#just let me get the main tags out of the way

[honeyslibrary]

Sunshine | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, overuse of '—' probably (I can't help myself I'm sorry😞), edited once! 

Request; 'can you do one about luke where like they are long distance since he moved to NJ and they finally get to spend the summer together after being apart the whole season’

Word Count; 7.8k

Authors Note: Thanks so much for the request, friend!! This was pretty fun to write, and I hope you like it!!. I won't spoil anything in the author's note, but let's just say this is kind of a self insert, aka something I occasionally fantasize about. Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated!! Love you guys!! -Honey

The scent of fryer oil clung to your clothes as you pirouetted between tables, delivering plates with a flourish that wasn't part of your usual workday choreography. You caught yourself humming between orders, your smile wide enough to make your cheeks ache by mid-shift. Every time the door chimed, your heart performed a little somersault before settling back when it wasn't him, even though you knew perfectly well Luke wouldn't be walking through the restaurant's doors tonight.

"Earth to crazy girl," Mia teased, bumping your hip with hers as she passed with a tray of drinks. "Table six has been trying to get your attention while you've been daydreaming about hockey boy." 

"I wasn't—" you started to protest, but the knowing smirks from your coworkers silenced you. Marcus, wiping down the counter, made exaggerated kissing noises. 

"Two months," you reminded them, feeling warmth creep up your neck. "You'd be excited too."

"Oh, we know," Mia laughed. "You've only mentioned it every fifteen minutes since you clocked in." 

You'd originally planned to join his parents at the airport, had even begged your manager for the night off, but Friday nights were non-negotiable at Lakeside Grill. The bitter disappointment had faded to resigned acceptance, tempered by the knowledge that in just a few hours, the distance that had stretched between Michigan and New Jersey would finally collapse. 

When you finally shed your name tag and push through the back door into the crisp April air, the clock on your phone reads 11:32 PM. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked your car, the exhaustion from your double shift evaporating at the prospect of seeing Luke. You slid into the driver's seat and immediately called, pressing the phone to your ear as it rang. 

You'd texted him obsessively throughout the day. First when their plane departed Newark, again when they landed in Detroit, and several times after that with increasingly transparent excuses. 

"Hey, you," Luke answered, his voice a warm rumble that made your stomach flip. In the background, you could hear the familiar chaos of his summer home. Dishes clinking, Jack's laugh, what sounded like ESPN playing on the TV. 

"I just finished up work," you said, trying to keep the breathless anticipation from your voice as you navigated out of the parking lot. "I'm on my way over." 

There was a pause, some shuffling on his end. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped a notch lower. "How about you just come over tomorrow. It's late." Your hand froze on the gearshift. A car behind you honked as the exit to the main road remained clear but your vehicle didn't move. 

You waved an apologetic hand and pulled out, trying to process his words. "You don't want to see me?" The question slipped out before you could soften it, vulnerability naked in your voice. The red traffic light ahead bathed your dashboard in crimson, matching the flush of embarrassment warming your face. 

Luke's chuckle filtered through the speakers, but it sounded strained. "Course I do, don't be silly." A pause. "It's been torture, honestly." The light changed to green, its glow illuminating the empty intersection as you accelerated through. 

Something felt off. The Luke who had FaceTimed you just yesterday had been counting down the hours until you'd be together again. "Then why?" You didn't bother hiding the confusion or the hint of hurt that crept into your tone. The late-night streets of your small Michigan town stretched empty before you, streetlights creating pools of yellow that your car passed through rhythmically. 

"It's late, sunshine. I don't want you making the drive over." His voice was gentle but firm, the tone he used when his mind was made up about something. 

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "It's only half an hour." Even that was generous at this hour, with the freeways clear and most of the town asleep, the drive to the lake house where he spent his summers would be closer to twenty minutes. You'd made the journey so many times you could navigate it half-asleep, following the winding roads until they opened up to the glittering expanse of water and the cape cod style house that his brothers had bought after making it to the NHL. 

The property had quickly become your second home over the past two years. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft rush of air from your car heater and what sounded like Luke moving to another room, the background noise fading. 

He let out a small sigh, that particular sigh you'd come to recognize, the one that signaled the conversation was effectively over. "I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. I'll come and scoop you around eleven?" 

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying the chapped skin there as disappointment settled heavy in your chest. Two months of falling asleep to texts instead of his heartbeat, of watching his games on a screen rather than from the stands, and now another night alone when he was just a short drive away. "Fine," you finally conceded, the word coming out more clipped than intended. You softened your tone, not wanting your reunion to start with tension. "I miss you, that's all." 

"Miss you more," he replied, and despite your disappointment, the familiar phrase made your heart constrict. "See you tomorrow, okay?" 

As you hung up and turned your car toward your apartment instead of the lake, questions swirled beneath your resignation. In two years together, through multiple separations due to his hockey schedule, Luke had never once not wanted to see you immediately when he got home. Something wasn't adding up, but perhaps it was just exhaustion clouding your judgment. Tomorrow would bring clarity, you told yourself, even as a nagging unease settled beside the anticipation that had carried you through your shift.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a fragmented mix of anticipation and unease. You didn't set an alarm, allowing yourself to sleep however long your body wanted. Once awake, you reached for your phone with eyes still half-closed, only to jolt fully awake at the notification glowing on your screen.

Lukey [8:12 AM]: Good morning, baby. Wear your favorite sundress today. 

You blinked at the message, sleep evaporating as your thumbs moved quickly across the keyboard. 

You [9:34 AM]: Good morning to you too. Why the specific request?

The reply came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for you to wake up.

Lukey [9:35 AM]: Don't worry about it :)

You [9:35 AM]: What are you up to?

Lukey [9:36 AM]: If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? See you at 11 ❤️ 

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, you tossed aside your comforter and padded to the bathroom, suddenly grateful for the deep conditioning treatment you'd given your hair last night. The disappointment of not seeing him had translated into a lengthy self-care ritual. Face mask, hair treatment, a leisurely shower, a coincidence that now seemed to be luck. 

Standing before your closet an hour later, freshly showered and made up with more care than your usual weekend routine, your fingers skimmed past hangers until they found the familiar fabric. The pastel yellow sundress had been an impulse purchase last summer, right before a family barbecue, the first one that Luke attended with you.

You still remembered the way Luke's eyes had lingered when you'd first worn it, how he'd whispered "You look like sunshine." when your cousins were out of earshot, thus birthing the familiar term of endearment. The dress flowed around your knees as you twirled once before the mirror, the delicate floral pattern catching the morning light. You paired it with simple sandals and minimal jewelry, just some small dangly earrings and a necklace Luke had given you last Christmas. The familiar weight of the pendant against your collarbone was comforting, a tangible reminder of promises whispered across pillows and state lines. 

At precisely 10:57 AM, a knock sounded at your apartment door. Your heart somersaulted in your chest as you crossed the living room, taking one steadying breath before turning the handle. And there he was. Luke filled the doorframe, taller than you remembered somehow, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning light from the hallway windows. His curly hair was shorter than when you'd last seen him, the fresh cut accentuating the sharp angle of his jaw. But his eyes, those warm green eyes that crinkled at the corners, were exactly as you remembered, now widening slightly as they took you in.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. Two months of FaceTime calls and late-night texts crystallized into this single point of reconnection, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. "Hi," you breathed finally, the single syllable barely audible. 

Luke's face broke into that crooked smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Hi yourself, sunshine." And then the space between you disappeared as he stepped forward, one arm circling your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head.

The kiss was gentle at first, a reacquaintance, before deepening into something that spoke of lonely nights and patient waiting. When you finally pulled apart, you noticed the faint circles under his eyes that the phone camera had never quite captured. "You look tired," you murmured, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. 

"Worth it," he said simply, stealing another quick kiss before adding, "I've missed this face." 

You smiled against his lips. "Just my face?" 

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating where your bodies pressed together. "Among other things." His gaze dropped to your dress, appreciation evident in his expression. "You look beautiful." 

"Like I'd forget your not-so-subtle favorite," you teased, stepping back to give him a proper view with a small twirl. 

Luke caught your hand mid-spin, interlacing his fingers with yours. "Ready to go? I've got plans for us." 

"Is that why you wouldn't let me come over last night? Secret preparations?" The question was light, but curiosity still nagged. 

A flicker of something, hesitation perhaps, crossed his face before his smile returned. "Something like that. Come on, chariot awaits." 

His Ford Bronco sat in your apartment complex's parking lot, freshly washed by the looks of it. Luke opened the passenger door with an exaggerated bow that made you laugh before sliding into the driver's seat beside you. "So where are we—" 

"Nope," he interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. "No questions. Just trust me?" 

You settled back against the leather seat, watching his profile as he navigated through the Saturday afternoon traffic. The familiar contours of his face, the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio, the scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space, all of it felt like coming home after a long journey. 

Twenty minutes later, Luke turned onto a familiar tree-lined street, and your heart gave a little leap of recognition as Marigold's distinctive blue awning came into view. "You remembered," you said softly as he parked, eyes fixed on the cozy brunch spot where you'd had your first official date two years ago. 

Luke's expression softened. "Course I did." 

Inside, the hostess led you to a corner table by the window. The same table, you realized with a start, where you'd sat that first morning, nervous and trying not to show it. The restaurant hadn't changed much: still the same exposed brick walls covered in local artwork, still the hanging plants creating pockets of privacy between tables, still the mouthwatering smell of their famous lemon-ricotta pancakes permeating the air.

"I took a chance they'd have an opening," Luke admitted as you settled into your seats. "Called them last week from Jersey."

"You did?" His smile turned sheepish. 

"Yeah." He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "But brunch isn't the only surprise." 

From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, sliding it across the table toward you. Your breath caught in your throat as your fingers hovered over it. "Luke..." 

"It's not a ring," he clarified quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. With trembling fingers, you opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, its chain fine and shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. And there, dangling from the center, was a perfectly crafted silver lily, small but intricately detailed, your favorite flower. "Happy belated anniversary," Luke said softly, watching your face. "I know the flowers I sent weren't much—"

"They were perfect," you interrupted, remembering how the unexpected delivery had brightened your apartment on that otherwise ordinary Tuesday in March, your actual anniversary.

"But I wanted to give you something more permanent," he continued. "Something you could have with you even when I'm not." Tears pricked behind your eyes as you lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest. 

"It's beautiful." Luke took it gently from your hands, motioning for your wrist. 

As he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingered against your pulse point. "I had it custom made at a small shop in Grand Rapids. The jeweler thought I was crazy with how specific I was about the lily." 

You turned your wrist, watching the charm catch the light. "Thank you," you whispered, emotion making your voice thick. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, the simple declaration filling the space between you with everything that two months apart had left unsaid.

The words hung in the air between you, warm and familiar and heavier in person than through a phone screen. A comfortable silence settled as the waitress approached with steaming mugs of coffee, giving you both a moment to collect yourselves. 

"So," Luke said after taking a sip from his mug, "tell me everything I missed. And don't say 'nothing' because I know how that brain of yours works." 

You laughed, stirring cream into your coffee. "Well, Mia at work has been relentless with the teasing. You should have heard her last night when I kept checking my phone between orders."

"I hope you set her straight about how incredibly cool your boyfriend is," he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows. 

"Oh absolutely. I told them all about your exciting life of hotel rooms and ice baths." 

Luke clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me. What about the glamorous team plane rides? The thrilling post-game interviews where I say the same five phrases in different orders?"

The laughter that bubbled up from your chest felt like releasing a breath you'd been holding for two months. This, the easy banter, the way his eyes never left your face even as he reached for his water glass, this was what FaceTime couldn't replicate. 

Your orders arrived with impeccable timing: lemon-ricotta pancakes for you (just as you'd had on your first date) and the breakfast skillet loaded with everything for him. Luke immediately cut a piece of his pancake, raised an eyebrow in silent question, and you nodded, opening your mouth to accept the offered bite. "Still as good as you remember?" he asked, watching your reaction intently.

You closed your eyes briefly, savoring the perfect balance of savory and sweet. "Better."

The conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, filling each other in on the details that text messages couldn't capture. The way his new teammate Brett had adopted a stray cat that now terrorized him and his wife, how you started going on morning walks while listening to old funk albums, his ongoing battle with the dry cleaner that keeps giving him the wrong suits. 

As you shared the last bite of pancake, Luke checked his watch with what seemed like exaggerated casualness. "Got somewhere to be?" you teased, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Actually," he said, signaling for the check, "we do have somewhere to be. If you're up for another surprise."

"Another one? You're spoiling me, Hughes." 

His smile turned mischievous. "Day's just gettin' started, sunshine."

Back in the Bronco, Luke turned up the radio, your favorite station already programmed in, and headed toward the highway instead of back toward your apartment or the lake house. "Going to give me a hint?" you asked, watching the familiar landmarks of your town give way to the interstate.

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching over to lace his fingers through yours. "But you might want to grab your sunglasses from the glove compartment. It's supposed to be bright today."

A little over an hour later, your curiosity peaked as Luke guided the Bronco off the highway and followed signs toward Detroit. Your mind raced through possibilities. A museum? A concert? Shopping? Nothing felt quite right for the secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When he finally turned into a massive parking lot and you caught sight of the distinctive entrance sign, your jaw dropped. "The Detroit Zoo?" you exclaimed, straightening in your seat. "Luke, how did you—"

He parked the car, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Know that you've been wanting to come here? Particularly to see the new penguin exhibit that opened while I was gone?" He tapped his temple. "I pay attention."

"But I never mentioned—" You paused, realization dawning. "You stalked my Facebook."

"Maybe," he admits, reaching into the backseat for a small backpack you hadn't noticed before. "You shared it about a month ago, commenting about how you hadn't been to the zoo since you were a kid. I might have done some planning right then and there."

Warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him, tired after practice or a game, scrolling through his feed and filing away this small detail about you. Not just remembering it, but building it into today's reunion. "You never cease to amaze me," you said softly. 

Luke leaned across the center console, brushing his lips against yours. "That's the plan, sunshine. Keep you on your toes for the next sixty years or so." 

The zoo was bustling with weekend visitors, families with strollers and couples walking hand-in-hand beneath the canopy of spring trees. Luke purchased tickets at the entrance booth, waving away your offer to split the cost with a firm "Anniversary, remember?"

"Our anniversary was in March," you reminded him, accepting the map he handed you.

"Which makes this our belated celebration," he countered, pointing to a spot on the map. "Penguins first? Or do you want to wander and find them later?"

You studied the map, noting the penguin habitat was on the far side of the zoo. "Let's save them for later. Build up the anticipation."

The day unfolded like something from a dream, the kind where everything aligns just right. Luke kept his arm around your waist as you wandered from exhibit to exhibit, stopping to watch the tigers lounging in the sun and the otters tumbling playfully in their pool. He listened attentively as you shared random animal facts you'd accumulated over the years, never once making you feel self-conscious about your enthusiasm.

"Did you know giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans do?" you asked as you watched one gracefully bend to drink. "Just seven, but theirs are way longer."

"I did not know that," he said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tell me another one." 

By the time you reached the polar bears, the clouds had given way to the bright sun that glinted off the water in their enclosure. Luke guided you to a shaded bench nearby, unzipping the backpack to reveal two bottles of water and a container of sliced fruit. "You thought of everything," you marveled, gratefully accepting the water.

"Mom helped," he admitted, offering you a strawberry. "She packed this this morning while I was picking up your bracelet." You glanced down at your wrist, where the silver lily caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above. 

"So that's why you didn't want me coming over last night." 

A flicker of something, the same hesitation you'd noticed earlier, crossed his face before he nodded. "Had to keep the surprise intact." 

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Luke Warren, are you hiding something else from me?" 

He popped a grape into his mouth, taking his time chewing before answering. "What if I am?"

"Then I'd say you're being very mysterious for someone who usually can't keep a secret to save his life." You bumped your shoulder against his. "Remember when you tried to surprise me for my birthday last year and ended up telling me the plan three days early because you were too excited?" 

Luke laughed, the sound echoing in the open air. "That was different. This is... bigger." 

"Bigger than my birthday?" 

Instead of answering, he stood, offering his hand. "Come on, I think it's time we found those penguins." 

The Polk Penguin Conservation Center was everything the article had promised, a stunning 326,000-gallon aquatic habitat where deep-diving penguins swam with breathtaking speed past the glass viewing areas. You stood transfixed as they rocketed through the water, their bodies sleek bullets of black and white. "They look like they're flying underwater," you mumble, pressing a hand against the cool glass. 

Luke stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Worth the wait?" 

"Absolutely," you breathed as a particularly bold penguin swooped close to the glass before darting away in a flurry of bubbles. You could have stayed watching them for hours, but eventually the growing crowd prompted you to move along, making your way through the rest of the habitat. As you emerged back into the sunlight, Luke checked his phone, typing something quickly before pocketing it again. 

"Everything okay?" you asked. 

"Yes," he assured you, taking your hand again. "Just checking in with the parents. Dad wanted to know if we'll be back for dinner." 

"Will we?" 

Luke smiled, the secretive edge returning. "That depends on you, actually. But first, I have one more stop in mind." He led you along the winding paths until you reached the zoo's central garden, a beautiful space with flowering bushes and a small pond where koi fish swam lazily beneath lily pads. A musician was playing guitar on a nearby bench, the gentle melody floating through the air. Luke drops his backpack. "Dance with me?" Luke asked, extending his hand with a formal bow. 

You glanced around at the other zoo visitors, some watching the musician, others passing by on their way to the next exhibit. "Here? Now?" 

"Here. Now." His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Don't leave me hangin'." 

Placing your hand in his, you let him pull you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as you began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the guitar. The yellow fabric of your sundress fluttered around your knees, catching the afternoon breeze. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you held each other following the chords. 

"I used to imagine this," he murmured against your hair. "During away games. When I couldn't sleep in hotel rooms. I'd close my eyes and remember how it feels to hold you like this." 

Your throat tightened with emotion. "Me too. Except I'd wear your old Devils hoodie and pretend it still smelled like you." 

Luke pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression softening. "I'm sorry about last night. I should have just told you to come over. Would have saved us both a lonely night."

"It was worth it for all this," you assured him, gesturing to the beautiful garden around you. "Perfect day." 

"Not quite perfect yet," he said, something shifting in his tone. 

Before you could question him, he stepped back slightly, still holding your hands in his. The musician, you noticed with sudden clarity, had switched to a slower, more deliberate melody that sounded strangely familiar. Luke was lowering himself to one knee on the brick pathway, and the world around you seemed to freeze in place. 

"Luke," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

"I told you earlier that the bracelet wasn't a ring," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "But I never said there wasn't a ring." From his pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, different from the one that had held the bracelet, this one midnight blue instead of black. Around you, other zoo visitors had begun to notice, a small crowd forming at a respectful distance. 

"I had this whole speech planned," Luke continued, looking up at you with those eyes that had captivated you from the very first day. "About how these past two years have been the best of my life. About how even when we're apart, I feel connected to you in ways I can't explain. About how I want to build a life with you that's as beautiful and unexpected as finding you was in the first place." 

He opened the box to reveal a ring that caught the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across your dress—a solitaire diamond on a delicate band, simple yet stunning. 

"But standing here now, looking at you in that gorgeous dress with those eyes that see right through me, all I can think to say is this: I love you. More than hockey, more than anything. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you." His voice caught slightly. "I know we're both young, and we don't even live in the same state half the year, but none of that matters to me. When you know, you know. And I've known since that first summer that you're the one I want to build my life with. Will you marry me?" 

Time seemed suspended as you looked down at him: the boy who had become a man before your eyes, who sent you souvenirs from every state he traveled, who beat the Tetris levels you couldn't, who loved you more than you ever thought possible. "Yes," you whispered, then louder, "Yes, Luke. Of course, yes." 

His face broke into that brilliant smile you loved so much as he slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. The small crowd that had gathered broke into applause as he stood and pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off your feet in his enthusiasm. When he set you down, he pressed his lips against yours eagerly, rushed passion and genuine happiness flittering between mouths before allowing you to examine the ring, now sitting perfectly below the delicate lily bracelet on your wrist. "So this was the plan all along." 

Luke laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "Quinn and Jack were helping me set up. I had candles and flowers all over the lake house, planning to propose there. But I changed my mind last minute." 

"This was perfect." you said softly. Your lips form a pout, catching his lips delicately, before he pulls away.

"Everyone's waiting at the lake house. My parents, your parents, Quinn, Jack, they're all there for dinner. If you're up for it." 

You smiled, shaking your head in amazement. "You really did think of everything." 

"I had many months to plan," he reminded you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And now I have a lifetime of loving you to look forward to." 

