’s just doing her best, distracting herself. (Though it doesn’t help that, without fail, every single day Paige’s stare bores holes into Dani’s back in Lit. All she wants is to continue her distractions, to continue her streak of nearly perfect scores, but those baby blues burn into her skin from behind and it makes Dani’s heart race.)

She continues on with photography, too. She goes to the football games and some of the other sports—soccer, field hockey, etc.—and takes her photos for yearbook. It’s a good distraction until she spots Paige in the student section (this happens every Friday night), and Dani’s mood seems to simmer out.

Paige is everywhere. Fucking everywhere. School, games, Dani’s head. It doesn’t matter. She never leaves.

Dani wishes she would go and wishes she would stay all at once.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #hopkins p fic #take me to church #wlw

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jimilter · 22 days ago

Text

on the borderline — 05 | pjm. (m)

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | drama | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.6 k

— warnings: swearing + repeated mention & description of sex (some gets detailed and explicit, hence the rating!) + mention of a past toxic relationship + perhaps a present toxic relationship? + the worst kind of emotional constipation + misunderstandings + lies and pretense +one-sided feelings + reader is a bigger mess + jimin is a mess too :/

— note: HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025, PEOPLE! <3 it was excruciating getting back into this one but it was also kinda therapeutic bec real life has been whooping my ass :( i have begun writing the sixth part too bec i truly forreal wish to complete this series without taking another year helP!

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

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𝐕 ⇢ 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 ♪ between heaven and disaster

07:03 AM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 hey sorry i missed all your calls and texts :( i figured u would ask abt seokjin and the date and i kinda didn’t wanna talk abt it not necessarily in a bad way just a “let me figure it out first” way which still doesn’t excuse ghosting u so i AM rly sorry :( how was your flight? and the dinner meeting?

07:16 AM ↳ SHE LIVES!!!!!! ↳ Good morning Grumpkincess <3 ↳ All that you said about your date has just made 1000x curious now yk ↳ Oh, and I had a horrible flight ↳ My partner drooled on my $70 shirt 😭 ↳ Barely had time to change it before our meeting at 4 UGH

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 good morning WHAT now ? that better not be a new pet name park jimin

↳ Yes it is, Grumpkincess ↳ A grumpy pumpkin princess ↳ Adorable right?

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ykw your cringe ass deserved getting your shirt ruined karma 🖕

↳ Ihy 🖕 ↳ Ok enough of this can we pls talk???

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ??? are we not talking?

Jimin rears back from his phone almost violently. Did you, of all people, really just imply that texting is equivalent to talking? He is pretty sure that of the entire time that the two of you have lived in separate towns, you have spent more than half of it on video calls with each other.

That is talking for the two of you.

Or at least it used to be, before he got onto this flight which has apparently landed him in some parallel universe.

He immediately sits up in bed and calls you.

And you immediately disconnect the call.

What?

His jaw is still dropped when his phone vibrates in his palm again, indicating an incoming voice call from you. Scowling, Jimin nearly whines a what the fuck into the phone.

“I look like dogshit, dude, please,” you groan from your end.

“Seriously? You’re telling me you won’t show me your face because you look bad?” Rolling his eyes, Jimin reclines on his bed, a little assured at hearing your voice but also a little confused by your words. “Dude. I’ve seen you with puke all over your clothes, I’ve seen you with cum on your face, I’ve seen you with a black eye, I’ve seen you with—”

“Okay, I get it!” you interrupt with another groan. “I feel like dogshit, then. Is that better?”

Now he is concerned. “No. Obviously. How can that be better? Babe, what’s going on? You’re being…”

“Weird? Bitchy? Whiny? Annoying?”

“No, just…” He bites his bottom lip. “A little unlike yourself.”

“Wow, that's worse.” You give a small sigh. “I’ll be fine, I just need to recalibrate my head. Don't worry.”

How can he not worry when you sound this tired and timid? Jimin almost wants to ask if Seokjin has something to do with it. But then his brain starts to conjure up images featuring exactly how that man could have tired you out and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth, followed by a series of negative emotions that make his heart race and his head hurt.

He went through this same series of emotions last evening, too, when you didn’t respond to his messages. He doesn’t want to give himself enough time to analyze any part of it, though, because he isn’t ready to face what he might uncover.

“How can I help?” he ends up asking, because putting his mind to literally anything else would be better than self-introspection right now.

You don’t respond immediately and everything is so quiet that Jimin can hear your breathing on the other side. Then you hum. “Honestly? Just give me a little time, Min. I’ll be fine.”

“Time? As in…time away from this conversation?”

“Yes, dork. Some time by myself, with my thoughts.” You chuckle as you say the words but Jimin doesn’t find them funny.

He swallows the tight discomfort in the back of his throat and scoffs in response, though. “Well, okay then. Your funeral. And here I was thinking I will tell you about this weirdly snobbish butler-assistant guy the clients brought with them to the meeting last night.”

“Wait, butler-assistant?” You exclaim with a curious scoff, and Jimin smiles at the spark of the familiar humour that tinges your voice. “What the fuck is that?”

“Escapes me! They had this Alfred lookalike guy driving their limo, who joined in when they sat at the table with us, and—get this—dude kept interrupting me to tell his boss the time every fifteen minutes! What fucking clownery!” Jimin pauses to inhale, slightly disappointed when he hears you give a distant chuckle. You’re not invested. Your head’s somewhere else. He doesn’t want to share his story anymore. “I might sock him in the face if pulls that shit again, today.”

You give a hum in response, which sounds decidedly half-hearted. “I’m sure your intimidating scowls would’ve scared him away already, Min. He probably won’t join your meeting today.”

Jimin’s mouth slowly parts at the unfamiliarity of your remark. You never miss any opportunity to roast him about being a pacifist. How did you allow his claim of throwing a punch to go by so easily?

And intimidating scowls? What happened to calling them ‘little bitch stare-downs’?

First you refuse to show him your face, sticking to this annoying voice call that’s overheating his phone because he doesn't have his airpods with him right now, and then you’re talking in a language that is so unlike you.

The discomfort in the back of his throat swells into a strange feeling that reaches the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, I hope so… Sure.” His words come out low, hoarse and confused. So he clears his throat and puts a grin on his face. “Anyways! You sound like you need a fat nap to function like yourself again – I'll allow you to have that.”

“Mm-hm, I agree.” It could be his imagination, but you sound almost relieved. “I’ll call you soon, okay? Say hi to Tara for me.”

Jimin grunts and disconnects the call, immediately tossing his phone away as if it has personally offended him. Well maybe not the device, but the caller certainly has.

Just then, the door to the suite’s balcony opens and shuts, footsteps making their way to the other twin bed opposite the one he's lying on. He's almost counting down the seconds before a comment is made, and he doesn't have to wait long, when:

“Trouble in paradise?” comes Min Yoongi's taunting lilt.

Exhaling in ire, Jimin rolls his eyes. “For the last time: there’s no paradise to trouble, Yoongi.”

“You know what I mean, dude. You look worried. And frustrated. It's got to be about…her.”

Jimin winces at the emphasis on the pronoun. “She's not Voldemort, dude, you can say her name. What the fuck?”

“Ah, is that so? Then how about… the love of your life?”

“Yoongi! Stop with that already, man. It's not like that between us, we’re just friends who lean on each other for support,” Jimin speaks on autopilot, having perfected the words he has been repeating ever since his colleagues got to know about your existence in his life. “It’s a strange dynamic but it works out well for—”

“Oh, shut up, King of Delusions. About time you stop fooling yourself and me with that bullcrap.” Now it's Yoongi's turn to scoff at Jimin. “Your feelings for her are becoming more and more obvious with time. And if I can see them with such clarity, I bet that you can as well. Which only means that you’re knowingly turning a blind eye. And it is pissing me off.”

So, yeah, this isn't the first time Jimin's hearing this lecture from his friend.

It’s always the same story whenever any mention of you happens in Min Yoongi’s vicinity. Jimin should, ideally, be immune to the non-stop badgering, but the older guy somehow always manages to bring in fresh points to the table, so Jimin is forced to react with even louder groans, each time.

“When the hell are you going to admit you’re in love with her?”

“I’m literally not,” Jimin’s complaint comes out as a whine, and he mentally counts down the seconds till Yoongi will bring up the fact that he was stopped from pursuing you by Jimin. He wonders if the actual reason why Yoongi does this is because the guy still has a crush on you and feels resentful towards Jimin for not letting him ask you out. “Please stop.”

“You’re not in love? Sure, buddy. You forbade me from pursuing her like some alpha male protective of his mate… doesn't get more soulmate-y than that!” Yoongi rolls his eyes with a grimace. “When the fuck are you going to face yourself?”

“This again? Seriously? I've told you countless times that I did that because she was uncomfortable with your affections,” he reminds Yoongi for what feels like the hundredth time. “I was being a good friend.”

“Right, and she still doesn't know anything about it, does she? She still thinks I stopped pursuing her because I lost interest. Why haven't you told her you had a talk with me?”

Jimin closes his eyes and drags both his palms down his face because Yoongi is absolutely correct. “I… Because it doesn't concern her.”

Yoongi is silent for a while. When Jimin peeks past his fingers to see if the guy may have fallen asleep, he finds Yoongi gaping at him. “Are you even listening to yourself? You stopped me from pursuing her because she's uncomfortable, but telling her about it doesn't concern her? Make it make sense, Park!” He scoffs. “Does she even know we're friends? Does she know you're on this trip with me?”

Jimin remains silent, slowly turning his head to the other direction. “Not really. Told her I'm accompanied by Tara,” he mumbles, only for Yoongi to give a dramatic gasp.

“What? She doesn't know we're friends? Why the fuck would you lie to her about me? Are you ashamed of me, you asshole? And Tara, of all people? What the fuck is wrong with your head?”

Jimin almost laughs at Yoongi’s horrified expressions, but then stops himself because he half suspects the guy might toss him off the balcony if irritated enough, and they’re on the twentieth floor. “It's just… It never came up, I guess? I… don't really talk to her about work much…” His excuse is so weak it makes him physically cringe.

“You were literally just crying to her about our client's butler…”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jimin sits up, sliding back to rest his head against the headboard, and looks up at the ceiling. “I don't know why I couldn't tell her. But it's not because I'm in love with her, okay? That doesn't even make sense because I still tease her about you for fun. And I also didn't stop you from pursuing her because I wanna be with her, or anything. I don't have those kinds of feelings for her. Promise.”

“Okay. What kind of feelings do you have for her then?”

Jimin opens his mouth to reiterate that you're just friends, briefly shutting his eyes in exasperation—and then freezes.

An entire cinematic reel of images sets in motion behind his closed eyelids, all featuring your eyes, your skin, your warmth — and his intimacy with them. The darkened haze of your gaze when he pulled away from kissing you. The softness of the skin of your shoulder when he dug his teeth into it; the taste of your skin. Of you. He can nearly smell the scent of your hair in his lungs and can hear the short, hitched breaths you puffed out next to his ears.

His heart rate kicks up and sweat dots his forehead within the seconds it takes for him to open his eyes again.

It is as if he got dunked into scalding hot water, stifling him and overwhelming all his senses all at once. He feels warm all over. His chest feels heavier than before.

Shit.

This isn't the kind of behavior someone’s ‘just friend’ would exhibit. These aren’t the kind of thoughts he has ever had about you, before.

Shit.

“Well?” Yoongi is looking at him expectantly with zero judgement in his gaze. “What kind of feelings, Jimin?”

He and Yoongi share a sort of bond where they serve as each other’s sounding boards about decisions that they take at work, with their team. That is not to say that they aren’t good friends and only talk about work. But it’s just that these conversations have never really included much honesty from Jimin’s end whenever the topic hovered over you.

Jimin can feel that he is about to change that now, though.

He breathes in and honestly confesses to Yoongi what he hasn't even said to himself out loud, yet: “They’re… confusing.”

Yoongi nearly jumps off his bed and lands on one corner of Jimin's, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. “Confusing? Not strictly platonic the way they used to be? Dude…” He shakes his head in awe. “This is new. What's changed?”

Jimin fiddles with his thumbs, lips pursed together as he finds himself caught in a very uncharacteristic fit of nervousness. “So there's this… this thing that happened before I left for this trip… And it changed some things, I guess?”

Yoongi blinks at him, expressions dropped to a deadpan. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

“Wha—how the hell—”

“I’m older than you, I've seen more in this world than you have, so hush with the theatrics. Tell me what happened after that.”

Well. Where does he begin? “She… went on a date with a guy, so—”

“A date? Right after the day you had sex with her?”

Jimin clicks his tongue and shoves Yoongi's shoulder. “Yes and it's not a big deal, okay? We decided that we are going to move ahead and remain the kind of best friends we've always been. And she'd made plans for that date before we slept together, so it's all completely fine.”

Yoongi is squinting at him by the time Jimin stops speaking. “Hm. Is it, really? All completely fine?”

“Yes, it is! I just said it was!”

“O—kay? So what's the problem, then? You decided you both would move ahead and you did – what's the catch? You don't like that she's being normal?”

“No, that's not it. She… wasn't exactly normal, either. She sounded…” Jimin gulps the nerves that block his throat as the prospect of losing your friendship swims up in his vision. “She sounded off. Different. Distant.”

“Oh, boy… Are you scared that she hit it off really well with her date and moved away from you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “That's impossible.”

Yoongi gives a smirk which unnerves Jimin in all the bad ways. “Is it? Because if it isn't the possibility of her growing distant from you and closer to someone else that's been troubling you, your issues are way deeper and definitely scarier. Good luck, pal.”

Throughout the entire day full of meetings that Jimin goes through, Yoongi's words keep circling in his head. Did it really bother him that you went on a date? He swore up and down that you guys will remain normal and that night will remain just a memory. So obviously it was correct of you to go on that date you’d planned in advance!

Why the hell is he acting up when you're doing exactly what you both planned you'd do?

Jimin chooses to have lunch by himself, in one corner of the cafeteria, leaving Yoongi to mingle with the clients, and mulls over his situation and state of mind.

Maybe he is bothered by your date. And maybe he is so bothered because it was too soon.

Because he can't get the images of that night out of his head the way he thought he'd easily be able to.

When he tried to nap on the flight, he saw you riding his dick. When he got into the shower, he saw your teary face after he'd eaten you out good. He had to touch himself to take the edge off, praying that Yoongi wouldn't hear him, and that literally helped with nothing.

Does he actually… want you?

The last time this happened was around six years ago.

Jimin sips at his almond milk as memories of a time he’d thought was distant and forgotten cascade through his brain.

The two of you were juniors in college. He'd recently gotten out of this toxic relationship that had sucked all the joy out of his life and was spending his days sleeping in and skipping classes, and his nights drinking with friends. It was 2 am when he saw an Instagram post of you posing sweetly for the camera and all he could think of was how badly he missed you. How he hated the fact that you went to different colleges because he wanted to see you so bad.

He'd left a series of drunk texts in your DMs, of all places, telling you that you were the best girl he'd ever met and that you were perfect in every way and how happy you would make someone by being theirs. You'd replied the next morning, thanking him for being a sweetheart and then told him that you’d found the lucky one – because axolotl had finally asked you out on a date.