As you walked hand-in-hand toward the zoo exit, the afternoon sun warm on your shoulders and the weight of the ring still new and thrilling on your finger, you couldn't help but think of how truly blessed you were. "Ready to go tell everyone?" Luke asked as you reached the parking lot, his Bronco waiting like a chariot to carry you to the next chapter. 

"Ready," you confirmed, squeezing his hand as the future unfurled before you, as bright and promising as the yellow dress you wore and the boy who loved you. 

The drive back to the lake house felt surreal. You kept stealing glances at your left hand, where the diamond caught the late afternoon light streaming through the windshield. Luke caught you looking for the third time and smiled, squeezing your knee gently. "Happy?" he asked, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," you admit. "That I'll be back in my apartment, and you'll still be in New Jersey, and this whole perfect day will have been a dream." 

Luke's hand moved from your knee to capture yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Not a dream, sunshine. Though I'm pretty sure I've dreamt about this exact moment more times than I can count." 

As the highway gave way to the familiar winding roads that led to the lake, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach. "So everyone already knows? That you were proposing today?" 

"Well, they knew the plan," Luke amended with a hint of mischief in his voice. "But they don't know your answer yet." 

"You weren't sure I'd say yes?" You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the smile from your face.

Luke's cheeks flushed slightly. "I was... cautiously optimistic." He turned onto the tree-lined private road that led to the property. "But Jack kept teasing me about having a backup plan. As if I could ever have a backup plan for you." 

The familiar house came into view, its large windows reflecting the golden afternoon light off the lake beyond. In the circular driveway sat your parents' familiar sedan, parked alongside another car and what you recognized as Jack's truck. Your heart performed a little somersault at the realization that they had all gathered here, waiting for this moment. Luke parked the Bronco and turned to face you fully. "Ready to get ambushed?" 

"As I'll ever be," you replied, leaning across the console to press a quick kiss to his lips. He caught you before you could pull away, deepening the kiss with a newfound urgency that made your head spin. 

When he finally broke away, his eyes were darker, more intense. "Just wanted one more moment where it's just us," he explained softly. 

Hand in hand, you approached the front door. You smoothed down your sundress with your free hand, suddenly acutely aware of the day's adventures in your slightly windblown hair and sun-kissed cheeks. The door swung open before Luke could even touch the handle, revealing Jack, his smirk eerily similar to Luke's own. 

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. "Look what the cat dragged in." His eyes dropped pointedly to where your hands remained intertwined, then to the ring now adorning your finger. His smile widened impossibly further. "Guess baby brother didn't chicken out after all." 

"Shut up, Jack," Luke said good-naturedly, shouldering past him into the house. The familiar scent of something pasta, rich with garlic and herbs, made your stomach growl despite the late brunch. 

"They're here!" Jack called out, unnecessarily loud given the fact that everyone was already gathered. 

There was a flurry of movement as people emerged from the kitchen and living room area. Your mother appeared first, her eyes immediately finding yours with a question in them that was answered by your beaming smile. Behind her came your father, trying and failing to look casual despite the slight redness around his eyes that suggested he might have been more emotional about this day than he was letting on. Ellen appeared next, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face lighting up as she took in the scene. Quinn followed, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, clearly in the middle of recording the moment. 

"Well?" Ellen prompted, looking between you and Luke with barely contained excitement. "Do we have news to celebrate?" 

Luke turned to you, his eyes soft with an unspoken invitation for you to share. The weight of everyone's gaze felt momentarily overwhelming until you lifted your left hand, the ring catching the light streaming through the windows. "We're engaged," you announced, your voice strong despite the emotion making your heart race. 

The room erupted in cheers. Your mother was the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled of her familiar perfume. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," she whispered against your hair, her voice thick with emotion. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of your father shaking Luke's hand before pulling him into a quick, firm hug. The sight of the two most important men in your life embracing sent a fresh wave of emotion through you. 

"Let me see, let me see!" Ellen exclaimed, gently extracting you from your mother's arms to examine the ring. "Oh, Luke, you did good. It's absolutely perfect." 

"Just like her," Luke said, the simple statement causing a fresh round of happy tears to spring to your eyes. Quinn approached next, phone now pocketed as he wrapped you in a bear hug that lifted you slightly off your feet. 

"Welcome to the family, officially," he said, setting you down with a grin. "Though we've considered you a Hughes since Luke first brought you home with those puppy dog eyes two years ago." 

"I did not have puppy dog eyes," Luke protested, though his expression as he watched you being welcomed by his family suggested otherwise. 

Jack slung an arm around Luke's shoulders. "You still have puppy dog eyes" He turned to you with a wink, teasing. "Life with no chance of parole for you, eh?" 

"Jack," Ellen chided, though her smile remained firmly in place. 

Your father cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He was not typically a man of many words, preferring to express himself through actions rather than speeches. But now he raised the glass of what appeared to be whiskey that Jim had just handed him. "To Luke and his impeccable taste," he began, his voice gruff with emotion. "And to my daughter, who has never looked happier than she does right now. May this be just the beginning of a lifetime of joy for you both." 

"Hear, hear," Jim echoed around the room as glasses were clinked together. Luke found his way back to your side, his arm sliding naturally around your waist as if it belonged there. Which, you supposed, it did. 

"Dinner's almost ready," Ellen announced. "The boys have been grilling all afternoon, and I've got about six side dishes that need final touches." She turned to you with a warm smile. "But first, I think these two need a moment to breathe. Why don't you two get some air?"

Luke shot his mother a grateful look before guiding you toward the back of the house. As you slipped out the sliding glass doors onto the expansive deck, you heard the animated chatter resume behind you—your mother already deep in conversation with Ellen, no doubt discussing wedding details you hadn't even begun to consider.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the lake, casting long golden reflections across the rippling surface. The wooden dock extended from the grassy backyard into the water, bobbing gently with the mild waves. It was your favorite spot at the lake house, where you and Luke had spent countless hours talking, swimming, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

"You okay?" Luke asked as you reached the end of the dock, both of you slipping off your shoes to dangle your feet in the cool water. "I know it's a lot all at once."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching a pair of ducks paddle by in the distance. "I'm really good," you assured him. "Just processing that this is real. That you're really here, and we're really engaged, and our families are inside already planning our wedding probably."

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where you were pressed against him. "Mom's had a Pinterest board for at least a year. I caught her looking at it over Christmas."

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious. Quinn ratted her out." He kissed the top of your head. "But we don't have to decide anything right away. We can take our time, do this however we want."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. The two of you sat on there, on the end of the dock, your head resting on his shoulder, for a few minutes, watching the sun setting along the water.

Soon enough, the sliding door opened, and Jack's voice carried across the yard. "Lovebirds! Mom says dinner's ready, and Dad's threatening to start without you!"

Luke stood first, offering you a hand up that you gladly accepted. Before you could head back toward the house, he tugged you gently into his arms, one hand cupping your cheek with impossible tenderness.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"For saying yes?" you teased lightly.

He shook his head, expression serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For making every homecoming feel like this. Like no matter where hockey takes me, I have something infinitely more valuable to come back to."

Your heart swelled as you rose onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. "Always," you promised.

The word hung between you, as golden and full of promise as the sunset beginning to paint the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. It was a promise neither of you made lightly, to be each other's constant in a world of variables, to be home for each other no matter the distance.

Hand in hand, you walked back toward the house where your families waited, the yellow sundress swishing around your knees and the evening breeze carrying the scent of grilled steak and the subtle promise of summer. The weight of the ring on your finger still felt new and thrilling, but the feeling that bloomed in your chest as Luke held the door open for you, that feeling was as familiar and essential as breathing.

Inside, the dining table had been set with Ellen's best dishes, bottles of champagne chilling in ice buckets at either end. As you took your seat beside Luke, surrounded by the people who had shaped both of your lives, the conversation and laughter flowing as naturally as the lake waters outside, you couldn't help but think that for all of Luke's careful planning and perfect surprises today, this moment of belonging, outside of his proposal, was the next best gift.

Jim raised his glass once everyone was seated, his expression uncharacteristically emotional. "To the future Mr. and Mrs. Hughes," he toasted, his voice steady despite the moisture gathering in his eyes. "May your love story continue to be written with the same beauty with which it began."

As glasses clinked and smiles were exchanged across the table, Luke's hand found yours beneath the tablecloth, his thumb brushing over the ring he'd placed there just hours ago, an unspoken reminder that this was just the beginning.

"I love you," Luke whispered for your ears alone.

You squeezed his hand in response, knowing that whatever the future held, whatever cities hockey might take him to, whatever challenges might arise, the foundation you'd built together over the past two years was strong enough to weather any storm.

"Love you, too," you echoed softly.

Dinner stretched languidly into the evening, multiple courses interspersed with stories and laughter that left your cheeks aching. Your father, usually reserved, had warmed up after his second glass of wine, regaling everyone with embarrassing childhood stories that made you hide your face in Luke's shoulder. Luke's arm had remained draped across the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder in a gesture so casually intimate it made your heart flutter even after two years together.

"Remember when she insisted on wearing her tutu to soccer practice?" your mother chimed in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "The coach didn't know what to do with her."

"In my defense," you protested, "I was five, and I thought tutus were appropriate for all athletic activities."

"Not much has changed," Luke teased, earning himself a playful jab to the ribs. "What? You still have strong opinions about athletic wear."

"Says the man who refuses to wear anything but black compression shorts under his gear for 'luck,'" Quinn interjected, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

The conversation flowed easily between hockey stories, childhood memories, and tentative wedding ideas that Ellen couldn't help but slip into the conversation. Jim had opened a second bottle of champagne somewhere between dessert and coffee, insisting that such an occasion warranted proper celebration.

As the clock on the mantel chimed ten, your father stifled a yawn. "I hate to be the one to break up the party," he said apologetically, "but some of us don't have the stamina of you young folks anymore. Early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah," your mother agreed, though her reluctance was evident in her voice. "It's a bit of a drive back."

Ellen nodded, beginning to gather some of the dessert plates. "We're gonna get going too, actually."

"You're leaving?" Luke asked, surprise evident in his voice as he looked between his parents.

Jim exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen before clearing his throat. "Thought we'd give you two some privacy to celebrate properly."

"We're out too," Quinn nods, already standing and shooting Luke a barely concealed wink. 

"That's right," Jack added, his expression all innocence despite the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to be a third and fourth wheel on your engagement night."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what they were doing, orchestrating an obvious exit to leave you and Luke alone in the lake house. Luke's arm tightened around your shoulders, his own face slightly flushed.

"You don't have to—" you began, but Ellen waved away your protest.

"Nonsense, sweetheart. You two deserve some time alone after being apart for so long. Besides," she added with a gentle smile, "It seems only right that you should have it to yourselves tonight."

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of hugs, promises to call tomorrow, and last-minute wedding suggestions that you nodded along to without fully processing. Your mother hugged you especially tight at the door.

"I always knew he was the one," she whispered against your ear. "From the first time you brought him home. The way he looked at you, like you were everything."

Emotion tightened your throat as you squeezed her back. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart." She pulled back, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "Enjoy your night, we'll talk details soon."

You and Luke stood on the porch, waving as both families piled into their respective cars. Quinn shot Luke a thumbs up from the passenger seat of Jack's truck, and Jack made a gesture that Luke quickly responded to with an obscene hand signal of his own, hidden from the parents' view.

"Brothers," Luke muttered, despite the smile playing on his lips

With final waves, both cars pulled away down the private road, headlights sweeping across the front of the house before disappearing around the bend. You stood in the doorway watching until the red taillights vanished around the bend, Luke's arm secure around your waist.

"Alone at last," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I think that's the fastest I've ever seen my family clear out of here."

You laughed, leaning into his embrace. "They weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Subtlety isn't really a Hughes family trait," he admitted with a grin, leading you back inside and closing the door behind you. "But I can't say I'm complaining."

The house felt different now. Quieter, more intimate, the spaces that had been filled with laughter and conversation now containing only the two of you. The dining room table still held the remnants of your celebration dinner, champagne glasses with lipstick marks and cake crumbs telling the story of the evening's festivities.

"Should we clean up?" you asked, though the thought of mundane chores seemed at odds with the electric anticipation humming beneath your skin.

Luke shook his head, taking your hand. "Tomorrow. I have something to show you first."

Curiosity piqued, you allowed him to lead you through the familiar path up the wooden staircase. When you reached the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall, he paused, turning to face you with an expression that mingled nervousness and excitement.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

You did as he asked, heart fluttering with anticipation. You heard the door creak open, felt Luke's hands gentle on your shoulders as he guided you forward into the room. The subtle scent of roses reached you before he spoke again.

"Okay. You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, a soft gasp escaped your lips. The room was transformed from the familiar space you remembered. Dozens of candles in various sizes were arranged across every surface, unlit but ready to cast their warm glow. Rose petals in deep crimson created a path from the doorway to the bed, where they were scattered across the navy comforter in a striking contrast. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal the panoramic view of the moonlit lake, silver light dancing across the gentle waves.

"Luke," you breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "When did you—"

"I had help," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Jack and Quinn set this up while we were at the Zoo. It was supposed to be part of my original proposal plan, but...ya know." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still wanted the night to be special."

You crossed to him, rising on tiptoes to cup his face in your hands. "It's perfect," you whispered, emotion making your voice catch. "All of it."

With careful movements, he pulled away, and reached for the bedside table, retrieving a lighter to begin illuminating the candles. One by one, small flames sprang to life around the room, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that made the rose petals seem to shimmer. When the last candle was lit, Luke dimmed the overhead light, leaving only the dancing flames and moonlight to illuminate the space.

"There," he said, turning back to you with such tenderness in his eyes it made your breath catch. "Now it's perfect."

You moved toward him, drawn like a magnet to his warmth, his solidity, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the fresh rose petals and lake air drifting through the partially open window.

"I missed you." you whispered, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Two months is too long."

Luke caught your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll quit the NHL," he murmured against your skin, "just wanna be with you."

"Oh wow," Your eyes widened with amusement. "I think Devils fans would kill me."

"We can go off the grid." A teasing smile on his lips as he drew you closer. "Survive off of my ELC money."

Your fingers traced the neckline of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric as you threw your head back with a laugh. "Whatever would we do with all that time alone?" you asked, your voice deliberately innocent despite the heat building between you.

Luke's eyes darkened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, drawing you impossibly closer. "I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach flip. "Starting with properly celebrating our engagement."

You can find the 18+ extended cut of this fic, (5k+ words of smut), on my Patreon, or via the direct link: HERE

[wlwloverwrites]

You’re trapped in an elevator with Robby and Jack… what do you do to pass the time? 😏

warnings: she/her pronouns, lots of eye contact, fingering, dry humping, smut 18+

read on ao3

no pressure tags: @superhoeva @ovaryacted @ohcaptains

“pretty sure i had a dream about this.”

“you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?” robby asks with a raised brow.

your mouth opens to respond to his question, to reassure him it wasn’t a nightmare, but memories flood your mind.

flashes of being wedged between them, two pairs of hands touching your body, while whispering filthy things in your ear make your blood run hot - far too hot for this small elevator.

definitely not a nightmare.

your silence grabs abbott’s attention, and his eyes immediately look for yours.

it’s easy for him to read the signs. easy for him to catch the way your chest rises a bit faster, notice how your thighs flex to relieve some of the heat thats growing between your legs.

so it’s effortless to make the same realization you do.

“robby, i don’t think it was a nightmare,” his head tilts at you.

the smirk on his face is enough to make robby connect the dots, in a matter of seconds, he seeks for your confirmation. the sheepish look on your face has him mirroring abbott’s smirk.

“which one of us was it?”

the elevator is stuck in its place, showing no sign of taking you to main floor, no sign of escape. instead you’re trapped. heat creeps up your body and the urge to hide from their gaze grows stronger with every passing second.

“come on, you can be honest, you won’t hurt our feelings.”

“dr. robby-“

“i’m off the clock, you can call me michael,” he nods crossing his arms over his chest - his biceps bulge under his black scrubs, no longer hidden under his zip up sweater.

“dr. abbott-“

the stern look on his face is enough to make you correct yourself.

“jack,” you look over to your second attending standing in front of you, “michael, i don’t think it would be appropriate-”

“it’s a simple question, no harm in answering,” jack whispers in your ear, his lips brush against your ear and a chill runs down your spine.

shivering at his words you move to step back, but you’re met with a firm chest. michael’s hands fall to your waist, keeping you from moving.

“it was both of you.”

a look is shared between the men and you’re quick to regret your words. you make a move to reach for the emergency button, but a pair of hands grip your hips and pull you in.

your ass is flushed against your attending’s groin and your hand that was reaching for the button is on jack’s chest.

“hey jack?” robby hums behind you.

“what is it, brother?”

“think it’s time to make some dreams come true.”

jack takes a step closer, closing the gap between you. the hand on his chest creeps up to his neck, pulling him into a kiss. it starts off sweet, innocent almost.

a sound seeps out from the back of your throat, and you nod your head at jack who looks at you for approval.

your whine is all robby needs before his hands fall from your waist and down to your ass, squeezing your flesh with desperation.

jack’s lips ghost over yours, barely kissing yours, until his hand caresses your cheek. his thumb traces your bottom lip, trapping it in his hold then letting it bounce back into place.

“look at me.”

his nose bumps yours, his mouth is open just enough to seem to inviting. his thumb guides you look at him and when you do, you’re scared to break eye contact.

luckily he breaks it, leaning to give you a real kiss. the kiss is messy, he’s licking into your mouth, desperate for a taste. sounds of your wet kiss the fill the elevator, but are interrupted by a deep groan behind you.

“jack,” robby scolds, “ you need to learn how to share.”

his words are the only warning you get when a firm hand finds your chin pulling you away from jack’s lips. before you can dwell on the loss, robby’s lips are on yours. his beard tickles, scratching at your skin when he moans into your mouth.

the stretch in your neck hurts, but robby makes up for it. he’s sweeter. he takes his time kissing you, trying to memorizes the feel of your mouth.

just teasing your bottom lip with his tongue making you push back against his chubbing cock.

“please.”

you feel dizzy. it’s hard to keep track of the hands on you.

a hand on your tit, squeezing harshly. another on your ass, giving it the same treatment as your tits. a third slipping past the elastic of your scrubs, and the fourth makes sure you can’t pull away from robby’s kiss.

the lace trim of your panties only fuel the hand slipping between your legs. the thin, soaked-through material does little to mask the fingers that expertly find your clit.

“fuckin hell, she’s soaked.”

robby pulls away only to let a chuckle tickle your ear, “you that wet, sweetheart?”

your eyes peel open to find your attending staring down at you, his lips curl with a soft smile. you nod, moving your hips to catch that hand that hooks your panties to the side.

before you can beg again, jack’s fingers prods at your entrance. using your wetness to ease the stretch, it isn’t long until your hole squeezes around him with a noisy squelch.

“fuckkk, you weren’t lying, i can hear her.”

your eyes fell shut a long time ago, so you blindly look for robby’s lips. a soft, almost nonexistent slap on your cheek brings your attention back to robby.

“you ok?” his words are soft and teasing.

“mhmm...”

his hands slip under your top, tugging the cups of your bra down - not carrying about the worn down material. you let out a whine when he rolls your hardening nipples between his fingers.

at the same time, jack, curls his fingers hitting that spot inside you that has your knees buckling. robby is quick to catch you with a chuckle.

“come on brother, think she needs more to get there.”

your head spins when you feel robby’s hand join jack’s. if the angle is awkward neither of them make a sound to complain, instead they coordinate their movements perfectly.

jack’s fingers curl inside you filling the elevator with your lewd sounds, all while michael rubs at your throbbing clit.

“fuck.”

robby has no problem teasing your clit, chuckling at how sticky you are. you can’t even process his words, too busy whining their names. they watch as your thighs begin to shake at their calculated movements.

“‘m gonna come.”

jack makes a noise that has your head falling back to rest on robby’s shoulder.

“look at me.”

the order flies over your head. too dizzy to follow through with the vet’s commands. it’s too much.

luckily, robby helps you. the hand tugging at your nipples, rises to your hand. squeeze your jaw with a firm grip, he forces you to face jack’s piercing gaze.

when your eyes finally meet, jack smiles at you, “doing so good for us, you’re so fuckin wet.”

incapable of responding you cry out when jack adds a third finger. you hands flies to hold jack’s forearm, digging your nails into his arm, silent plead to slow down and keep going. your walls clench uncontrollably around jack’s unapologetic fingers and the wet squelch lets them know you’re close, so they double their efforts.

pushing back to escape jack’s thrusts you’re met with a deep groan behind, “gonna make me come in my pants like a fuckin teenager.”

robby’s words suddenly make you hyper aware of his throbbing cock, straining in his scrubs. with an awkward bent in his knees, robby grinds his cock on your ass.

“so big,” you slur the praise, angling your head so you can meet his hungry lips once more.

trying your best to match robby’s rhythm, your hand reaches back for robby, tangling your fingers in his hair. gasping away from his kiss, your tongue licks into his mouth.

“fuuuck, you guys are so fuckin’ hot.”

whining into robby’s mouth, the hand that held onto jack’s forearm blindly reaches for his neck. without breaking the kiss, you pull jack closer.

it’s messy.

three noses bumping into each other, three tongues fighting for dominance, three pairs of lips smashing together.

spit - you’re not sure who’s - shines on your chin. robby rocks against your ass, pushing you even closer. a combination of your moans fill the elevator and your vision goes blurry. you pull away, but their lips find their new home on your neck.

“i’m coming.”

your body seizes, muscles tensing in their hold. with a silence moan, you lean into robby’s relentless strokes, you drip onto jack’s hand.

“that’s it…” jack praises, easing his fingers out of you.

finding his gaze you watch as his fingers disappear in his mouth, cleaning off his glistening fingers.

what a sight.

robby seems to agree because just a few seconds later, he’s groaning into your neck. the lazy open-mouthed kisses on your jaw cease while his body slumps onto yours, using your body to ride out his orgasm.

it takes a few minutes for you and robby to settle down, panting loudly in the small metal box. with heavy eyes you find jack’s smug ones that look down.

your eyes follow and land on his hard cock straining against the black material of his scrubs. bitting your bottom lip, your eyes jump back to his.

“how much longer do you think we’ll be stuck in here?”

instead of answering, you fall to your knees, scared to waste a single second.

[steveseddie]

your hands up in my hair

written for the @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event & the round one main card | prompts: intimate & bandana | rating: g | wc: 802 | tags: set during season 4, missing scene, pre-relationship, flirting

read on ao3

When Eddie’s hair falls over his face for the hundredth time, he lets out a string of curses and brushes it back with so much force it tugs painfully on his scalp.

Only for his hair to immediately fall over his face again.

It’s not the hair that’s really bothering Eddie, even if it certainly doesn’t help that it keeps getting in the way while he tries to finish his shield. It’s just that as soon as Henderson went inside the RV with the other kids, everything that has happened in the last few days finally started catching up with him and it’s all just so much that Eddie’s hair might be the thing that’s gonna drive him straight into insanity.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He groans loudly when a curl tickles his cheek. He aggressively bats it away.

“You should tie it back.”

Eddie’s head snaps up to find Steve standing over him in his new War Zone clothes. He didn’t even notice when he approached– probably because his fucking hair was in the way.

“What?”

“Your hair. You should tie it back,” Steve says, gesturing at Eddie’s head. “Since it keeps falling over your face.”

Eddie quirks his eyebrow. “Have you been staring at me, Harrington?” He asks bemusedly.

Steve shrugs like it’s not a big deal but his cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink. “I’ve been keeping an eye on everyone. Last thing I want is another of my friends getting attacked by Vecna.”

“Friend, huh?” Eddie can’t help but tease, even if his heart jumps a little from Steve calling him that.

“Unfortunately, Munson.” He rolls his eyes but his cheeks turn even pinker. “So are you gonna listen to me?”

Eddie’s nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, man, hair ties always end up tangled in my hair and it hurts like a bitch to get them off.”

He thinks that Steve is going to drop it and go back to building his Molotov bombs but instead he narrows his eyes at Eddie, studying him in silence until–

“Can I try something?”

Warily, Eddie says, “You’re not gonna chop it off, are you?”

Steve lets out a snort. “No, man, I like it like this,” he says casually, and before Eddie can do more than squeak, he tells him to– “Stand up.” When Eddie sets the shield aside and pushes himself to his feet, Steve holds out his hand. “Give me your bandana.”

“Uh, why?” Eddie asks with narrowed eyes instead of reaching into his back pocket for it.

Steve huffs in annoyance– and reaches for it himself.

“Woah, Harrington!” Eddie screeches, trying to push Steve away. “If you want to feel me up, at least ask me to dinner first!” He protests but Steve is faster and when he draws his hand back, he’s holding Eddie’s bandana and there’s a smug smile on his face.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s cheeks are firetruck red because that was his ass that Steve’s hand just brushed against.

“Come here,” he tells Eddie.

“Why? So you can cop another feel?” He huffs. It’s not that he would mind, he’d just prefer a heads up, that’s all.

“Eddie,” Steve says dryly, and with a sigh, Eddie steps closer so they’re standing toe to toe. “Stay still,” he instructs before he brings his hands up and puts them in Eddie’s hair.

Eddie holds his breath the entire time. Steve’s face is so close to him, his tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration, his fingers careful and gentle as he grabs Eddie’s curls so he can style them like he wants. The whole thing is just so intimate and Eddie’s stomach can’t seem to stop flip flopping around.

Finally, Steve steps back, his hands falling to his sides. “There you go.”

Eddie pats his head, shakes it a bit but no hair falls over his face this time, held back by the bandana that Steve tied behind his head. “Oh. Yeah, that’s better,” he says with a low chuckle. “How do I look?”

Steve eyes him up and down. “Like you're ready to kick Vecna’s ass.”

Eddie laughs. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Sure, man,” he says, and it seems like he’ll leave it at that, but then something flashes across his face and– “You should wear it like that more often.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “Y–yeah?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Steve says, bringing his hand up and twirling a lock of hair around his finger. “You look hot.”

With a wink and nothing else, Steve whirls around and jogs towards the RV while Eddie stands there and gapes like a fish.

He was wrong. It won’t be his hair what drives him to insanity, it won’t even be the monsters or the Upside Down.

It’ll be Steve fucking Harrington flirting with him.

[orellazalonia]

Obsessive Love

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes fall into a quiet but intense obsession with each other. While your love is sweet, watchful, and clingy beneath a gentle surface, Bucky’s affection turns darker and more possessive. The love you two share was not born out of malice, rather need, devotion, and a love that tightens like a noose. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark reader. Yandere themes. Implied stalking/watching immensely.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: This was so fun to write. It has a second part to it too. I might post it tomorrow. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist | Devoted Possession (Part 2.)

It was never supposed to happen like this.

You never expected to be in the situation you were in now; curled in the arms of Bucky Barnes, eyes barely open as you lay against him. The warmth of his body acts as a shield from the world. At first, you were just part of the team because it was just a job. Just a mission, something you’d done countless times before, working alongside the Avengers to take down the bad guys. But then came Bucky.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle, like the slow spread of a virus, but by the time you realized what had changed, it was already too late.

The beginning was almost innocent. Almost.

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you had no idea that he would become the center of your world. At first, he was just another soldier, another teammate. A broken man struggling to piece himself back together. But there was something about him that intrigued you, something hidden behind the dark intensity of his gaze that drew you in like a magnet.

You didn’t mean to get so close. You honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did.

Because Bucky was different. He wasn’t like the others. His scars, both physical and mental, made him stand out in a way you couldn’t ignore. He didn’t pretend to be perfect. And you didn’t want him to be. The cracks in him made him… real. He wasn’t like the men from your past who had lied, manipulated, and betrayed. He wore his flaws like armor. And, for you, that was everything.

You started off by offering quiet companionship. A kind word here, a soft smile there. You knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who trusted easily. He had been through too much. So, you didn’t force it. You just… waited. Watched him from afar, letting your presence be a steady, comforting thing in the chaos that surrounded him.

It didn’t take long before Bucky began to notice you. It wasn’t obvious though at first. He would give you a nod here and there, maybe a short, clipped sentence when the mission was over. But it was enough. It was enough to make your heart race every time he glanced in your direction, to make you feel like he saw you. Really saw you.

And then, one day, it happened.

You were on a mission together, as usual, when the two of you got separated from the rest of the team. It was a small thing, just a few minutes of being alone in a quiet corner of a dark building, but it was enough for something to shift. Bucky looked at you in a way he hadn’t before. No longer as a teammate, not as someone to protect or be protected by, but as something else entirely. Something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your bones.

It was there, in the silence, that you took your first step.

You smiled at him. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

He blinked, but then something softened in his eyes. He looked away briefly, like he was trying to hide his vulnerability. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you knew better. You could always tell when someone wasn’t being honest, and Bucky… Bucky was never truly fine. You could see the cracks in his composure. It made you want to protect him. To shield him from whatever haunted him, even if that meant making sure no one else could ever touch him.

It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t some dark desire to hurt others. But it was a need. A need to care for him. To love him in a way that no one else could. To make sure he was only ever yours.

The thought was almost comforting, becoming something you would rely on and remind yourself of often. The world was big, but when you were with Bucky, it felt so small. Just the two of you. No one else mattered.

Your affection grew slowly, like a seed planted in the quiet moments. You would find yourself lingering near him, watching him without his knowledge, memorizing the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard, the way he would instinctively hold things with his normal arm instead of his metal arm and you, being ever so observant, saw the way he flinched when someone made a joke about the metal appendage. You wanted to shield him from those moments. You wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he could rely on, even if you two just sat in silence.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t need to be loud about your affection. You didn’t need to be overt. You were like a shadow, always there, always watching. Just enough to make sure he never strayed too far from you. To ensure that no one else could have him, not when you were so willing to give him everything. Your love was sweet, soft even. But beneath it was something darker, something that always kept a careful eye on the world around you. You’d smile at others, be polite, make them feel comfortable. But you were always watching. Always waiting.

But you weren’t the only one watching. Bucky noticed you, just as keenly. He wasn’t blind to the way you lingered around him, the way your eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to keep track of his moods as if you could anticipate them before they even formed.

But it didn’t scare him. No, it intrigued him. Because, as much as Bucky was a soldier with a dark past, he craved that connection. He craved someone who saw him, who understood him without him needing to explain.

Bucky’s obsession was different. It wasn’t that he was unaware of his feelings, but they were more visceral. More possessive. The way he looked at you when someone spoke to you for too long, the way his hand would always drift to your back when others tried to get too close. He was marking his territory. He didn’t just want you. He needed you.

And when he needed something, it wasn’t just for a moment. It was forever.

Therefore, one day when it was late in the night with a mission recently finished and the team dispersed to their own things, you weren’t ready to go back to your room. Not yet.

The hallway was empty, lit only by the dim flickering of old lights above. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky following you, your footsteps echoing softly on the cold concrete floor. It was a rare sight to see someone as observant as you being lost in thought. Your mind was still running through everything: the mission, the battle, the faces of the enemies you’d taken down. It was all so mechanical, so numb.

But then, you finally noticed it. The sound of boots on the floor, slow but deliberate, the familiar thump-thump-thump that you’d come to associate with him.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice was low, soft, but the underlying tension was palpable. As always, he’d been the one to watch you, the one who noticed when you slipped into yourself, when you started retreating into that space where everything felt too overwhelming.

You didn't respond at first. Your chest tightened and your thoughts were spinning. You desperately wanted to reply, use this moment to talk to him. But you couldn’t, not now. Instead, you kept walking, your shoes tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm. You didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to let him see the cracks forming inside of you. But you knew he wouldn’t let you get away that easily. He never did.

He caught up with you, walking just behind you now, close enough that you were sure he’d run into you if you stopped. The air between you thickened with each step. Then, without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

The sudden contact startled you. You whipped around, meeting his gaze to see those piercing blue eyes, full of questions, full of something more.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching you, his grip on your wrist not letting go, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he loosened it. And maybe he was right.

“You’re not okay,” He said finally, his voice quiet but intense. “I can see it. You’re not okay, and you keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to let him in. So you looked away, your eyes drifting toward the floor.

But he didn’t let you turn from him. Instead, his other hand found its way to your cheek, lifting your face up to meet his. His touch was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure if you’d pull away.

But you didn’t.

It was that moment. That moment where everything changed.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze: something raw, something darker than you’d ever seen. It made your heart race and made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat matching your own. And in that space, it was like time slowed down. Everything faded away, and there was only him. Only Bucky.

And before you could even register what was happening, he closed the distance between you.

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your hands finding his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, frantic. As if you both needed it. Needed the connection and the reassurance that you weren’t alone in this twisted, broken world. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your grip on him tightened, pulling him closer, deeper, until you could feel the thudding of his heart against your chest.

You both stopped thinking. There was no time for reason, no room for hesitation. There was just the moment. The kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, your face flushed, and your heart raced as though you’d been running for miles. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, and he was breathing just as heavily as you were. His hand cupped your face, gently this time, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bucky murmured, his voice rough, as though it hurt to hold back for so long.

You blinked, your pulse still racing. “Me too,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough.

In that moment, everything made sense. All the confusion, the loneliness, the emptiness you’d both been carrying for so long, it was gone. In its place was something else. Something new. Something unspoken. And you realized then, with chilling clarity, that there was no going back.

You didn’t care about the Avengers anymore. You didn’t care about the missions, the enemies, nor the people you were supposed to protect. The only thing that mattered was Bucky. And now, him and you were tangled so deeply that there was no way out. No way back to who you used to be.

And that’s how it happened. Slowly. Quietly. You became his obsession and he became yours.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 7

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, freely invented historical gossip, major angst alert & a bit of fluff

Word Count: 10.5k

Posted on Patreon April 11, 2025

A/N: Three angsty converstions in this one, three women, and one very upset Ben! Plus, a deep dive into Mrs. Brooks! If ya can't tell by the word count again, I clearly loved writing this part 😂🫶 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

It had been an agonizing hour of pacing, second-guessing, and questioning everything that had led you here – to this strange, impossible life you had stumbled into.

A huge fucking pile of steaming hot shit, basically.

You hadn’t been able to sit still since Ben’s parents returned, your thoughts racing in a thousand different directions. Each time your footsteps neared the door of the guest bedroom, they became anxiously quiet and soft, however, not wanting to alert anyone to your presence. Every moment in this mansion felt like a misstep, a mistake you couldn’t undo.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter.

You should’ve left a long time ago, but you had gotten too comfortable here – too cozy and snuggly with Ben, like he was your goddamn security blanket. But you cared about him and cared about what would happen to him, so the last thing you wanted at this point was to cause any more trouble for him, especially with his father.

So, you decided to leave.

You started throwing a few outfits from your closet onto the bed, only wanting to take the most necessary items before realizing you didn’t even own a bag big enough to stuff it in. But you had your magical remote control back, so your plan was to hit pause on the whole fucking mansion, grab a suitcase from somewhere, sneak out, and maybe rob a bank for some pocket change on your way out of dodge.

Yup, good plan.

But what about Ben? Were you leaving him behind, too?

Realistically, you knew it was the smartest choice. As wonderful, otherworldly, and addicting as that newfound, blooming feeling in your heart was, you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere but into turmoil. This relationship didn’t have a future.

Period.

Either you’d lie to him for the rest of both your lives – however long that would be – or you’d hurt him. There was no other option.

Could you tell him? Could he handle the truth? Vought didn’t even exist yet. Right now, the Nazis were working on Compound V. To Ben, people gaining superpowers would be an alien concept.

‘Hey, uh, by the way, I have superpowers that let me control time, and I’m also from the future, and we don’t actually like each other there. And oh, yeah, you’re still alive in 2023 because some crazy Nazi geneticist will inject you with this serum that turns you into an invincible asshole.’

Nope, you couldn’t imagine that conversation going over well. He’d be either incredibly mad or not believe you at all. Then what?

Fuck.

With fingers trembling, you moved toward the window, glancing out at the muddy street, knowing the path to your escape lay beyond the mansion’s high gates. You were in a mess of your own making – a mess that had to end before you caused any more disruptions. His father was back, and that in itself was a disaster waiting to happen.

It had all been doomed from the start.

But then, just as you were about to gather your courage to finally get the fuck out of here, a knock at the door startled you from your thoughts and broke the tension in the air. Cautiously, you approached it, hand hovering on the knob as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

However, as you twisted it and opened the door a crack, your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you spied your visitor. It wasn’t Ben, his father, or even his mother.

“Dottie?” Your brow furrowed in confusion before you noticed the silver tray with a plate of food and a cup of tea in her hands.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said as she stood in the doorway, her expression one of tentative curiosity. You quickly wiped your palms against your skirt, standing a little straighter as she entered and set the tray down on your nightstand.

“Did Florence or Frances send you?” you asked warily. You knew you weren’t her favorite person, but she shook her head.

“No, just figured you were hungry since you’re missing dinner. I didn’t think Florence wants you starving up here,” she replied, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sigh. “You dodged a bullet there, by the way. Family dinner is a bit… tense tonight. Lots of awkward silences and judgmental glares. Not that it’s something new per se…”

You were close to a migraine the way you strained your brow, blinking at the young maid in bemusement and shaking your head. “Thank you, uhm… I honestly didn’t think you cared about me… or even liked me,” you noted with an uncertain smile.

Dottie eyed you with a hint of mischief and approval in her gaze, a secretive smirk playing on her lips. “You’re not like the other girls who have come and gone through here. They fall over themselves trying to impress Ben, you know? But you don’t play that game. It’s… refreshing. You’ve got some fire in you. I respect that.”

“Fire?” You cocked an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed to nibble on your food. You were almost too nervous to eat with your ever-knotted stomach.

Dottie gifted you a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard how you talk to him. I also overheard what you said that night about me at dinner. You stood up for me. Just wanted to repay the favor.”

Your lips hiked a smile. “You’re welcome. And thank you… again.”

Your head bobbed, your fingers playing with a piece of bread roll. You were unsure if you should be flattered you were considered special or uncomfortable with the apparently long list of girls that had waltzed through this house.

Dottie seemed to notice your unease and plopped down on the mattress next to you. “Anyway, I thought you might need someone to talk to. We all like you, you know? The whole house. Especially George. He thinks you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met. You’re different.” She shrugged and sent you another encouraging smile.

Cheeks blushing, you swallowed thickly and met her gaze. “So, things are tense downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah. The old man is furious because Grace’s father called him in upset, saying his daughter had been crying all night because of what Benjamin did to her,” Dottie told you and rolled her eyes back, scoffing. “All fake, of course. Charlotte, the maid of the Du Pont’s, said she was completely fine and consoling herself with one of the Kennedy boys when they were visiting in Cape Cod.”

“Whoa, hold on…” You vividly shook your spinning head and held up a hand, blinking at Dottie’s waterfall of information. “Du Pont? As in the chemical industry empire?”

“That’s the one,” Dottie sang in bitter nonchalance, a bit of judgment swinging in her voice. She clearly wasn’t a fan of the people she worked for – the elite families that not only excluded people like her and you but also disregarded you as human beings altogether.

“And you guys talk among each other? I mean, the staff?”

Dottie snorted a laugh, heavily nodding. “Yes, we gossip a lot. These people always think they’re better than us, but they got more shit on them than you can find in a pigsty.”

You weren’t as shocked by the revelation as you probably should’ve been. In this house, the gossip was as much a part of the walls as the portraits and velvet curtains.

“And Grace got with a Kennedy?” you asked, not resisting the curiosity bubbling inside of you and seeing Dottie nod. “Which one?”

“I think it was the oldest – Jack,” she replied.

You gaped at her. “John F. Kennedy?!”

Dottie giggled at your reaction. “Yes, I believe so. Do you know him, too?”

Innocently, you pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, no, not all. Just heard of him, you know?”

Jesus fuck, Kennedy might have gotten around as much as Soldier Boy. And if those rumors of The Legend were true, did Soldier Boy kill the future president for personal reasons?

Now you understood why the Kennedy assassination had attracted so many conspiracy theories. Well, you could check, theoretically, and see for yourself…

Nope. Don’t open that Pandora’s box!

“Look,” Dottie said after a pause, chewing softly on her lower lip in thought, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold toward you. It’s not personal. I just don’t like the way Ben’s been acting recently. It’s... complicated.”

Your brows drew together as you watched the young woman next to you. “Complicated?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t know the half of it. You’re not the only one who feels out of place here, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dottie leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “Ben’s a good guy, but he’s got a bit of a soft spot for… the wrong things. Florence talks about him like he’s still that little boy who needs his daddy’s approval. I know how it happened, you know – how he ended up with Grace? It wasn’t his idea. It was his father’s. And you know what? Grace wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant in that either. She begged her father to arrange the engagement.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You’d known about Grace, but you’d never heard the full story. “She begged?”

Dottie’s lips twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “Yeah, she begged,” she confirmed, hazel eyes glinting with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “She thought she could change his mind, get him to fall for her. They had a fling, sure, but she knew Ben didn’t want her like that. They had a big argument about it a few days before. She stormed off, screaming he’d regret it.”