Jimin would never admit it to anyone, but he’d been really upset and extremely jealous of that stupid asshole. It had gotten to the point where he over-inserted himself into your relationship to let fucking axolotl know that he’d come first in your life. That is not to say that the dude wasn’t toxic enough by himself. But when Jimin saw the way his actions were causing you hurt too, he decided to retreat.

That was when he swore he would step back and be the best bff to you at every step in life.

And he’s been on that road pretty religiously!

All the flirting he gets up to with you is totally harmless and only for fun because he enjoys making you blush. Which is probably why he tried to categorize that night under this ‘harmless fun’, too. But it’s clearly not working.

He’s restless. He needs to return home and see you in person.

He needs to ensure that he can still be your friend despite all these thoughts plaguing his brain.

What the hell is going to do if he doesn’t arrive upon the desired answer, however? He hasn’t the slightest clue.

Jimin spends the rest of the day waiting for your call – which never comes.

He texts you when he’s done packing his bags after his last meeting, but you don't respond.

The heavy feeling in his stomach grows heavier and heavier – until it becomes so suffocating that he has to come out to the balcony and breathe in some fresh air.

Except – smoke fills his lungs upon the first inhale, and he wrinkles his nose at Yoongi’s cigarette.

“What? Can't a guy enjoy a smoke in peace? We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Please relish every bit of your death stick, by all means.”

Yoongi snorts at his words, and snuffs the remainder of the cigarette out with a roll of his eyes. “Your panties are in a twist again. What's happened now?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure. And everything's okay between you and she who shall not be named?”

For a moment, Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, watching the way the remnant smoke swirls away from the balcony and disappears into the late afternoon sky. Then he sighs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts and she didn’t call me. She’d said she would. I feel too fucking tense, it’s like my neurons are collapsing in on themselves.”

“Oh, man… If only you were a smoker, I would have procured you some of the best weed in the market. Would have taken the edge off with a handful of puffs.”

Jimin scowls at the guy. “Thank you for your consideration. Think I’ll just hit myself over the head with a saucepan and call it a day.”

“Stop stressing out so much, you moron. We’ll be back there in four hours. Take a cab straight to her place and talk everything out. Distance is a bitch that creates miscommunication. It’s just a matter of hours.”

Jimin nods to himself.

Just a matter of hours.

He can’t do it.

Jimin parted ways with Yoongi the moment he grabbed his luggage at the airport, and made a beeline for the cab he booked to take him to your place. He booked the ride in advance, even before he shot you a text informing his arrival back in town.

But just as his butt touches the leather seats – he realises that he can’t ambush you at your place.

So he regretfully gives the driver his own address and agrees to pay the extra amount that this re-routing would cost.

He shuts his eyes and lets out a deep, guttural exhale of frustration. Just a few hours ago, he couldn't wait to get to you fast enough.

And now, when he is at such a short distance away from actually being able to approach you and have a face to face conversation, his nerves have shackled him down and he cannot get himself to do it.

Some part of him believes that he needs to have a proper talk with himself about what the hell has happened with the dynamics the two of you share before he can prepare himself to have one with you. But some part of him believes that to be just a cop out. Which isn’t a complete lie, because at the end of the day, he is deathly afraid of losing you.

He needs to destress his mind.

But you’re the person he turns to when he needs to destress his mind.

Maybe… he can call you? That won’t be as risky and potentially devastating as paying you a visit, right?

Right. It can’t be. And he’s gotta talk to you because he misses you like crazy.

When his cab finally slows down before his apartment, his anxiety has reached a high that is making his forehead sweat despite the car's AC. Hopping out of the vehicle, he pays the driver and quickly gets into his apartment.

“It’s all gonna be fine, Park,” he mumbles to himself in a lame attempt at a pep talk while he changes out of his clothes and hops into the bathroom for a quick but hot shower. “She's your best friend in the world. You won't lose her. To anything.” He thickly swallows. “Or anyone.”

Donning some sweatpants and a t-shirt, he walks into his living room with his hair still wet and opens up a window to let some fresh air in. The sun has just sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind some remnant daylight and a beautiful orange hue. Inhaling the crisp evening October air, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

07:42 PM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 woohooo! welcome back to the town, dork <3

He smiles at the text and calls your number.

You pick up the call within seconds of its ringing, filling his phone screen with your entire form that is seated in your bedroom’s bay window.

Jimin’s words sort of get stuck in his throat at the sight of your gorgeous self dressed down in grey lounge pants and a pastel yellow hoodie.

Wait, gorgeous? You look exactly the way you have always looked.

And… you have always looked gorgeous, haven’t you?

Jimin can feel his palms beginning to sweat. No, Yoongi was wrong. He wasn’t ready to face you. He isn’t ready to confront all that has changed in his perception of you, when you are exactly the same person that you have always been.

Your hair is wet, as if you just exited the shower too. And the way your hoodie drowns your entire body seems like the most adorable thing in the world to him. Your cheeks have a darker tint to them, too – caused by warm water, excitement about talking to him, or something else entirely? He hasn’t a clue. It just makes you look prettier and his heart beat louder.

Jimin is suddenly overcome with the urge to run all the way to your place and envelop you in a hug.

And you both never hug—both certifiably allergic to physical affection.

Fuck, he wishes he was there so that he could cup your pretty face in his palms and cover your kissable lips with his own. His fingers twitch with the urge.

Fuck.

“Welcome back, dork!” you announce, spreading your lips in a joyous grin. “Are you sleeping with your eyes open wide?”

Broken out of his crisis-inducing trance, Jimin forces a chuckle out of his throat, “I—I was gonna sing-song ‘honey, I'm home’ to you, but you picked up the call t—too fast.”

Fuck, did he just fucking stutter? You don’t seem to have noticed, thankfully, because you simply laugh some more. Your eyes are big and bright and brimming with affection, even if you've pursed your lips in a faux display of anger.

He feels like he missed looking into their depths. Has it really been just two days since he last saw you?

Wait, not even fully that – he left your place yesterday morning.

And now he’s on a freaking video call with you, clutching onto his phone like it’s his lifeline, nearly panting for your attention and affection as if he’s been starved for it.

Shit, shit, shit, he is supremely screwed.

“Honey’s glad you’re home, too, I guess?”

Your response is ten-on-ten on-brand with the sort of banter the two of you engage in. It makes him believe that everything is actually good. That it’s all gonna be alright.

Jimin smiles and hopes to God he doesn’t look as stupidly lovesick as he feels in the moment. A lost puppy finally returning home to its owner.

Cursing under his breath at his train of thoughts, he reclines sideways on one of his sofa chairs and fluffs his wet hair away from his forehead.

“So, how was your trip? How’s Tara?”

“Trip was good. Productive. We sealed the deal – despite the stupid Alfred-ass guy. And Tara’s fine, too.” He tries his best to disguise his wince as a smile. “Rushed home the moment we touched down.”

“Oh, her husband must’ve picked her up, right? Forgot she's married.” You nod to yourself, scratching your head and furrowing your brows in thought. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Had to sit next to a guy who fell asleep the moment we took off, and constantly kept leaning his head on my shoulder. It’s just a three hour flight! He couldn’t stay up that long?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes because the guy he’s talking about is actually Min freaking Yoongi. “I think I have a cramp in my right side because of him.”

You chuckle at that, popping some salted almonds into your mouth. “So what’s the plan for the week? You got office tomorrow?”

“Yep! Although we both are allowed to go in a bit late.”

“That’s considerate of your company.”

There’s a dull pause in the conversation which Jimin uses to wordlessly admire your face on his phone screen, again. He remembers the way other guys used to compliment your eyes, or the length of your nose, the plumpness of your lips, and how he used to just roll his eyes at their words because he didn’t see what they saw.

Well, now he does. He sees all of that and so much more. He sees it and he craves it.

If not kiss you then at least see you. Be in your proximity. Admire your smile without a camera distorting it into pixels.

He wishes to visit you. He feels ready enough. Composed enough. He will keep himself safely off of risky topics.

Like, come on. He is twenty-seven. Mature enough to handle himself enough to not make a fool of himself or accidentally ruin a friendship that he holds dearer than his life. Of course he is.

“So, what about you? Any plans for the night? Should I come crash?”

It’s out before he can overthink—or even fully think—of a proper, saner, more sophisticated way to pose the question.

And given the way your eyes widen slightly, regret singes his tongue that articulated the words. “Uh…”

Catching himself in time, Jimin sits up and makes a show of narrowing his eyes at the screen. “What? What is it? What are you hiding, little wench?”

A laughter bubbles out of you, but he can sense your awkwardness through the expressions you wear. It guts him. Swallowing thickly, he raises his eyebrows and beckons you to speak.

Finally, you exhale and purse your lips. “Well, um. I, uh, kinda have Seokjin coming over later?”

The way Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor hasn’t a smidgeon of acting to it. “Say what?”

You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. “Yeah…”

“I… Didn’t you say you didn’t wanna talk about the date?” His voice comes out hollow and plain, absolutely unlike what it usually is.

“I did, yeah, but I also said I needed to figure it out. And we’re, um, just figuring things out. I’ll tell you when—”

You cut off with a jump as your doorbell goes off in the background.

Seokjin is there. Seokjin is at your place. To be with you. To hold you, kiss you, touch you — and probably more.

Jimin feels the floor disappear from beneath his feet. His stomach is lurching and he is free falling.

“I'll, uh, I'll be right there!” you call in the general direction of the door, casting a hesitant glance towards your phone.

Jimin's free-fall increases in velocity.

“Is that… him?” he asks in a scratchy whisper, face nothing short of horror-struck.

And when you give an almost shy nod, Jimin's brain short-circuits and he can't see a thing.

“Well, okay then! Have a great time! See ya later!”

He disconnects the call and allows his phone to drop down into the carpet beneath the chair he’s seated on.

Despite trying his hardest, Jimin can’t stop his mind from making up images of you and Seokjin entwined in bed, with you making all the sounds that Jimin elicited out of you not forty-eight hours ago.

Fuck.

He feels shaken up.

Getting up, he walks into his kitchen and grabs a bottle of water.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself. “It’s just weird because it’s too soon. Otherwise it’s good. It’ll be great. She needs this. I told her to go for it.”

He clears his throat and sips some more water.

“They’re just sleeping together, anyway. She isn’t going to fall in love with him overnight. And if she does, she’ll tell me… And I’ll support her because she’s my be–best friend in the world.”

Even as the words leave him, they scorch his insides on their way out. His brain feels fuzzy with all the misplaced anger, regret and loss he feels.

It’s half past two in the morning and Jimin is scrolling brainrot content on social media to put his mind off of the activities you might be getting up to. If you'd be in your bedroom or if you'd be in the living room, in front of the TV.

If Seokjin would be eating you out in the same spot where Jimin—

Okay, here's a video of fifteen rubber duckies! They're being squashed at the same time! They're making such a horrendous but hilarious sound!

Needless to say – he isn’t doing a great job keeping himself distracted.

Groaning at himself, he refreshes his feed and gets ready to scroll again. And then he comes to a halt.

A post from you has popped up.

It's a selfie featuring you and Kim Seokjin, seated in your car, heads tipped together in the middle of the seats, grins on your faces and cones of vanilla ice-cream in your hands. A passably normal and arguably cute picture.

Until Jimin’s eyes travel to the content below the picture.

He sits up in his bed upon spying the ‘💝’ emoji you’ve captioned the post with.

A heart emoji? You abhor those! Last time you willingly put one on your social media was way back when you were still with axolotl!

Oh…

Oh no…

Does this mean that you and Seokjin…?

And when the fuck were you planning to tell him?

Jimin needs to talk to you. Soon.

Foregoing any texts announcing his arrival, Jimin decides to steer his car towards your place, right after work on Monday. He gets off an hour later than you, so there’s no chance he won’t catch you.

But as he locks the vehicle and makes his way up your apartment, it hits him that there is a very real possibility that he might find Seokjin in there with you. And Jimin is completely unprepared to confront the man without having a conversation with you first.

So he presses the bell with his fingers crossed – and gives a sigh of relief when you open the door by yourself.

You’ve changed out of your work clothes and are dressed up in the same set of hoodie and lounge pants he saw you in during the video call, yesterday. And his urge to capture you in a hug and then smother you in kisses is back.

Stifling it all, however, Jimin focuses on the social media post he saw and allows the feeling of irritation and betrayal he felt upon spotting the heart emoji to wash over him, again.

Then he grins at you. “Surprise?”

Your gaping mouth closes on a chuckle and, rolling your eyes, you let him in. “Unannounced but not unpleasant, hey.”

Jimin resolutely looks away from the couch in your living room, unwilling to let his resolve to confront you weaken by any means, and heads straight to your kitchen table to occupy one of the bar stools.

“So. How’s work?” He asks, leaning over the counter a little, and squints at your form as you busy yourself pouring a glass of orange juice for him.

“Uh, what? Work’s work. Did you come here to ask me that?” Your head tilts to the side in a question and Jimin exhales in defeat.

“No. Obviously. I'm here to ask you about Seokjin.” You tense at that and Jimin gives a scoff. “Okay, don't you dare try to whip up a story! You didn't tell me on Saturday – fine. You barely told me anything yesterday, harsh but acceptable. But now I'm here and now I wanna know what's going on. And if you dare try to look for a way out this time, I will drive a knife through your gut.”

He didn't mean to go that dark, but your behaviour has gotten on his nerves so awfully, that he couldn't help it.

“Wha–Jimin! I told you I'm still figuring it out…” You avoid his eyes as you speak, playing with the drawstrings on your hoodie. “I'll tell you first thing when I have clarity.”

“Well, I think you do have clarity but you’re just refusing to share it with me. And you need to hurry the fuck up with that because I'm losing patience here.”

Your forehead furrows. “Hey… You can't rush me to make up my mind about someone! It's bad enough that you pushed me to go on a date with him.”

“But I'm literally not rushing you? I saw that social media post you made, and you captioned it with a…heart emoji. You never make public gestures of affection with someone so quickly, so I just wondered if you had developed actual feelings for the guy, beyond the admiration you claimed to have for him. I was concerned about you. What choices you'd made.” He looks away from your face and down at his manicured nails. “As your best friend.”

Your sharp inhale draws his attention back to your face, and he is met with a somewhat cautious expression. “Oh? So you're being a concerned friend? That's – that's the only reason why you'd like to know about me and Seokjin?”

Jimin's breath gets caught in his throat. What did you just ask him? What did you imply?

He frantically searches your face to look for cues that would guide him towards the right way to respond to your question, but all he can find is impatience and thinly veiled disappointment.

The amount of confusion he feels makes his head spin.

He can either be honest – or he can play this safe. And given the amount of risks he has taken with you recently, he would very much rather stay in the comfort zone for once, even if it means that he has to lie.

“Sure. I mean…what other reason could there be? Right?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat and your eyes lose a bit of their sparkle. Before Jimin can even begin to analyse what the hell any of it could be about, you're straightening up again with a determined set to your shoulders.

“Yeah. That's right. No other reason. None at all. You're a concerned friend, that's good. That's great.” You lick your lips and then walk around the counter to sit on the other stool, next to him. Your eyes are hesitant when they meet his own. “Because Jimin, I've been wanting to tell you something. I've thought about this throughout the weekend, and… I really, truly regret that night. What we did was stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic. We shouldn't have slept together.”

Jimin feels a part of his soul crumble and wither at those words.