The weight of Dottie’s words pressed down on you, but before you could respond, she carried on.

“His father then announced the engagement at one of his parties here before even telling Ben about it. I mean, he didn’t even ask,” Dottie shared in exasperation. “Ben couldn’t stand it, so he rebelled in the only way he knew how. He found me, we got drunk and pissed off and then ended up in a closet together,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone flat and almost casual, but you could hear the bitter undertones of a scorned woman. “Ben had always been nice to me, you know? We’d gotten along, so when he came to me that night, I thought it was different. But he started ignoring me after. Couldn’t look at me – like I didn’t even exist... So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a little mad at him.”

You hesitated, studying Dottie’s face, looking for any hint of malice. But there was none – just brutal honesty. And you knew what this was by now. Just like Florence on your first day here, Dottie was warning you before you stepped off the ledge and fell.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dottie said when you still sat in silence, “I’m not trying to paint him as a bad guy. I’m telling you because I care, alright? I just think you should know what’s going on around here. Ben’s got his demons, and his family is a nightmare. He can’t escape what his father’s set up for him. He’s got a leash on Ben, and the pressure’s never going to let up.”

Her words cut through the haze of your thoughts like a sharp blade. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. You’d seen bits of that pressure already.

“No, I get it. I appreciate it, Dottie. Thank you,” you said softly. “But Ben’s not like his father. At least, he doesn’t have to be.”

Dottie shrugged, as if the truth was somewhere in between. “Maybe. But Mr. Brooks got a tight grip on him. The kind of grip that can make anyone do things they don’t want to. Even Ben.”

A pang of sympathy reminded you of Florence’s story once more – and all the other cruel acts you’d witnessed in your dreams. Were you blind or just foolish for believing he could change the path he was on?

“Ben’s not as immune to his father as he pretends to be. He’s not as strong as he thinks. Don’t get it twisted. His father’s got his claws in him,” Dottie emphasized. “You’re not the first distraction Ben’s found. Just-… be careful, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting into, but if you’re going to be a part of it–,” she paused, her eyes flicking back to your scattered clothes all over the bed, “–you better be sure about it.”

“Thank you, Dottie.” You nodded with a heavy lump in your throat.

She gently clasped your hand on the bed in a comforting manner and then sent you a kind smile, pulling out a deck of cards from the pockets of her apron. “How about we distract you for a little while, huh? You know how to play Gin Rummy?”

Your lips rose to a smile. “I haven’t played before, but I’m willing to learn.”

Dottie giggled, shuffling the cards in her hands. “Alright, how about I teach you the rules if you tell me about college?”

“Deal.” You grinned.

The clock read past midnight, the only sound coming from the shuffle of cards and the occasional giggles and whispered stories between you and Dottie. The minutes stretched on as you tried to forget what was happening downstairs, Dottie’s words of warning still running on a loop through your mind.

It couldn’t be a good sign that two people in this house have warned you now, could it? Shouldn’t you listen at some point?

An abrupt knock at the door ripped the two of you from your game and disrupted the fragile peace, Dottie’s eyes widening in panic. You both knew who it was.

“Shit,” Dottie muttered and hurried to gather the cards from the bed, stuffing them back into her apron. She hid in a blind corner of the room as you moved to answer the door, not opening it more than a crack.

“Hey,” you said softly and feigned an innocent smile as you met Ben’s gaze, noticing immediately he wasn’t alright. His usually shining emerald eyes carried a glaze, his smile turning lopsided as he took you in with a leer, but the distinct smell of whiskey that clung to him like a second skin was the dead giveaway.

“You’re still awake. I was hoping you’d be. Came to check up on you, sweetheart.” He smirked with shaky pupils.

Before you could stop him, he stumbled forward into the room on unsteady legs and fell straight into your arms. His large hands found purchase on your hips, dragging you closer against his body. He captured your lips, eager, hungry, and with a sloppiness that told you he had a few glasses too many.

You were close to pushing him away, hands already softly pressing against his chest before noticing Dottie trying to sneak past him, so you deepened the kiss instead, your arms winding around his neck, causing a groan to rumble through him. But on her last step, the door creaked on its hinges, and Dottie froze as Ben’s head snapped up.

Glassy eyes wide, he warily turned to the young maid, brow wrinkling into more creases than a crumpled letter. “Dottie? The fuck are you doing here?”

You placed your hand on his arm, forcing him to look at you and ground him at the same time. “She-, uh, she brought me dinner. Florence sent her. She didn’t want me to starve. You know how she gets about food,” you deflected with a giggle.

“Right.” Ben nodded, eyes flickering back and forth between Dottie and you.

“And you know, I guess I got a little nervous, so she’s been keeping me company. We’ve been playing cards,” you added with a reassuring smile, already anticipating his next question as you watched the cogs in his head turn.

“Oh.” Ben licked his lips for a moment and then looked at Dottie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dottie said, sending you a quick look of gratefulness.

“And, uhm, Dottie?” Upon Ben’s call, Dottie halted in the doorway, shoulders tense on her way to freedom. “I’m sorry…” he said, surprising you both as you shared a raised look with the maid. “About what-, uhm… what happened, you know?”

“It’s-, uh, it’s okay,” she replied, eyes flicking toward you, clearly unsure of how to respond. You gave a slight shake of your head, and she subtly cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s not okay… but I-, I forgive you.”

You gave her a quick thumbs up, and as Ben looked over his shoulder at you, brow knitted in suspicion, Dottie quickly fled down the hall and closed the door behind her.

Yeah, you might’ve been coaching her a little in those last few hours on how to deal with assholes like him in the future (which you realized was super ironic). But if you couldn’t save yourself from that man’s charm, at least you could save the rest of your gender.

“Didn’t know you and Dottie were friends,” Ben noted, turning his full attention to you now.

“Oh, uhm, it’s a new thing,” you said quickly, and it wasn’t even a lie. You gave a shrug of your shoulders. “I like her.”

“Yeah? What’s she been whispering into your ear, huh?” His voice was rough, his fingers gentle as they brushed along your cheek.

“She didn’t say anything, okay?”

Ben’s lips curled, clearly not believing you. “You know, I didn’t mean to… hurt her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.”

“Heard that one before,” you muttered, scoffing under your breath. You averted your eyes to the floor, the motion causing Ben’s hand to drop from your face.

“What?” There was no anger in his voice, only confusion.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him. “‘Cause you’re not a bad guy, right?” you said a little louder, feeling the drops of venom like castor oil on your tongue.

And Ben picked up on it, his brows drawing together, facial muscles twitching as he tried to solve what triggered the change in mood. What happened between now and the moment you’d shared in the drawing room only a few hours ago?

You knew you were being indecisive. You knew you were being unfair. But you couldn’t let go of that feeling. That tiny, tingling thing that kept gnawing at every bit inside of you. The feeling that kept screaming at you that something was amiss. It was there – right there.

And you still couldn’t fucking grasp it.

Ben contemplated, then smacked his lips, taking a step closer to you and ironing out his brow a little. “No, I-… Well, I’m no Boy Scout, but you know me.”

Your mouth opened and closed, lips trembling. You didn’t know how to respond. He was both right and wrong. But it all sounded too fucking familiar. It was that maddening feeling of déjà vu all over again.

One long stride of bow legs, and Ben was only mere inches away from you, warm palms cupping your cheeks like you were a precious gift, rough thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and hot breath tickling your skin like a whispered breeze in summer heat. You melted in his grasp in a matter of seconds like an ice cube on hot asphalt.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier,” he said, deep voice only a low murmur against the shell of your ear as he tucked a strand of hair behind it, careful like you could break in his hold. “Just hadn’t exactly broken the news yet that you’re staying here, y’know?”

“Ben–” You sighed, trying to clear the fog from your mind with a shake of your head.

“But I did now, okay?” he cut through that first brick in your wall of defense. The tip of his nose dragged against yours, coaxing. “I want you here, alright?” His lips ghosted over yours, a faint brush, barely there but enough to make you feel the heat crawling into your lower belly. “Had kind of a rough night. Thought you could make me feel better.”

He claimed your lips with a bruising force before he’d even breathed out his last word. The scent of expensive whiskey and nicotine enveloped you and clouded your mind. He smelled like he drank a liquor store and smoked a pack, but you couldn’t resist the pull – the desire, the chemistry. Your head was floating, but doubt still kept your feet tethered to the ground.

“Ben, don’t,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered despite your efforts. “Not like this. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t give a damn. Maybe I need to be drunk to feel something real for once. I need this. Need you,” he muttered, words slurred, voice rough.

He leaned in then, plump lips sinfully trailing down the column of your throat. The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, your heart racing in your chest as he slid his hand to the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

For a moment, you gave in and almost let yourself go, forgetting every drop of worry and fear that plagued your mind. His hands moved to your waist, grip tightening as he pushed you flush against his blazing body. But the blinking red alarm inside of you reminded you of the lines you didn’t want to cross.

“Ben…” Your hands pushed against his chest, gentle but firm.

He stopped then, breathing ragged and confusion gleaming in the lush green of his eyes. His gaze drifted to your face, lingering there, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. “I want you. Don’t you want me too, hm?”

The air thickened around you, sharp and overwhelming, threatening to suffocate you as you wrung for words. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, heavy against the soft, pink flesh. His pull was magnetic, his need evident.

“I don’t wanna be just another distraction for you,” you said quietly, voice shaking slightly, heart hammering in your throat. You tried to sound firm, but the way his eyes held you made your breath hitch.

Ben stepped back, hurt flashing across his freckled face like you’d just knocked the wind right out of him. His presence felt too large in the room, his emotions pressing down on you.

“A distraction?” His eyes hardened, his expression twisting with frustration and something darker. “That what you think you are? What Dottie told you? She’s been filling your head with this shit, hasn’t she?”

You flinched at the mention of Dottie’s name, not wanting to drag her into your mess. You hesitated with a thick swallow, tension creeping into your shoulders. “It’s not about her.”

“Damn right, it isn’t,” Ben huffed, shaking his head. And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

You shook your head, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage. “I didn’t say that. But Ben... I don’t know what I am to you… what this is.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through the disheveled, dirty blond locks. “I’ve told you things… things I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve let you into parts of my life that I don’t show anyone else.”

“I know. I just–”

But Ben cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. And this is how you repay me? By fucking running away? You’re not walking out on me. Not like this.”

Your heart stuttered, the words cutting deep and tightening your chest, aware he was right in a way, knowing he’d put himself on the line for you – more than you’d ever expected him to. But you couldn’t ignore the doubts that rose inside you.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admitted, your voice only a whisper, and it made his eyes soften slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Ben shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh, almost amused. “Oh, you think I can’t be trusted? That I haven’t given you enough reason to?” He stepped closer, his look pointed. “Kinda ironic, don’t you think? I don’t even know your real name. I don’t know a fucking thing about you, and yet, here you are, accusing me of being dishonest. You really think I’ve been fucking lying to you?"

You didn't respond. Silence.

"If you want to walk away, then go. But don’t you dare tell me you’re just a distraction. That’s insulting. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve given you everything I can, and you think I’m just trying to fuck around?”

You stood there, speechless, caught between the weight of his words and the fear that still clawed at your heart. Ben stepped closer again, his features softening just slightly, as if trying to calm the storm inside both of you. The promise of something more, something different with him, tore at the part of you that had been holding back.

“How do you know I’m the right person for you? You don’t even know what you want. And you’re right, you know? You don’t know me. Not in the way it matters. Not in the way you should,” you said, barely above a trembling whisper, the tears pricking your eyes.

“Then tell me,” he demanded, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Tell me who you are. Tell me your real name. Anything, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat, head shaking. “I can’t. I never meant to keep things from you, but I can’t tell you either. I’m sorry.”

Ben rubbed his mouth with his fingers, head bobbing in thought. “Look, maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough with you, but I care about you. I don’t know everything, but I know that I want you. I want this. All of it. The whole damn mess, alright?”

The raw emotion in his voice made you falter, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. That there was something worth fighting for here. The vulnerability in his green eyes made your knees weak, cracking both his armor and your walls.

Ben stared at you for a long moment, the hurt, confusion, and anger warring on his face. Then, without warning, he took a step toward you, closing the space between you two for good, and you swore you could even feel his wildly beating heart in his chest. He searched your face for something, a connection to hold onto, his hands slightly outstretched like he was reaching for you.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.” The words stung as they left you, the first tear slipping down your cheek.

Ben’s resolve crumbled then and there. He pulled you into his embrace, softly kissing the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest. And then he just held you like this for a moment. You’d never felt fucking safer while your heart was breaking.

“Hey, look at me.” Gently, he lifted your chin, wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t want to change things?” He held your gaze, eyes intense as the weight of his words hung between you. “I can’t just walk away from everything, but I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to figure this all out, but you have to let me.”

“How?” Your voice cracked, the fear of getting too close, of falling too hard threatening to crush you.

Ben cupped your cheeks, the kiss on your temple an oath. “I’ll make it work, okay? I don’t know what else to say, but I promise I will. I’ll find a way out of all this... for both of us. But I need you here. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t wanna go back to that life without you in it. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need you to believe in me.”

You could see it then, clear as day – he was afraid of losing you, the desperation brimming in the green seas of his eyes. You were his lifeline, the last thing that held his head above water and kept him from drowning in his father.

“I swear I’ll take you with me, wherever that it is. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. All I need is a little more time. Can you give that to me? Can you do that?”

The heaviness of a decision almost decimated you, but for the first time since you’d entered his world, the fear of losing him was stronger than the fear of staying.

You nodded, hesitantly at first before it became stronger – certain. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay.”

The space between you evaporated then as he closed the gap, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless. His mouth was desperate, clinging to the assurance that you were still here. Still with him.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss – it was everything. It was apology and regret. It was yearning. It was fear.

Ben was kissing you like he never wanted to lose you again, as if each second was a prayer that you’d stay. He pulled you even closer, his hands threading through your hair, his body so tightly against yours like he was trying to make sure you were real. To make sure he hadn’t just imagined this moment.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt, your heart beating faster than it had in days, weeks, months, maybe years. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, as if he was trying to tell you everything in the language of touch, in the frantic meeting of lips and breath – everything he could never say out loud.

You felt the warmth of his skin, the blazing heat of him, and you realized you both were clinging to the fragile thread that held you together, afraid to let go.

When he pulled back, both of you panting, there was a quiet between you that spoke louder than any words ever could. His eyes searched yours, his thumb caressing your cheek, forehead resting against yours.

Ben licked his lips, still holding onto you as he shut his eyes for a beat, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of the kiss. “Look, uhm, I hate doing this to you right now, but my father wants me to leave with him for two weeks,” he told you, voice heavy with exhaustion before a dark scoff escaped him. “Wants to show me how business is really done.”

You cupped his cheeks softly, looking up at him. “Don’t let him get to you, okay? You’re smarter than him.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a small smile, nodding like he understood. “My mother’s staying here with you, but don’t worry about it. I doubt she’ll bother you. She doesn’t really care about anything. I told them you’re a friend from school, so just go with that.”

“What school did you go to?”

“Choate. It’s in Connecticut,” Ben replied, a hint of amusement in his smile, noticing how carefully you were solidifying your alibi. “But it’s an all-boys school. You would’ve gone to Rosemary Hall.”

You grimaced. “So, total sausage fest, huh?”

Ben snorted a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. “You know, sometimes I wonder what school taught you all those words.”

You giggled, burying your face into his dress shirt. “Oh, college taught me those. You would know if you’d gone.”

“Ouch.” A deep and amused laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Didn’t John Kennedy attend Choate as well?”

Ben’s head tilted slightly. You could feel the movement atop of yours. “How do you know Jack?” He inched back slightly, peering down at you with a raised look. “Something you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

You snorted into his chest, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that, I swear. I just heard of him.”

“Oh, so it was just me you were immune to, huh?” Ben retorted, but you recognized the playfulness in his voice. It was your favorite side of him.

“Guess so,” you teased, giggling.

“Well, thank fucking God you didn’t sleep with him,” Ben muttered as he tightened his arms around you. “I hate that guy. Total fucking pussy.”

“Didn’t he graduate Harvard?” you muttered, feeling Ben’s jaw grind on top of your head. Yeah, you weren’t doing JFK any favors now.

“Well, he didn’t make it into the Army. I can tell you that much,” Ben blew right past your point, making you stifle a chuckle. “Heard he got a placement in the Navy, though.”

“Huh. Kinda sexy,” you quipped. Teasing. “He’ll probably learn a lot of sailor talk.”

Ben’s lips pursed in amusement as he looked down at you and was met with your grin. “Yeah, also probably gonna be a real sausage fest on that boat.”

You let out a crippling laugh, burying yourself in his chest as he joined you. Of course he’d only learn the things you didn’t want him to learn.

Ben’s fingers then snuck under your chin, lifting your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, gentle – a goodbye. “You’re gonna be okay here?”

You nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Ben didn’t say anything, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow, eyes gleaming with a mixture of relief and gratitude before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, almost reverent gesture, and it made your heart swell.

Exhaling a long breath, he let go of you and turned to leave, his shoulders slumping more with every step he took toward the life he didn’t want. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, more fragile, like the weight of everything he’d been holding in was finally starting to break him.

“I’ll never stop fighting for you,” he said with conviction as he looked at you one last time, raspy voice laden with words he couldn’t say. A promise. “Never.”

And deep down, you knew then that no matter how hard things would get over the next decades, you’d never let go, either.

The door closed for the last time that night, and then, Ben was gone.

The mansion felt quieter the next morning, Ben having left with his father for DC before the break of dawn. After getting dressed properly for breakfast for once, you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps quiet on the polished wooden floors.

You spied Margaret Brooks, Ben’s mother, sitting in the sunroom, but before entering, you decided to make a quick pit stop in the kitchen, where the faint murmurs of the staff seeped through the door.

As you stepped inside, the three women were busy at their tasks. Florence was bent over a pot on the stove, her movements brisk and efficient. Dottie was humming to herself as she arranged flowers on the counter. Frances, a bit more weathered and stern, was dusting the shelves, her eyes darting disapprovingly at Dottie, who had a tendency to daydream more than work.

“Good morning, ladies,” you said softly, your voice low enough not to carry too far.

“No breakfast in the kitchen, young lady,” Florence reminded you swiftly, which you countered with a knowing smile.

“Don’t worry, Florence. I’ll be outta your hair in a minute,” you said, making Dottie snort a giggle. “Just-… Before I go in there, can you guys give me the down-low on Mrs. Brooks?”

“The down-low?” Frances cocked a brow at you.

“Yes, the details,” you corrected. Half of your vocabulary was practically useless in 1942. “What’s her deal? Why is she so… withdrawn?”

After Dottie’s revelation last night, you thought you might as well make use of the love for gossip in this house.

Florence didn’t look up from the stove, her hands moving quickly with purpose. “She’s always been quiet,” she replied, her voice neutral but not unkind. “But over the years... well, she shut herself off. Hard to blame her. Her husband isn’t a good man, not to her or to Benjamin.”

Dottie, who had been nervously twisting the flower stems in her hands, let out a little sigh. “Yeah, Mr. Brooks is awful. He treats her like she doesn’t matter. And now she’s kind of… well, I think she just gave up. You know, stopped trying.”

Frances, who had been listening intently, fixed Dottie with a sharp look. “Not everything is so simple, Dottie. Mrs. Brooks has always been a lady – always. She’s tried for years, but the man she married–” She sighed, her voice dropping. “It broke her. And now she watches the boy becoming just like him. It’s no wonder she retreats.”

You could feel the undercurrent of sadness in the house, a grief that wasn’t just tied to the past but to the present, too.

“I see,” you said quietly, your mind racing as you thought of what you could do. You glanced at the three women. “Well, I think I’ll go see if I can say hi to Mrs. Brooks this morning. She must be lonely.”

Florence gave you a distracted nod, her attention still on her cooking. Dottie shot you a hopeful look, while Frances simply grunted in acknowledgment, not sure how much help you’d be.

You sauntered into the sunroom, the air cool inside and the glass panes still thick with the chill of winter. Outside, patches of snow clung stubbornly to the ground, a few spots melting into sluggish pools. However, along the edges of the garden, the first hint of spring dared to show – croci pushing up through the soil, small and defiant against the lingering cold as they waited for the thaw.

It only reminded you of how long you’d already been here. It felt like an entirely different life at this point. Had Ben been serious last night? And what did it even all mean?

He said a lot, but you weren’t sure your head woke up any clearer this morning.

The future was an unknown, and you weren’t used to that feeling.

As you entered, Mrs. Brooks sat at the small round table by the window, her face drawn, her green eyes distant as she stared into the steam rising from her cup of tea. She didn’t seem to notice you at first, and when she finally lifted her gaze, it was with a quiet recognition.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, smiling softly. “I’m not sure if your son has mentioned me. I’m a friend from school. Benjamin’s been kind enough to let me stay here for a while.”

“Oh, I believe he mentioned something like that, yes,” she said in a soft, tired voice, her lips curling just slightly at the corners. “You’ll have to excuse me. I wasn’t listening to everything last night. I was quite exhausted after the long travel, and that boy never knows when to stop.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Ben does have a way of going on, doesn’t he?” You smiled gently at her words and sat down across from her. “Ben did tell me a little bit about all your wonderful tea parties, though. He said you liked going to tea rooms as well. What are they like? I have to admit I’ve never been to one myself.”

At the mere mention, Mrs. Brooks’ posture seemed to shift ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled, and you saw something like life stir behind them, as if your words had opened a door she hadn’t realized was there.

“Oh, tea rooms,” she repeated, her voice soft and reflective. “I used to love them. So charming. So civilized, you know? A proper place to spend the afternoon with a good cup of tea. I haven’t been to one in ages, not since...”

She trailed off, her gaze becoming distant again, but then something changed – her eyes brightened just a little, like a light flickering on.

“You’ve never been?” she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and mild disbelief. You shook your head. “Oh, my dear, it’s almost a must for a young lady to experience. A proper tea room, with all the delicate china and the soft music in the background – it’s simply marvelous.” She sat up straighter in her chair then, the flicker of a genuine smile appearing on her lips. “I should take you, shouldn’t I? There’s one in the city I adored. It’s been years since I’ve gone, but I’m sure it’s just as lovely as it was. Would you like to go? This afternoon, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope inside of you, seeing that flicker of light in her. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said with a warm smile.

“How wonderful! Then it’s settled. We’ll go!” She clasped her hands together with joy. “Do you have something to wear? I could call my seamstress, Ms. Vivian, for you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Benjamin already did that,” you replied, hoping for dear life you didn’t have to endure another makeover. You were already sacrificing yourself like a lamb for slaughter by agreeing to this.

“Well, good.” She nodded and sipped on her tea, muttering, “Seems like I’ve done something right with that boy, after all…”

Well, judging by that statement, you were surely in for an interesting afternoon.

The soft tinkling of porcelain cups and quiet chatter filled the air of the elegant, well-lit tea room as Margaret Brooks looked across the table at you, her plump lips curling into a rare smile. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed these outings – the delicate atmosphere of the tea room, the soft hum of conversation. She had imagined, for so many years, that one day she would have a daughter to share these moments with.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t come to pass.

Instead, you sat across from her, eager eyes wide as you took in the ambiance. Mrs. Brooks noticed the nervousness in your posture, the way you clutched your teacup a little too tightly and stared at the other girls, feeling utterly out of place.

“Isn’t it charming?” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice light, almost affectionate. “I’ve been coming here for years. There’s something about the smell of the Earl Grey and the clink of silver spoons that makes you forget the world outside. You’ll grow to love it, I’m sure.”

You gave a nervous nod, your lips curving upward in an awkward imitation of a smile. “I’m not really used to places like this.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room at the white-gloved waitstaff and the carefully arranged plates of scones and finger sandwiches, wondering how many distractions Ben had found here and hoping you wouldn’t run into any of them. You could certainly feel the occasional looks and quiet whispers directed at you.

Mrs. Brooks chuckled softly, her gaze warm as she met your eyes. “One gets used to it. It's like breathing. I’ve been doing this for years, and there's nothing wrong with forgetting the world in here, just for a moment.” She leaned in slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t be nervous, Cindy. It’s only tea and gossip, and we all need a little of both.”

Something in Mrs. Brooks’ tone calmed you slightly. It was as though she was slowly pulling you into her orbit – offering more than just a tea outing, but a sense of belonging, of understanding.

“Look over there,” Mrs. Brooks continued, gesturing subtly with her gloved hand, clearly eager to share more. “Do you see that woman sitting by the window? That’s Mrs. Berwick. She’s very fond of trying to climb the social ladder, always inserting herself into the right circles. Her husband’s a banker, but don’t let that fool you – he’s a dreadful bore."

You snorted a laugh and leaned in, intrigued despite yourself. You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Mrs. Brooks had a certain warmth now that softened her more formal edges.

“And there,” she carried on, “that’s Mrs. Hadley. She’s got more money than God, but she’s also got a tongue that can cut glass. No one dares to cross her, but I’ve never cared much for her. She’s the type who never forgets a slight.”

“Seems like they all have their… quirks,” you noted, amused, remembering Dottie’s words.

“Quirks,” Mrs. Brooks repeated with a smile. “Yes, one might call them that.” Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to you, lowering her voice. “But there’s one thing they all have in common: They love to gossip. It’s their favorite pastime. And I’m sure,” she added, giving you a knowing look, “they’ll be more than eager to talk about you.” You stiffened, but Mrs. Brooks, oblivious to your discomfort, sipped her tea and continued. “Don’t mind them. They’re all still talking about Benjamin, I’m sure. The whole lot of them think they have some sort of claim on him. But they don’t, do they?”

At her little wink, your heart almost dropped to the sparkling marble floor. Did she know? But you figured it was easy to suspect if she knew her son even a little.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Brooks! I haven’t seen you here in ages.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the familiar voice. You’d heard it once before, even if it had been louder and more upset than now.

Grace.

Mrs. Brooks’ expression flickered momentarily before settling into something more controlled. “Grace, dear,” she said with a polite smile, turning her head toward the speaker. Her tone was cool, masking any warmth. “You’re looking well.”

Your stomach dropped when you saw the woman standing at the table: tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a way that screamed money and status – poised and perfect. By now, you’d heard plenty about Ben’s destined fiancée, but seeing her in person was another matter.

Her blonde hair was sculpted into a flawless wave. She wore an elegant dress with the subtle sheen of luxury and a sharp gaze that seemed to take in every detail of you with calculating precision.

Grace gave a sly smile, icy blue eyes flickering to you. “I couldn’t resist coming by. I simply had to see Benjamin’s current project.” She tilted her head slightly, a deliberate gesture, and leaned down to examine you like you were a specimen under a microscope. “Interesting choice.”

Did that bitch just call you a fucking project?!

You didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, however. You’d been dealing with bitches like that your whole life. The only tragedy about this was that you couldn’t rant about her to your friends – the hot blonde, the gay redhead, and the mute Asian chick.

Fuck. Why the hell couldn’t you remember their names? You swore they were on the tip of your tongue. Was it Andy, Mabel, and Kim? No, that sounded wrong. Dammit!

“I think I’ve seen you before, right? And you are?” Grace asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness as she looked at you.

“Cindy,” you replied with a slight edge.

“Ah, Cindy,” Grace repeated, like she was tasting the name. “Such a... simple name. How quaint.” She smiled then, a thin, shark-like smirk, and you were blood in the water. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you out and about. Benjamin has always been so... difficult to predict. But I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”

Unbothered by her baiting, you took a casual sip of tea. “Oh, I know exactly who he is, Grace. Better than you.”

Grace’s smile tightened. “How refreshing,” she said, then looked over at Mrs. Brooks. “I do hope Benjamin’s settled down by now. I hear he’s been a bit of a... free spirit lately. He always had a rebellious streak. He gets bored rather quickly.”

Mrs. Brooks stiffened slightly, but she recovered quickly, placing her teacup down with a slight clink. “My son is a grown man, dear. He’ll make his own decisions, as he always does.”

“Of course,” Grace replied smoothly, though there was a clear, sharp edge to her words.

“‘Sides, aren’t you a bit of a free spirit as well?” you quipped with an innocent smirk. “I heard about you and Jack Kennedy in Cape Cod. How’s that going?”

“Oh, you are seeing Jack?” Margaret chimed in with delight, but you could tell her smile was as taunting as yours was.

Grace’s face fell abruptly. “Yes, it’s… going,” she replied quickly, subtly clearing her throat. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she leaned in, her tone almost too sweet. “I imagine you must be enjoying the novelty of being with someone like Benjamin. Here you are, in the lap of luxury. It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it, darling? But you know, I should warn you – Ben isn’t exactly the most reliable partner. I do hope, for your sake, you’re not just a phase.”

You were about to slap her harder than she’d slapped Ben at that diner. Would it matter to history if you choked her right now?

You forced a tight-lipped smile as you ground your teeth. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m not here to judge him for his past.”

If anything, you were judging him for his future.

“Well, that’s nice,” Grace pressed through her teeth, her polite mask finally crumbling. “But you don’t get it, do you? You’re just the latest distraction, darling. Someone to amuse himself with, and as soon as this little rebellion ends, he’ll come crawling back to someone who knows the rules, and you’ll be just another notch in his belt.”

Jesus fucking Christ, why did he always have to date the biggest bitch in the room? And you’d once thought Crimson Countess was a piece of work.

But you grew up in a trailer park in fucking Jersey. If a girl like Grace thought she could scare you off with a few words, she had another thing coming.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” You looked at her challengingly, not an ounce of fear in your voice. “Here’s the thing – Ben’s not a puppet for his father. He makes his own choices. You’re not his future, Grace. You’re the past. Trust me on that one.”

Grace’s eyes blazed with a venomous glare. “Well, we’ll see how long this lasts, darling. I do hope you won’t make a fool out of yourself.”

You were about to open your mouth again before Mrs. Brooks cut in, her tone suddenly sharp, a protective edge in her voice. “Enough, Grace. We all know about Benjamin’s history. You’ve made your point, and it’s getting tiresome.”

Grace’s eyes fixed on Ben’s mother, a muscle twitching in her jaw. She clearly hadn’t expected that. “Well, it’s so lovely to see you two getting along. I mustn’t take up too much of your time, Mrs. Brooks. It was nice running into you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

With that, Grace stormed off, her heels clicking on the sparkling marble. You exhaled a slow breath, slumping back into your chair. But as you glanced at Mrs. Brooks, you saw the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“You handled her beautifully, dear,” Ben’s mother said, her tone soft but genuine. “Don’t let women like her make you question yourself. They thrive on making others doubt their worth, but you’ve got something she doesn’t – confidence and a damn backbone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, your heart swelling with gratitude. “That woman really knows how to lay it on thick, doesn’t she?”

Mrs. Brooks rolled her eyes in exhaustion. “She’s always been like that. Charming when it suits her and venomous when she feels threatened. I’m almost glad Benjamin’s been so awful to her. God knows I couldn’t have endured another dinner with that girl in my house.”

You snorted under your breath, chuckling.

“You know, I was just like you when I first arrived here – someone who didn’t quite fit in.” Margaret leaned back in her chair with a faint smile, the faraway look in her eyes sharpening, a subtle sadness creeping into her voice. “Before I met Benjamin’s father, I came from humble beginnings, you know? My parents were good, hardworking people. We didn’t have much money – just a small house in the lower part of town. My father was a carpenter, working long hours, and my mother would sew clothes for other people, often staying up well past midnight, just to make sure we had enough to get by. But there was a beauty in that simplicity. I used to take walks through the alleys, admiring the flowers growing between the cracks in the sidewalks. We didn't have wealth, but we had love, you know? And we had each other.”

You listened intently, your heart breaking a bit for her, knowing that wasn’t what she had now with her own family.

“I remember,” she continued, a slight smile tugging at her lips, “how we’d all gather in the kitchen at night. It was small, but it was ours. My mother would hum while she worked, and my father would tell me stories about how he built his first house with his own two hands. He was proud of that. And I was proud of him.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way Mrs. Brooks’ voice softened when she spoke about her parents. There was a sadness there, a longing for something simple and real that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“I can’t imagine you like that. It sounds so different from who you are now,” you said softly.

Mrs. Brooks gave a gentle laugh, her gaze growing even more distant. “I was just a girl back then. I had no idea what awaited me. But when I met Richard, everything changed.” She paused, her voice darkening slightly as she pushed away the memories of her childhood, like the warmth they brought was something she couldn’t bear to hold on to for too long. “He was everything I’d never known. He was wealthy, educated, and had the kind of connections that I could only dream of. He swept me off my feet. He promised me a life of comfort, luxury, and security. And I thought, ‘This is it. This is everything I’ve been working for.’”

Your brow furrowed. “But it wasn’t?”

Mrs. Brooks shook her head slowly, the distant melancholy returning to her features. “At first, it was. But over time, I realized something. The life Richard offered me was a gilded cage. It wasn’t freedom – it was control. I was expected to fit in, to play the part. When I married him, I entered a world where every inch of my life was dictated by money, status, and image. It’s strange how quickly you can forget yourself when you're surrounded by wealth. People like this–,” she gestured with a faint nod around the room, “–don’t care about character. They care about who you know, where you’ve been, and what you wear. And even then, it’s never enough. You always have to be more.” She leaned forward then, her expression softening as she saw you swallowing thickly. “I know it sounds harsh, dear, but it’s the truth. High society is an illusion. People want you to smile, to wear the right clothes, to speak in a certain way, but it’s all just a performance. Your soul gets lost in it.”

“So, you never wanted this life?” you asked quietly, your heart breaking for her.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into. These women here, they’re not your friends,” she replied, her fingers curling around her tea cup. “They’re rivals. Each one of them trying to prove they are the best at being the most perfect version of a woman they can be. It’s exhausting. And no matter how hard I tried, I never truly fit in.”

“You said Benjamin was different when he was young,” you said gently, wanting to know more. “How was he before everything changed?”

Mrs. Brooks’ eyes softened, and for a moment, you could see the mother she had been – a woman who adored her son, who once had hope for his future.

“Benjamin was always sensitive,” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice full of tenderness. “He was a sweet little boy who loved to ask questions about the world. He was curious about everything. He’d sit with me for hours, just asking me how things worked, why things were the way they were. And he had this soft smile that would light up a room. I’ll never forget how he used to look at me, with such trust in his eyes. He would bring me flowers and tell me stories from his little world, and I would see the softness in him, the kind of softness a mother always hopes for in a child. People always said he was a ‘dreamer,’ and I thought he would always stay that way. I loved that about him. But Richard didn’t. Richard thought it was a weakness.”

Mrs. Brooks’ voice cracked slightly, as if the memories were too painful to recount. She looked down at her cup.

“Richard did everything he could to ‘toughen him up.’ He took him hunting, made him go to boarding school at an early age, sending him far away from me,” she continued, her voice drowning in sadness. “He wanted to shape Benjamin into something he could control. He had a vision for his son – one where Benjamin was a carbon copy of him. Strong. Cold. Ruthless. My husband’s world is one of steel, and his love is just as hard. My sweet boy never stood a chance.”

Your heart sank. “And Ben – he didn’t want that?”

“No,” Mrs. Brooks said, a slight bitterness creeping into her tone. “Benjamin didn’t want any of it. But he was young, and he couldn’t fight his father. So slowly, he started to change. He stopped asking questions. He stopped dreaming. And one by one, the things that made him unique faded away. I watched my son slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

You wanted to reach out to comfort her, but you felt helpless. How could you fix this? Could you fix him?

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I had no idea.”

Mrs. Brooks gave you a wistful smile. “It’s not your fault, dear. You’re not here to save him. You can’t save him, not from himself. But you might be able to remind him of who he was before the world changed him. I think that’s why I like you so much.”

Your heart tightened as you listened. You could see the sadness in Mrs. Brooks’ eyes, a depth of loss that you hadn’t expected.

Ben’s mother let out a sigh, soft and weary, as though she had been holding it in for too long. “You know, from the moment I met you, there was something about you. Something I never had the chance to share with Benjamin.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as if she hadn’t shared this kind of honesty in years. “I’ve always wanted a daughter for many reasons, you see? I dreamed of having someone who could see this world as I see it. A confidante. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. You have a fire in you – a light. And I don’t want my son to put it out.”

Your heart halted its beats abruptly. You were taken aback by her blunt honesty, shaking your buzzing head lightly, trying to make sense of her words. “What d’you mean?”

“You don’t know what your getting into, either. You’re not like them. You’re not meant for this kind of life. That’s why I want to warn you, dear,” she said, her gaze sharp.

Oh no, not another warning… How many was that now? Three? Four, if you counted Grace?

Great.

“Benjamin might love you now, but he’ll be just like his father in the end. Cold. Hard. Empty,” she said harshly, the weight of regret in every line of her expression. “The man you think he is, may not be the man he turns out to be. Benjamin isn’t the boy I once held in my arms anymore. He’s not the man you think he is. I see his father in him more every day. I can see it in the way he looks at the world, in the way he reacts to the people around him. I don’t want you to end up like me. You’ll be the one left behind. Trust me.”

You felt a knot in your throat, your heart pounding with an ominous sound like an ancient war drum. You didn’t know how to respond. Your thoughts spiraled in every direction.

You swallowed hard, tears pricking your eyes like salt in a wound. “I don’t know if I can walk away. I think I love him,” you confessed quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the tea room.

The words shocked you. You’d never said them out loud before, but they didn’t seem to rattle his mother at all.

Her eyes softened, her hand reaching over to clasp yours on the table in a sad understanding. “I know you do. But that’s the problem, dear. When you love someone like him, you’ll always be fighting a battle you can’t win.”

▶️ Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! – MAY 9

Ooof, looks like not even Ben's mother has much confidence in him... What did you think of all the warnings? And if Ben was already this upset now, then well, imagine what he feels like when it really happens. Choo-choo, all aboard the angst train! Get ready to meet the man of the hour next week 😉

(Fair warning: Chapters never really got any shorter. I don't know what to tell ya, but half of the next one is smut, so there's that 😂🤷‍♀️)

Coming Up:

“I remember you mentioned a girl from school staying here.” The patriarch of the steel empire carved into his roast with casual violence, sipping his wine like it was penance, a pair of almond-shaped, glacier blue eyes zeroing in on his son. “Didn’t think you meant still staying here.”

You managed a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”

He gave a short nod that might’ve been a grunt, reaching for the wine glass before saying, “Likewise.”

Ben’s mother – composed in a deep jade green dress that complimented the glint in her eye – broke the tension with a dry, almost teasing, “She’s been keeping me company. And sane.”

You glanced at her in grateful surprise, but she didn’t look at you. Her gaze was squarely on her husband, almost daring him to challenge her.

Oh fuck. You had a feeling that dinner would derail soon enough. You still remembered how your own mother always looked when she wanted to pick a fight with your father. You could see that same desire in Mrs. Brooks tonight.

Richard’s eyes flicked to you as cutting as a scalpel. “Rosemary Hall, was it?”

You smiled, knowing your alibi by heart. “Yes, sir. We, uh, crossed paths with Ben’s group at Choate once or twice. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Mmm.” He sounded unconvinced, like he already had a list of questions and was working through them in his mind. “And what is it you do, exactly?”

You gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “A little of everything. Read a lot. Try to keep busy.”

Mr. Brooks leaned back with a hum, wine glass in hand. “You read. Anything useful?”

Ben’s hand tensed slightly on the table. You felt it even without looking.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

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[filthygalli]

When I Met You: Chapter 6 “Sick Day”

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Masterlist

Squid Game Masterlist

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Sexual Innuendo, Somnophilia, Hand job, sick reader, fluff, slight angst, reader is getting embarrassed, Soft!In-Ho, In-Ho’s down bad for the reader, tease In-Ho, reader is starting to fall in love with In-Ho but doesn’t want to do nor say anything about it, Not proofread, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 2815

Author’s note: Hi! I’m sorry if this series is taking a while to finish—i have to think of things if this is good enough for ya’ll or what, i also got burned out from school and i have been stressed lately and I couldn’t get anything out of my head when i write, so i deeply apologize for the wait! Love ya’ll!🫶🏻🖤

© Pictures that are used are from Pinterest

The sun shines through your skin, you slowly scratch your eyes as you feel someone laying beside you, ‘Shit’ you thought as you adjust your eyes, your vision is a bit blurry, you see the broad back of In-Ho. Did something happen between you two? Clearly not, Right? You’re not naked, fully clothed to be honest, You can’t help but travel your gaze on In-Ho’s back, He’s way too fit for his age, way too good too, muscle flexed on his back as he breathe, you can’t help but smile, he looked so vulnerable, though–you can’t help but wonder what happened last night? You tried to remember everything, you remember being light headed after the dinner, while In-Ho offered to do the dishes as you rest down on your sofa…then after that, nothing, you can’t remember anything, you quietly chuckled and groans as your head started to ache, “Fuck…” you groaned as you lay back down, you look at your side seeing In-Ho still sleeping peacefully, you started to feel your eyelids getting heavy blink after blink–you yawned as you drift of to sleep. 