His brain slows down, gaze grows heavy, and his lungs have to put in extra effort to keep his breathing steady.

Stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic.

His fingers tremble when he tries to reach for the glass of juice, so he pulls them towards his palm and forms a fist to hide them from you.

“You… why?” He hates himself for sounding as small and lost as he does. Clicking his tongue, he runs both his palms down his face and looks up to meet your saddened eyes again. “I mean it's great that you moved on the way we'd planned, but you don't have to regret the night we shared. It's okay. You can have it both ways.”

You shake your head, eyes even more sadder than before. “But I don't want to. We are supposed to be friends forever, Jimin. You and I… We can’t - I… I can’t lose you. To anything. So I can't do what you’re doing. Cherish that night's memory and behave normally. I need to forget and I need you to know that I wish it never happened. And that I'm… I'm sorry that I’m not strong enough.”

Jimin tries to swallow past his dry throat, only to cough when he can't.

It kinda sounds like you're afraid you might want him still, so you are nipping the possibility in the bud by denying that the two of you ever crossed the line. It kinda sounds like you can’t move ahead because of that night, so you wish to act as if it didn’t happen.

But you are lighter on words and heavier on nibbling your lip, so maybe you've somehow figured out how precious that memory is to Jimin and you’re just trying to spare his feelings, which – ouch.

He knew he was becoming pathetic but he didn't realise it was this pathetic.

Scoffing, Jimin gets up and shakes his head. “Don't worry, I wasn't getting any ideas about us doing a repeat of what happened, if that's what you were concerned about. I only want the two of us to resume being the best of buds and share everything the way we used to.”

“No, Jimin, that's not—I mean, you wanted me to give Seokjin a real shot and I did. And so I don’t want there to be anything that holds me back from being honest about it.”

The set of words hurt him more than they should, but he moves past them to address his main concern that you still seem to have missed. “Hey, listen to me. I didn't come here to hound you about Seokjin because I have a problem with what's going on. I came here because I have a problem with you not telling me what's going on. I have a problem with you believing you need to keep it from me for some stupid, untrue reason that you might’ve made up in your head.”

You don't say anything for a while, don't even look up to meet his gaze. Your lower lip stays between your teeth and your eyes don't look away from the kitchen counter where both your hands rest next to the untouched glass of orange juice.

And then you suddenly look up and into his eyes, determination all over your face. “You need to get a girlfriend.”

Uh.

What?

Gaping at the offputting, crooked smile that overtakes your face, Jimin slowly shakes his head as he wonders if he might've heard you wrong.

“Yeah,” you continue, nodding to yourself, “I feel guilty, Min. I’ve broken our no-dating pact, so it's only fair if you get to leave, too.”

Woah. Two dates with a guy and you've already declared your pact broken? And yet you wouldn't say a word about Seokjin beyond the fact that you’re pursuing it because Jimin asked you to.

He is quite literally too stunned to speak.

You laugh a little, looking almost nervous. “What? Don't tell me you fell in love with me or something, Min. That night was purely physical, right? We're mature enough to remember that.”

The words hit him in a bad way, because you very clearly said them in a way that was meant to hurt him. Of course it was purely physical! But nothing between the two of you can ever be without at least some semblance of emotion because you both go way back! Even the playful insults you toss at each other and the jokes you share carry affection, intimacy and meaning.

He doesn't have the slightest clue what you've been trying to do all this time, but if you truly want to rile him up and upset him tonight, he's going to forfeit and give you the satisfaction of having succeeded. He hasn't got enough mental strength to decipher the meaning of everything you're doing and then try to diffuse the grenade you've built.

So Jimin steps away from the counter and gives a loud scoff. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course not, there's no way in hell. How could I ever be in love with someone like you? Look at your emotional range and look at mine. I know, better than anyone else in the world, that you’re incapable of love. I know not to love a rock. I'm not stupid.”

Your face falls and eyes turn glossy, but Jimin can bet you aren't hurting like he is. You can't. That's one of your superpowers – compartmentalising so well, you sometimes don't even see the hurt that devastates others.

“R–right. Didn't have to insult me, but you're right.”

“Why?” Jimin scoffs. “Isn't that what our relationship is about? Being friends? Laughing together? Insulting each other?”

You frown at him. “Why're you talking like that? Why are you getting angry at me?”

Jimin blinks at your words, watching the way your eyes look truly clueless, and sheer sadness envelopes him.

Because it hits him now. Maybe you didn’t say those words to hurt him. Maybe he underestimated your inability to feel. Maybe you really don't get why it was special. Because you really didn't feel why it could be special.

Maybe nothing between the two of you has ever carried any emotion to it, for you.

You have no idea about the emotional turmoil he's been in the past two days when he couldn't get you out of your mind, because you were on a completely different page. This is why it was easy for you to go on that date and then call that guy home the next day.

The night you shared with Jimin doesn't matter to you. Jimin doesn't matter to you.

Not the way he thought. Not the way you do to him.

And his evolving feelings for you, whatever they end up becoming, would only serve to be an inconvenience in your life that you would just ask him to sort out instead of helping him wade through them because…

This is who you are.

This is who you've always been.

This is the girl he met in eighth standard, had a crush on, became lifelong friends with, had sex with, and developed more than platonic feelings for.

This is you.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this realization. He can’t deal with this sitting in your kitchen. And he can’t deal with this without a drink.

So he collects his coat and walks out of your house, ignoring your calls of his name and choosing his own sanity over you for once

#bts imagine #bts angst #jimin #park jimin #park jimin angst #bts smut #jimin x reader #bts x reader #park jimin x you #bts fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #park jimin smut #jimin x you #bts x you #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine

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holyadoptionpapersbatman · 3 months ago

Text

Wendolyn "Wendy" Jane

Here's a fic idea that I'll never be able to flesh out because I'm super burned out, but here's my take on a TimKon Clonebaby AU!!

***

So, when Tim was kicked out of the window, he didn't bother to call Kon because he thought the whole encounter he had with him was a hallucination. But, he's calm. And an extra thought he had as he fell was that his and Kon's clone-baby is secured with Martha Kent.

"I can't wait to meet you, Wendy," he says as he falls.

No one catches Tim.

Dick was too late.

Another family member he wasn't fast enough to catch.

***

Kon, Bart, Cassie and the rest of YJ had been devastated when they heard the news. Tim's body was going to be cremated, so chances of him being brought back to life by enemies would be nonexistent.

To comfort himself, Kon walks into the room Wendy had been lightly snoring in.

When Kon came back with Bart, he was surprised to see this baby in Ma's arms, wondering if he actually landed himself in an alternate dimension. But when Ma explained the circumstances of her birth, that Tim tried creating clones of him and Bart to bring them back into his life, Kon gently took the baby into his arms and wept. Then, he went to find Tim.

He didn't think Tim was crazy, but the whole time he was with him, Tim was definitely not in his right mind.

Now, Wendy won't know who her other dad was. Because Tim's gone.

But not completely gone.

Unlike Kon and Bart who left only memories of themselves, Tim left this child. She's not Tim, but she's made with all of his desperation and love.

Kon, after a few hours of mourning, vows to take care of her the best he could.

***

"Pa, why I haf two fiwst names?" Wendy asks one night as she's tucked into bed, after her first day of school. "An' why's my nickname Wendy?"

Kon chuckled. "Your nickname is Wendy because it's the name of my favorite character from my and your daddy's favorite show," he explained, also tucking in her favorite stuffed animal since she was a baby - a chubby, red duck called Mr. Duck. She immediately hugs it close to her and snuggles into its head. Mr. Duck gave out a hearty 'QUACK!' that sounds a lot like Tim's voice.

Kon's heart doesn't ache anymore. Just bursts with love.

Then, picking up the book, 'How to be a Pirate', Kon opens it and flips it to the bookmarked page, a new chapter of when Hiccup and the rest of the Hooligan boys discovers a coffin. This is the 19th time they're reading this book. And it will take 20 more times until they move on to the next book of the How to Train Your Dragon series.

"Your name 'Jane' is from your daddy's mom's name. Her name was 'Janet', and your dad was downright a mama's boy," he continued, causing Wendy to giggle.

"An' Daddy's name's Tim, wight?" she asked.

"Timothy, actually," said Kon. "Timothy Jackson Drake. He has a long name like you. But he likes being called Tim. Just Tim. Not Timmy. Not TJ. And definitely not Timberlina."

Wendy cackles loudly, kicking her legs up and repeating with her lisps Tim's funny 'Timberlina' nickname over and over.

Then, once she's done laughing, Kon starts reading.

The chapter isn't even over and his little girl, his and Tim's little girl, is already asleep.

***

There was a skateboard in the attic. It was right beside this box full of envelopes and journals handwritten by her late Dad, and it had some kind of engine at its base. It also had a whole bunch of scratches on its underside.

It's also one of the most beautiful things 12 years old Wendy had ever seen.

"Pa!" she shouts, running down the stairs to the kitchen, finding Aunt Pru and Aunt Cassie burning down her Pa's stove, like usual. She turns to her Pa who had his head in his hands, most likely trying to calculate how much he needs to buy himself a new stove. "Pa, can we buy me a skateboard?"

Aunt Pru smirks. "Tryin' ta' get cool with the boys, are we?"

Wendy rolls her eyes. Her? Getting cool with the boys? Not a chance. She couldn't fit in with anyone if she tried.

She's heard stories of her dad being able to become friends with anyone, from jocks to nerds. He wasn't popular, but people of all kinds just seem to be able to hang out with him with no trouble.

Not to mention, both of her dads looked unfairly handsome in their teens. It really wasn't fair when the beauty gene doesn't get passed down or genetically inputted into her. Ugh.

But, scratch that!

"Pa! Can we?? Buy a skateboard?"

Pa glanced to his stove. Then to Wendy.

It really wasn't a choice to begin with.

"Sure, I also know someone who could teach you," he said.

***

"YOU ACCIDENTALLY SENT MY DAUGHTER BACK TO THE PAST?!"

Bart rolled his eyes. "It wasn't an accident. She was meant to go for a little time-travel adventure!"

"Of course you'd know that," muttered Kon.

Away from them, Lizzie laughed. "I remember my time-travel adventure!" she said, ignoring Jon's deadpan stare towards her and Damian's completely subtle wince. "I got an A+ on my essay!!"

Kon ignored Lizzie and started pacing the floor. "Our timeline could be changing and we wouldn't even know it!"

"Thank you!" Jon said, throwing his hands up finally feeling validated.

Damian rolled his eyes. "We're fine, aren't we? The universe isn't getting destroyed or fading from existence. Additionally, Allan did mention she was meant to travel back in time."

Bart wiped a fake tear away from his eye. "Thanks, Dames."

Damian scoffed.

On Wendy's side, she was standing right in front of an abandoned warehouse in Paris. Or, to be more specific, an abandoned Lex Corp Cloning Facility.

She clutched the letter in her hand and stepped inside.

'I guess I'm illegally a Parisian,' thought Wendy as she walked through the creepy halls, further down into where the cloning tech could be.

Then, finally, she reached it, the big, green 'ATTEMPT 100 SUCCESS' glaring back at her.

Looking before the railings, she finds a familiar figure. One she's only seen in pictures. But, instead of the strong, smart and confident hero, she sees the most broken and saddest teenager in existence.

"Dad..." she calls, heartbroken.

Her dad's head snap's up, but he slowly stands protectively, clutching the bundle in his arms closer to his chest.

He takes one look at Wendy, and--

He...

He relaxes. He relaxes his hold. His stance. His everything.

He goes up to Wendy, a hand reaching out to gently caress her face.

"You have my mom's eyes," he said.

Wendy smiled back at him. "Yeah," she says, her voice almost a whisper.

"You have Kon's stupid smile, too."

Wendy rolls her eyes. "Pa keeps telling me it's your stupid smile, Dad."

Her Dad laughs. He's almost in disbelief. But.

"How are you here?" he asked.

Wendy opened her mouth, then carefully chose her words. "You left a letter for me. For my sixteenth birthday. I'm not going to get into detail what you wrote in it but, you said it was okay to tell you that you encouraged me to head to the past and--- here I am."

Her dad's brows scrunched together, the same way she saw in stolen pics how her own brows does.

"And you're okay to be in the same... vicinity as... your past self?" he asked.

Wendy nodded her head. "Uncle Damian told me so!"

Her dad laughed, bewildered. "Uncle Damian!?"

Wendy nodded. "He's an ass, but his heart is made of gold." She reached a hand out for her Dad to take. "I have so much family growing up, Dad. I... I have so much to tell you."

Nobody told Wendy how her Dad died. Or when he died. Just that he did.

So, lets her Dad take her to this apartment he rented. It was barely touched, there wasn't even the mess he was known for making. She guesses the mess was down at the clone labs.

But, once the both of them settled down, her dad changed into more comfortable clothing. And. It was almost like looking at a mirror.

Wendy's heart burst with emotion.

From there, they both exchanged stories of their lives until it turned morning.

She watched as how tenderly her Dad held her baby-self with the same love her Pa gave her. She longed for it. But. She couldn't stay any longer. She felt the timer Uncle Bart gave her vibrate in her pocket.

"I have to go back," she said.

Her dad nodded, gently laying her baby self in the middle of the bed. Then, he turned to her with his arms open wide.

Wendy took it. She hugged him back just as tightly.

Then, after a heartfelt goodbye, she left the apartment.

And then, she disappeared home.

#plot what plot?#I only have vibes!!#scribbles #timkon clone baby au #timkon clonebaby au scribbles #kon el #conner kent #tim drake #wendolyn 'wendy' jane au #wendolyn 'wendy' jane scribbles #wendolyn 'wendy' jane #these last three tags are there so that i could find this post easily if i ever feel nostalgic enough to revisit it

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fayes-fics · 11 months ago

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?”

Your stomach plunges.

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue.

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then.

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately.

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation.

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology.

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes.

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear.

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.” You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out.

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again.

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling.

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared.

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you.

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addicted-to-dc · 9 months ago

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Jekyll/Hyde - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Okay, didn't like the first fic I wrote so here's this one instead lmao. Still figuring out team dynamics... but I can't wait to explore moreeee.

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath (Thanks for the writing prompt!! Imma go crazier with it soon)

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

“She’s not a good fit.” You were waiting for the line; another iteration of the same denial you’ve encountered everywhere you go. “It’s all solo work, can she even work with a team?”

Your throat burns at the statement. Despite the stabbing pain with each demeaning sentence, you can’t help but continue eavesdropping. Your file has lies written on nearly every page, all the ‘solo missions’ redacted and sealed so tightly even you couldn’t read them.

“John.”

Laswell is too kind to you, too stubborn, somehow seeing right through your heavily defended psyche. Playing matchmaker with the 141 is a mistake. These men don’t need you. You’re disposable, belonging nowhere yet everywhere. They already have a psychotic on the team, the position has been filled since the damned taskforce was created.

“Ignore the files, look at her.” The fucking PowerPoint. It’s like you’re a mutt she’s trying to adopt off. As if a photo of you would convince them to accept. You’re a liability. It won’t be long until you’re sent off on another suicide mission, doomed to survive and repeat the process over again. Laswell sighs. “She’s never been assigned a solo mission.”

“Lone survivor?” Says a new voice. The Scottish accent tells you it’s one of the sergeants, Mr. Mohawk. “Sounds familiar, eh, Ghost?”