In-Ho groans as he slowly opens his eyes, blinded by the lights that shines through your window, It’s weird because he doesn't usually sleep with his blinds wide open, he’s more of a person who likes to keep his blinds closed at all times, preventing the sunlight to shine through his room, but he’s not in his own room, your room is way to…you, your room screams ‘y/n’ he scratch his eyes softly, trying to adjust his vision through the light that shines inside your bedroom, though he liked that your room has a perfect temperature, it's not too cold, not too warm but it just feels right, He moved slowly afraid that he might awake you as he felt the warm body of your sleeping peacefully beside him, he moved to face you, he smiled as he admire your features, he loved how the light from the outside illuminated your skin, how your brows frowned when you sleep–and he finds it funny, he never seen or heard a person who frowned in their sleep, and he thought of it as a adorable thing for you to do, he looked at your lips for a moment–admiring the soft and pinkish lips that he’s been dying to put his lips on, he wanted to kiss you passionately–like you’re the only woman that mattered to him, the only woman that make his dark and intense demeanor melt like an ice cream during summer with your sweet and innocent smiles that never fails to make In-Ho smile to himself like a teenage boy who had his first love during highschool–And it doesn’t surprise him anymore, he knows how lovely you are, you bring out the soft side of him that no one could, you make him vulnerable in so many ways, you make In-Ho obsessed with you but he rather not show, if he could–he would kiss the damn floor you walk on, he would worship you, kneel infront of you as you tell him what to do–He liked how you hair shines through the light from the sun, it made you even more beautiful–he slowly reached up to your face, tucking a strand of hair to your ear using his index finger as he drag his fingers on your soft and warm skin, tracing all your features to your jaw up until to your cheeks, you softly groaned as he pulled his hand away slightly, he can’t help but smile, he loved how innocent and soft your groans are–he wanted to hear you groan more, but the reason that your groaning is when he’s buried deep inside your tight pussy. 

He groaned as he felt his cock getting hard by the thoughts of him getting buried deep inside you, if he could fuck you right now while you’re sleeping he would do it, he’ll make you beg for his own release, as he circle his thumb on your swollen clit–he will not stop fucking his cum into you till you can’t cum anymore—but the thought of fucking you while you’re sleeping only made his erection grow more. While you, well…you’re peacefully sleeping dreaming of god knows what. You’re way too tired and sleepy to open your eyes and see In-Ho staring at you with a loving gaze that turns into lust in just a beat. In-Ho thought of going into your bathroom to jerk himself but that’s no fun. Isn't it? He smirked as he thought of touching himself on your bed, beside your sleeping figure, but what would he say if you wake up and see him stroking his cock while looking at you figure? That’s the question that has no answer yet but he’ll find out once it happens. He’s a man who lives for the thrill of something, he likes taking risks, regardless of the consequences as long as he does it, it’s dumb of him to think that way, but also kind of sexy. 

He looked at you for a moment contemplating of what will he do, he sighs deeply as he slowly reach inside his pants, freeing his aching cock, pre cum already beaded on the tip,  fuck he wish he could just use you, its much more easier. He spat on his hand as he slowly pump himself up and down, a soft moan leaves his throat, he looked at your soft skin, imagining leaving marks on it, sucking your skin till it turns red–-kissing them after, licking them as he trail his tongue across your skin. He moaned at the thought as he pump his cock much faster than before, wanting to cum before you even wake up, “Fuck–” he moaned softly, his eyes rolled back as he feel himself getting closer, He thought of how your pussy would stretch if he puts his cock in to you, he’ll rip you apart, he’ll make your pussy remember each veins that he have. He would make you beg for your own release as you moan his name like a song that he plays repeatedly in his vinyl player–Every thrust that he do with his hand makes him groan even more, the thought of cumming inside you made him even more hard, he moaned at the thought–”Y/n..” he whispered as he looked at you with a tired gaze, “Hmm–fuck–” he moaned, You softly whimper in your sleep, as In-Ho’s mouth hang open, eyes darted at your soft lips, that he always thought of wrapping your lips on his cock. He grows desperate, desperate to cum, with a few strokes he comes as he closes his mouth groaning silently, his cum shoots to his abdomen and chest–he keeps stroking his cock as he sighs heavily. He looked at you for a moment, he smirked to himself. He sighs as he looked at the mess that he did, he sat up and went to your bathroom–as he quickly cleans himself, he looked around your bathroom–-it looks nice and comfortable, the bottles of products aligned perfectly on your shelves, towels fold neatly under, he washed his face as he stared at himself as he chuckled quietly and left your bathroom, when he came back you’re already awake–sat up as you scratch your eyes softly. “Good morning, Sweetheart.” In-Ho said as he looked at you with a loving gaze, “Good morning…” you said as you yawned softly, stretching your arms. In-Ho chuckled, “How’s your sleep?” he said as he put his hand in his pocket, tilting his head slightly. “It was–” you breath hitched as In-Ho put his hand in his pocket, the action made you whimper, the light from the window illuminates his skin, “It was, what?” He said as he sat on the edge of the bed, his physique displayed beautifully in front of you, You trail your eyes on his chest, his veiny hands, his broad shoulders, his abs, fuck–you want to trail your tongue across his abs all the way up to his chest, leaving him marks there that will make him remind himself that you, his innocent neighbour just marked him as hers. “Sweetheart, if you kept looking at me like that, I might just give you whatever you’re thinking in that silly head of yours.” He said as he leaned in a little, “Wha-” He chuckled deeply  “I’m kidding, So, How’s your sleep?” you pout in response with his teasing, “It was ok, though my head is killing me–” you groaned as In-Ho chuckled. “Alright, you go rest there, I'm gonna go get Yu-Jin and cook us some breakfast.” He said as he stood up, eyes never leaving you, you nodded, “Be a good girl and take a nice rest, I’ll come back here once I'm done.” He smirked down at you, scanning your reaction, your eyes widened as you heard of In-Ho’s little praise, “ok..” is all you said as you looked up at him as you saw him smirking down at you, hands still inside the pocket of his pants, he grabbed his glasses and puts it on before leaving—him still not wearing a top gave you a full view of how sexy his back is, fuck—you’d climb that man like a tree, scratch his back with your nails. 

In-ho went out of your house to go to his house, he opened the door and was greeted by his cat, Yu-Jin. He crouched down as he pets Yu-Jin, purring as he scratches Yu-Jin’s neck, “Sorry to leave you here all alone, Buddy.” In-ho said as Yu-Jin circled  around his legs, he chuckled as Yu-Jin lays down asking for a belly rub, he smiled as he rubs Yu-Jin’s belly—Yu-Jin meowed at him, his emerald like eyes turns up to In-Ho, “C’mon, i need to cook some food for your mom.” He picked Yu-Jin up, still shirtless, his body displayed beautifully outside as the sun shines on his skin that made his skin glow.

He and Yu-Jin reached your house as he sets Yu-Jin down, Yu-jin immediately ran to sat on the sofa as he drifted off to sleep, In-Ho chuckled as he shakes his head lightly, the thought of seeing his cat, Yu-jin being so comfortable around your house makes him feel contented in a way that you’re special not just for him, but for Yu-jin as well. 

 In-Ho went to your kitchen to cook some breakfast for the two of you—He’s thinking what to cook for you, he hasn’t asked what are the things that you like when it comes to food, are you a picky eater or not? Are you perhaps allergic to seafood? Thousands of questions bothered his mind, he sighs as he decided to cook you something simple for now and ask you later on what are the things that you like.

He started to heat up the pan as he gathered the ingredients that he needs from your kitchen, A japanese style omelette is what he decided to cook, Afraid of not making the omelette perfect for you—he remembers the time that he once visited japan where a japanese chef cooks their omelette with such a unique skill, so he took his time to make some food for you that you will like, as Yu-Jin sat on top of the kitchen counter watching his dad, In-Ho go crazy for a woman, and that woman is you. 

You woke up as you stretched your arms as you finally wake up from your nap, however, the smell of food made your stomach growl, the smell is captivating—it's like inviting your feet to move and stand up to see what’s downstairs for you, you stood up and quietly walk downstairs, you hear a soft sound of rustling inside your kitchen, you chuckled as you hear In-Ho talks to Yu-Jin about hoping that you would like the food that he makes, You watch then as you stood quietly at the door; The moment you saw him – bare chested, moving like sin in the kitchen - something twisted violently inside you. Your stomach was a storm of butterflies, frantic and feverish. Those abs, sharp and obscene, looked like they could melt butter just by existing. His biceps flexed with quiet dominance, and that back... that beautiful, brutal back, made your breath catch in ways you couldn't explain. You're flushed, aching, and completely undone. 

In-Ho felt someone watching him, the gaze was intense, more like the person who’s looking behind him wants him badly, he smirked to himself as he turns the stove on and plates the food that he made for the two of you, “You know…if you want something from me sweetheart, just ask and stop looking at me like that with those ‘fuck me’ eyes, hmm?” He said as he turned around to face you, his words made your eyes widened, a quiet whimper came out of your mouth, “I-“ he chuckled darkly at your response, “I’m kidding, come I made us food, i hope you like omelette.” He said as he pulled a chair for you to sit on, eyes darted at your body as he trails his eyes slowly on your hips, chest, and lips—before locking eyes with you. You walk slowly towards him, still captivated with how sexy he is in the early morning , and you sit on the chair  “Thank you.” You muttered as you looked at the food he prepared for the two of you, it looked delicious—the omelette is perfectly done, he sat beside you looking at you, “Thank you, In-Ho, I appreciate this!” You said happily as you grabbed a fork to taste the omelette that In-Ho made, you sliced up some food and brought it up to your mouth, the aroma of the omelette made you happy already, it was just perfect. In-Ho chuckled beside you with how happy you look right now, you looked beside you “what?” You said smilingly, “Nothing, you look beautiful.” He said as he brought up his hand to your face to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, you blushed upon his action, he sighs “As much as i want you to look at me like that, you have to eat.” His tone of voice is commanding yet still soft, you shake your head as you ate the food that in-ho prepared, in-ho joins to eat as well, he can’t help but look at you, how breathtaking you look right now, your hair tied up into a messy bun, your shirt hangs perfectly to your body, how every groan and whimper from you eating the omelette that he prepared turns him on. 

After a few exchanges of conversation and a few teasing words from In-Ho, suddenly you felt a discomfort coming from your head, you slightly groaned as In-Ho asked if you’re ok, “I’m ok…my head, it’s just…it hurts a little, But i’ll be ok.” you gave him a weak smile as he placed a hand on the small of your back, caressing your back gently, which provides comfort for you, “How about you get some rest, hmm?” he said as he tilt his head a little to meet your gaze, “I’m ok i promise, i need to tidy up the house too i–” “Not a chance, Sweetheart, i’ll go tidy up in here like last night, you’ll go rest till you feel better, ok?” he said as he gave you a slight smile, you felt a little pang in your chest, you appreciate the things that In-ho does for you but you also feel embarrassed, it feels like he’s doing a little to much for you, and you don’t want In-Ho to think that you’re taking advantage of his kindness–he’s still your neighbor, you know him, but not that well, you do want to get to know him but given that he has a little attitude in him sometimes, you don’t want to ask. “I appreciate the things you do In-Ho but i can take care of myself..” you said as you look down on your thighs, In-ho frowned as he understood what are you talking about, you’re embarrassed, “Y/n, Sweetheart…I- I understand what are you trying to say,” he cupped your chin with his thumb to look up at him, the corner of your eyes starts to water, “Sweetheart, I’m doing this because i…’’ he paused for a moment to try to find words, “I’m doing this because i want to, you’re a friend that i care about, you don’t need to feel shy nor embarrassed about it.” he said as he gently wiped the tear that fell on the corner of your eyes, “ Be comfortable to me, Y/n, i want you to be yourself whenever i’m around you.’’ you looked at him with admiring eyes, it's like you’re falling for him, but you can’t say it–you don’t know how to say it. 

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Author’s Note: Hello there again! As always, Thank you so much for reading my work and making me feel great and seen for your anonymous messages and inbox! I appreciate each and every one of ya’ll! I deeply and sincerely apologize for the for the delay of the chapters of this series, i’m doing my best to make the series entertaining for ya’ll and i have drafts for the next chapters and ideas on how the story will go, i just don’t know how to create a story around it:((

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[lostwysteria]

(Part 11. Yesterday was rough. In more ways than one. My main manager on duty was in a snit all day and we were slammed. Today might be worse. your comments and asks really kill me, tho. And enable me terribly. (And give me ideas.) Your tags are amazing as well. Omg)

Masterlist

Nice felt absolute bliss as he held his long time love and his new love at the same time. He had fallen so fast for Lin Ling. As fast as he had for Wreck. He never knew he could hold so much love in his heart. It was almost painful.

He would tear down Hero Tower itself if he couldn't keep the two in his arms with him.

…

“At least you brought home food.” Moon griped before stuffing her face with pasta. Nice was, well, nice enough to let her finish the spaghetti they brought with them from the night before. If he was lucky it was the last bit of his Ling’s cooking she would be having for a looooong while.

“Do me a favor and try your teleportation now. Test out if my plan worked.” Nice demanded.

Moon did so eagerly as all three men watched from the couch.

It worked. Moon opened a portal to a beach. 

“!!!!” She screamed wordlessly.

“Congrats!” Ling clapped joyfully. Nice pumped a fist in celebration. Wreck just gave her a thumbs up. 

“Oh. Let me help you pack. Where are you going first?. Do we have sunscreen for you? Bug spray? Let's find you some plane tickets. I’d feel better if you took things slow for your first trip.” Homemaker fretted. He’d been knocked fully into hero mode. One of his charges was leaving the nest. He’d gained the mental thread to her over the week as well. The thought that she was leaving was making him anxious. “You have to visit at least every season!” He told her seriously. Four months was the longest he could be separated from a permanent charge before their linking thread broke.

“I will! I’ll bring souvenirs!” She agreed happily.

Moon’s tablet beeped. She checked it. She then squealed. “I am still contracted with Treeman, but I can be a Wandering Hero. I still have a job! Oh. This is the best!”

…

Kira @cantstopwontstop

Nice bringing his men home.

*A pic of Nice landing in front of Hero Tower with Homemaker in his arms and Wreck on his back*

…

“Hey. Take care of them, yeah?” Moon half asked as Nice watched her pack.

“Isn't that a given, you gremlin?”

“Yeah. As much as I despise you, I’ll also kind of miss you, you Ken Doll.”

“Shut up. Me too.” He huffed.

“No you won't. You’ll be too busy trying to make babies with your new wife and your husband.” She teased. 

Nice stiffened. His face turned tomato red and a trickle of blood came out of his nose. Moon stared.

“Oh my god. Go away you perverted freak.” She choked out in a strangled whisper screech.

He flew to the bathroom at mach speed. 

Moon stared at her hands again and thought of the power she had as a Trusted fanfic author. “Omg.” She muttered, hysterical.

…

Moon left that night. Nice was down in the offices arguing with Miss. J over maybe setting up a ‘redemption arc’ for Wreck. Nice was obviously sick of shit and was now standing up for what he wanted. And he wanted Wreck to be by his side along with Homemaker. 

Ling was puttering around, placing little knick knacks on the new shelves he finished putting together and watering the new house plants. He was determined to make the place more cozy in a way that didn't set off Nice’s OCD. Wreck was at the piano playing a rambling melody.

It was very domestic and peaceful. Once he was done with his task Ling set down and started crocheting. He was making a light blue blanket. It was a domestic task that settled the buzzing need to do something under his skin. That was the drawback to his abilities. That overwhelming need to do domestic tasks and to care for others. 

It had only gotten stronger. He had hit rank 320. 180 ranks in a week. He was buzzing with new power. His abilities were much stronger now. As was the need. It would take a bit to get used to. 

“Thank you.” Wreck said as the melody shifted to a nice slow jazz.

“For what?” Ling asked as he added a colored row marker to the end of the blanket. It was a habit, really. He knew exactly what row he was on.

“For being there for him when I couldn't. He’s so much happier already. There's life in his eyes again.” 

“You don't have to thank me for that.” He told Wreck softly. 

“Yeah. I do.”

[ghouldtime]

The Fuckery of the COD Sunshine Zine

Hey y'all, it's been absolute eons since I've been around. I've not been apart of the COD fandom for a while or writing but I felt that I had to speak up in case others weren't aware of what was going on with a specific Zine for the COD Fandom. Tagging them because at this point, everyone deserves answers.

Please ignore some of the tags though trying to get this post out there to be seen by the fandom since it's fucking bad.

@sunshine-soap-zine

Basically, in short, all money meant for the Zine and merch was used up by Micky (one of the people in charge of it). Merch has allegedly thankfully been made and SOME has been shipped out, digitial copies of the Zine exist, but the physical Zine itself? There's no money left.

Over $6,500 was raised in profits that was supposed to go to Care for Gaza and Stonewall Scotland, two important charities near and dear to many, but all of that was used up and now there isn't even money left for the physical Zines, much less the charities.

You read that right - over $6,500 USD was set and slated in proceeds were to go to charities progressing LGBTQ+ rights and supporting those in a genocide and it's all been used up by one person and they still don't have the money to produce physical Zines and to get them out to those who paid for them. That's not even counting the original money MEANT for the Zines themselves too.

The Zine was centered around our beloved Soap MacTavish - who happens to be my favorite character. Seriously, I absolutely adore Soap. He's my favorite beyond favorite, so when I saw there was a Zine that happened to come across my timeline, I was thrilled! Especially because there were many artists there who I've either bought work from prior or who I'd been following for a while and was happy to see them finally get their stuff printed!

And now it's been unfolding in a disastrous way and I'm so... baffled, disappointed, and pissed off. I'm putting this under the cut because this is going to be a VERY long post.

Now, before I start into this shitshow, let me make two things abundantly clear:

This is NOT related to the Soap Journal Zine - they are two SEPERATE projects run by different people. DO NOT GO AFTER THEM OR ASK THEM ABOUT IT, they are unrelated.

The moderators, writers, and artists had nothing to do with this. NOTHING They were just as unaware as we (the public and consumers) were. They were not informed of any of this until the twitter and instagram post early this morning/late last night. They're not responsible for the actions of the person in charge and had no clue this was happening. If they did, they'd be exactly as appalled as they are now, I'm sure. They would've done something. But multiple artists and people on the actual discord have come forward and said that they, flat out, weren't aware and have expressed their disappointment and anger.

DO NOT drag the moderators, writers, and artists. This isn't on them. The moderators are doing all that they can to try and fix things and are scrambling to find a solution for this clusterfuck. It's an absolute shit shown given what's been handed to them and how it's been dumped on them, but they're doing their absolute best. Plenty of them were victims of this too as they too contributed money and many of them bought bundles themselves!

Onto the meat of this.

This post was made on the instagram page and the twitter for the Zine:

And honestly? I'm not sure where to begin.

First and foremost, I'm not going to take into question their health. That's none of my business. I'm not going to call them a liar or state that that never happened - once again, none of my business. I'm not going to nitpick that and I do sincerely hope that they're well and things start to get better for them.

What DOES matter is that the money for the Zine was used up. It's gone. Y'know, the main anchor of the project that MANY artists put their blood, sweat, and tears into. A digital version was released months ago but the physical one is now into question.

Allegedly, all the other merch is on hand. Some people HAVE received some, but plenty others have not - especially those (like me) who had bundles.

Now, I'm not sure how much I actually believe this given that this bomb was dropped after months of near silence and the very rare occasional update.

I just said this but I'll say it again: I'm not sure where to begin because this is a fucking mess. So I guess I'll just start listing the issues first and foremost.

Issue A: Progress was routinely lied about.

These are exact screenshots from the twitter. We were told directly that EVERYTHING was being made and everything was on track.

And then came the first delay.

Now I'm like most people, I realize things happen. Just because there's one delay doesn't mean it's the end of the world. Sometimes things take longer to manufacture, sometimes they take longer to ship, sometimes there's an issue in quality and you need it redone. Hey, the world isn't perfect and neither are we. I didn't think too much of it.

So it was pushed off, Etsy gave a notification to review and did it's usual notification where it'd ask you to report if you have any issues. I, in good faith, didn't refund it. Because I figured that doing so would yank the rug out from underneath and could cause issues when it came to production and shipping. I had faith.

Then, November rolled around. Then December. January. February. Updates were sparse, they seemed to be getting merch in and together. This should've been more of a red flag, comments asking seemed to be met with general reassurance that it was still happening. Not really specific but still at least trying to say it would happen which started to get fishier than a sardine factory.