There’s no response, a barely discernable grunt takes the place of an answer. Then this ‘Ghost’ speaks: “Jekyll and Hyde?”

“She’s a completely different person on the field. Jekyll specializes in intelligence, sabotage, and infiltration. A screw loose, yes, but Hyde…” You don’t belong here. They know it. You know it. It seems like Laswell is the only one out of the loop, but you will never doubt her stubbornness. Your stomach drops. “Hyde is unstoppable. She flips that switch… you have a wildcard that will turn the tide.”

Maybe you should just leave. Maybe you should take up Graves’ offer. He’d gladly take you, but you’re not sure what’s holding you back from finally pulling the trigger… you should really work on your wording.

“She’s survived alone for so long; she needs a team that can survive WITH her.”

You eye the window, admiring the view of the forested area that claims most of the land. This building is commercial, an office building repurposed for government use… and it seems they forgot to lock the window. It slides open with ease, and the 2-story drop is nothing. You’ve fallen from deadlier heights.

“JEKYLL!” You don’t bother turning around, Laswell’s voice ushering you to make a break for it into the forest.

Turning around, you salute them, sarcastically of course, and bolt into the forest as the group rips their own window open. Serves them right for talking shit when you can clearly hear everything. Your eyes flick around, spotting a sturdy enough tree to climb up. The forest is old, old enough to be your perfect personal playground. It’s been a while since you’ve been in one. It screams “HOME!” in your brain, but you shove that thought down. That home is across the world, your claim etched into the tops of the trees.

It’s not difficult to climb into a spot, it’s nearly as easy as breathing. The ambience of the forest is enough to take away the pain in your chest, the wind grounding you with its bite. Sighing, you slump against the bark and look upwards. The clouds look extra poofy today. A great contrast against the bright blue sky.

You close your eyes. It’s as if you’re there, survival being the only goal in your mind. Nothing weighing you down…

“Jekyll!”

You look down, disappointed that they found you already. War never changes and peace never lasts, including your own. Captain John Price glowers at you from below. You’re starting to feel a bit better, especially since this perspective is too damn hilarious. What a little, angry dude.

Ignoring the man, you slowly move from branch to branch. Running won’t solve anything, they chased you for a reason. Laswell did this on purpose. The revelation makes you freeze. Scowling, you whip around to face the men. “Look, I don’t appreciate Laswell meddling with my shit either, but mention anything about my teams again and I’ll cut your fucking tongues out.”

“Fair.”

Your eyes flick to Ghost, the darkest thing in the forest. It’s almost as if darkness clings to him. You could easily disappear, this forest is vast, yes, but it would be a walk in the park to a nearby town compared to your previous unsavory experiences. You know this, but it seems Ghost knows too. He’s tense, watching you closely for any tells. It’s funny, you’re doing the same thing. Great minds think alike.

“How’d you like the PowerPoint?” you lean against a branch, scratching a scar on your chin. “Was it the maroon or grey themed one?”

Silence, but then an answer from one of the sergeants, Mr. Mohawk. “Grey.”

You frown, allowing yourself to swing to a lower branch. “Funny, she said she changed it. Liar.”

“Laswell a liar?”

“All of you are liars,” you immediately throw back, sizing up all the men. “To others… to yourselves.”

“And you’re not a liar?” The other sergeant asks. Curious man, a seeker of truth. His determination is difficult to ignore, a sense of justice that could rival yours. Good. There’s not many left in this world. He shall henceforth be Sunshine.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Lies kill in our line of business, even the small ones, Sergeant. Not my weapon of choice. Now, are you rejecting me or not?”

“No.”

Now that’s interesting. You descend a few more branches. “Why?”

“The PowerPoint.”

You scoff, landing softly onto the forest floor. It takes only a few steps to close the distance. Hesitance invades your mind. This group will be different. You’ll just have to place your trust in Laswell and her mysterious ways. “Next mission?”

“Not much to go on, we’re waiting on Laswell for intel.”

Nodding, you glance at the team. “You going to bother introducing yourselves? Don’t bother, big boy, I already know who you are.”

Ghost looks like a challenge, very throwable. Maybe you’ll get a chance in the field. The Sergeants exchange glances. Aren’t they cute.

“Too late, you’re Mr. Mohawk and Sunshine now,” you state, adjusting your vest and walking away. “Give me 24 hours, Price.”

And with that, you leave the men alone to focus on your favorite task… digging for intel.

“Jekyll.”

You halt in your steps, turning around. “Yes, Captain?”

He steps forward. “You’re 141, we work as a team. You haven’t lost us yet.”

The pain returns, the ringing in your ears reaching a crescendo despite the forest’s calming aura. Blood, so much blood, gasps for breath and- Your jaw tightens, any more pressure and you’re sure you’ll shatter them. “Conference room 2.”

Next Part ->

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Thanks for reading! I really want to you (the reader lol) to pitch in and decide where to go! I think a little choose your own adventure would be cool. I'll start it up within the next chapter or two. I'm so exciteddd to write again. I hope my writing muscles aren't too decayed XD

If anyone has suggestions, do not hesitate to comment! I need more unhinged mutuals on here pls

#taskforce 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain john price x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader

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thesirencult · 10 months ago

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PICK A GROUP : ESOTERIC MESSAGES MEANT TO FIND YOU

-the above images are from pinterest, the cards depicted in them are random and not directly involved in your reading, pick the deck you feel most comfortable with-

GROUP 1

Sit back and think: "What's the most positive thought I can have about my situation?' Life can bring us down but when we are strictly focusing on the details we make things worse.

See life as a big adventure, ready for you to jump on board and explore. You don't have to be certain where you are going, you just have to believe in yourself, have courage and take action. Sailing into uncharted territory feels scary but it's the only way we can find new lands.

If you believe you can do it, then you can. Commit to your dreams and carry yourself through the storms. Have strong conviction that you'll make it to the other side and nothing can stop you. When we have higher ideas, we tend to withstand more. Stones thrown your way can beused are steps that will take you higher. So, make the best out of every situation, because you can and you deserve to reach the last chapter of this beautiful book, not as the reader, but as the writer.

The secret is you can have whatever you want, but the catch is that you have to believe in yourself.

Prosperity and abundance will find you along the way but be reminded that abundance=wealth=worth=value YOU have assigned to yourself.

GROUP 2

Let me ask you a question, how bad do you want it?

If the answer is really fucking bad then now it's not the time to be a wallflower. Be relentless. Whatever your goal is be bold. Don't be afraid to forge your own path. Self starters are some bad motherfuckers and you are one too, even if you don't feel that you fit the bill.

Strength and leadership are found deep in the heart. You are good hearted and that means you have a strong, visceral, heart force-energy. Reconsider what tha means. Kindness is not weakness but strength we choose to use for good.

Connect with your sacral chakra and the energy of the creator. Something new is starting for you and you need to take the lead.

Speak up, roar, take charge of your destiny. The obstacles will be removed from your path as soon as you realize you have the ability to overcome them. Take care !

GROUP 3

Your issue is your inner voice, a voice that has been created by fears and insecurities and its only goal is to scare you away from your dreams. Don't listen to that voice. It's not yours, but a mirror image to the negative projections others have placed on you. Silence it by holding your vision.

For a moment, reconsider : have your goals changed, even if you never accomplished them. Different strokes for different folks and different goals for each part of our path. Let go of old expectations you or others have placed upon yourself.

You are safe now, because you are strong, stronger than you think.

You need to put an end to something that's been hindering your journey.

GROUP 4

Trust. A word that I bet makes you emotional. You can not trust many, but don't extend taht to yourself.

You can trust yourself. Repeat that over and over again until you believe it. You can trust the divine. You can trust that nature operates on cycles and luck will find you as soon as you step out of your comfortable negativity.

I want you to believe in the impossibe because in the near future a RARE chance will come your way. Luck will smile at you and you have to be ready to take that leap of faith.

What's happened up until now can not be reversed. Sit down and write on a piece of paper what you don't like about your situation. Regroup. You fought long and hard and now it's the time to count your losses and start preparing for the next chapter, victory.

#astrology #tarot reading #level up journey #tarot #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #soulmate #pick a picture #pick a photo #intuitive messages #intuitive readings #channeled message #tarotreading #psychic #intuitive #psychic readings #tarotcommunity #self development

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snowflakeanimelover · 1 month ago

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Relationship: John Wick x Female Reader

Fandom: John Wick

Warnings: John’s POV, attempted attack, slight force, self loathing, more fear, crying, non-con touching(not explicit), reader needs a hug, John is kind of delusional, John is depressed

Note: I made a really cool title banner for this story, but the gif was too big to put on here (T-T) so its just a regular boring pic. Oh well, it still looks cool. Anyway, thank you for the lovely support! Super happy people are liking this. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated :D

Also, I am aware I repeat things. I have a bad habit of doing that, and I am really trying not to. So, apologies if you see repeated stuff or info.

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Chapter 2 | …

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Never Again |3|

Seeing the dark grey Pit Bull did not seem to brighten John’s mood. His steps felt heavy as he walked down the spiral staircase and onto the main floor of his large, fancy home. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier as time passed. What the hell am I doing? he constantly asked himself. Yet, he didn’t seem to take any action to relieve himself of that burden.

John’s gaze landed on his slightly trembling hands, and he stared at them as if there were blood on them. Technically, there were years and years of blood on his hands from his grueling job, which he had now retired from. But now, all he could see was innocent blood. Although he hadn’t killed the woman and never would, his guilt lingered as if her blood were staining his hands. He had taken her without her consent, robbing her of her life. Her love for books, her love for talking to people—now he had her isolated, all for himself.

John reminded himself that he needed this; it was the only way for him to feel satisfied and to fill the void in his heart that Helen had left behind. Y/N was the only person who brought him peace of mind and warmth.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he tore his gaze away from his hands and looked down at his new puppy. As soon as their eyes met, the puppy seemed happy—happy for the attention, happy to see his owner. If only Y/N responded that way.

She will soon enough.

“Hey, boy.” John slowly kneels down, grimacing slightly at his sore body and aching wounds, and rests his hand on the pit bull's head to pet him. “You’re a good boy, huh?” he says, as if the dog could respond.

After giving his dog a few minutes of attention, he pushes himself back up to his feet and straightens his black vest. It has been a few hours since he arrived home, and he figures it’s best to change into something more comfortable.

───༺♰༻───

By the time John had changed into his pajamas—dark grey sweatpants and a simple white T-shirt—and poured himself another cup of coffee, he could see the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon through his window.

The past few days have been hectic. He avenged the death of Daisy, the puppy his late wife gave him to help him grieve, and dealt with the theft of his car. In response, he had kidnapped a Pit Bull from the pound and a woman from her home. Now, he is finally back home. This time, he intended to stay retired and live a new life with his new dog and… new wife.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t call her his wife, yet.

John looks down at the Pit Bull he hasn’t thought to name yet, watching its tail wag back and forth in excitement. “Looks like I’ll need to train her too, huh, boy?” John chuckles, but the laughter lacks genuine feeling. It’s a dark joke, he realizes, considering Y/N as if she were his pet, too. However, that’s not the case. She may be a replacement for Helen, but she will soon become her own person whom he’ll love unconditionally.

Taking a sip of his coffee, John decided it was time to go back upstairs and check on her. He hadn't heard any loud noises—no crying, screams for help, thrown furniture, or banging on the door. It was too quiet.

Setting his mug down, John left the kitchen and walked up the spiral stairs with his puppy in tow. When he reached the bedroom door, which was now Y/N’s, he turned to his dog and pointed a stern finger. “Sit,” he commanded. To his surprise, the puppy obeyed. “Stay.” John was impressed but knew he would need to train the puppy further as time went on.

John unlocked the door, hearing it creak softly as it slowly swung open. The room was dark, but the large windows leading to the balcony let in enough morning light to reveal some details. As he took a few steps inside, he noticed that the bed was empty.

Before he knows it, something catches his attention from the left. Acting purely on instinct, years of training as an assassin and military service kick in. He swiftly grabs the arms descending towards him, his large, calloused fingers wrapping tightly around Y/N’s wrists. He forcefully moves them to the side, away from his head.

A loud crash sounds behind him, but he ignores it, shoving Y/N against the nearest wall with remarkable speed. Because she lacks training, he easily slams her back into the wall, caging her body with his own. He presses his arm against her chest to keep her there.

The pained gasp that escaped her lips caused his heart to ache as he realized what had just occurred. His dark eyes landed on her fear-filled ones. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were red from crying. She tried to fight against his strength but quickly gave up, knowing she wouldn’t win.

John hesitates as he glances to his side and sees a lamp on the floor. It suddenly becomes clear to him what happened. Y/N was hidden behind the wall near the door, and when he got within range, she attempted to attack him with the lamp. In a way, she’s clever. But she’s not clever enough for an assassin.

"I'm sorry," John hears her croak, and he looks at her face again. She is crying, mostly out of fear. Her apology seems to be instinctive; John can tell she’s worried that she may have angered him and that he might hurt her.

The thought alone made him feel nauseous. Now that he was calmer and assessing the situation, he slowly stepped back, easing the pressure he had been applying to her chest. He remained cautious, aware that she might attempt to attack again the moment he let his guard down. However, she didn’t make a move.

He watches as she slides against the wall, backing away to the far corner of the room, left of the bed, where she stands trembling. “Please don’t hurt me,” she sobs, her shoulders practically up to her ears as she huddles in the corner.

John furrows his brows at her words, then relaxes his posture, letting his arms hang by his sides. “I’m…” he starts, trying to find a way to reassure her. However, he knows it would be impossible. He kidnapped her, and she is terrified. She doesn’t understand what is happening or why she is there. She has no knowledge of his motives. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he finally says, taking another step back.

As John takes a step back, the heel of his foot brushes against something. Turning to look, he sees the lamp that she attempted to hit him with. It’s the lamp from one of the bedside tables. He steps over it to face Y/N while inspecting the damage. The bulb is broken, and one side of the lampshade is bent inward. Fortunately, it isn't completely ruined, so he can easily fix it.

The room was silent, except for the soft cries and hiccups of the girl hiding in the corner. Eventually, she slid down to the floor, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Was she scared that he would hurt her because she had tried to hit him? And because she had broken his lamp?

“It’s fine,” John mutters, picking up the broken lamp and forcing an awkward smile. “I can fix it. It’ll be an easy fix.” She doesn’t respond, just as he expected. His smile fades as he looks down at the lamp in his hands and the shards of glass scattered on the floor. “I’ll... be right back to clean this up. Please don’t step over here; there’s broken glass.” He felt so awkward, as if he had never spoken to a girl before. It was like talking to a scared child.

───༺♰༻───

It didn’t take him long to go grab a broom and a garbage bag. Y/N hadn’t moved once when he came back, and it…made his heart ache once more. Seeing her look so afraid because of him was starting to get a bit frustrating, but he knew he had to be patient. He couldn’t expect her to accept her new life. Hell, he was having a hard time accepting what he did.

Ever since he brought her here, his mind would constantly argue back and forth. About how kidnapping an innocent woman was wrong and he should let her go, while the other part of him wants her to stay because he deserves her. He deserved peace once more. Either way, he wanted it all to just shut off.

It felt like he was going insane just because of this one illegal action, when he has done many illegal things before.

It didn’t make sense. It was downright annoying the hell out of him.

John lets out a sigh, hearing the glass clink together as it's brushed onto the dustpan, and then dumped into the trash bag he brought. He made sure to sit where he could see her, watch her every move. After the stunt she pulled, he can’t say he trusts her right now.

Just as he finished cleaning up the broken glass, he noticed she had gotten quiet once more. Glancing up, John can see she had stopped crying, however still huddled up in the corner to keep the distance between them.

He wanted to scold her, be mad at her for trying to hurt him. But he never does, because he knows she’ll learn eventually what she can and can’t do. She’ll learn to love and respect him.

Again, he needs to be patient.

John stands up from the floor, the broom in one hand and the garbage bag in the other. “Are you, uh….” He clears his throat, not sure whether looking at her would freak her out or not. “Are you hungry? I can…bring some lunch or…” he gestures with his hands as he talks, despite them being full. His words ended openly, as if to invite her to answer or at least speak to him. When she continues to give him the silent treatment, he shrugs, giving up on trying for the day. It's the first day, she’ll come around eventually.

“I’ll just bring something up later,” he murmurs, desperate to get out of this awkward situation. Hesitantly, he stands there for a little longer, as if to wait in case she wants to say something. Then, he leaves the bedroom, locking the door right behind him.

Maybe food will make her feel more welcomed.

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bunabi · 3 months ago

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long ass dav thoughts (I'm almost seven hours in now)

Strife is kinda my world fr....I love his voice...I think I need him...

The codex entries are great; I've been reading them all.

The overworld exploration gives me MMO vibes, especially with those chests and rarity-graded items, but I don't dislike it. The areas are a nice size, and there's enough branching paths to keep them interesting. And I get to find new venues & vistas for photo-ops lol most importantly.

The aggressive tonal options really blow. Devastatingly. The gap between the dialogue wheel text and the executed dialogue is too much. Whenever I have Natalene go in for the kill she throws a softball. I knew this was the case but I'm still disappointed.

I said this on stream but: I wish characters treated these events with more levity. The return of the Creators, being stuck in a Veil Bubble, being physically inside the Fade. Everyone seems more inconvenienced than terrified. Maybe this will improve deeper into the game??

After practicing a little I actually really like the combat. I wish I wasn't playing a mage because landing a parry is super satisfying. The battles are so chaotic, though. Rook is constantly drawing enemy aggro, and focusing on one target only to get assblasted by three ranged attacks isn't fun.

This might just be a symptom of the early chapters, but it feels like NPCs and companions repeat themselves a lot, reminding me of the objective and information I just learned. The recaps at the end of every mission are also a little much. Please trust my ability to retain knowledge.

The dialogue has been hit or miss at times. I don't necessarily mean the quips or companions making light of situations that should be more consequential, but things like...Harding explaining to Rook that Dwarves are disconnected from the Fade lol. I hope this is also just an early chapter thing.

Pretty, pretty, it's very pretty. I'm glad I can play this on mid-range settings. I think the most time I spend with DAV will be playing with photo mode and making new characters in CC to photograph.

#dav spoilers #okidoki goodnight!

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phyx-m · 2 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 27: The Great Collapse

Content warning: Light cannibalism (Sukuna has a quick lil snack), violence, murder, blood, gore, dismemberment, angst.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Brother’s In Arms - Junkie XL (honestly, anything that gets your blood going)

Chapter 26 | Chapter 28

Weeks before the union... “You will wed Sukuna Ryomen.”

Your father’s words ring in your ears. You hear them and understand them, but still, they don’t seem to make sense.

Wed the King of Curses?

Why?

It’s clear the head of the Kasai clan holds a particular animosity toward you. The signs are all there. In the way he treats you. In the way, he looks at you. In the way, he leaves his abuse across your body.

But this?

No.

Fuck no.

You’ve heard the rumours, the tales, the whispers. The physical abnormalities, the bloodlust, the piling of eaten bodies. The way the monster has been ravaging the northern lands and its people for years. And now your father wants to tie you to the devil himself?

Why? Is this punishment for what you did?

Eyes pulling away from your lap, they latch onto the figure before you. Your father—if that title even fits a man like him, kneels pridefully across from you in his private chambers at the back of the Kasai compound. This particular summer day is warm, and the door to the garden stands open, but it offers little comfort.

“Forgive me,” you murmur, striving to be as respectful as possible while feeling anything but. “But I don’t quite understand.”

He takes a moment, scraping his eyes over the length of your body from head to toe, before sniffing dismissively.

“There’s been an agreement.”

That’s all he offers, no further elaboration.

Your eyebrows lift softly as a breeze wanders into the room.

“An agreement?” You repeat the statement, mentally tossing it around in your head while your jaw clenches and the bruise sitting there stings.

Yesterday, you’d been too slow to get away, and now it serves as a pulsing reminder—his fist driving you into the ground, your head cracking into stone. A faint trilling still throbs in your left ear from the impact, from the screaming and the yelling.

If you were to wed Sukuna, you would leave one monster here only to be delivered into the arms of a new one. A real one.

“And you think I’m best suited for becoming the King of Curses’ wife?”

Your father gives an unhelpful shrug.

You already know who would be the far better choice between you and your sister in becoming anyone’s wife. Not that you would ever want to send her into his maw. But if he’s looking to keep whatever agreement there is, she could charm him.

She did always have a way with words, after all.

You, however…

Your eyes drop to your silk gloves resting neatly on your thighs. You run your thumb over the swell of your knuckles, tracing the faint divots, the fabric straining against what they hide.

Seven years of fighting the abomination, and all it brought was death and ruin. No one has been able to get close to it. And that’s all they needed.

To get close.

But if you could…

Realization slips in—slow, cold, heavy.

You pull your gaze to your father.

“That’s not why you’re asking me… is it?”

It takes a moment, but an ugly smile crowds into his features.

Your face feels numb.

“No, daughter, it isn’t,” he says, dipping his chin toward your hands. “Seven years ago, you proved yourself useless to me. Now, you’ll prove otherwise.” His voice curdles with accusation, and you subtly roll your fingers into fists to avoid recoiling. “Your inability to control what resides inside you has denied me an heir to carry this clan’s name. Now, you will make amends.”

“And… how do you expect me to do that?”

He runs a hand across his chin while extending his neck.

“You’ll do what you must to get close to him. And when you’re close enough…” He leans forward slightly, his voice curling into something that crawls under your skin. “You’ll let him touch you. Make him trust you, make him believe he owns you. And when the moment comes, you’ll do what you did to your mother.”

What I did.

You shrink back, shame twisting and hooking in deep, deep until your stomach turns sick, sick with regret.

Yet the thought of allowing a fiend like the King of Curses—four hands and all—to touch you? He’d not be gentle. He’d probably kill you during the act itself. He’d probably enjoy it, too. Watching you bleed out before him while being impaled on his cock.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you raise your head, eyes finding your father’s.

“What if I say I refuse?”

Because you will, he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming for all you care.

A notch grabs his brow as if caught between confusion and delight before crow-like laughter bursts from his mouth—body hunching, the sound uncontained.

“Oh, you sweet, stupid girl.” He shakes his head while a smile honeys his voice.

His unending use of that barb makes your mouth twitch, but you remain polite.

You hate that you remain polite.

“No,” he breathes softly as he recovers, exhaling a long, guttural hum up his throat while his eyes crash into yours. His grin swells, spreading wider and wider until it looks painful, until every wrinkle and crack folds inward, until his teeth seem to consume his entire face.

“I don’t think you will.”

* * * * *

They come for you. So many of them. From everywhere. From across the room and all at once.

You can’t quite explain the way the room slows to a crawl or the horrible realization that you can’t seem to move, your body locking itself in place, paralyzed in its own fear.

You tell yourself to run, to flee, to go—but you can’t. And fuck, you need to.

You need to move now.

A Kasai breaks away from the surging group, throwing himself over tables and toward you. His stride lengthens, gait wild as he pumps his legs, sprinting like some crazed animal. His grip tightens on the hilt of a katana in one hand, the other flexing around its sheath.

For one terrible heartbeat, you think that this is it. This is how you die. Because of a screamed command. Because the one thing you were sent to kill is being used against your own clan.

Traitor.

But inside your gloves, something stirs. That familiar feeling at your fingertips—it wants out. It needs to be let out. It’s been too long.

You cling to things too tightly.

Then I won’t.

Not anymore.

Focus!

The distance between you and the man narrows. He’s only steps away when your mind reasserts itself.

Frantically, you swing up your right hand, your left gripping the leather encasing it.

The attacker arrives.

Your glove slips to your knuckles.

The katana pulls back.

You’re too slow.

The sharp end of the blade comes down, swinging for your hea—

Splurch!

A wall of flesh and muscle crashes between you and death. Four rage-soaked eyes glare down at you.

Sukuna.

He takes the full force of the weapon into his body, the blade cleaving through his upper left shoulder, splitting deep enough you see white flashes of bone. Hot blood mists across your face, metallic against your lips.

“Fool!” he snarls. “If you don’t want to die, stop fucking daydreaming and MOVE!”

The command snaps you into action.

You whirl around, tugging your glove into place as panic drives you forward. With no other thoughts, you run. It’s your only option.

Bare feet slam against the wooden floor as you sprint for the main doors, putting distance between you and the swelling melee—giving the King of Curses space to tear this place apart without killing you in the process.

A wet, gurgling scream hits your back. You glance over your shoulder, eyes widening.

The katana remains lodged in Sukuna’s shoulder as his forearm punches through the man’s throat, from knuckle to elbow. The wound pushes blood out from around the impalement, coating both in thick red globs.

You gag, your stomach fighting to expel.

Sukuna cackles, lost in his mania, before lurching his bulk forward, then back, using the momentum to slip the man’s body along his gore-slicked arm and then yanking it free.

The body crumples to the floor, lifeless, the weapon clattering aside. Sukuna steps away, rolling his four shoulders as the oozing wound on his upper body begins to blister and bubble to mend itself.

To his left, someone weaves through the chaos, hurling themselves at you while two others rush forward to divert his attention.

Sukuna’s head snaps to the movement, a wild animal catching the balm of something dying. His upper right arm swings up, his middle and index fingers casually extending like he’s playing.

Flick!

A rapid pulse of air.

The man to his left is bisected, torso splitting, organs slopping lazily from his insides. The body takes a pathetic step forward and then collapses into a formless heap of gore.

The two that rushed him meet similar fates, though they simply have their heads severed from the base of their necks.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the carnage until the sound of more rushing feet jolts you.

Move, idiot. Move, move, move!

Ripping your attention back to the door, the threshold narrows closer and closer as you dash toward it.

I’ll take the exit, then run to the stables, then—

Your right leg swings forward. You skid to a halt, feet gripping the floor.

Several figures pour into the doorway.

Three—

No, six.

More. Eight. Ten. Fifteen.

Their numbers swell, blocking the exit as they press into the main hall.

Panic snakes in, moving and falling down your throat to strangle you. You spin on your heel, veering toward the closed garden doors.

You take a step.

Bang!

One door bursts open. The cool autumn night rushes in as the breeze extinguishes some of the lantern flames, plunging parts of the room into darkness.

You change your course, careening to your left.

But another garden door crashes open. Then another. Then another, until all of them are flung wide.

Men, perhaps the ones from the stables—armed and ready—pour inside, flanking that side of the room.

You step back and freeze.

Panic surges up each bump in your spine. Your muscles lock, your pulse quickens, breaths turning shallow.

Now your right, behind you, and your left are crawling with bodies. You and the King of Curses are trapped in the center, separated and surrounded.

This feels intentional. Something feels wrong.

Your gaze darts to the back of the room where your father stands, watching as if enjoying the view on a warm summer’s day.

You feel old at this moment.

After so many years, so many seasons of torment, his face is carved into your mind. Burned into your soul. Most memories of him you wish you could forget, and some, you wish you remembered more clearly.

But this—this one you will always remember.

That look.

That smug, bemused look etched into his hard, angular features. A look that says you’re going nowhere, you stupid girl.

It only makes you hate him more.

Your fists clench tight. Rage roils hot inside your belly. It burns until you feel sick. You’ve never wanted to take a life before, but now, the ill temptation it has on you…

You want to drown this man in all your anger and in all your hurt, in all the times he’s—

“Brat.”

Your stinging eyes flicker away as Sukuna’s deep, calm voice cuts through the spell of your darkening mind.

It barely reaches you, crushed in the buzzing of voices encircling the room, tables being shoved aside, and dishware shattering onto the floor. There are too many now. Most of them are Kasai, but another clan lingers at the edges. They prowl like bloodthirsty wolves, pacing but keeping their distance, waiting for something.

“Oy, brat!” Sukuna hisses again.

You jerk your head toward him.

At a distance, his red eyes lock onto yours, his bottom left hand wiggling two fingers, motioning for you.

“Come here,” he coos, signalling a change in his tactic to keep you close. “Now.”

The fingers stop their taunting, and his arm stretches outward, beckoning you, inviting you to close the gap.

The room falls eerily still.

Nothing stirs.

Only the sound of panting breaths and the low murmurs of men whispering their strategies break the suspended quiet.

You stare at Sukuna. He stares back.

It’s tempting—the thought of rushing to him, surrendering into the safety of his power, and hiding from all of this. And he looks brutal, waiting there, that one arm outstretched, smeared in blood.

“Come to me,” he orders again, his voice velvet-soft before his eyes fall dark, mouth spreading into something demonic. “Don’t you trust me?”

Trust him?

Why would I ever trust you?

Old words spoken in the most intimate of moments.

Before you can make a move, someone makes it before you. A small wave breaks off.

“Wife!”

Trust him!

You move. Fast.

Crushing your feet into the floor, you go to him. But sections are already oily with blood, making it difficult to gain traction.

You slow.

A sharp hum cuts through the air behind you, followed by the crash of something slamming into the floor.

Whatever it was, it missed its mark.

But a breeze stirs your hair. A projectile rushes past your head.

An arrow.

It kisses your neck, pulling apart skin, and the tip comes away coated in red before clattering to the floor.

Sweat stings into the fresh wound. You suck in a tight breath.

Too close.

Wincing, you keep going.

A growl erupts, a sound that speaks of violence, and you realize it belongs to Sukuna, who is bounding toward you.

Months ago, you would have run the other way. Months ago, you should have killed him. Months ago, you would have done things differently.

But now, legs burning, you put everything in you and go to him.

Sukuna sees you coming and closes the distance in seconds.

One gloved hand reaches out desperately, and one powerful hand hooks around your wrist, two more crowding at your waist. He yanks you to him, your bodies fusing together.

The force of his actions slams the breath from your lungs, and for three terrifying heartbeats, you’re weightless, suspended in nothing, feet hovering off the ground.

It doesn’t stop there.

You’re pulled forward—hoisted, spun.

Everything blurs.

Shapes dissolve into splotches of lights and colours. Sounds turn jarring and muffled.

Someone shouts a command. Then, there’s the pounding of feet.

All you can grasp as he maneuvers you is everyone converging at once. A tidal wave about to crash down in full force.

Mid-motion, world spinning, you catch something slender hurtling towards you. One of Sukuna’s lower arms drags you back, trapping you so tightly against his side as he pivots that you can feel his heartbeat.