The fact that it was pushed off from November/December and now we're in May and only SOME people are getting merch speaks volumes.

But you want to know why I'm really questioning this?

Etsy's policy for refunds is, drum roll.... 180 days. Just about six months after an initial purchase.

And guess what time line that aligns with?

Oh, right. Exactly. It aligns EXACTLY solidly past with what we're being told and when. Which means refunds are basically on "if I have the money and if I'm able to get it and you'll have to take my word"

Disputing with the bank may also not work because for many, this is WAY over the time to dispute charges. It goes for Etsy, it goes for the bank, and credit cards which were purchased on. Basically, it gives a "you're shit out of luck amigo" level of time.

FOR THOSE WHO ARE HAVING A HARD TIME GETTING A CHARGE BACK FROM THEIR BANK, here's the information on how to file a fraud report, including for Non-US residents! https://reportfraud.ftc.gov/faq

(Including this because Micky basically fucked us every which way here by waiting out the period and I do not think this was anything but intentional)

Which screams that this was planned beyond planned because you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that someone was dead silent on a project for months where they lost all the money because they were embarrassed alone.

Especially when the community, the artists, the mods, were incredibly amazing and VERY supportive. Hell, one artist who I've extensively bought merch from before even confirmed they'd have helped and would have tried to get shit figured out! Because that's the kind of people they are. They want to help, they understand things happen, they wanted everyone to get what they ordered as this is a passion project for them too. The point is, the mods would've at least had a plan and so much could've been avoided.

It all aligns far too suspiciously. Embarrassment? Like this isn't more fucking embarrassing? Like this isn't humiliating and stressful beyond admitting to your mods you fucked up and finding out a game plan instead of remaining radio silent?

Oh, by the way

THE ETSY SHOP IS CLOSED which makes it even harder by the way.

Yep.

Closed.

You can't leave a review. You can't comment. You can't do anything aside from hope Etsy might take your side, but after it's been this long, it's very unlikely to happen.

Issue B: They lied about donating the money to charity (allegedly).

I'm only saying allegedly because I do not have a screencap from the discord, seeing as I'm not on it, but I was told by someone who was in there that they were all told that the money raised for two charities was donated in December. I'm taking their word that they were told it was already donated.

Either way, point being, the proceeds were SUPPOSED to go to two charities.

And this wasn't a little pittle of money, oh no. This was supposed to be a big amount

And now that's most certainly not happening.

The entire reason I felt GOOD about getting literally everything (I mean I saved for the everything bundle, I went to the T-shirt and hoodie, I even BOUGHT RAFFLE TICKETS and won one of the prototypes for fucks sake) was because any profit was going to worthy causes. The profits weren't supposed to be lining anyone's pockets, it was supposed to be going to two very worthy charities that are helping actual people in need who could desperately use it.

(Linking to the charities right here BTW)

Care for Gaza

Stonewall Scotland

This massive amount of money was supposed to go there and yet now that's not going to happen because even the books can't be produced. The very core of it.

And (allegedly) they said that it had already been donated.

I cannot express how fucking furious I am that someone would do something so vile as LIE ABOUT DONATING TO A CHARITY THAT'S HELPING PROVIDE AID IN AN ACTIVE GENOCIDE

Let that sink in. Let that stew.

That's what Micky fucking lied about. That's where the money was supposed to go. And now? Now that won't ever come close. I'm furious, insulted, and a list of fifty other million things that will have me foaming at the mouth if I think of them.

How can you be so low as to LIE about that? To lie about giving money to those in need? To fuck up the funds that badly? I would say I have no words, but I do. Just right now, all of them would rightfully have to be censored for how fucking deplorable this is.

Issue C: The money not being in a separate account

Okay, so I'm no expert financial advisor, but I'm going to lay out what has to happen and what SHOULD happen for any project (especially a collaborative one)

Whenever a project is supposed to take place, money SHOULD be set aside in a separate account. This money is placed there because it's for that project, for that project alone, and shouldn't be touched. This is how things are funded. People gave you the money for something to be done, you put that money aside, you use that money and withdraw it when time comes to pay for production or whatever else that needs to be done.

It's in a separate account because that's not meant as YOUR money. Not until a project is done, and most certainly not to be lumped in with everything else. After all, you need to keep invoices and have your ducks in a row - especially when it's a massive amount and it comes time to do taxes. That streamlines it and is vital. It helps determine what expenses went where and is how you remain transparent.

Now, how a debit card works is that it's pretty much always automatically tied to a checking account. It will always pull money from said account when you use it. That's the basis of it and why it's not a credit card.

That means that all of the money was tied to a debit card and this card was GIVEN TO SOMEONE for use other than for the project. This was a debit card that was somehow casually used several times until the money was gone.

Now, I'm really calling bullshit or that's extreme money mismanagement. Because anyone who has run any business or project will tell you: Business funds separate, you do NOT mesh them with personal. That's not your money to use.

HOW was the money used on medical bills like that and that easily when it should've been in a separate fund?

Why was it tied to that debit card? Why was that casually carried around? Why was that given to someone who had no ties to the project?

And what would have been done if that money wasn't there? That's my question too.

The money wasn't handled properly and it resulted in it being GONE. Medical bills are an absolute bitch and a half and yeah, the American healthcare system sucks major sweaty donkey balls, but that's not what the money was for.

Sorry, that might come off as harsh but it's the truth. That money is not for personal use. You took on a project, you committed to it, you spent the money on something that wasn't that. Regardless of the cause, cause I'm not going to dig and debate on how true the medical stuff is, what happened is

The money isn't there and the money was used for something other than it's intended purpose - the money people GAVE to fulfill a project that they were eagerly waiting on, and plenty worked hard for.

That's fraud. Flat out. Shit happens but that's not shit happening alone. That's basic fraud. Wrongful deception that resulted in financial gain. And considering the fact that we were lied to for months, it easily falls under that definition.

Oh, also mentioning that this isn't a small amount of money given. Considering the donations were close to $7,000 USD, much MORE was taken in for everything - but that means that well over $7,000 was spent because that part was meant to be donated and yet there's still no money for the Zines.

I'm going to have good faith and will go with the merch is mainly done, because some people have gotten packages and received some. Maybe that's misguided, maybe I'm a hopeful cunt, but pics HAVE been shown of merch and some people have received them.

Point still is - the Zine isn't here. The physical version? Non-existent. We were lied to for MONTHS that it was under production and all was well.

The donations? Spent. Gone. Over $6,000 USD. There's no money left to produce the Zines. Money? Tied to a debit card and used on personal expenses.

Now I'm not entirely heartless, medical situations can put anyone in a hard place, but medical issues do not excuse misusing money given to you for something you PROMISED, a project you voluntarily took on, and lying for MONTHS on end until no one could get a refund without basically having to go to the god damn government to fist fight for it.

You cannot use money that's not yours for things that they're not for. End of story. Doesn't matter what happens, doesn't matter how valid the claims are or not, using money for what it wasn't intended for for your own personal sake is TEXTBOOK FRAUD.

This harms literally fucking everyone involved.

Obviously, the charities that the money was supposed to go to. Lying about giving money to charity is a low, promising to do it and using it on yourself for any reason is LOW. I'm sorry, I felt comfortable giving money because I knew profit would go to help struggling queer people and people victims of a literal genocide, not go towards one person in particular. That's disgusting, deplorable, and I've got no amount of bad words I can string together because nothing comes close to the hatred and vitrol I feel right now.

The artists who worked VERY hard on this and bless them, MANY ARE RELEASING THEIR ART AND STORIES FOR FREE ON THEIR PLATFORMS AFTER THESE EVENTS, now have this tied to their name through no fault of their own. This is a project that was a first for many of them - a first chance to see their art in a project, their first collaboration, their first time to get their art published and to feel it in their hands. And this is the thanks they get after being the backbone. The fucking disregard to these lovely people who were the backbone of the project and the only reason why it exists is appalling. To go radio silent on them, on the mods who HELPED, and to steal money out from under everyone is appalling, disgusting, and deplorable. They worked so damn hard on this and for many, this may be a reason why they never do a zine again, because it's that awful.

This is something that ties their name to a project that's now experiencing major drama and scandal. And if someone doesn't look into it, they might associate them with that, they might not buy from them (gods I hope that doesn't happen because they do not deserve this or any flak) - you're harming their livelihoods, their career, and are smearing mud on their reflections.

Here's a list of the artists who took part for anyone interested and PLEASE PLEASE support them if you can, even if it's only a like or reblog! Many are releasing their works to the public and all have been affected by this clusterfuck. They're absolutely amazing and have made beautiful pieces. I cannot say it enough that they've done wonderful work and deserve every bit of positive recognition outside of this fuckery.

This, naturally, financially harms the people who PAID for this. Me personally? I fucking saved for this and now I'm not sure I'm even going to get the basics of what I got. I spent about $400 USD which isn't anything light, this isn't chump change, or something I toss around likely. I know I'm lucky to even have that much but Christ on a cracker, I love Soap so much and thought it was going to good causes, I feel fucking sick knowing it didn't. I'm holding out hope that the mods can arrange something - I'll take what I can get, but I'll go fight tooth and nail for a refund if I don't.

Not blaming the mods either as this harms them like a grenade to the nads. They DID NOT KNOW, I'm stating this again, THE MODS TO THIS PROJECT WERE UNAWARE OF THIS RUG PULL. THEY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE, THEY'RE HANDLING THE FALLOUT. They're doing the best they can but I'm not counting on miracles. After all, they've basically been woken up to being told ON FUCKING TWITTER AND INSTAGRAM "oh the money is gone I spent it. gonna try to get money for the zines sorz". My lord, I can't even imagine how awful I'd feel and the panic. Because now they have to scramble and run around like chickens with their heads cut off because they were thrown a flashbang of fuckery and now?

Micky disappears for the weekend.

That's really the icing on the cake.

Health issues or not, you can't drop this massive fucking nuclear bomb after months of near radio silence and then go off for the weekend and leave your mods to deal with that.

"I am doing everything in my power to rectify this situation"

HA

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

If you were, you wouldn't be leaving your mods for the weekend. You'd actually be addressing comments and concerns. You wouldn't be making MORE EMPTY PROMISES.

I'm not believing one word that comes out of Micky's mouth because I did before and look at where that got me. I'm not going to take the word and value of someone who says they'll refund after purposefully lying for MONTHS and waiting out the period that Etsy and most credit card companies will refund for.

If you wanted to do everything in your power, you'd not offer more hollow promises, you'd offer complete financial transparency, you'd actively START getting your ass to work on this instead of dropping a statement, saying three things, and scampering off.

If you were doing everything in your power, we wouldn't be here, now would we?

Leaving now is telling not only me that you don't give a fuck and you don't respect the situation, but you do not respect the very people who made this possible and helped you EVERY STEP OF THE WAY.

I'm irate, I'm furious, I'm so pissed off that I took a step back into the fandom and clawed my way out of the coffin where I buried myself for this.

You lied to me, you lied to the artists, the writers, the mods, the charities - to EVERYONE involved. You kept us all in the dark, you took our money and hard work, and spit in our face. And you go off for a god damn weekend after ripping out our hearts and trust alike, and leave them to clean up the mess you made for your own selfish sake.

Soap wouldn't fucking want this. Not for his memory to go down like this.

What a god damn sick way to "honor" it and to pretend like you care. Fictional character or not, he's my absolute favorite and means the world to me. If it weren't for him and COD, honestly I wouldn't be going down the career path I am, I wouldn't have the future I do. And I took a leap of faith because I wanted to support the community, I wanted to support the artists and writers who pour their heart and soul into what they do. I wanted to honor the silly fictional mohawk man who meant so much to me who, as stupid as it sounds, changed my life.

And this is the thanks we get for the community who supported you, who trusted you, who believed in you, who waited so patiently for this, who wanted to do something good not only for themselves but everyone around them, who were excited for this - who dared to hope for the best.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“Love’s Gonna Get You Killed”

Chapter 2

“You again.”

Synopsis: A wounded mafia heir stumbles into a late-night convenience store, where a quiet clerk patches him up. He walks out—but can’t stop watching her. As danger circles and their worlds quietly collide, one question remains: Can you stay untouched in a life soaked in blood?

Word Count: 1,440

Karina X Male Reader

Macau.

The air reeked of sweat, gunpowder, and dying ambition. But your mind wasn’t here.

It was back in Seoul.

A quiet convenience store on East 42nd.

A name tag that read Karina.

That was the curse of knowing too much. You had her entire life in a file, but she only had a memory of a bleeding stranger who left without a name.

That’s the perk of being born into blood—you learn early that information is a weapon, and the best blades stay hidden.

“Y/N, sir,” one of your men said, pointing toward the rusted shipping crates and concrete walls ahead. “This should be the cartel’s base. What are your orders?”

You lit a cigarette, looked past the compound.

“Burn it.”

“Burn it?”

“Leave no trace. They dared to move against my father. Let them die for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The orders were carried out with precision. Flames bloomed across the base like red flowers. Screams followed. Fleeing cartel members were gunned down without hesitation. A few fought back—sloppy, desperate. They died just the same.

By the end, the compound was ash and smoke. The message was clear.

You boarded the private flight back to Korea with a case full of illegal narcotics. Pure. Profitable. Power in powder form.

But it never interested you.

You didn’t get the thrill. Didn’t understand the rush people sought in addiction or currency. It all felt like noise.

What lingered was her.

Your phone buzzed as the wheels touched down.

Unknown Number:

“Did you get the drugs?”

You didn’t need the name. The typos, the tone—it was your father.

You:

“Did you lose another phone, or do you just switch numbers ten times a day? And yeah, I got it, old man.”

Him:

“You talk too much for the heir of Korea’s largest mafia.”

You:

“Whatever. I’m on the way home.”

You pocketed the phone, stepped into the night air of Seoul, and wondered—

Was she still working the night shift?

Did she ever think about you?

You arrived at the old coal mine just before midnight. The air around it always felt colder than the rest of Seoul—like the earth remembered the blood spilled here.

Joon-ho stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, ever the loyal shadow.

“Good evening, sir. How was Macau?”

You stepped past him without stopping. “It was good. Smelled like gunpowder and rotten flesh.”

Behind you, your men followed in silence, each carrying heavy black cases—unmarked, locked, and filled with poison the city would soon pay for.

The steel doors creaked open.

The hideout still looked the same: dim lights, cigarette haze, walls layered with secrets. An empire built on fear and inheritance.

You shrugged off your coat and handed it to one of the boys.

“Store the cases in vault room three,” you ordered. “Don’t let anyone touch them except Joon-ho.”

“Yes, sir.”

Joon-ho fell in beside you as you walked deeper in.

“The fire got international attention,” he said. “Cartel’s main supplier gone. They’ll scramble.”

“They should. They forgot whose name built the ports they smuggled through.”

“You’ve made your father proud.”

You gave a tired smirk. “He should write me a letter or something.”

As you entered the war room, monitors flickering with activity, your eyes caught the edge of a grainy CCTV still—paused.

East 42nd. The convenience store.

Karina.

Still there. Still unaware.

Joon-ho noticed your silence but didn’t speak.

You lit a cigarette, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Keep watching her,” you said quietly. “If anything feels off, I want to know before she does.”

“Yes, sir.”

Smoke curled from your lips, and for a moment, the room fell silent—except for the quiet hum of war and a ghost of a girl who didn’t know you were already in her life.

Karina – 2:17 A.M.

The hum of the fridge was the only sound in the store. That, and the soft rustle of plastic as she restocked the ramen shelf for the third time that night.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

There hadn’t been a single customer in nearly thirty minutes. Unusual, even for this hour. Normally you got at least a drunk college kid or a cab driver looking for a quick snack. But tonight? Nothing.

She glanced up at the security mirror near the ceiling. Empty aisles.

Still, her skin prickled. Like someone was watching.

She rubbed her arms, shook it off, and walked to the counter. As she passed the windows, she noticed it—

a black car across the street. Parked. Engine off. Tinted windows. Hadn’t been there earlier.

She stared at it for a second too long.

Then forced herself to look away.

Paranoia, she told herself. Sleep deprivation.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

She reached under the counter and touched the small baseball bat she’d stashed months ago. Just in case. Never thought she’d even need to think about it.

And yet here she was.

Her eyes drifted to the rack of bandages again.

The same one he bled in front of.

That guy.

No name. No warning. Just blood and bills.

She hadn’t seen him since.

But sometimes… she thought about him.

Or more like—she felt like he was still around. Like the night hadn’t really ended.

The store door chimed.

She jumped slightly—then exhaled. A regular. Just an old man looking for lotto tickets.

Still, as she rang him up, her eyes flicked once more to the black car outside.

It was gone.

You woke up to silence. Same ceiling. Same weight on your chest.

Melancholy wasn’t a feeling anymore—it was your baseline.

You lit a cigarette the moment you stepped onto the balcony. The city was still waking up, sun bleeding over rooftops, turning steel and concrete into gold. But it didn’t warm you.

You smoked in silence. Seven minutes. No music. No phone. Just the hiss of the lighter and the burn in your lungs.

You got dressed in black—like always.

Joon-ho arrived right on time. 7:00 a.m. sharp. Buttoned suit. Gloves. Not a wrinkle out of place.

“Good morning, sir,” he said with a light bow. “May I interest you in some tea? Perhaps coffee?”

“No thanks,” you muttered, brushing past him.

He followed. “Should I inform your father about—”

“Yeah. Tell him I’m going out for a bit.”

“Shall I arrange the car?”

“No. I’ll take the black bike.”

Joon-ho blinked. That meant no guards. No eyes. Just you, the wind, and wherever your thoughts were headed.

“Understood,” he said, bowing slightly again. “Will you need backup?”

You gave him a sideways glance. “It’s just a store run.”

He didn’t believe that. You didn’t care.

As you walked out, keys in hand, helmet under your arm, one name echoed in your head like a quiet beat.

Karina.

You weaved through the city like a ghost—black helmet, black bike, cutting between lanes like you owned the asphalt.

People stared. Let them.

You weren’t here to be seen. You were here because something kept pulling you back.

The convenience store sat just where you left it. Still. Dim. Flickering neon OPEN sign humming softly against the morning gray.

You parked across the street. Killed the engine.

And just… watched for a moment.

Inside, Karina was behind the counter, absentmindedly flipping through a small notebook. Her hair was tied back. She looked tired—but calm. The kind of calm you’d kill to feel for even five minutes.

You lit a cigarette, visor still down, and leaned back on the bike.

But you weren’t alone.

A man, dressed in black, stood half-hidden behind a row of trees not far from the store. He wasn’t smoking. Wasn’t on his phone. He was just watching—watching you.

You clocked him instantly. Too stiff. Too clean. Not a civilian.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

This city had rules. You were breaking one just by being here. But someone else was breaking another by watching you this openly

Your fingers twitched slightly. The pistol was in your jacket, left side.

But you didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, you got off the bike slowly and walked toward the store—eyes never leaving the window.

If Karina noticed the tension crawling in the shadows, she didn’t show it. She looked up.

Recognition flickered in her eyes.

The first time you bled into her life.

This time… you were clean.

“Hey,” you said, opening the door, voice low.

She blinked. “You again.”

[scarletqueenx]

THE CHAIN

AU Dean Winchester x Latina!Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in a bar, you, an aspiring singer-songwriter and bartender, and Dean Winchester, a marine about to go on his first tour of duty, agree to marry solely for military benefits. You need his health insurance for your diabetes and he needs to settle his debts and get his life back together. But when tragedy strikes, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

Word Count: 3915

Tags/Warnings: angst, chronic illness, cursing, slight misogyny (by other characters, not the main)

A/N: Based on Purple Hearts (Netflix, 2022)

PART 1 - UNSTEADY

Music was everything to you. It was your reason for living. The only thing that brought you peace and happiness. The melodies ran through your blood, the lyrics filled your thoughts and the beat marked your heartbeat. All you wanted in the world was to be able to devote yourself entirely to music.

But life wasn't that easy. Not yours at least. 

If you weren't working as a waitress in the bar where you had been working for years, you were teaching piano lessons or walking dogs to earn a little extra money.

Before you were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes your life was much less chaotic. But since then, you couldn't afford a day off, because you needed the money to pay for the health insurance that provided you with the insulin you needed to survive. 

You tried to focus on the good things and your dreams. The owner of the bar where you worked, Billy, had let you and your band play a couple of songs every night on the small stage, which gave you some visibility and increased the number of customers. Even though you only sang covers, the people who heard you sing every night ended up falling in love with your voice. Or that's what your best friend told you whenever you finished and walked off the stage to continue your shift as a waitress.