The rhythm of it grounds you, but only for a second.

A polearm grazes you, narrowly missing your head. You want to fold inward, but before you can react, Sukuna twists you, shoving you low to the ground as another dark object rushes into your path. Then he yanks you upright, tucking you firmly behind him.

His upper right arm swings up.

A wail of agony cracks the air as someone is cleaved in two. The walls inside the room groan as if unable to sustain the force of his energy.

Then he’s moving you again—pulling, shoving, guiding. Back and forth. Over. Under. Backward. Sideways. Front to back. His grip shifts you from one hand to another.

Stomach lurching, your vision tilts as he suddenly weaves through the fray, slipping you both between attackers while his upper arms abandon their hold to carve through flesh and split everything apart.

He’s ruthless. Mercurial.

The King of Curses fights as if it’s what he was born to do, as innate and effortless as breathing.

It’s fucking devastating.

And when one man falls, and another takes his place, Sukuna simply responds.

Metal meets skin. Screams tangle with gleeful laughter.

And you forget to breathe when your husband’s teeth close around a man’s throat, tearing his windpipe in a single brutal motion. Blood sprays. The man collapses. Sukuna swallows, eating the skin he tore, while his eyes roll back, tranquil by the carnage as the room fills with the reeking stench of death.

So much blood.

Everywhere.

But all you can focus on are his hands and how he uses his body to shield yours.

Cool air hits you as he peels you away. He moves you like you’re nothing, his lower right arm lifting you off the ground while his upper left clears the wreckage of a broken table. Without ceremony, he deposits you behind him, a barrier between you and the fight.

“Wait!” Bracing yourself, you clutch at one glove. “I can—”

“Shut up!” he snaps, his palm pressing heavily into your shoulder and slamming you down against the sticky, bloodied floor. Sukuna shifts his legs, planting them firmly on either side of you in a protective stance. The sheath tucked inside your obi digs uncomfortably into your abdomen, making you cringe at the sharp pressure.

From this vantage point, huddled against the ground, you see every broken thing—the bodies, their wounds a flush of pink, the blood soaking into every crevice, the lifeless eyes of men rising up from the floor.

And then it begins to move—the blood.

Not drip. Not pool. It crawls.

It slithers across the room and weaves around the dead like something alive, merging into a dark mass. It gathers itself, oozing toward the back of the room where that other clan has been patiently waiting.

You blink, watching through the shuffling of feet and legs as it rolls up, violating the pull of the earth, toward a man with dark hair. His hands rise, palms outstretched, and the blood flows into his grasp.

Blood manipulation.

Shit.

The air shifts. Pressure builds.

Goosebumps prick your skin, and your blood hums as though it’s answering a call.

You try to make sense of whatever is happening but can’t. All you know is that the energy licking off the dark-haired man is strong.

Similar to—

“My Lord…” you murmur, your voice shuddering with warning.

But Sukuna is focused elsewhere, fighting the immediate threat and dismissing what lies on the edges of his periphery.

This was deliberate.

Kill enough people, let Sukuna carve through them, and use their remains as fodder for whatever this is.

A fresh clutch of screams slices the air. Bodies keep dropping, limbs and heads and gore. A descent into fucking madness.

The last of the blood is siphoned to the back of the room.

The pressure continues to rise.

Your ears pop. A high-pitched ringing follows.

“Lord Sukuna!” you yell, snapping his attention back. His lower eyes shoot to you, then upward toward the approaching danger.

For a heartbeat, he freezes.

His top lip curls back.

Fingers twitch.

Then, he slices a nearby man in two, before snatching your kimono and hauling you up from the floor. He moves quickly toward the alcove where you two sat earlier, shoves the table aside, and throws you in.

Your hands fly up to brace against the wall, and you twist, turning to him just as he plants all four arms against the alcove's edges, caging you in. One hand quickly lifts to brush against your neck, healing the wound from earlier.

“Stay here.” His voice clipped, feral. “Don’t even think of—”

He stops. His head snaps to the side, listening. Straining.

You hate that look. You know something’s coming, something’s about to happen.

And then it does.

And you wish it hadn’t.

A low, wet resonance tears through the space before slicing into Sukuna’s body.

His jaw clenches as a shaft, shaped like an arrow of blood, punctures his chest.

The world goes silent save for the ear splitting ring of a following onslaught.

Sukuna hunches but pivots sharply to block the next strike from piercing into you. It splits through his abdomen, right next to his stomach maw.

Scarlet paints the space between you.

Every muscle tenses.

Another shrill sound.

Then the final arrow comes, tearing through his throat, flaying it wide open.

Sukuna stills. His muscles contract.

Your pulse pounds everywhere, drowning out everything but the sight of the King of Curses suddenly dropping.

No.

It’s impossible. He doesn’t get injured. He cannot be injured.

Blood spurts from his open mouth.

He falls.

Your heart stutters.

As his knees fold into the floor, his four eyes roll back, flashing white.

“NO!”

The scream wrenches out of you, raw and painfully exposed, tearing from somewhere inside your chest that you’ve not dared to open.

You stumble forward, a hand outstretched toward the intrusions jutting from his body, desperate to tear them free. But before your fingers can reach, they dissolve. The dark red arrows liquefy, sliding down his frame, peeling away from his skin, and slithering back toward the room’s edges.

The same pressure as before starts to rise again.

Another volley is coming.

It feels stronger this time, heavier.

Sukuna needs to move. Now. Otherwise…

Otherwise, you don’t know what will happen.

“Get up,” you whisper quietly, looking into his face, then to the three gaping wounds.

The one open on his neck…

So much blood, too much.

You ache to touch him, to heal him, to do something—but you don’t. You don’t know how. And you’re certain your wretched bare hands will only make things worse.

His pink hair is splayed out, matted with gore, his massive body horribly still as he kneels before you.

The atmosphere swells.

It’s coming.

“Get up.” Your hands hover near his face, afraid to touch him even with your gloves on.

He cannot be injured. It’s impossible.

Still, he doesn’t move.

"Get up, you arrogant fucking asshole! Get. Up." Your voice grows increasingly unsteady, thick enough to choke you.

"Please…"

A small crack. It forms in that dark, guarded place where you keep your emotions tucked away.

You step closer.

"Sukuna, get up!” you shout, voice trembling. "I need you."

Sukuna blinks.

Your heart stumbles to a limp. Breath pushing hard from your lips, and ribs loosening.

Red irises come into focus, fixing on you. His pupils dilate, drowning in the concentric rings surrounding them.

Another blink. Then, a long, calculating stare that trails across your face. The way he’s looking at you… measuring you, gauging something you don’t understand.

One corner of his mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. Something about it feels mocking, like he’s uncovered a secret through the vulnerability of your voice.

Your face flushes hot.

You don’t like it.

Too much of you was laid bare in those desperate words.

A smirk hooks faintly at the edge of his mouth, and then, in one smooth motion, he stands. Blood rolls off him as he runs a hand through his messy hair, pushing it away from his face.

You retreat a step, your back brushing against the wall as your eyes trace his movements.

It’s as though nothing happened.

Unfazed, Sukuna rolls his neck, the skin around his wounds writhing and bubbling before sealing shut.

You freeze as you realize something.

He was never truly in danger.

This was—

A performance.

Deceptive.

To see—

“How very… human,” he muses quietly, watching you with an unreadable sidelong glance, before turning to the mouth of the alcove where he stands, arms spread wide, ready to take the next assault.

You watch him, want to scream at him, lash out at him and at yourself for the vulnerability you’d shown. But it’s pointless. The throbbing in your ears swells harder and harder.

Peeking around Sukuna’s lower left arm, you take in the room. Attackers cluster at the edges. Their numbers have dwindled—nearly halved—and they appear to pause, as if waiting for the King of Curses to tire, relying on the man manipulating the blood, standing at the center of it all.

The air is thick with it now, heavy and damp, like a blanket soaked in blood.

And that strange buzzing keeps growing. Louder and louder and louder.

Sukuna tenses.

Any second.

You keep your eyes steady, waiting for it to strike.

But movement, the shape of a man, has your eyes slamming to your left.

Your father slinks out of the room like the bastard he is, running and disappearing into the corridor.

“No…” you breathe.

He cannot escape. He will not escape. He will die here tonight.

This, you know.

Kill my clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Your sister’s words coil around inside your head.

Your eyes lock onto Sukuna’s back as he readies to shield you once more.

Leave him.

The whisper of persuasion slithers in, going around and around.

Your feet feel rooted in place.

I don’t want to—

Leave him.

You’ll need to time this perfectly.

Taking one final look at him, you carve every detail into your memory—the expanse of his naked torso, the protective wall between you and everything else. There’s a selfish desire to touch him. It burns through you like fire, but you know that if you gave in—or saw his face—it would make leaving unbearable.

You won’t make the mistake of looking.

Sister. Protector. Your needs come last.

Leave him.

Forcing your gaze away from the King of Curses, you tear yourself from the wall. Turning sharply, you tuck into the narrow space between his left side and the lip of the alcove. And then, you wait.

The attack will serve as cover, a distraction to slip away unnoticed. Without you, Sukuna won’t have to shield you anymore, and he can do what’s meant to be done.

The seconds trickle by.

It doesn’t take long for the breath to leave the room.

Silence deepens, then shatters all at once.

One shrill, wet sound tears through the air.

You move. Timing it perfectly, you slip under Sukuna’s arm and run.

Behind you, you hear the first impact, a hemorrhage rupturing. Blood sprays like rain, the sound of it collides with flesh and bone ringing out.

You know Sukuna will be fine—and in just three heartbeats, it’s confirmed.

His voice follows you, strained and angry, shouting your name. Not wife, not brat, nothing else. You’ve never heard him say it before, and the rawness in his tone ignites a terrifying urge to turn back, but you don’t.

If you look back, you’ll want to stay. And you can’t.

The second volley comes, but you’re already running.

Stepping over bodies, you push forward, all the destruction a blur. The tattered edges of your kimono flutter wildly at your legs as you spill out of the main hall.

Darting down the corridor, you go, your footsteps tapping so loudly, louder than your heartbeat.

Then you turn, slipping into a quiet passage reserved for immediate family, and thread through the compound.

Another turn. Then pause. Glance over your shoulder. Listen. Then run. Another turn, and finally, you reach a secluded hallway.

Your father will likely head to the stables—likely to flee.

That’s where you’ll go.

One more glance over your shoulder.

Alone.

You keep running.

Suddenly, the entire compound shudders and groans. Sukuna. Tearing this place apart.

Good.

You wish you could see it, see him. Watch him dismantle a place filled with so many vile memories.

But you keep going. Keep moving.

As you reach the end of the corridor and turn a corner, a figure appears at the far end of the passage. A Kasai, hand resting on the hilt of a katana at his waist.

Your eyes lock. Heart pounding, you freeze in place.

He stands motionless, but his mouth gives you a slow, awful smile, fingers curving around his weapon.

Shit.

The moment he reaches you, you know he'll try to kill you.

Doing what you always should have done to Sukuna, you step forward, and calmly, behind your back, you slowly begin to peel away your gloves.

🔗 Chapter 28

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #beneath the silk #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #sukuna fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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anundyingfidelity · 10 months ago

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part III)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.2k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: panic attack, killing threats, violence, Ben my poor meowmeow, hurt/comfort, mentions of rape.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Notes: this is mostly a bonding chapter between Ben and the reader, also there's more about the reader's past in here plus a special guest lmao. I'm having too much fun writing this! If anyone would like to be tagged I'll be more than happy to do so! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part III: Afraid of the Fall

Ben felt his head being hammered and strange voices in a foreign language mumbled to him, all while they laughed and mocked his suffering, causing loud screams and groans of pain falling off his mouth. He struggled, feeling his skin burning again and again. He hoped it stopped, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, but things didn't get better.

Far away, he heard a familiar voice, shouting to get inside. But he couldn't move from his place to reach it. He groaned again, grabbing the sides of his head strongly and covering his ears, elbows on his knees, at the same time he felt a fire forming on his chest. It was happening again. He didn't want to do it. He couldn't do it. He had been trying to control himself with the reefer the past few days. Why now? Why here? He thought he might lose control over himself one more time, and it scared him to death.

There was a loud sound of metal and high heels running towards him, until someone dropped in front of him.

"Ben?"

He barely recognized your voice, but he felt your hands running all over his cheeks, until he opened his tired eyes.

"Ben, you're fine, okay? You're safe here," he took in your gentle voice as you knelt in front of him. He saw you observing his chest and the blast forming in there. "Please, you can control yourself. Look at me, breathe."

He moaned in pain again, closing his eyes shut. He was holding back as much as his strength allowed him, but it wasn't working. Your worried eyes locked when he opened his own again, green and teary.

"Please just breathe. Inhale and exhale," you said, mimicking the directions as he tried to steady his breath following you.

"That's it, go on," you repeated, encouraging him to keep doing the same. "Take my hands, here," he felt your palms embracing his rough hands, his grip hard on your soft ones. "Keep breathing."

The explosion on his chest was still there but as you soothed him with your voice, he eventually felt as the burn dissipated little by little.

"You're safe now, nothing's gonna happen," you mumbled. "Breathe."

Ben took in your whispering voice, until the burn stopped. You remained there with him, hands together, as he opened his eyes anew. He found a comforting smile on your lips, but as soon as he scanned the room he found two men standing in the doorway. Armed and pointing at him, ready to shoot him. He looked between you and the men, and abruptly got on his feet, shoving you away with such force. You landed over your ass on the floor just a couple of steps away from him. The guards aimed their guns immediately.

"Don't!" you ordered.

"Doctor, he was about to blast," said one of them.

"Stop it!" you raised your hands, with glossy eyes and lungs out of air. "Please, leave," you pleaded. Ben remained in the same spot, figuring out if he had to fight you and the men.

"Doc, the gas-"

"Leave now!" you shouted. They hesitated. "I can handle this, just go and don't turn on the gas, that's an order."

Your gaze might've worked because they slowly backed up and left, closing the heavy door and leaving you alone with the supe. He looked at you, breathing steady and an outraged face. You stood up, fists tight, as Ben closed the distance between both of you.

"Ben, I'm so sorry-"

You choked on your own words, his hand grabbing your neck with his tight grip. "Don't fucking tell me I'm safe. You've built a chamber that'd kill me while I sleep," he growled. Your hands took on his wrists.

Ben just held you in place, denying oxygen into your lungs. He was fucking mad at how you decided to play with him and his life. All these days, he had the chance to end you and that fucking building, and he didn't do it. He felt like a fucking idiot. He had to finish this now. Suddenly, he loosened the rough grip around your throat and slammed you harshly, until your back hit the hardwood of the coffee table.

You coughed as you tried to lift yourself to a sitting position, the mess of the broken wooden lying underneath.

"Ben," you gasped looking up at him. "It's okay if you want to kill me. I'm only asking you to think twice because I'll be dead but it'll be worse for you."

How could it be? Ben couldn't take a fucking break without knowing the damn gas could be turned on if any of those cocksuckers, you included, wanted to. He was beyond pissed. Over and over, he became surrounded by traitors, people who didn't give a single shit about him. And now, he just wanted to rip your head off, kill everyone inside, and run away. Yet somehow he couldn't. With brows furrowed and a cold expression on his face, he watched your figure on the floor, vulnerable and aching due to the impact, at his cruel mercy. But his body wouldn't move an inch to get to you.