“Give it up for Billy, the owner who apparently really meant it when he said only two songs. Oh, and please don't forget to tip your servers, 'cause, PS, we're also your servers.” You said to the crowd before getting out of the stage.

“Another great set.” Your friend, Jamie, said as he went back behind the counter.

“Yeah, amazing riff back there.” You told him as you reached your best friend.

With a smile on her face, your redhead best friend was about to give you another one of her compliments when something behind you caught her attention.

“Oh, look, it's your faves.” She pointed towards the door.

With a frown you turned on your heels and found a group of boys entering the bar with smiles on their faces. They looked like they were celebrating something.

“Oh, great. Marines.” You sighed as you took your little notebook. “Mild to medium harassment by nine, chaotic evil by ten.”

Charlie smiled back at you and whispered a little good luck as you started to walk towards the group. Just then, the face of one of the boys turned toward you and you recognized him in an instant.

“No way.” He said as he saw you. “Hey, stranger!”

“Frankie?” You looked at him surprised before running to wrap your arms around him in a hug.

He laughed as he lifted you off the ground.

“I missed you, you freak.” 

“I missed you too, rockstar.” He replied, placing you back on the ground.

“Oh my God. Look at the buzz.” You shook his absent hair. “No, I'm not okay with this at all.” You laughed as your best friend appeared by your side. “Uh, Charlie, Frankie. Frankie, Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you.” Frankie looked at her.

“Charlie, they're in The Loyal with me. Frankie, we grew up together, and I was his babysitter.” You explained.

“Okay. Okay. Don't say that in front of everybody.” Frankie looked at his group of friends with a glimpse of embarrassment in his eyes. You laughed.

“Cassie was just telling me how much she loves military boys.” Charlie teased as the three of you approached the marines.

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. Mmm.” Frankie laughed. “Uh, these are the guys. We've two weeks 'til we ship out to Iraq.” 

“We're still in Iraq?” You frowned.

“Not out yet.”

“Another war that never ends.” You sighed. “In that case, what you guys wanna drink? First one's on the house.” You smiled towards the boys.

That's when you noticed the guys sitting at the table where Frankie had led you and Charlie. A tall dark-skinned guy, a young blond with a boyish face and finally the one who looked like the oldest of the group. Well formed back, not overly muscular but fit, light brown hair, close to the color of sand, freckles and green eyes focused on you.

“Thank you.”

“Hey! Tequila?” The blonde one said.

“Does he look old enough to drink tequila?” Charlie asked, looking back at you.

“Absolutely not.” You smiled.

“Double that.” The other guy said.

“Copy that.” You nodded before your eyes locked on the green-eyed guy.

“I'll have a Coke.” 

“Okay. My kinda guy.” You smiled, surprised by his request.

“Hell, yeah.” He smirked. “Could you throw in some lemon slices with that?”

“How about you pace yourself, bro?” You teased, smirking back at him.

“Whoa! She's into you, bro.” The guy by his side said as you walked toward the counter.

“No. Okay? Just no.” Frankie shook his head, gaining Dean’s attention. “It's not gonna happen, never. Just let it go, cheekbones.”

“What? You two?” He whispered.

“No, she's like an older sister to me.” Frankie quickly explained.

“Uh, she has a ‘no soldiers’ policy, sorry.” Charlie said.

“We're marines. What's that about?” The tall guy asked.

“Well, that means more of us for you then.” The blonde smiled back at her.

Charlie laughed at this.

“Tempting.” She replied. “Let me check with my girlfriend.”

Dean smiled at her answer. Something in him told him they could be good friends if they got to know each other. Something about the way Charlie carried herself felt a little too familiar to him.

Then again, it was you his attention was on. Charlie looked cool and like a very fun person, but you… You took his breath away. There was something in you that pulled him in like a magnet.

“Uh, three tequilas and a coke.” You announced placing the drinks on the table.

“So we're good enough to fight for your ass, but not enough to touch it?” Said the guy next to Dean, leaving the group in complete silence.

You looked up at him with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed.

“Okay. I'll excuse you, this time.” He replied.

Seeing as no one else said something and tired of guys acting like they had the right to say those kind of things, you took a step back.

“I can't with this.” You scoffed once again as you gave Charlie your notebook before walking away from the table.

“Real smooth.”

“What the hell? Come on. Bro.”

“Let me see what I can do.” Dean said, walking past Frankie to go after you.

“Good luck, behave yourself. Don't do what he did.”

“Dude has a perfect track record.”

Dean ignored their comments as he reached you at the bar counter.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for our friend. He's a bit...” He scoffed, not exactly knowing how to describe him.

“Okay.” You clicked your tongue as a response while rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“Uh, I'm Dean, by the way. What's your name?” He reached out his hand.

Tired of his presence, you turned towards him with a cold stare.

“Your waitress slash bartender. Have a fun night, Dean.” You replied, bumping your shoulder with his as you walked past him. 

His group of marine friends laughed in the back, but you ignored them.

“You know, we're not all alike.” Dean said.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at him.

“Oh, really?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

“Because your friend is talking about his right to touch my ass. Which apparently, you also feel entitled to.” 

“Okay, we're just blowing off some steam. It's, uh... It's actually a pretty big night. Last night on leave. We ship off in a few weeks.” He explained.

“I get it, but, uh, not really an excuse for casual misogyny though.” You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “You're cute and everything, but...”

Dean could feel his chest tighten at your bold response, the sharpness in your words almost as if you were daring him to challenge you. He wasn’t sure why it caught his attention—maybe it was the way you held your ground, or the way your eyes glinted with defiance, but there was something about you that was... magnetic. He shook the thought away. This was nothing more than a few words exchanged. He didn’t have time to get distracted by you.

“Okay, all right. I, uh... I get this.” He laughed.

You frowned.

“What do you get?”

“You.”

“Yeah. Me?”

“Yeah, yeah. You're kind of predictable. I've... I've met your type before.”

Dean’s voice faltered slightly, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to hold his ground or keep his distance. But as you leaned in, just a little bit closer, he couldn’t help but notice how you stood your ground—your body poised, confident. And damn, he was sure he wasn’t imagining it, but the air between you felt... thicker. He found himself subconsciously leaning in a little too, his hand instinctively shifting closer to you.

“Yeah. Oh. Do tell.” You took a step closer to him, not really playing much attention at the small space between your faces and bodies.

Dean noticed though, and he couldn’t help but take a quick and almost imperceptible glimpse of your lips before focusing on the colour of your eyes.

“Drive a Lexus that your parents paid for, but it's a hybrid, so it's okay.” He started, his heartbeat a little faster than usual, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice. “You... You probably tweet a lot about other people's rights, but when it comes down...”

You scoffed and took a step back before letting out a little chuckle.

“Sorry, it's just fascinating to me.” You looked at him with disbelief. “Do you have a PhD in mansplaining?”

“When it actually comes down to fighting for these rights, you don't wanna do anything, right?” He continued, ignoring your words. “'Cause guns are mean. You're a pacifist. I guess it's our job to go off and fight those battles for you, right? I bet you have a little peace-dove tattoo on your back to prove it.”

With a cynical smile on your lips, you moved closer to him once again. This time closer than before. So close that your breath hit his skin as you responded.

“On my ass, actually.” You smirked. “Which you can't touch, but you can kiss.”

“Nailed it.” Murmured one of the marines, and the sound of laughter echoed around the table as Dean stood there, at a loss for words.

“She's a pistol.” Another one whistled, clearly impressed by your quick wit.

You barely gave them a second glance, striding confidently to the other side of the counter where Charlie stood.

“Or they'll skip straight to chaotic evil.” You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes as you reached her.

Charlie grinned, the teasing glint still present in her eyes.

“You see the guy who looks like he’s 12 years old?” She pointed to the blonde guy, still sitting with Frankie. “He just told me I should reconsider my stance on men because if I marry him, I'd get incredible health insurance.”

You raised an eyebrow as you turned back toward the table. “Wow. Health insurance?” You let out a little laugh, clearly mocking the offer. “That’s some dirty talk right there. So hot.”

You both laughed together, the sound light but filled with the quiet, unspoken understanding that came with shared frustration 

“Where's that coming from?“ Charlie frowned when the annoying sound of quacking started to echo next to her.

“Oh, that’s my phone.” You explained. “Made it annoying to not ignore it.”

Charlie smiled with amusement as she handed your purse across the counter.

“Uh, hey, can you cover me for, like, five?”

Charlie looked back at you, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah. You okay?”

You forced a small smile, trying to push past the tightening in your chest. “You know... just the usual.”

She nodded, not pushing you for more details. She could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the kind that only someone who knew you well would catch. She gave a quick nod as she turned to grab a napkin for someone else at the bar.

You walked out of the bar quickly, the cool night air hitting your face as you made your way toward your car.

As you got inside your car, silence surrounded you, leaving you in a strange loneliness far from the people inside the bar, oblivious to what for you had already become routine.

The beeping sound of your glucose monitor echoed in the quiet space, and you immediately felt your body tense, eyes darting to the screen. You read the numbers and, for a moment, you just stared at it, willing the numbers to be kinder today.

“Shit.” You muttered to yourself, cursing under your breath. You hated how the disease made you feel weak, vulnerable. You hated how it constantly reminded you that, no matter how strong you tried to be, your body would always be fighting against you.

As you prepared the insulin, your hands moved with practiced precision, but your mind was elsewhere—focusing on the frustration, the tightness in your chest that seemed to grow with every passing day. You couldn’t escape it, couldn’t push it aside. You were always thinking about it. Always adjusting, watching, waiting.

After you finished, you placed everything back into your bag, letting out a shaky breath. The needle was gone, but the weight of everything else—the isolation, the constant vigilance, the fear of what could happen if you didn’t get it right—remained. You didn’t have the luxury of forgetting.

You wiped your eyes quickly, hating the tears that had started to form, and glanced at your phone. It was a text from Charlie, just checking in. You let out a half-laugh as you texted back, telling her you were fine. She wouldn’t understand anyway. No one ever really did.

But you couldn’t stay in the car forever. You needed to go back. You had to go back. The bar was waiting. Charlie would be waiting. And so would he.

Dean.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, trying to shove the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by him. You had enough to deal with. You had enough to think about. And he was a dumbass anyway, despite his good looks.

You stood at the pharmacy counter, your stomach in knots as the woman behind the counter typed away on her computer, her face impassive. The sound of the keys clicking was deafening to you in the quiet space. You shifted uneasily, checking the time. You still had a few hours before your shift started, but that wouldn’t matter if you didn’t get your insulin.

“Oh, it looks like I can’t refill your prescription for another four days.” The pharmacist said, glancing up at you with a forced smile.

Your heart sank. “Uh, okay.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you could feel the panic creeping up your throat. “I... I can’t really wait four days.” You swallowed, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Look, I’m out of my long-acting and my short-acting insulin, and my reserve vial is basically gone, and it’s just... it’s really dangerous for me not to have this.”

“I mean, I can give you a refill of your prescription if you wanna do it out of pocket.”

You blinked, disbelief spreading across your face. 

"I don’t think you understand—"

“No, your insurance is not renewed, so I cannot refill it. If you want to do it out of pocket, we can do that.”

You clenched your fists, your knuckles white. Your chest tightened, and for a second, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat. This wasn’t just inconvenient—it was dangerous. Your voice trembled as you spoke again. “And... how much is that?”

She didn’t respond right away, just clicked back at her keyboard, eyes darting between the screen and you. 

“Three hundred for the long-acting, two-twenty for the short-acting. So, a little over $500.” She looked up at you, her face flat and professional. “What do you want to do?”

Your vision blurred for a moment as the weight of the price hit you. You had maybe half that in your bank account—if you were lucky. There was no way you could afford that, not with your bills, the rent, and the cost of everything else you had to juggle just to survive.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, trying to steady your hands as you reached for your purse while a man on the line complained about you being too slow. 

“¿Qué pasa?” Your mother came to your side asking what was going on.

“Nada, mamá.” You looked back at her trying to make her think everything was all right when it really wasn’t. “Check out in the other line. This line already hates me.”

“Do you wanna step aside while…?”

“Can... you just give me a second?” You snapped at the pharmacist before taking a deep breath.

“¿Cariño, necesitas que lo pague yo?” 

“¿Quiere pagarlo de su bolsillo o esperar?” The pharmacist asked at the same moment your mother tried to help you pay the insulin.

“She speaks English too, thank you.” You looked at the pharmacist, annoyed. 

“You take my cash. I'll do credit.” Your mother took some bills out of her pocket, insisting on helping you despite your complaints.

“Ma!”

“Always health first.” She insisted before walking away.

You sighed a quick ‘thank you’ as you turned back to look at the pharmacist.

“Okay, that worked out.” The woman smiled. “Do you wanna fill this, hon?” She asked, but her smiled fell as she saw the money you had didn’t seem enough. “Oh. That is... Shoot.”

“I... I guess I’ll try to make it to Friday without it.” You said quietly, forcing a smile you didn’t feel as defeat washed over you. “Thanks. Go Big Pharma.”

You didn’t have the luxury of waiting four days, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

You turned to walk out, your feet dragging as you slipped outside of the pharmacy.

You didn’t tell your mother, though. You didn’t need her to feel worried or guilty about not being able to help you.

“You got a letter.” She announced as you reached the top of the stairs where the door to your apartment was.

“Mom, don't open that.” You told her already knowing what that letter was about. You really didn’t needed to think about your unplayed rent after the day you had just had.

“You didn't pay your rent?” She asked, already opening the letter.

You sighed, grabbing the broken doorknob from the flowerpot by your side to fit it onto your door so you could open it. 

“I said don't open that.”

“Your place is falling apart.” She complained following you inside the apartment. “How can you live like this?”

“Yeah, well, I'm busy, and the little details aren't really a priority for me.”

“You cannot not pay your rent.”

“Well, I'm paying. I'm just paying late.” You argued dropping your bag on the floor with defeat painted on your face. “I'm giving the landlord's daughter free piano lessons. They're not going to throw me out on the street.”

“Why don't you move back with me?” She looked at you with pity. “You can share my bedroom.”

“Ma!”

“Like when you were little.”

“No, I'm not 12.” You complained. “I can't go backwards.”

“Entonces tienes que tener un presupuesto.”

“Yes, but diabetes wasn't really in the budget, okay?” You cut her off.

She looked at you with an understanding, love, and concern look that only a mother could give.

For the fist time that day she seem to notice the exhaustion in your face, the slump in your shoulders, the heavy bags under your eyes. The weight of responsibility wearing you down.

“I'm so worried.” She said.

You nodded letting out a nervous laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Her looked turned mad. “You're not taking this seriously. You could die at any moment.”

“Mom! I know.” You exclaimed, tired of hearing her complain about your own fears. “I'm fine. I'm doing everything right. I'm bartending, and delivering food, and playing gigs, and teaching piano on my spare time. And I'm constantly exhausted and running late, and I can't sleep because I have this medical debt that just grows like some mold in a basement. So, please, please just be kind to me.”

She took a deep breath, as she tried to calm herself.

“I know. I'm sorry.” Her voice broke as she grasped you in a hug. “I should be able to provide for you.”

“Mommy, I love you so much. I don't want you to worry.” You insisted, hugging her back. “You know me. I'm just on my own weird journey, and it's... it's a little bumpy, but… I love it.” You grabbed her by the shoulders, taking a step back to look at her in the eyes. “I'm sorry. I got this. Okay?”

With a quiet sob, she placed a hand on your cheek, caressing it with tenderness as she give you a sad but genuine smile.

“Okay.”

You weren’t okay. Not a all. You didn’t got anything. Your mother was right to worry. But you didn’t saw it until two nights later in the middle of the bar as you sang another cover with your band.

You were feeling fine, singing and playing music in the bar like you did every night. That’s when, suddenly, all of your energy dried out and you started to feel dizzy and nauseous. Your hands started shaking and the words of the song you were singing started to disappear out of your mind.

You knew what it was. You were having a low sugar episode, you needed insulin. 

Before that you had been trying to save the most of it. You tried to keep going without a shot even when the sugar in your blood came out a little low. But you had puss it to far.

The customers looked at you with confusion as you stepped out of the stage while your bandmates tried to keep playing. You dragged your feet towards the counter, where a fellow waiter, Benny, handed your purse over to you. 

Trying not to lose your balance, you walked to the bathroom. You threw up and almost passed out a couple of times while you prepare the insulin.

As the sugar in your blood begging to balance, the thoughts in your mind cleared up. You stood up, washed out your mouth, and looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. You looked pale and worn out, and your hands were still shaking a little bit as you gripped the counter. 

The weight of the world felt on your shoulders as reality hit you. You couldn’t live like that. You simply wouldn’t survive, period.

That’s when a little stamp pasted on one corner of the mirror caught your eye. It was the Marine Corps emblem. 

You then remember Frankie and Dean, and the misogynistic comments some of their friends had made. But you remember something else too. You remembered how a guy had tried to hit on your friend Charlie by mentioning how good health insurance was for them and their spouses. 

If only you could marry one. 

Well, maybe you could.

Part 2 - Your Needs, My Needs (coming soon)

want to be tagged? here you have my tag list

series masterlist

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Tag List: @adrienneleclerc @barnes70stark @milf-ivy @lori19 @losers-clvb @bewr0210

[shroomerr]

Wham bam bam! Couple of Agent stuff!! I was initially just going to post the two images but then it felt a bit empty, so I decided to doodle an interaction between Agent and Mysterion.

More process drawings under the cut for those interested!!

[swordscleric]

I can't stop thinking about the post from a few days ago about how Critical Role has been great at doing personal faith but didn't put the necessary work in to discuss the religious/god angle of c3 in-depth. Like the fact that Cardinal Respa was linked to both the Dawnfather and the Chained Oblivion is, on a personal level, very interesting (fallen/corrupted priest goes hard) but like does that mean that there's a Papacy somewhere in Exandria dedicated to the Dawnfather? If so, are there more cardinals who ordain the bishops of the Dawnfather? Are there Conclave-level intrigues going on in the Dawnfather's Sistine Chapel? Why is the Dawnfather so Christianity-coded in vibes alone if there's no actual outline of his religious organisations? With Downfall the Dawnchild/Dawnfather thing makes the allusions to Christ as Son of God co-existing with the Father textual - was there a Dawnfather Schism around whether the Dawnchild was a separate mortal? Was there a Reformation about how the Dawnfather's Pope kept selling indulgences? Is that why the priest of the Dawnfather Grog & Pike offer a drink to doesn't partake because of a cultural shift between Protestant-Temperance-League-coded and Catholic-coded Dawnfather congregations? Why do I have so many questions about the religious organisation of one of the most important Prime Deities in Exandria and to Critical Role's 3 campaigns? How on earth were the cast (and us as the viewers!) meant to care about the gods if all they had were "really tall kings" instead of interrogating how religious organisations provide both a place of healing and community to a wide range of people and also a place of horrific harm and abuse for a wide range of people?

[vaggieslefteye]

CHARLIE MAGNE from HAZBIN HOTEL (2019): Pilot - "That's Entertainment" ↳ "So, I've been thinking: Isn't there a more humane way to hinder overpopulation here in Hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through... redemption?"

[angelsdean]

don't know how people multi-fandom. dipped my toe into another one and immediately backed out bc everyone there was insufferable.

[cuteniaarts]

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[astradyke]

i don't get very personal on this blog because vulnerability is tricky and being vulnerable on the internet is infinitely trickier, and also this is a dan and phil blog, so this obviously hasn't come up but i've been having life realizations that have explained my affinity towards phanfictions that talk about chronic pain. i'm going to link three i like:

broken porcelain (put me back together baby) by tarredion

flares (and assorted series fics) by huphilpuffs (unfinished but all time favorite)

must have been the wind by dvp_95

but also like. dunno. this is a post for another day but... i really do appreciate how candidly dan and phil talk about their physical health. i'm not chronically ill (though that's maybe in question rn) nor do i have the specific experiences they do, but their openness about their physical health-- even if it might be societally "taboo"-- is so important for so many people and i'm realizing rapidly that i'm one of those people it has impacted so much. when i think about it i feel less like... scared, about falling in love someday while carrying all my own bullshit with physical health issues, because i see how the two of them support each other through their experiences.

all of the above fics are alternate universes -- the first and last i believe just refer to unspecified chronic pain (i might be wrong i haven't reread them in the last weeks or so) but the middle one is specifically about fibromalaygia-- but still, i dunno. dan and phil as creators but also fic writers have really affected me in a way that i think is like... going to do a lot of good. okay that's my midnight talk thanks. <3