Slowly you got on your feet again and for a moment that felt eternal, you looked at each other. Ben was just waiting for the rage to flourish and do what he had to since he met you in that fucking office. He had to kill everyone when they took him out of that box. Too sad he couldn't go back to the past and change his decisions.

You held his haze, and all of the sudden you stepped forward wrapping your arms around his muscular waist. He was shocked.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," you whispered, hiding your face on his chest.

Ben felt your warmth against his flesh, but he couldn't do more than stay frozen in the middle of the room. The only physical contact he had felt for a long time was for the purpose of torture, pain, and suffering. A hug felt strangely uncomfortable to him. More so after he was the one ready to kill everyone around, starting with you. You must have noticed the stiffness on his body because you slowly backed up and separated from him.

He gave you a confused look and you started to speak softly again.

"I can leave if you want-"

His voice came barely as a whisper. "No."

You nodded, locking your eyes with his own. "Okay. You want to talk?"

"I don't know," he said softly.

Calmly, you asked him to sit on the edge of the bed and Ben soon followed as you did. His eyes were lost in the room and he felt regretful for what he did to you. Anyone in your place would just have left and ran away. He'd be alone, just like he had in the past decades. But you didn't. You were there by his side because you wanted to help him. At least that's what you said.

"I had a nightmare," he began. "It felt so real."

"I'm here, you can let it out," you reassured. Ben felt your eyes on him, but he wasn't strong enough to see your face, so he focused on the wall on the other side of the room.

"I was there... Again. I thought I was there, and thought I was going to blow up everything. Haven't felt this pain since you brought me here, until today," Ben mumbled. "I don't know what happened. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," you replied once he finished. "You're not a bad person."

"I could've killed you," his words sounded like a fear confession.

But he didn't have any idea of why he would care that much for a stranger like you. He harmed you, and still here you were. It was almost as if you were not scared of him, the atrocities he had done and the ones he could do in the future.

"But you didn't, so don't torture yourself with things that are not real."

He believed you were right. At the same time, it was difficult to push those thoughts away.

"I'm a fucking mess," he said, his eyes locked on his lap as he played with his hands like he was a child. "My father was right."

"Ben-"

"I could've done so much better with him."

"Who?"

"Homelander."

This time, he found your intense gaze. You shook your head.

"You didn't know what Vought was up to. That is not your fault."

"But he is my son in the end," Ben grumbled. "And he has a fucking son of his own."

"A lab experiment," you corrected. "A lab experiment that has a child, product of a rape. You don't have to call that your blood."

He gave a sad smile that quickly disappeared. "I wish I didn't have to. I always wanted kids. Y'know, give them the figure I never had, let them know I'm proud of them, tell them they mean everything to me... Be a better father. And I feel guilty for no reason."

You nodded. "I understand all that, and you'll get over the generational trauma and the PTSD. I promise. Just remember before you run, you need to learn how to walk."

A part of his heart refused to believe your words, that you were lying, but the look in your eyes said otherwise. Probably you were not as bad as he thought you'd be. After all, you were there. You had the courage to step in front of him, to be in the same room as him, and to come every day just in hope to have some sort of advance even when he was pushing his pain away. All those efforts and insistences, they had to mean something in the end. Right?

Last couple of days were hell. You caught something good though. Soldier Boy finally talked to you. Just a little. Anything was fine at this point. For you, work didn't stop. Rest was not an option most of the time. So on Sunday morning you drove back to your apartment after spending the whole Saturday working on more details about the Anti-V prototype.

Once in the building, you made your usual way to your door and immediately got rid of your coat and shoes in the entry hall. You were so tired and craving for a sleep, so you made your way to your bedroom, until a horribly annoying voice you knew too well stopped you on the doorframe.

"Well, don't you work your ass off," the blonde man swung into your room in his usual ridiculous outfit, admiring every detail of the place. He gave you a disturbingly disgusting smile.

You also noticed the balcony windows and curtains were open. Of fucking course he'd used the easiest way to break into your home.

"What-"

"Oh, you know who I am, doctor. I can break the president's home if I want to," Homelander beamed when he stopped just inches from you.

You gulped and crossed your arms on your chest.

"And may I ask why are you here?"

"You know why, don't play dumb."

"No, I don't. Enlighten me, please," you replied, faking it. "You know, I don't really think we've met before."

"Actually, we did. It was in an audition. Around 2009, remember?"

"Now I do," your jaw clenched. That was a fucking memory you wanted to erase and bury forever. "I'm glad I didn't pass that shit."

"Yeah, you were such a waste now that I think of. Could've been with our team now."

Homelander chuckled, proudly and honorably, walking around and stopping in front of your vanity. He started to check your perfumes and jewelry that spread on there, like a damn kid. You followed him immediately.

"What do you want?"

"Straight to the point, fine," he began, facing you once again. Smile long gone. "I know you're up to something. Fucking stop it."

Your lips opened but he shut you up with a gesture of his hand and went on.

"Uh-uh, not now. Don't try to deny it. Don't make fucking excuses," Homelander closed the distance between both of you. His lips brushed your ear and somehow, you were frozen in place. You didn't know what would happen next, he was unpredictable.

"I know you have my dad with you, and what you're doing will not benefit me," he whispered and he pulled back to see your blank face, eyes staring with rage. "Just a small warning. I got my eyes on you," he chuckled. "But don't worry, I'm giving you a chance. Only one chance to stop whatever the fuck you're doing. Trust me, you don't wanna know what I have for you."

He started to walk to the balcony without giving you time for an answer. Not that you had much of a comeback in mind when your life and project were now in danger. At least he was going to finally leave your place. Before flying away, he turned around one last time.

"Better take care of the old man, uhm?"

Those were his last words. And you knew he didn't mean them.

You were so fucked now.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon #the boys series #the boys tv #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #soldier boy/ben

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livwritesstuff · 11 months ago

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i’ve been very quiet so srry - my week started with my annual performance review (which went well) and ended with an emergency surgery (also went well) so…a lot going on to say the least

this is a deleted scene from the first chapter of plant a seed

When Robin called, Steve and Eddie were in the phase of newborn parenthood where they froze every single time the phone rang (because said newborn was napping more often than not and when she was, there was a 50% chance minimum the phone would wake her up).

So when Robin called and the ringing of the phone broke the otherwise peaceful silence, Steve froze and he waited. When the baby didn't wake up, Steve exhaled a sigh of relief and answered the call.

"This is Steve."

"Hey Steve-o!"

Steve immediately recognized the voice as Robin's – of course he did, even if he hadn't heard it since she and Nancy left for a work trip in Japan a little over a month ago.

“Oh shit,” Steve said, because this means that Robin and Nancy are finally home, finally back in their Boston apartment fifteen minutes away from his and Eddie's in Cambridge instead of the opposite side of the entire world, “You’re home!”

“Yep,” Robin replied, popping the P, “That plane was a million degrees, I’m pretty sure. No more August flights if I have any say in it. Anyways – wanted to let you know we made it back unscathed. What’s new with you guys?”

“Uh…” Steve began, not totally sure where to start, because Robin didn't know about the baby he and Eddie had been placed with two weeks ago and she certainly didn't know that they're going to adopt her (because they'd landed on that decision that very day – about two hours ago, to be specific), “Well–”

“Hey, do you still have those placements?" Robin interrupted, "The kids who like to read the Goosebumps books?”

“Oh,” Steve blinked, “No. They went back with their mom a couple days after you left.”

“Damn. Been a while. Forgot this trip was longer than usual – wait, so are you between placements now, then? Hey, we should finally make that trip to P-Town!”

"Might need a raincheck on that," Steve said with a laugh, because at the moment a trip to the goddamn grocery store required at least a day's worth of planning, "We've got another placement right now – a newborn. We've had her for, uh, for just under two weeks, pretty sure."

“Shit, a newborn?" Robin repeated.

Steve faintly heard Nancy's voice, though he couldn't make out exactly what she was saying. He listened as Robin recounted to her what he'd just said, then started to laugh.

"Nancy just said that if she misses out on a chance to hold a new baby, she'll kill you," Robin told him, "Any idea when she might move on?”

Steve paused for a second. He and Eddie had decided earlier that they wouldn’t be telling anyone about the baby until the adoption was finalized, but…it’s Robin.

He doesn’t think he’s ever kept a secret from Robin before, certainly not something this big and certainly not for very long.

He has to tell her.

“We’re, uh, we’re actually adopting her.”

Robin was silent.

Then –

“Holy shit – Steve.”

And then –

“I’m coming over right now. Immediately. Wait–” Robin stopped, “Damn, I can’t be a dick and come over unannounced anymore, can I? Because you guys have a baby. A baby. And she’s gonna be yours? What the fuck? Wait, let me start over.”

Robin paused long enough to take a deep breath.

“Steve Harrington – my best friend who’s finally fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming a dad – when will you allow us to come and be formally introduced to our niece?”

Truth be told, Steve wouldn’t say no to a visit from Robin and Nancy that day (especially after the our niece comment), but their case worker had just started faxing over all the paperwork to get the ball rolling on the adoption process and Steve has a feeling that he might catch Eddie trying to fill that shit out as it came out of the machine so tonight they might be a little occupied.

"Tomorrow?" he suggested.

"Morning?" Robin added.

Steve laughed, "Sure. Tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early, dad. Holy fuck, I can't believe you're a dad."

"You can't?"

"No, I totally can."

#remember faxing?#i don't but it was def a thing in 2001 #liv’s steddie dads verse #stobin #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #ronance #-> hesitant to tag bc ik folks get annoyed when steddie content clogs up the ronance tag but this is mostly stobin - will delete if asked

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hllywdwhre · 5 months ago

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Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Chapter 9

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This work is 18+, MDNI

Masterlist

Authors Note: This authors note will include a chapter specific warning that contains a spoiler for the content of the chapter, but I feel, in this case specifically, this chapter deserves an extra content warning.

There will be graphic depictions of childbirth in this chapter.

Their return to King’s Landing did not last long. It seemed Viserys had not forgotten their banishment and reminded them the next day that their home was Dragonstone. Disappointed but unsurprised, Viserea did not argue.

That night though, Rhaenyra had managed to sneak her way into their room, though, and the three enjoyed each other’s company for the last time until Rhaenyra would be able to visit them on Dragonstone.

Viserea and Daemon returned to Dragonstone the next day after bidding farewell to everyone. The weeks after seemed to be peaceful. They exchanged letters daily with Rhaenyra, keeping each other informed of the daily events that took place at Court.

Rhaenyra informed them that Laena did not leave with her mother and father at the end of a fortnight and seemed to have become infatuated with Ser Harwin. She had said she wouldn’t be surprised if their betrothal was announced soon.

At the end of the cycle of the moon, Amarda was helping Viserea bathe after dinner and dismissed the rest of the handmaidens from them, telling them she needed to speak to the Princess in private.

Viserea looked at Amarda in confusion when she asked a question that caused her heart to stutter in her chest.

“Princess, when was the last time you bled?”

Viserea tried to think of the answer and realized that she had last bled back when she and Daemon were still in Pentos, before they had even been married.

“I-it’s been two moon cycles…” Viserea replied, her hands shaking as she stood up from the large stone tub, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Amarda had been Viserea’s handmaiden since she was a child and knew exactly why Viserea hadn’t become excited at the news, but had turned pale and ashen.

“History will not repeat itself, Princess. Maester Gerardys has studied childbirth for a long time after the unfortunate events of Princess Adalyn and Queen Aemma so that he could do everything in his power to prevent the two of you from being harmed,” Amarda comforted as she helped Viserea from the tub and began drying her off.

Viserea nodded, finding some comfort in her words, but being unable to get rid of all of the fear that seemed to have made its home inside of her.

Once she was dressed, she began to walk the halls of the castle, knowing where she would find Daemon. She took her time as she tried to work through her emotions. Terror filled her at the thoughts of all the dangers of childbirth, but a bubbling of delight also began seeping in.

Viserea had never pictured herself being a mother, but she couldn’t deny that she was excited to bear Daemon’s child. She knew she would not be turned into some broodmare, good for only producing his offspring and viewed as nothing else. He had promised her years ago that she would not be turned into another Targaryen Princess that would be wed off to a random lord and used for nothing but political gain, and he had kept his word.

Before they were even married, he had protected and spoiled her and advocated for her. Their entire time traveling after the War of the Stepstones was spent with him advocating her place as future Hand to other nobles and insisting they take her advice for issues they faced. It had led to great praise from them when their problems resolved themselves after heeding her advice. He had brought her to see parts of the world she had not seen before and bathed her in riches simply because he wanted to.

Security and safety. That was what Daemon had brought her, and while she couldn’t ignore the anxieties she felt over bearing a child, having Maester Gerardys and Daemon by her side calmed a lot of them greatly. The only other person she would want beside her was Rhaenyra.

Taking a deep breath, her hands no longer shaking, she stepped outside and made her way to the entrance of the cave that Tessarion and Caraxes had inhabited and found two dragonkeepers waiting outside.

“Leave us,” she said, waiting on Daemon at the entrance of the cave.

A few minutes later he stepped out of the cave, ash covering his face. He looked surprised to see Viserea but the surprise was quickly replaced with happiness,

“The eggs look amazing!” Daemon said excitedly.

Tessarion had produced a clutch of eggs about a week ago and you would have thought Daemon a child again with how excited he had been over it.

Viserea couldn’t fight the smile at her husband’s excitement and stepped towards him, taking his hand in hers.

“A good thing, too, as it seems we will be needing to place one in a cradle for our babe soon,” she said, placing his hand on her stomach and smiling up at him.

Daemon’s excitement turned to shock, then back to excitement as he picked her up and pulled her into a hug. Viserea wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the eager kiss he gave her as he set her feet back on the ground.

“You’re carrying my child…” he said as if he didn’t believe the words himself.

Viserea giggled and nodded. He placed his forehead against hers and kissed her softly once again,

“I’ll be here for everything. I know you’ve feared this moment, but-“ Daemon started, but Viserea shook her head.

“Don’t. You’re right, I’m very fearful of what could happen, but Amarda has said Maester Gerardys has been studying childbirth ever since Aemma passed for Rhaenyra and myself. I’ll be surrounded by handmaidens and he’ll be there, too. I don’t wish to focus on my fear the entire time my babe is in the womb. I wish to focus on the fact that I am bearing my husband’s child on the island of our ancestors while our dragons are producing clutches of eggs,” Viserea told him. Her tone was soft as she admitted her fear, but final. She wouldn’t spend her entire pregnancy fearing what was to come.

Daemon nodded a moment later and kissed her once again,

“I trust your instincts and I trust you,” he said, “you would be the first to know if there was something to fear.”

The two walked back to the castle with their hands intertwined and, while Daemon washed away the dirt and ash from visiting the dragons, Viserea made her way to the library and began writing a letter to Rhaenyra.

My darling cousin,

You’ll be pleased to hear that Caraxes’ and Tessarion’s clutch of eggs still look amazing.

I’m glad to hear that your father has started taking your opinions into account more in council meetings and that the new hand has supported these instead of brushing them aside as the old one had a habit of.

I’m also happy to hear that Laena continues to embrace you as her sister now and hope she and Harwin might find happiness with each other.

Daemon and I do have good news of our own. Amarda asked me when the last time I bled was while helping me bathe and I realized I last bled in Pentos.

While this realization shocked and scared me at first, I find myself growing excited. Amarda assured me that Maester Gerardys has been studying childbirth for a while now and she is confident in his abilities to deliver the babe safely. I won’t deny that I still hold fear inside of me due to our mothers’ devastating ends, but I have told Daemon that I do not wish to live in fear of what could happen as it is not healthy for myself or the babe.

Daemon and I wish to see you soon, whether we must fly there or you fly here. I have gone a year without your presence before and I do not wish to repeat it.

All my love,

Viserea

After sending the letter, Viserea returned to her’s and Daemon’s chambers, finding him shirtless and reading a book in their bed.

“I assume you told Rhaenyra?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question as he already knew Viserea would have.

She nodded and laid herself down next to Daemon, taking her usual spot under his arm. He set his book down and placed the newly freed hand on her stomach.

“Our own army of dragons will soon hatch,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“I’m sure everyone will be just thrilled at the thought of the banished Prince and Princess having children together,” Viserea replied sarcastically.

“They will, or they will be met with fire,” Daemon replied with a warning in his voice and Viserea knew he meant it. Any disrespect towards their child would not be tolerated.

Rhaenyra joined them on Dragonstone two days later, along with Laenor, Laena, and various members of the Kingsguard. Congratulations were offered to the two expectant parents and Viserea found herself unable to be anything but excited with the people she viewed as her closest and most trusted family members surrounding her.

They spent a fortnight on the Island and this visit seemed to spark a new pattern.

When Daemon and Viserea were not traveling, Rhaenyra and Laenor were on Dragonstone with them. The limited staff meant Rhaenyra, Laenor, Daemon, and Viserea were free to be with each other as they pleased with minimal worries about facades needing to be upheld. Laena was almost always with them as she and Harwin seemed to grow closer every day.

When Laena and Harwin’s betrothal was announced less than a week after returning from their first visit from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra informed Daemon and Viserea that Laena had been informed of the “arrangement” between them. While she was confused, Rhaenyra said she seemed more relieved that it meant her brother didn’t have to keep a second life secret from them.

It was at a dinner during their second visit that Rhaenyra and Laenor stood and gathered everyone’s attention, announcing that Rhaenyra was also carrying a babe.

Later, on the privacy of the beach as the group walked along the shore, Daemon was the one to voice the thoughts that Viserea herself had but hadn’t had the nerve to voice.

“Should we expect the newest heir to take after his father’s looks or his mother’s?” Daemon asked, causing Viserea, Laena, and Harwin’s heads to look towards Rhaenyra and Laenor.

The question could have seemed rude or even treacherous from anyone else, but Rhaenyra nor Laenor seemed to mind. Everyone knew that Rhaenyra and Laenor had promised each other to fulfill their duties and produce an heir for Rhaenyra. Everyone also knew that for every night Rhaenyra and Laenor shared a bed, Laenor shared a bed with someone else and Rhaenyra shared Daemon and Viserea’s bed.

Rhaenyra and Laenor exchanged a glance and Laenor cleared his throat,

“We’re unsure if the babe will resemble its Velaryon or Targaryen blood more. I suppose that is up to the Gods to decide,” Laenor replied.

Daemon nodded, the meaning of their exchanged words being clear.

Rhaenyra had slept with both Laenor and Daemon and there wasn’t a sure answer to who’s babe she carried.

“No matter the resemblance, the babe will be the most protected and loved babe the Gods have ever seen,” Viserea said, meaning her words and offering Rhaenyra a smile.

When both Daemon and Laenor agreed with her statement, any amount of tense atmosphere disappeared quickly and the group went back to their relaxed walk along the shore.

The next seven months went by quickly for the entire group. Laena and Harwin’s wedding was held at Driftmark and a cause for great celebration.

Before it became too dangerous for Viserea to fly, she and Daemon flew to King’s Landing, and she had insisted Maester Gerardys sail to the Keep as he was the only maester that she would allow near her during birth.

Within a fortnight, Viserea was awoken in the middle of the night by her labor pains, and within minutes the midwife, ladies-in-waiting, and Master Gerardys were in the room while Daemon waited outside.

She changed into a plain white underdress and shooed away the hands of anyone who tried to come near her.

Panic filled her. Images of Aemma being held down and sliced open. What she imagined her mother looked like, sick with a fever that wouldn’t leave her.

When a midwife approached her again, trying to place a cool rag on her head, she snapped.

“I said not to fucking touch me!” She swore loudly.

Minutes later, a disheveled looking Rhaenyra entered the room and came to stand beside Viserea, though she didn’t try to touch her.

“Vis, I’m here,” she said, crouching down to Viserea as Viserea gripped the back of the couch and slid down to sit on the balls of her feet. “I’m with you, I won’t let them harm you, you know it.”

Rhaenyra held a hand out to Viserea which Viserea took into her own.

Her labors progressed for hours and Rhaenyra was the only one she would allow to touch her, allow to use a rag to wipe away her sweat, and the only one she would allow near her when she began pushing.

Viserea caught her daughter herself when she was finally born in the early hours of the morning.

“You did it, my love,” Rhaenyra whispered from behind Viserea, kissing her temple as the babe and Viserea both cried.

The midwife was only allowed near Viserea long enough to cut the umbilical cord and help deliver the afterbirth.

Daemon entered a couple moments later, after the babe had been wrapped in a blanket.

He immediately came over to Viserea and Rhaenyra’s side, looking down at the babe she clung to protectively, keeping her against her chest.

“I hear there is a new Targaryen Princess,” he said with a wide smile, running his thumb lightly over his daughter’s forehead and along her cheeks.

“Princess Daenyra,” Viserea replied in a voice loud enough for Maester Gerardys to hear and make note of. “Named after the two who have my heart,” she said in a lower voice.

It was an hour later, after everyone had left the room aside from Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Viserea, and the wet nurse had already fed Viserea, that Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Elinda, knocked on the door and stepped inside.

“Princesses, Prince,” she greeted with a polite bow, though her voice shook with an edge of nervousness. “The Queen has requested the babe be brought to her immediately.”

Viserea felt her blood run cold but she wasn’t the first to speak.

“Why?” Rhaenyra asked, doing the best to keep the ice out of her voice.

“She did not say, Princess,” Elinda replied.

“Daemon, take Daenyra,” Viserea said. She could already feel the silent anger radiating off of him and she knew their daughter was going to be the one thing to keep him from physically reacting.

“Why?” He asked in a lethal and low voice.

“If she wishes to see my babe, it must be to offer congratulations. I will go see her myself,” Viserea said in a wry voice that revealed she knew that wasn’t the real reason.

Before Daemon could argue, she was placing Daenyra into his arms and pushing herself off of the sofa in the room.

“Elinda, would you help me dress, please?” Viserea asked, speaking over Daemon and Rhaenyra trying to protest her going.

“My daughter will not be going nowhere near that woman without me there,” Viserea snapped out as Elinda helped her get dressed.

Her hair was still in the disheveled braid she had worn during her labors, but Elinda worked quickly to restyle it. Within minutes, she was taking Daenyra back from Daemon and Daemon was supporting one side of her while they began walking through the Keep.

“What is the meaning of this?” Daemon said in a low voice to the two of them.

“A reminder of her power. She is Queen and she can have whatever she wishes,” Rhaenyra said from beside Viserea.

“She can, but it will not be given to her easily,” Viserea said, muttering a few choice words under her breath as she began walking up the stairs that lead to the Queen’s chambers.

Viserea ignored the Lords and Ladies that offered their congratulations, letting Daemon and Rhaenyra, though it was mostly Rhaenyra, reply to them.

She returned Criston Cole’s glare as he noticed the three of them when they reached Alicent’s chambers. Without a word, he opened the door for them and they stepped inside.

“Viserea, I did not mean for you to come, also,” Alicent said in a voice full of false sympathy.

Viserea forced a polite smile and for her voice to come out as polite as she could.

“Yes, well, it is my first. I could not bear the thought of being away from her,” she replied.

“I heard we have another Targaryen princess. What did the handmaidens say her name was?” Alicent asked, coming over to Viserea and gently taking Daenyra from her.

“Daenyra,” Daemon replied, his eyes glued to Alicent as she held their daughter.

Alicent caught the ice in his voice but ignored it, plastering a fake smile on her face while Viserea gently squeezed his hand.

“A beautiful Valyrian name,” she complimented as Daemon and Rhaenyra helped Viserea sit down and the doors opened behind them.

“I heard I have a granddaughter!” Viserys said excitedly, making his way to Alicent and taking Daenyra from her.

“Yes. Viserea’s labors began in the night and Princess Daenyra was born less than two hours ago,” Rhaenyra said.

Viserea could see the way Rhaenyra was trying to bring light to how Alicent had forced this to happen after less than two hours of giving birth, but Viserys’ attention was too focused on the babe he held to notice.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful Princess,” he complimented, looking to Daemon and Viserea with a wide smile. “Am I to assume she is named after your sister and your uncle?” He asked.

Viserea gave him a small but genuine smile as she nodded, “Yes, she is. I would not have had the strength to deliver her without Rhaenyra’s help. It felt only right to honor her.”

“A noble act indeed,” Viserys complimented, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Alicent’s look of disbelief at him believing her reasoning.

A couple weeks later, Rhaenyra’s first son, Jacaerys Velaryon was born. Rhaenyra behaved the similarly to how Viserea had during her labors. Viserea, Elinda Massey, the midwife, and Maester Gerardys were the only ones allowed in the room, although Rhaenyra did allow for Jacaerys to be held by someone other than herself and the wet nurse in the first hour.

Jacaerys shared no resemblance with Laenor, a fact Queen Alicent was quick to point out, saying he must “heavily favor his mother” as she had made the same request for Jace to be brought to her chambers immediately. Viserys paid no attention to this remark, though it was obvious by the way Alicent glanced at the young Princess Daenyra in Viserea’s arms that she believed something else was taking place right under the noses.

After the birth of Jacaerys, Viserea and Daemon were allowed to remain in King’s Landing. They now spent half their time in King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and half their time back on Dragonstone. They never went more than a fortnight without seeing Rhaenyra.

The following year, Viserea and Rhaenyra both welcomed new sons at the Red Keep. Viserea welcomed Maelon Targaryen on the same day Rhaenyra welcomed Lucerys Velaryon.

It was Elinda Massey rushing into the room while Viserea was struggling in her labors that alerted them that Alicent had demanded to see Lucerys directly after Rhaenyra had given birth, and that she and Laenor were currently walking through the Red Keep up to the Queen’s chambers.

“I will have her head on a spike for this,” Daemon growled, his hand being crushed by Viserea’s as another wave of pain washed through her.

“I will not stop you, but only after Rhaenyra is crowned. Damning us all to death will do nothing but ensure her son is placed on the throne,” Viserea said through gritted teeth.

“Queen Alicent is also demanding the same of your babe, my Princess and Prince,” Elinda said. It was obvious by her voice that she did not agree nor wish to be the one passing along the command.

“Fine!”

“Gods be damned!” Daemon and Viserea shouted at the same time.

Daemon looked to Viserea as if she had grown a third head when she agreed.

“She will not get the pleasure of someone saying I’m too weak to go there, nor will she have a reason to separate my child from my side,” Viserea hissed to Daemon. “I made the walk a year ago, and I will do it again.”

For the briefest moment, Daemon saw the exact look his younger brother used to wear on Viserea’s face and he knew better than to try arguing with her.

As soon as the babe had been placed in Viserea’s arms, she was standing.

“Gods be good, the two of you are going to kill me,” Maester Gerardys grumbled, causing Viserea to chuckle.

“I’m assuming Rhaenyra did not allow for the afterbirth to pass before standing either, Maester,” Viserea said, gritting her teeth as another wave of pain washed through her, though much less severe than before.

Viserea passed Maelon to Daemon as the afterbirth passed and allowed her handmaidens to dress her, grateful for Amarda’s calming voice being there to help ground her.

Once the dress was tied, Viserea reached to take Maelon from Daemon.

“I will hold him,” Daemon said, offering his arm for Viserea instead.

“Daemon, I love you, but if you ever try to keep me from holding my children again, you will be a cockless man by the end of the night,” Viserea snapped, her violet eyes burning bright as she looked up at him.

“Fine,” Daemon grumbled, handing Maelon to Viserea, “but you will not walk alone or without assistance.”

“I should hope not,” Viserea said, adjusting Maelon so she could hold him with one arm and grip onto one of Daemon’s arms with the other.

Daemon’s other arm wrapped around her hip, gripping tight to the side of it to help support some of her weight.

“Thank you, my love,” Viserea said, her voice much kinder this time as they walked through the doors of the room.

With Daemon’s assistance, they began walking through the castle, eventually finding a trail of blood.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbled, “I may start a war before the day is over.”

Viserea didn’t reply, her own anger at seeing Rhaenyra’s blood smeared down the halls mixed with the spasms of her muscles rendering her silent.

Lord Caswell’s congratulations were barely heard, though both Daemon and Viserea thanked him as they walked past him.

The rest of the walk to the Queen’s chambers, Viserea did not speak, though she heard Daemon’s forced polite replies to anyone who offered them anything beyond greetings.

When they entered Alicent’s chambers, Viserea found Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Laenor already there.

Viserea ignored the conversation that took place around them as Viserys proclaimed that two Princes being born on the same day was another way of the Gods proclaiming that Viserea and Rhaenyra were meant to be sisters.

She sat down next to Rhaenyra and it was obvious by the looks they exchanged that neither of them were happy about being there and they would both rather be in Rhaenyra’s chambers, which was large enough to house both of their families.

“Born on the same day, and they look similar enough to be twins themselves,” Alicent said, drawing Rhaenyra and Viserea’s attention from each other.

After Maelon and Lucerys’ births, the rumors began spreading. Rumors that Jacaerys and Lucerys were bastards fathered by Daemon. When Laena gave birth to her and Harwin’s twins in the year 116 AC, it both seemed to distract from the rumors and add to them.

Laena and Harwin’s children had the brown, curly hair of Harwin Strong, but their skin was a similar brown color to Laena’s. A color that was missing in Rhaenyra’s sons.

The group gathered a few days later at Driftmark this time. The twin girls, Baela and Rhaena, were showered with love, and a betrothal between them and Rhaenyra’s sons were arranged.

“I hope the betrothals do not come as a slight to you, Princess,” Rhaenys said to Viserea as the two met each other in the library.

Viserea smiled and shook her head,

“Of course not. Daenys and Maelon will not hold the same duties as Rhaenyra and Laenor’s sons. I would much rather the succession of the throne be secured,” she told Rhaenys honestly.

Rhaenys smiled at Viserea and sat next to her,

“I am glad you see it that way. If your opinion on the matter does change, let me know if there is some way Corlys and I can make amends,” she offered.

Viserea shook her head again,

“There is no slight to make amends for,” she reassured.

Honestly, even if Viserea had felt slighted, she would not have said anything. There was no guarantee that Jace and Luke were actually Laenor’s and if Laena’s children married Jace and Luke, it almost seemed as though no harm was done. The Velaryon name and blood would still sit the Iron Throne and inherit Driftmark.

Before the year’s end, Viserea and Daemon welcomed another daughter. This one was named Adlyn, after Viserea’s mother.

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